Staring into the fire, he was studying the mentality of Captain Michael Dorn and he reached certain conclusions. The woman attendant had long since gone to bed, and was asleep when he shuffled down the passage and knocked at her door. “Come out; I want to speak to you.” He heard her grumbling, and went back to the study. Once in the period of waiting he looked at the telephone and reached out his hand half-way to take it. But he knew that the person he had in mind was not to be lightly disturbed again, and he had already made his report. No, his method was the best, he decided; and if he was mistaken in his estimate of Michael Dorn no harm would be done. When the woman came blinking into the light, buttoning up her dress, he nodded to a chair and for half an hour they talked, the woman interpolating sour objections which he dismissed without ceremony. “I haven’t had any sleep for two nights,” she complained, “and I don’t see why----” “Are you expected to see anything?” he snarled. “You’re a listener--no more!” She had served him for the greater part of twenty years and was afraid of no other person in the world. And from grumbling she came to whining, until he waved her out of the room. At seven o’clock in the morning Dr. Tappatt, dressed in a thick woollen overcoat, for he felt the chill air of the morning, drew up the blinds and opened the windows of his parlour, having previously made a tour of inspection. Heaping two more logs on the fire, he gathered some scraps of meat and carried them out to the dogs, who greeted him with hoarse barks of welcome. He took his time, finding a malicious joy in his tardiness. Then, when he had toured the yard, he went round to the front of the house again, turned the key, unbolted the gate, and pulled it open. A man was standing squarely opposite the entrance, and the doctor started. “Good morning, Dr. Tappatt,” said Michael Dorn. “I had an idea I should see you if I came early enough.” “Good gracious!” said Tappatt, in feigned surprise. “This is an unexpected pleasure, Captain Dorn!” “I am glad you think so. Did Miss Reddle sleep well?” The doctor’s brows furrowed. “Miss Reddle? I can’t remember--oh, yes, of course, it was that delightful young lady I met at the Countess of Moron’s house. What a queer question to ask me!” There was a silence. “You haven’t invited me in. You’ve lost your old Anglo-Indian sense of hospitality,” bantered Michael. Tappatt stood in the doorway, his hands in his pockets, his inflamed face thrust forward. “I don’t remember that we were especially good friends, Dorn,” he said. “I seem to remember certain unpleasant encounters----?” “Nevertheless--you are going to invite me inside, or else----” “Or else?” repeated the doctor. “Or else I shall invite myself. I have a particular wish to look round your little place.” Tappatt’s big mouth twisted in a smile. “With or without a search warrant?” he asked politely.