for a while.” There was a peevish rap on the door. “Ah, come in, Doctor.”
Dr. Worth was just as peevish as his knock. The camel’s-hair dressing gown in which he was still bundled hinted blurringly at indignant muscles that quivered beneath its loose folds. His hair was rumpled-looking and frowsy.
“Really, Lieutenant,” he began, “this is getting to be beyond a joke.”
“I’m sorry, Doctor, but I had to discuss Mrs. Endicott’s condition with you most seriously and at once.”
Dr. Worth paled a little at this.
“Nothing’s happened to her, too, has there?”
“No, Doctor, nothing has. And I don’t think that just now I could stand another murder. It’s about her physical condition in general. Is her heart all right?”