The Doctor’s face changed a little.
“What about Richard Fleming?” persisted the detective scornfully.
The Doctor drew himself up.
“I never killed him!” he said so impressively that even Bailey’s faith in his guilt was shaken. “I don’t even own a revolver!”
The detective alone maintained his attitude unchanged.
“You come with me, Wells,” he ordered, with a jerk of his thumb toward the door. “This time I’ll do the locking up.”
The Doctor, head bowed, prepared to obey. The detective took up a candle to light their path. Then he turned to the others for a moment.
“Better get the young lady to bed,” he said with a gruff kindliness of manner. “I think that I can promise you a quiet night from now on.”
“I’m glad you think so, Mr. Anderson!” Miss Cornelia insisted on the last word. The detective ignored the satiric twist of her speech, motioned the Doctor out ahead of him, and followed. The faint glow of his candle flickered a moment and vanished toward the stairs.
It was Bailey who broke the silence.