“Oh, undoubtedly—the tooth had been filled on a previous occasion and the filling had worn away. The patient had been in considerable pain, she informed me, and I could well understand it. She had probably caught cold in the bad tooth.” “Thank you,” observed the Inspector. “Please proceed.” “Well, here comes the extraordinary part of the story.” Here Branston’s nervousness began to show itself again. “The job took me a little longer than I had anticipated—when I turned to open the door of the room in which I was working, I found to my complete astonishment that I was shut in. Somebody had shot the brass bolt on the outside of the work-room door. I called out and banged on the door but there I had to stay until my housekeeper heard me yelling and released me. I rushed back to the operating room and discovered—this.” “How long were you away—as accurately, now, as you can possibly place it?” Branston knitted his brows in reflection. “I wouldn’t put it at more than seven minutes,” he answered, calculatingly. “Did you hear any step at all when you were in the work-room?” He shook his head decisively. “No! I didn’t! The carpet on the stairs and along the landing to the work-room is very thick, you know.” Bannister went to the door and looked out. “This back staircase leads to the patients’ entrance in Coolwater Avenue—I suppose?” “That’s so, Inspector.” The Inspector closed the door and came back. “The lady of course, was a chance patient—not an appointment case?” “A complete stranger.” “Were any other patients waiting, do you know?” “I had no definite appointment till half-past two. I couldn’t say if there were any other chance cases waiting in either of the waiting-rooms. Certainly I can remember nobody coming out when we discovered what had happened.” Bannister thought hard for a moment. “Did the expected client arrive at half-past two?” Branston smiled for the first time. “’Pon my soul,” he exclaimed, “I’ve never given him another thought. It was twenty minutes past two when I ’phoned up for the Police—I must have clean forgotten him. If he came—he probably cleared off in the ‘schemozzle.’” “What’s his name?” demanded Bannister. “He’s a Mr. Jacob Morley—a local gentleman—I rather fancy he styles himself a Turf accountant.” Branston permitted himself the suggestion of a smile. “Sound man?” Branston shrugged his shoulders. “I know nothing to the contrary.” “All right, then, Mr. Branston,” put in Bannister after a slight pause, “I don’t think I need detain you any longer. That is all I want to know for the moment.” Branston bowed and withdrew, Doctor Renfrew following him. Sergeant Godfrey caught his superior’s eye and understood the intended meaning. “I’ve told Stannard and Waghorn to watch points in that direction—that will be all right.” “Very good,” rejoined the Inspector, “let’s hear Mrs. Bertenshaw’s story.”