“Not good, I am afraid, sir.”
“Well, let us have them. Come and sit by the fire.” He drew up an easy chair, and, having installed me in it and taken a critical look at me, invited me to proceed. I accordingly proceeded bluntly to inform him that an attempt had been made to murder Miss D’Arblay.
“Ha!” he exclaimed. “These are bad tidings indeed! I hope she is not injured in any way.”
I reassured him on this point, and gave him the details as to the patient’s condition, and he then asked:
“When did the attempt occur, and how did you hear of it?”
“It happened this evening, and I was present.”
“You were present!” he repeated, gazing at me in the utmost astonishment. “And what became of the assailant?”
“He vanished into the fog,” I replied.
“Ah, yes. The fog. I had forgotten that. But now let us drop this question and answer method. Give me a narrative from the beginning, with the events in their proper sequence. And omit nothing, no matter how trivial.”
I took him at his word—up to a certain point. I described my arrival at the studio, the search in the cupboard, the sinister interruption, the attack, and the unavailing attempt at pursuit. As to what befell thereafter I gave him a substantially complete account—with certain reservations—up to my departure from Ivy Cottage.