Ричард Марш
Miss Arnott's Marriage

CHAPTER XXX
MISS ARNOTT IS EXAMINED

Mr Stacey put a question to Mr Gilbert.

"Have you got rid of her?"

"Very much so. Stacey, I must see Miss Arnott at once, the sooner the safer. I'm afraid she did it."

"Do you mean that she killed that fellow in Cooper's Spinney? I don't believe a word of it. What's that woman been saying?"

"It's not a question of belief but of fact. I'll tell you afterwards what she's been saying. What we want to do is to get at the truth. I fancy we shall do it if you let me have a few minutes' conversation with your young friend. If she didn't do it I'll do my level best to prevent a hair of her head from being injured, and if she did I may be able to save her. This is one of those cases in which, before I'm able to move, I must know just where I am standing."

"You seem to have an ethical standard of your own."

"A man in my line of business must have. Where's Miss Arnott?"

"I'll take you to her. She's expecting you. I told her you'd like to have a little talk with her. But, mind this, she's anything but well, poor girl! I believe she's been worried half out of her mind."

"I shouldn't wonder."

"I didn't bring you down here to subject her to a hostile cross-examination. I won't let you do it-especially in her present condition."

"When you've finished perhaps you'll take me to her; you don't want her to hang."

"Hang! Gilbert! God forbid! Whatever she may have done she's only a child, and I'm persuaded that at heart she's as innocent as you or me."

"If she isn't more innocent than I am I'm sorry for her. Will you take me to see this paragon of all the feminine virtues?"

"You wear your cynicism like a cloak; it's not such an essential part as you choose to imagine."

Ernest Gilbert smiled as if he would show his teeth.

Mr Stacey led the way to an apartment which was called the red drawing-room, where already that afternoon Miss Arnott had interviewed Hugh Morice and Mrs Forrester. It was a pleasant, well-lighted room, three windows ran up one side of it almost from floor to ceiling. The girl was standing in front of one of these as the two men entered, looking out on to the Italian garden, which was a blaze of sunshine and of flowers. Mr Stacey crossed to her with his somewhat exuberant, old-fashioned courtesy.

"Permit me, my dear young lady, to offer you a chair. I think you will find this a comfortable one. There, how is that?" She had seated herself, at his invitation, in a large, straight-backed armchair covered with a fine brocade, gold on a crimson background, whose age only enhanced its beauty. "As I was telling you just now, I have heard, to my great distress, that several things have happened recently, hereabouts, which could hardly tend to an increase of your comfort."

"No, indeed."

"Part of my information came from my very good friend here, and he will be your very good friend also if you will let him. Let me introduce you to Mr Ernest Gilbert."

In acknowledgment of the introduction the girl inclined her head. Mr Gilbert gave his a perfunctory little shake, as if he had a stiff neck.

"I am glad to meet you, Mr Gilbert. I was sorry to learn from Mr Morice that you have sent me back my money and refused to defend Jim Baker."

Mr Stacey interposed before the other had a chance to answer.

"Quite so, my dear young lady, quite so; we will come to that presently. Mr Gilbert came to see me this morning on that very subject. It is in consequence of certain communications which he then made to me that we are here. You instructed him, from what I understand, to defend this unfortunate man."

"Which he at first consented, and then declined to do."

This time it was Mr Gilbert who interposed, before Mr Stacey was ready with his reply.

"Stacey, if you don't mind, I'll speak. I think it's possible that Miss Arnott and I may understand each other in half a dozen sentences."

Mr Gilbert was leaning over the back of a chair, right in front of her. The girl eyed him steadily. There was a perceptible interval, during which neither spoke, as if each was taking the other's measure. Then the girl smiled, naturally, easily, as if amused by some quality which she discerned either in the lawyer's terrier-like countenance or in the keenness of his scrutiny. It was she who was the first to speak, still with an air of amusement.

"I will try to understand you, and I should like you to understand me. At present I'm afraid you don't."

"I'm beginning to."

"Are you? That's good news."

"Your nerves are strong."

"I've always flattered myself that they weren't weak."

"You like plain speaking."

"I do-that is, when occasion requires."

"This is such an occasion."

"I think it is."

"Then you won't mind my asking you a plain question."

"Not at all."

"Who killed that man in Cooper's Spinney?"

"I don't know."

"You are sure?"

