“As a housebreaker,” grimly. “That will hold him, for the time being. Hurry, Leonard.” He pushed his friend impatiently toward the door and into the corridor. They had reached the head of the circular staircase when Gretchen intercepted them.
“Doctor McLane,” she called timidly, and the two men halted. “Plees come and see Mees Lucille.”
“Is she ill?” inquired McLane, observing Curtis’ impatient frown at the interruption to their plans.
Gretchen bowed her head and McLane, looking at her closely, saw that she was crying.
“Which is Miss Lucille’s bedroom?” he asked. Gretchen pointed dumbly down the left hand corridor. “Stay here, Dave, and I’ll return as quickly as possible.”
As Curtis rested his hand on the banisters he caught a faint sob on his right as Gretchen buried her face in her apron.
“What is it?” he asked kindly. “What distresses you, Gretchen?”
“Mees Lucille,” she stammered. “She got the bad news on the phone.”
“What news?” quickly.
“Her father was hurt las’ night in his car.” Gretchen drew a sobbing breath. “Mees Lucille fear to tell her mother. Poor Mees Lucille!”