“What a shocking little ghoul you must be!” I exclaimed.

She stuck out her chin at me.  “I’ll trouble you,” she said, “to be a little more respectful in your language.  Do you realise that I am old enough to be your mother?”

“Impossible!” I ejaculated.

“Fact,” said Miss Oman.

“Well, anyhow,” said I, “age is not the only qualification.  And, besides, you are too late for the billet.  The vacancy’s filled.”

Miss Oman slapped the papers down on the table and rose abruptly.

“You had better read the papers and see if you can learn a little sense,” she said severely as she turned to go.  “Oh, and don’t forget the finger!” she added eagerly.  “That is really thrilling.”

“The finger?” I repeated.

“Yes.  They found a hand with one finger missing.  The police think it is a highly important clue.  I don’t know quite what they mean; but you read the account and tell me what you think.”

With this parting injunction she bustled out through the surgery, and I followed to bid her a ceremonious adieu on the doorstep.  I watched her little figure tripping with quick, bird-like steps down Fetter Lane, and was about to turn back into the surgery when my attention was attracted by the evolutions of an elderly gentleman on the opposite side of the street.  He was a somewhat peculiar-looking man, tall, gaunt, and bony, and the way in which he carried his head suggested to the medical mind a pronounced degree of near sight and a pair of “deep” spectacle glasses.  Suddenly he espied me and crossed the road with his chin thrust forward and a pair of keen blue eyes directed at me through the centres of his spectacles.

“I wonder if you can and will help me,” said he, with a courteous salute.  “I wish to call on an acquaintance, and I have forgotten his address.  It is in some court, but the name of that court has escaped me for the moment.  My friend’s name is Bellingham.  I suppose you don’t chance to know it?  Doctors know a great many people, as a rule.”

“Do you mean Mr. Godfrey Bellingham?”

“Ah!  Then you do know him.  I have not consulted the oracle in vain.  He is a patient of yours, no doubt?”

“A patient and a personal friend.  His address is Forty-nine Nevill’s Court.”

“Thank you, thank you.  Oh, and as you are a friend, perhaps you can inform me as to the customs of the household.  I am not expected, and I do not wish to make an untimely visit.  What are Mr. Bellingham’s habits as to his evening meal?  Would this be a convenient time to call?”

“I generally make my evening visits a little later than this—­say about half-past eight; they have finished their meal by then.”

“Ah! half-past eight, then?  Then I suppose I had better take a walk until that time.  I don’t want to disturb them.”

“Would you care to come in and smoke a cigar until it is time to make your call?  If you would, I could walk over with you and show you the house.”