"Quite."

"Are you aware that Jim Baker thinks you killed him?"

"I am."

"And that Hugh Morice thinks so also?"

"I know he did think so; I fancy that now he has his doubts-at least, I hope he has."

"How do you explain the fact of two such very different men being under the same erroneous impression?"

"I can't explain it; I can explain nothing. I don't know if you are aware that until quite recently I thought it was Mr Morice himself who killed that man."

"What made you think that?"

"Two or three things, but as I am now of a different opinion it doesn't matter what they were."

"But it does matter-it matters very much. What made you think that Hugh Morice killed that man?"

The girl turned to Mr Stacey.

"Shall I answer him? It's like this. I don't know where Mr Gilbert's questions may be landing me, and I don't want to have more trouble than I have had already-especially on this particular point."

"My dear young lady, if your own conscience acquits you-and I am sure it does-my strongest advice to you is, tell all you have to tell. The more light we have thrown on the matter the better. I grieve to learn that the finger of scandal has been pointed at you, and that, if we are not very careful, very serious and disagreeable consequences may presently ensue. I implore you to hide nothing from us which may enable us to afford you more than adequate protection from any danger which may threaten. This may prove to be a very grave business."

"I'm not afraid of what may happen to me, not one bit. Pray don't either of you be under any delusion on that point. What I don't want is to have something happen to anyone else because of me." She addressed Mr Gilbert. "What use will you make of any information which I may give you with regard to Mr Morice?"

"If it will relieve your mind, Miss Arnott, and enable you to answer my question, let me inform you that I am sure-whatever you may suppose to the contrary-that Hugh Morice is not the guilty person."

"Why are you sure?"

"First, because I know him; and he's not that kind of man. And second, because in the course of a lengthy interview I had with him I should have perceived something to cause me to suspect his guilt, instead of which I was struck by his conviction of yours."

"Now I also believe he is innocent-but I had reasons for my doubts; better ones than he had for his doubts of me."

"May I ask what those reasons were?"

"I was within a very short distance of where the murder was committed, and though I was not an actual witness, I heard. A moment afterwards I saw Mr Morice come running from-the place where it was done, as if for his life. Then-by the dead man I found the knife with which he had been killed. It was Mr Morice's knife; a few minutes before I had seen him with it in his hand."

"You found Hugh Morice's knife? What did you do with it?"

"It is still in my possession. You see, I thought that he was guilty, and-for reasons of my own-I did not wish to have the fact made public."

"This is a curious tangle into which you have managed to get things between you. Have you any idea of what it is Mrs Darcy Sutherland has just been telling me?"

"I can guess. She has probably told you that the dead man was my husband-Robert Champion."

"Your husband! My dear young lady!"

This was Mr Stacey.

"Yes, my husband, who had that morning been released from gaol." Mr Stacey would, probably, have pursued the subject further, but with a gesture Mr Gilbert prevented him. The girl went on. "Mr Morice knew he was my husband. I thought he had killed him to save me from him; he thought I had done so to save myself. It is a puzzle. There is only one thing that seems clear."

"And that is?"

"That it was a woman who killed my husband."

"I see what you mean. I have been trying to splice the threads. That person who has just been here-Mrs Darcy Sutherland-do you think it possible that she could have been that woman?"

"I should say that it was impossible."

CHAPTER XXXI
THE TWO POLICEMEN

Mr William Granger, of the County Police, was just finishing tea in his official residence when there came a rap at the door leading into the street. Mr Granger was not in the best of tempers. The county policeman has not quite such a rosy time as his urban colleague is apt to suppose. Theoretically he is never off duty; his armlet is never off his sleeve. It is true that he has not so much to do as his city brother in the way of placing law-breakers under lock and key; but then he has to do a deal of walking exercise. For instance, Mr Granger had a twelve-mile beat to go over every day of his life, hot or cold, rain or shine, besides various local perambulations before or after his main round was finished. Not infrequently he walked twenty miles a day, occasionally more.

One would have thought that so much pedestrianism would have kept Mr Granger thin; he himself sincerely wished that it had had that effect. As a matter of fact he was the stoutest man in the village, which was galling. First, because he was conscious that his bulk did not tend to an increase of personal dignity. Second, because, when the inspector came from the neighbouring town, he was apt to make unpleasant remarks about his getting plumper every time he saw him; hinting that it was a very snug and easy billet for which he drew his pay; adding a hope that it was not because he was neglecting his duty that he was putting on weight so fast. Third, because when one is fat walking is apt to result in considerable physical discomfort, and twenty miles on a hot summer's day for a man under five foot ten who turns the scale at seventeen stone!

