“Why, Dr. Abbott, I thought you had such a serious case on hand this afternoon,” she said, placing her large body in the doorway, and thus barring their entrance.
“So I had, Emma—so serious that death has already resulted.”
“Who was it?”
“An old man with a long, white beard; a man who looked as much like your late employer, Mr. Mackenzie, as if they had been brothers.”
The woman’s face grew deadly white, and for a moment Nick believed she was going to faint.
But Emma was not of the fainting kind. By a great effort, she regained some of her courage, and attempting a laugh, which was a dismal failure, she said:
“Do you expect me to believe that? Where does your important patient live?”
“We think he did live in this house, and have come to investigate a little, to satisfy ourselves.”
Emma had slowly thrust one hand into the folds of her dress skirt. Suddenly, and with a movement as quick as thought, she stepped back, raised her arm and flashed a pistol in Abbott’s face.
She was not quick enough for the detective, however. His large carpetbag swung through the air and hit the weapon just as she pulled the trigger.