“H’m, that’s a bit odd,” Nick soliloquized, gazing in each direction. “I thought he might be merely stretching his legs. He must have seen some one, or something, that he thought it worth while to learn more about. He never neglects—ah, that will explain.”
A scrap of paper protruding from under the chauffeur’s seat had caught Nick’s eye as he was about to enter the car. He drew it out and read, scribbled with a lead pencil:
“Don’t wait for me, chief. I’ll report later.”
Nick smiled and sprang into the car. Ten minutes later[Pg 11] he arrived at the residence of Doctor Lyons, whom he found alone in his office.
“Well, well, Nick, this is an unexpected pleasure,” said the physician, after their greeting. “It’s ages since I have seen you. What’s on your mind? I know your call is not entirely a social one, nor do you look as if you needed a prescription.”
“No, I’m as right as a trivet,” said Nick, smiling. “It’s about the suicide of Mr. Cyrus Darling.”
“What about it?”
“This is strictly between us, mind you, and must not go farther.”
“Enough said. Mum’s the word.”
“You view the remains, I am told, and pronounced it a case of suicide?”