Mr Granger, who had come back hot and tired, had scarcely flung his helmet into one corner of the room, and his tunic into the other, when his inspector entered. That inspector was fond of paying surprise visits; he surprised Mr Granger very much just then. The policeman had a bad time. His official superior more than hinted that not only had he cut his round unduly short on that particular day, but that he was in the habit of curtailing it, owing to physical incapacity. Then he took him for another little stroll, insisting on his accompanying him to the station and seeing him off in the train which took him back to headquarters, which entailed another walk of a good six miles-three there and three back-along the glaring, dusty road.

By the time Mr Granger was home again he was as bad-tempered a policeman as you would have cared to encounter. Tea, which had been postponed to an unholy hour, did but little to improve either his temper or his spirits. He scarcely opened his mouth except to swallow his food and snap at his wife; and when, just as she was clearing away the tea-things, there came that rap at the door, there proceeded from his lips certain expletives which were very unbecoming to a constable, as his wife was not slow to point out.

"William! what are you saying? I will not have you use such language in my presence. I should like to know what Mr Giles would say if he heard you."

Mr Giles was the inspector with whom Mr Granger had just such an agreeable interview; the allusion was unfortunate.

"Mr Giles be-"

"William!"

"Then you shouldn't exasperate me; you only do it on purpose; as if I hadn't enough to put up with as it is. Don't stand there trying to put me in a bad temper, but just open that door and see who's knocking."

Possibly Mr Granger spoke in louder tones than he supposed, because before his helpmate could reach the door in question it was opened and someone put his head inside.

"All right, Mr Granger, I'm sure that good lady of yours has enough to do without bothering about opening doors; it's only yours very truly."

The newcomer spoke in a tone of voice which suggested complete confidence that he would be welcome; a confidence, however, which was by no means justified by the manner of his reception. The constable stared at him as if he would almost sooner have seen Inspector Giles again.

"You! What brings you here at this time of day? I thought you were in London."

"Ah, that's where you thought wrong. Mrs Granger, what's that you've got there-tea? I'm just about feeling equal to a sup of tea, if it's only what's left at the bottom of the pot."

The speaker was a tall, loose-limbed man with a red face, and hair just turning grey. From his appearance he might have been a grazier, or a farmer, or something to do with cattle; only it happened that he was Mr Thomas Nunn, the detective from London who had been specially detailed for duty in connection with the murder in Cooper's Spinney. As Mr Granger had learned to associate his presence with worries of more kinds than one, it was small wonder-especially in the frame of mind in which he then was-that he did not receive him with open arms. Mr Nunn seemed to notice nothing, not even the doubtful glances with which Mrs Granger looked into her teapot.

"There isn't a drop in here, and I don't know that it will bear more water."

"Put in another half-spoonful and fill it up out of the kettle; anything'll do for me so long as there's plenty of it and it's moist, as you'd know if you saw the inside of my throat. Talk about dust!"

Mr Granger was eyeing him askance.

"You never come down from London. I saw the train come in, and you weren't in it."

"No, I haven't come from London."

"The last train back to London's gone-how are you going to manage?"

"Well, if it does come to the pinch I thought that you might give me a shake-down somewhere."

The policeman glanced at his wife.

"I don't know about that. I ain't been paid for the last time you were here. They don't seem too anxious to pay your bills-your people don't."

"That's their red tape. You'll get your money. This time, however, I'm going to pay for what I have down on the nail."

"What's brought you? You know, Mr Nunn, this ain't an inn. My wife and me don't pretend to find quarters for all the members of the force."

"Of course you don't. But I think you'll be interested when you hear what has brought me. I may be wrong, but I think you will. I've come from Winchester."

"From Winchester?"

Husband and wife both started.

"Yes, from Winchester. I've been to see that chap Baker. By the way, I hear he's a relation of yours."

"Most of the people is related hereabouts, somehow; but he's only distant. He's only a sort of a cousin, and I've never had much truck with him though I ain't saying he's not a relation. What's up with him now?"

