mechanically, without attaching any importance to it at the time.
I opened the door and walked in. As I did so I almost collided with Miss Russell who was just coming out. We both apologized.
For the first time I found myself appraising the housekeeper and thinking what a handsome woman she must once have been—indeed, as far as that goes, still was. Her dark hair was unstreaked with grey, and when she had a colour, as she had at this minute, the stern quality of her looks was not so apparent.
Quite subconsciously I wondered whether she had been out, for she was breathing hard, as though she had been running.
“I’m afraid I’m a few minutes early,” I said.
“Oh! I don’t think so. It’s gone half-past seven, Dr. Sheppard.” She paused a minute before saying, “I—didn’t know you were expected to dinner tonight. Mr. Ackroyd didn’t mention it.”
I received a vague impression that my dining there displeased her in some way, but I couldn’t imagine why.
“How’s the knee?” I inquired.
“Much the same, thank you, doctor. I must be going now. Mrs. Ackroyd will be down in a moment. I—I only came in here to see if the flowers were all right.”
She passed quickly out of the room. I strolled to the window, wondering at her evident desire to justify her presence in the room. As I did so, I saw what, of course, I might have known all the time had I troubled to give my mind to it, namely, that the windows were long French ones opening on the terrace. The sound I had heard, therefore, could not have been that of a window being shut down.