“You don’t believe that!” Granville answered him, indignant. “Why should Mallory want to kill Hamilton-I understood they were friends.”

“Because,” Bennett exclaimed, his voice raised in fury, “he covets Hamilton’s wife. Didn’t you know? It’s the gossip all over town.”

Granville saw the inspector, hobbling unsteadily on his crutches and in a foul temper, out of the surgery. For a moment he watched the man down the walk, then cautioned the hovering constable to keep out of Bennett’s way. His face thoughtful, the doctor turned and strode back to Hamilton’s room.

He stepped across the threshold, an apology for the delay on his lips. And found his patient alone.

Mrs. Hamilton had gone out through the garden door, leaving it half ajar.

Granville bent over Matthew Hamilton’s broken body, listening to his uneasy breathing. To the doctor’s practiced eye, his patient’s condition remained unchanged. And if his wife’s voice hadn’t roused him, it was safe to say that no one could, for several more hours at the very least. The body found its own methods of healing, often enough, and a wise medical man learned to leave it to work its own miracle. He was almost grateful for Bennett’s injury, to keep the man out of the sickroom with his loud, badgering demands for answers and information.

“You have twenty-four hours of peace. Make the most of them,” he added softly to the silent, bandaged man. “After that, I shall have to find another way of keeping the inspector at bay.”

Straightening, Granville looked toward the open door just behind him. Bits of conversation reached him down the passage. Two women in the midst of what must have been a lively discussion in one of the other rooms. His wife speaking to someone in his office, though he could only make out every other word. There was a rumble of a reply, then as the man raised his voice, Granville caught the end of the sentence. “…if you wouldn’t mind, Missus.”