"He made a communication to the governor, and the governor made a communication to headquarters, and headquarters made a communication to me. In consequence of that communication I've been paying him a call."

"What's the last thing he's been saying?"

"Well, he's been making a confession."

At this point Mrs Granger-who was lingering with the tea-tray-interposed.

"A confession, Mr Nunn! You don't mean for to tell that after all he owns up 'twas he who killed he man?"

"No, I can't say exactly that I do. It's not that sort of confession he's been making. What he's been confessing is that he knows who did kill him."

"Who was it, Mr Nunn?"

"Supposing, Mrs Granger, you were to get me that sup of tea. If you were to know what my throat felt like you wouldn't expect to get much through it till it had had a good rinsing."

The constable issued his marital orders.

"Now then, Susan, hurry up with that tea for Mr Nunn. What are you standing there gaping for? If you were to know what the dust is like you'd move a little quicker."

Mrs Granger proceeded to hurry. Mr Nunn seated himself comfortably at the table and waited, showing no sign of a desire to continue the conversation till the tea appeared. His host dropped a hint or two, pointing out that to him, in his official capacity, the matter was of capital importance. But Mr Nunn declined to take them. When the tea did appear he showed more reticence than seemed altogether necessary. He was certainly slower in coming to the point than his hearers relished. Mr Granger did his best to prompt him.

"Well, Mr Nunn, now that you've had three cups of tea perhaps you wouldn't mind mentioning what Jim Baker's been saying that's brought you here."

Mr Nunn helped himself to a fourth.

"I'm in rather a difficult position."

"I daresay. It might make it easier perhaps if you were to tell me just what it is."

"I'm not so sure, Granger, I'm not so sure. That relative of yours is a queer fish."

"Maybe I know what sort of a fish he is better than you do, seeing I've known him all my life."

"What I've got to ask myself is-What reliance is to be placed on what he says?"

"Perhaps I might be able to tell you if you were to let me know what he does say."

"Oh, that's the point." Mr Nunn stirred what remained of his fourth cup of tea with a meditative air. "Mr Granger, I don't want to say anything that sounds unfriendly or that's calculated to hurt your feelings, but I'm beginning to be afraid that you've muddled this case."

"Me muddled it! Seeing that you've had the handling of it from the first, if anyone's muddled it, it's you."

"I don't see how you make that out, Mr Granger, seeing that you're on the spot and I'm not."

"What's the good of being on the spot if I'm not allowed to move a finger except by your instructions?"

"Have there been rumours, Mr Granger? and by that I mean rumours which a man who had his professional advancement at heart might have laid his hand on."

"Of course there have been rumours! there's been nothing else but rumours! But every time I mentioned one of them to you all I got was a wigging for my pains."

"That's because the ones you mentioned to me were only will-o'-the-wisps. According to the information I've received the real clues you've let slip through your fingers."

Mr Granger stood up. He was again uncomfortably hot. His manner was hardly deferential.

"Excuse me, Mr Nunn, but if you've come here to lecture me while drinking of my wife's tea, since I've had a long and a hard day's work, perhaps you'll let me go and clean myself and have a bit of rest."

"If there's anything in what Jim Baker says there's plenty for you to do, Mr Granger, before you think of resting."

"What the devil does he say?"

"You needn't swear at me, Mr Granger, thank you all the same. I've come here for the express purpose of telling you what he says."

"Then you're a long time doing it."

"Don't you speak to me like that, Granger, because I won't have it. I conduct the cases which are placed in my hands in my own way, and I don't want no teaching from you. Jim Baker says that although he didn't kill the chap himself he saw him being killed, and who it was that killed him."

"Who does he say it was?"

"Why, the young woman up at Exham Park-Miss Arnott."

CHAPTER XXXII
THE HOUSEMAID'S TALE

Mr And Mrs Granger looked at each other. Then the husband dropped down into the chair which he had just vacated with a sound which might be described as a snort; it was perhaps because he was a man of such plethoric habit that the slightest occasion for surprise caused him to emit strange noises. His wife caught at the edge of the table with both her hands.

"Lawk-a-mussy!" she exclaimed. "To think of Jim Baker saying that!"

"It seems to me," observed Mr Nunn, with an air of what he perhaps meant to be rhadamanthine severity, "that if there's anything in what that chap says somebody ought to have had their suspicions before now. I don't say who."

