"No, walked. I have no cycle here. My brother doesn't like me using one. If I had, it would have saved time. I came through the woods." "You were quick, anyway," I said approvingly. "Now listen, Miss Lessing. Your brother has had a severe shock; of what sort I know no more than you. He will probably tell us in his own time. For the present, I don't want him worried in any way. I shall come again tomorrow. If I may advise you, I would lock this place and keep the key until he asks you for it. Have you touched anything in the room since this morning?" "No. It is as he left it." Then Lessing himself had removed the tell-tale carpet. I thought a moment. "Was your brother wearing pyjamas when he went out last evening?" "He changed into them after dinner, I remember. It is hot in here of an evening, and he nearly always wears them to work in." "Did you hear any noise last night?" "No." She hesitated a moment. "My sister-in-law was very restless last night, and she was talking in her sleep. She seemed to be in pain, so I went in to her, but she was sound asleep and I went back to bed. I heard nothing outside." "Where was the dog?" "Shut up. We used to have him loose, but he's sometimes noisy at night, and lately my brother has taken a fancy to have him shut up." "It doesn't seem likely that he would trouble him here," I said. She bit her lip. "Doctor Haverill, what is it?" "My dear young lady," I said, "I can know nothing until your brother is able to give us some account." I had almost said "chooses," but I changed the word on a look at her face. "After all," I said lightly, "you must remember I am here only as a doctor, and a stranger at that!" I turned back to where the mare was waiting, and she followed me, locking the door behind her. "I shall be at the house all day, if I'm wanted, but I don't think I shall be. Meantime, you'll remember what I've told you. Your brother will have to make up sleep before he can tell us anything at all." She seemed to take it quite as a matter of course that I should be giving my directions to her instead of Mrs. Lessing. It was as if she took the responsible place instinctively in the household. I climbed into the buggy, turning the mare around, and she nodded a good-bye to me. My last glimpse, as I left the house, was of her slim bare-headed figure, wistful in its very air of self-reliance, standing there in the sunshine with the setter by her side. IV DUTCHMAN'S HILL