Mrs. Meredith blanched. “I am very grateful to Doctor Curtis,” she spoke with more feeling than usual. “I fear that I have misjudged him.”
Anne eyed her mother inquiringly. What did such a volte face portend? They sat in silence for over two minutes, then Mrs. Meredith rose and, leaning down, kissed Anne.
“To-morrow morning,” she stated, “I will send a note to the society editors of the local newspapers and ask them to announce your engagement to Doctor Curtis. Good night, Anne; pleasant dreams.” And she went to her bedroom to undress feeling that her whole duty to herself, to Anne, and to society in general had been admirably performed.
Downstairs in the library David Curtis hung up the telephone receiver with growing impatience. It was the sixth time he had tried to get Doctor Leonard McLane on the telephone. He was most anxious to speak to McLane, but the latter had been called to Baltimore to perform an operation, so had reported McLane’s servant, and had not returned. Curtis did not like to leave word for McLane to ring him up, owing to the lateness of the hour. The telephone bell might disturb the inmates of the household. He had not seen McLane since the discovery of the discolored scalpel concealed among the ferns in the reception hall. Much had transpired since then, and Curtis was in a fever to discuss the new events with his level-headed friend. In McLane’s judgment and advice he could place implicit confidence.
Anne’s condition troubled him. Upon reaching home in the farmer’s small truck, he had persuaded her to go immediately to bed and had given Susanne a sedative to administer when she was undressed.
Anne had not told him of her encounter with the masked man, and Curtis had concluded that her second fainting spell had been caused by nerves frayed to the breaking point.
As Curtis reached the table, standing by the entrance to the library, on which he had laid his cigarette case and box of matches, he heard the front door open and a startled exclamation in a girl’s voice, and then a man’s heavier bass.
“Good gracious, Lucille, where have you been at this time of night?” asked Sam Hollister, stopping on his way from the circular staircase to the library.
Lucille closed the front door softly and placed her finger to her lips. “Not so loud, Sam,” she said cautiously. “I don’t want to awaken any one. I couldn’t sleep, and so went out for a walk about the grounds.”
Hollister eyed her in concern. Lucille’s beauty was enhanced by her pretty evening gown and graceful wrap, which she had partly thrown back, disclosing her perfectly shaped neck and throat.