“Very well,” he said at last, after a moment’s hesitation, “come along. You say you want to see the library.” And I followed him down the hall, at the end of which he opened a door.
I went in and looked around. Yes; it was the same. Nothing had apparently been moved.
I looked into the dining-room—that same handsome apartment in which champagne had been drunk to my health and happiness. Bah! what a mockery it had been!
We went into several of the other rooms after that, and all of them were, I found, well furnished in a style rather out-of-date but nevertheless comfortable.
“And how long have you been in Mrs Stentiford’s service?” I inquired, as we descended the stairs.
“Just a fortnight.”
“You’re a police-officer, aren’t you?” I inquired.
“Yes—a sergeant,” he answered. “But how do you know?”
“Oh,” I answered, laughing, “when a man’s been in the police there’s little mistake about it. We doctors have our eyes open, you know.”
He smiled, but was apparently surprised that I should have detected his calling.