This with a very meaning glance at Mr Granger.

"Suspicions!" cried the lady. "Why, Mr Nunn, there ain't been nothing but suspicions! I shouldn't think there was a soul for ten miles round that hasn't been suspected by someone else of having done it. You wouldn't have had my husband lock 'em all up! Do you believe Jim Baker?"

"That's not the question. It's evidence I want, and it's for evidence, Mr Granger, I've come to you."

"Evidence of what?" gasped the policeman. "I don't know if you think I keep evidence on tap as if it was beer. All the evidence I have you've got-and more."

His wife persisted in her inquiry.

"What I ask you, Mr Nunn, is-Are you going to lock up that young lady because of what Jim Baker says?"

"And I repeat, Mrs Granger, that that's not the question, though you must allow me to remark, ma'am, that I don't see what is your locus standi in the matter."

"Aren't you drinking my tea?"

"I don't see what my drinking your tea has got to do with it anyhow. At the same time, since it'll all soon enough be public property, I don't know that it's of much consequence. Of course a man hasn't been at the game all the years I have without becoming aware that nothing's more common than for A, when he's accused of a crime, to try to lay the blame of it on B; and that, therefore, if for that reason only, what that chap in Winchester Gaol says smells fishy. But at the same time the statement he has made is of such a specific nature, and should be so open to corroboration, or the reverse, that I'm bound to admit that if anything did turn up to give it colour I should feel it my duty to act on it at once."

"Do you mean that you'd have her arrested?"

"I do-that is if, as I say, I obtain anything in the nature of corroborative evidence, and for that I look to Mr Granger."

There was no necessity for him to do that, fortunately for the peace of mind and body of the active and intelligent officer referred to. Evidence of the kind of which he spoke was coming from an altogether different quarter. Indeed, it was already at the door.

Hardly had he done speaking than a modest tap was heard. Opening, Mrs Granger found a small urchin standing in the dusk without, who slipped an envelope into her hand, with which she returned into the room, peering at the address.

"What's this? 'To the Policeman.' I suppose, William, that means you; it's only some rubbish, I suppose."

She passed the envelope to her husband, who peered at the address as she had done.

"Let's have the lamp, Susan, you can't see to read in this here light. Not that I suppose it's anything worth reading, but mine ain't cat's eyes anyhow."

The lamp was lit and placed upon the table. Mr Granger studied what was written on the sheet of paper which he took from the envelope.

"Robert Champion was the name of the man who was murdered in the wood. The mistress of Exham Park, who calls herself Miss Arnott, was his wife. He came out of Wandsworth Prison to see her. And he saw her.

"Ask her why she said nothing about it.

"Then the whole truth will come out."

Mr Granger read this once, twice, thrice, while his wife and Mr Nunn were watching him. Then he scratched his head.

"This is rummy-uncommon. Here, you take and look at it, it's beyond me altogether."

He handed the sheet of paper to Mr Nunn, who mastered its contents at a glance. Then he addressed a question to Mrs Granger, shortly, sharply.

"Who gave you this?"

"What is it?"

"Never mind what it is, woman! Answer my question-who gave it you?"

"It's no use your speaking to me like that, Mr Nunn, and so I'd have you know. I'm no servant of yours! Some child slipped it into my hand, but what with the bad light and the flurry I was in because of what you'd been saying, I didn't notice what child no more than nothing at all."

Mr Nunn seemed disturbed.

"It'll be a serious thing for you, Mrs Granger, if you're not able to recognise who gave you this. You say it was a child? There can't be so many children in the place. I'll find out which of them it was if I have to interview every one in the parish. It can't have got so far away; perhaps it's still waiting outside."

As he moved towards the entrance, with a view of finding out if the bearer of that singular communication was still loitering in the immediate neighbourhood, he became conscious that someone was approaching from without-more than one. While he already had the handle in his grasp it was turned with a certain degree of violence by someone on the other side; the door was thrown open, and he found himself confronted by what, in the gathering darkness, seemed quite a crowd of persons.

"Is William Granger in?" demanded a feminine voice in not the most placable of tones. Mr Nunn replied, -

"Mr Granger is in. Who are you, and what do you want with him?"

