passed through the hall on his way to Ackroyd’s study, his hands full of papers.

 

“Good-evening, doctor. Coming to dine? Or is this a professional call?”

 

The last was in allusion to my black bag, which I had laid down on the oak

chest.

 

I explained that I expected a summons to a confinement case at any moment, and

so had come out prepared for an emergency call. Raymond nodded, and went on his

way, calling over his shoulder:—

 

“Go into the drawing-room. You know the way. The ladies will be down in a

minute. I must just take these papers to Mr. Ackroyd, and I’ll tell him you’re

here.”

 

On Raymond’s appearance Parker had withdrawn, so I was alone in the hall. I

settled my tie, glanced in a large mirror which hung there, and crossed to the

door directly facing me, which was, as I knew, the door of the drawing-room.

 

I noticed, just as I was turning the handle, a sound from within—the shutting

down of a window, I took it to be. I noted it, I may say, quite mechanically,

without attaching any importance to it at the time.

 

I opened the door and walked in. As I did so, I almost collided with Miss

Russell, who was just coming out. We both apologized.