Our summons at the house next door was answered by the occupier’s wife, a rather stout, white-haired, gaily-capped old lady named Luff.
The appearance of Patterson in uniform surprised her, but when she had asked us in, and we were seated, he said—
“There is no occasion to be alarmed, madam. I have merely called to make an inquiry of you. It is in your power to render us assistance in a rather confidential matter regarding the occupiers of the house next door—your neighbours on the left. What do you know of them?”
“Nothing,” she answered. “They came about six months ago, a young lady and a very old gentleman, with a single maid-servant. They speak to no one, and, as far as I have observed, have very few friends. I have often remarked to my son, who is a civil engineer, and now away making the railway in China, that they are a mysterious couple. What is wrong with them?”
“Oh, it’s simply a private matter,” my companion answered carelessly, not wishing to alarm the neighbourhood by news of our discovery.
“What is the old gentleman like? Can you describe him?” I inquired. No doubt she took me for a detective, but at that moment this thought did not occur to me.
“He is sixty, I should think, old and decrepit, with white hair, and always walks with a stick.”
“And the lady was his daughter?” suggested the inspector.
“I suppose her to be his daughter,” she answered. “The old man’s name is Dawson, I believe—at least one day a messenger-boy brought a note here by mistake, addressed to Professor Dawson. The daughter is a very good pianist, and plays every morning regularly.”
“They are well off, as far as you can judge?” Patterson inquired with his assumed careless air.