"I'm his sister, Elizabeth Wilson, that's who I am, and I should like to know who you are to ask me such a thing. And as for what I want, I want justice; me and my daughter, Sarah Ann, we both want justice-and I'm going to see I get it too. My own cousin, Jim Baker, he's in prison this moment for what he never did, and I'm going to see that he's let out of prison double quick and the party as ought to be in prison put there. So you stand out of the way and let me get inside this house to see my brother."

Mr Nunn did as he was requested, and Mrs Wilson entered, accompanied by her daughter, Sarah Ann. He looked at the assemblage without.

"Who are all these people?"

"They're my friends, that's who they are. They know all about it, and they've come to see that I have fair play, and they'll see that I have it too, and so I'd have everyone to understand."

By way of commentary Mr Nunn shut the door upon the "friends" and stood with his back to it.

"Now then, Granger, who's this woman? And what's she talking about?"

Mrs Wilson answered for her brother.

"Don't you call me a woman, as if I was the dirt under your feet. And as for who I am-William, who's this man? He's taking some fine airs on himself. As what I have to say to you I don't want to have to say before strangers, perhaps you'll just ask him to take himself outside."

"Now, Liz," observed her brother, fraternally, "don't you be no more silly than you can help. This gentleman's Mr Nunn, what's in charge of the case-you know what case. He saw Jim Baker in Winchester Gaol only this afternoon."

"In Winchester Gaol, did he! Then more shame to them as put him in Winchester Gaol, and him as innocent as the babe unborn! And with them as did ought to be there flaunting about in all them fine feathers, and with all their airs and graces, as if they were so many peacocks!"

"What might you happen to be talking about?"

"I'm talking about what I know, that's what I happen to be talking about, William Granger, and so you'll soon learn. I know who ought to be there instead of him, and if you've a drop of cousinly blood in your veins you'll see that he's out of that vile place, where none of my kith or kin ever was before, and that you know, the first thing to-morrow morning."

"Oh, you know who did ought to be there, do you? This is news, this is. Perhaps you'll mention that party's name. Only let me warn you, Elizabeth Wilson, to be careful what you say, or you may find yourself in worse trouble than you quite like."

"I'll be careful what I say, I don't need you to tell me, William Granger! And I'll tell you who ought to be in Winchester Gaol instead of Jim Baker-why, that there proud, stuck-up young peacock over at Exham Park, that there Miss Arnott!"

"Liz! I've told you already not to be more silly than you can help. What do you know about Miss Arnott?"

"What do I know about Miss Arnott? I'll soon tell you what I know about your fine Miss Arnott. Sarah Ann, tell your uncle what you know about that there Miss Arnott."

Then the tale was unfolded-by Wilson the housemaid-by degrees, with many repetitions, in somewhat garbled form; still, the essential truth, so far as she knew it, was there.

She told how, that eventful Saturday, the young mistress had been out in the woods, as she put it, "till goodness only knows what hours of the night." How, the next morning, the key of the wardrobe drawer was lost; how, after many days, she, Wilson, had found it in the hem of her own skirt, how she had tried the lock, "just to see if it really was the key," of what the drawer contained-the stained clothing, the bloody knife. She narrated, with dramatic force, how first Evans and then Miss Arnott had come upon the scene, how the knife and the camisole had been wrested from her, how she herself had been ejected from the house.

When she had finished Mr Nunn looked up from the pocket-book in which he had been making copious notes of the words as they came from her lips.

"What you've said, Sarah Ann Wilson, you've said of your own free will?"

"Of course I have. Haven't I come here on purpose?"

"And you're prepared to repeat your statement in a court of law, and swear to its truth?"

"I am. I'll swear to it anywhere."

"You don't know what has become of that knife you've mentioned?"

"Haven't I told you that she took it from me? – she and Mrs Evans between them."

"Yes; just so. Well, Mr Granger, all that I want now is a warrant for the arrest of this young lady. And, at the same time, we'll search the house. We'll find the knife of which this young woman speaks, if it's to be found; only we mustn't let her have any longer time than we can help to enable her to get rid of it, which, from all appearances, is the first thing she'll try to do. So perhaps you'll be so good as to tell me where I shall be likely to find the nearest magistrate-now, at once."

"I am a magistrate. What is there I can do for you, Mr Nunn?"

Looking round to see from whom the unexpected answer came, they saw that Mr Hugh Morice was standing in the open doorway. Closing the door behind him he came into the room.