paling dusk that the house would soon be stirring. She went out
and noiselessly locked the door again. But it was useless to
begin looking for Quain now--her husband had a good many dull
books, most of them his 'eccentric' father's. What must the
servants be thinking? and what was all that talk about a
mysterious visitor? She would have to question Ada--
diplomatically. She returned to her room and sat down in an
arm-chair, and waited. In sheer weariness she fell into a doze,
and woke at the sound of dustpan and broom. She rang the bell,
and asked for hot water, tea, and a basin of cornflour.

'And please, Ada, be as quiet as possible over your work; your
master is in a nice sleep, and must not be disturbed on any
account. In the front bedroom.' She looked up suddenly. 'By the
way, who let Dr Ferguson in last night?' It was dangerous, but
successful.

'Dr Ferguson, ma'am? Oh, you mean... He WAS in.'

Sheila smiled resignedly. 'Was in? What do you mean, "was in"?
And where were you, then?'

'I had been sent out to Critchett's, the chemist's.'

'Of course, of course. So cook let Dr Ferguson in, then? Why
didn't you say so before, Ada? And did you bring the medicine
with you?'

'It was a packet in an envelope, ma'am. But Cook is sure she
heard no knock--not while I was out. So Dr Ferguson must have