Bailey emerged from the fireplace with a handful of sooty flakes.
"Is this all right?"
"Yes. Now rub it on the handle of that bag." She indicated the
little black bag in which Doctor Wells carried the usual
paraphernalia of a country Doctor.
A private suspicion grew in Bailey's mind as to whether Miss
Cornelia's fine but eccentric brain had not suffered too sorely
under the shocks of the night. But he did not dare disobey. He
blackened the handle of the Doctor's bag with painstaking
thoroughness and awaited further instructions.
"Somebody's coming!" Dale whispered, warning from her post by the
door.
Bailey quickly went to the fireplace and resumed his pretended
labors with the fire. Miss Cornelia moved away from the Doctor's
bag and spoke for the benefit of whoever might be coming.
"We all need sleep," she began, as if ending a conversation with
Dale, "and I think--"
The door opened, admitting Billy.
"Doctor just go upstairs," he said, and went out again leaving the
door open.
A flash passed across Miss Cornelia's face. She stepped to the door.
She called.
"Doctor! Oh, Doctor!"
"Yes?" answered the Doctor's voice from the main staircase. His
steps clattered down the stairs--he entered the room. Perhaps he
read something in Miss Cornelia's manner that demanded an explanation
of his action. At any rate, he forestalled her, just as she was
about to question him.
"I was about to look around above," he said.
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