They were reaching the mouth of the valley. The lane dipped unexpectedly into a thick plantation of young trees, turned abruptly at right angles over a cart track, and five minutes later she sighted a long discoloured wall, which enclosed a squat, low-roofed building. She saw that the other side of the house faced a road, and again she wondered why they had not reached their destination by a more comfortable route. Evidently she was expected, for the weather-beaten gate was pulled open and they passed into an untidy farmyard. Half a dozen chickens scattered at their approach; from a patched and broken pen came the grunt of a pig. “Here we are.” He stopped the car, and, jumping out into the litter, he jerked open the door and helped her to alight. The girl looked round in surprise. She saw a long, rambling farm-house, and of the windows that were in view, all except two had not been cleaned for years. To her left was a cavernous black barn, its doors hanging on broken hinges, and, she guessed, immovable. It was empty save for a rusted old plough and the wheelless body of a farm waggon. The place smelt of decay and she noted in that brief survey that at one end of the building the roof was nearly innocent of tiles. “This is not on Lady Moron’s estate?” she asked. “No, it is a little place that a friend of ours--hers I mean--has. You’ve met Dr. Tappatt?” “Dr. Tappatt?” she frowned. Of course, it was the queer, uncleanly doctor, with the bulbous nose, who had lunched at Chester Square. “Is he here?” she asked dismally. The last person in the world she wanted to spend a day with was the doctor. “Yes, he’s here. He’s not a bad fellow; I knew him in India, and I think you’ll like him.” They had evidently come in the back way of the farm, for the only visible door into the house was closed and bolted. He knocked for a little while before a woman’s harsh voice asked who was there, and in a little time there was a sound of rusted bolts being drawn and a tall, gaunt female showed in the doorway. She wore a soiled print dress; her face was sallow and grimy. “Come in, mister,” she said, and they passed into a dark corridor. The house smelt damp and sour, and the ancient carpet on the floor was too thin to deaden the hollow echoes of their footsteps. “The doctor is here.” She wiped her hands mechanically upon her black apron, and showed them into a room leading off the passage. It was a dingy apartment, as unsavoury as the house itself. Huddled in one corner of a horsehair sofa, before the ashes of a wood fire, a man was sleeping, wrapped in an old dressing-gown. The air was thick and redolent of stale smoke and whisky fumes, and the girl drew back in disgust. Chesney went past her and shook the sleeping man. “Here, wake up,” he said roughly. “There’s somebody to see you.” Dr. Tappatt’s head jerked up. If he had been unpleasant at midday in Chester Square, he was repulsive now.