He rummaged through the clothes again, and this time his hand came in contact with a small red leather book, and he brought it out. It was the diary of Professor Frost. After a short struggle with his conscience he put it in his coat pocket and got to his feet. The key of the door was still in the lock. He turned it and went out into the hall.
Frost was standing beside the door, waiting. “I heard you talking. She’s in there, is she?”
“I was conferring with myself,” Prye said with dignity. “Joan has gone.”
“I hope your curiosity has been satisfied?”
“Far from it,” Prye said. “She picked a peculiar way to leave — through the window.”
“Joan chose this room, I believe, with such possibilities in mind. She was very... ah, athletic.”
“And she forgot her bag. Packed it and then forgot it. That’s odd, too. Don’t you agree?”
Frost paled, but he said steadily, “We are accustomed to oddities in our family.”
“I hope so,” Prye said grimly.
“What are you implying?”
“Nothing. Many thanks for the ladder. I’ll lend you mine sometime.”
He went out, pleased with himself. Five minutes later he closed Mr. Smith’s gate behind him, not quite so pleased. Mr. Smith, too, was gone, but unlike Joan he had remembered to take his luggage, his car, and his dog.
Prye walked thoughtfully along the lane. There was, he reflected, no reason why Mr. Smith should not leave, but the coincidence was strange. Or was it a coincidence? Two disappearances could equal an elopement.
But Mr. Smith, Nora had said, didn’t even speak to anyone in the community. And Joan’s bag had been left behind.
“I think,” Prye said, “that from now on I shall mind my own business. Starting tomorrow.”
Meanwhile, since he was only a few yards from the Littles’ cottage, he might just as well finish what he had started.
Tom Little opened the door. It was Prye’s first glimpse of Tom. He was no romantic figure that morning. He wore an old blue wrinkled suit, the coat stretched tight across his stomach. Beneath his eyes were two yellow bags of flesh like small shriveled lemons.
An aging Romeo, Prye decided, with a moribund liver.
“Hello,” he said cheerily, inserting his foot neatly in the doorway. “You’re Mr. Little, aren’t you? I’m Dr. Prye. Mrs. Little invited me to come and see her. Is she in?”
Tom looked startled. Turbaned men were not rare in his life, but they were usually very small and appeared before breakfast riding tiny blue elephants across the foot of his bed. He passed his hand across his eyes.
“I must apologize for my getup,” Prye said. “I forgot to bring along my sun helmet and this was the best I could do.”
In spite of Prye’s explanation Tom did not dissolve into amiability.
“My wife can’t see you today. She’s ill.”
“I’ll come in and take a look at her,” Prye said, coming in. “Where is she, upstairs?”
“She’s in bed,” Tom said shortly. “She said she didn’t want a doctor. She gets these spells every once in a while. They’re not serious.”
“Heart?”
“Yes. She has some stuff to take. She doesn’t want a doctor,” he repeated. “She doesn’t believe in doctors.”
“I frequently meet with resistance on the part of my patients,” Prye said easily.
“But she—” Tom stopped, shrugged his shoulders. “Very well. I’ll take you up.”
The curtains had not been drawn in Mary Little’s room and the sun was pouring in the windows, bringing to life the flowers in the chintz curtains and the rag rugs. In contrast the woman on the bed was like a corpse, and Prye drew in his breath at the sight of her.
Her face was the color of dull lead and the thin hands that rested outside the covers were blue. He took hold of one and found it as cold as death. She turned her head at his touch and a strand of drab hair fell across her forehead.
“Hello, Mrs. Little,” Prye said in his professional voice. “What seems to be the matter this morning?”
She pressed her hand silently to her heart.
“Any pain at all?”
“I’m all right,” she whispered.
“Any pain?” he repeated, frowning.
“Under my arm. Not really bad.”
“Down your left arm into your fingertips?”
She nodded.
“Have you had it before?”
She nodded again. She seemed to find it difficult to breathe.
“Is it worse this time?”
“No. The same. Please. I just want to lie here. I’m tired.”
Prye drew Tom out into the hall and closed the door. “How long has she been like this?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Just this morning, I guess.”
“Has she had a shock of any kind?”
Tom’s face turned slightly green. “What do you mean? What would give her a shock?”
“She hasn’t heard any bad news, such as a death?”
Tom put his hand on a table to steady himself. “What do you mean, a death? Has anyone died?”
“I don’t know,” Prye said truthfully. “I merely thought one of her relatives may have died.”
Tom’s relief was obvious. “Oh. No, she has no relatives living.”
“See here, Little. I don’t know much about heart diseases, but your wife looks pretty bad to me. I suggest that you call in your regular doctor immediately.”
“We have no regular doctor. She doesn’t want one. She—”
“Get Dr. Innes from Clayton. He’s a good man.”
“She did go to him last month. He told her she wasn’t to get excited. If I called him now when she doesn’t want him, she’ll get excited and—”
“Are you prepared to face a charge of criminal negligence?”
Tom tried to smile. “You’re joking. You don’t think my wife is going to die.”
“I don’t know anything about it,” Prye said irritably. “That’s why I’m telling you to get Innes and do it right away.”
Prye left him standing in the hall, still clutching the table for support.
The front door of Miss Bonner’s house opened so promptly that Prye suspected Wang of spending much of his time at the windows in anticipation of callers. As always, Wang was as serene and golden as the moon.
“Good morning, Dr. Prye,” he said, breaking into smiles. “The new fashion in hats eminently suits your great handsomeness.”
“Thank you, Wang,” Prye said. “I’d like some information from you.”
“For the inestimable Dr. Prye I would remove my right hand.” He coughed. “If necessary.”
“Very good of you, Wang.”
Wang beamed modestly. “They say of me that my deep loyalty comes next only to my vast wisdom and my fathomless patience.”
“How is Miss Bonner this morning?”
“Miss Bonner,” Wang announced, “is in violent conflict with the young gentleman nephew and the big black nurse.”
Prye looked skeptical and Wang added gently: “My impeccable honesty comes next only—”
“I believe you,” Prye said.
Miss Bonner’s voice bounced down the steps: “Get out! Get out, both of you! I feel faint!”
Wang smiled smugly at this timely corroboration of his impeccable honesty.
“Wang! Wang!” Miss Bonner shouted. “Where is that yellow devil? Wang!”
“She wants you,” Prye prompted.
Wang was unmoved. “My vast wisdom tells me it would not be strategic to approach. Perhaps you would care to—?”
“I would not,” Prye said instantly. “I have what I came for.” Wang’s face fell, and Prye said: “Perhaps I’ll need your help later. Keep your ears open.”