He turned from his contemplation when he heard the door open. There was that woman, smiling and inquiring how he'd slept. He'd soon straighten her out.
"Dr. Lorraine," he said grimly, "why was I locked in?"
The smile faded just a little. "Three days observation, remember?"
H.D. was patient. "Look," he said carefully, "I don't think you quite understand. I'm H.D. Haworth. From the little you've said I gather there's been no Bolshevik revolution, common sense be praised, so the Haworth Trust must be worth hundreds of millions. You still use money, don't you?"
She nodded slowly.
"And I have millions hidden away where no one can ever find them but myself—don't think I came an empty-handed beggar, even if something happened to the Trust funds. Millions, I tell you—gold and jewels, rare old books and art, everything of value.
"And besides that I'm the oldest sleeper—what's the matter with you people?" he demanded fretfully: "Don't you know what news is? Why am I met by one insignificant woman doctor?"
Dr. Lorraine did not seem put out by the upbraiding and this in itself was subtly exasperating. It was her attitude, her air, in which he sensed—sympathy, yes, and a sort of embarrassment. He did not understand it but it was absolutely offensive!
"Well," H.D. snarled, beside himself, "confound it, woman, say something!"
"Three days observation," said Dr. Lorraine, almost stupidly. Then she visibly readjusted the mantle of her professional cheerfulness and spoke briskly.