“Look here, Deeming,” I said, quietly. “If we are to continue friends,
there must really be an end of all this mystery and suspicion about
nothing. Why shouldn’t I tell Vernon where you live?”
“Did you tell him?”
“Certainly. He asked me, and of course I answered. Are you a criminal
hiding from justice, and is Vernon a detective? Upon my word⸺”
I felt I was getting hot, and was silent. He stood quite still, staring
at me for a moment with eyes that were almost fierce. Then he sat down
on a sofa a little way from me, and said in a calmer voice—
“Yes, of course there was no reason. Still, it’s very odd. You must see
that.”
“What is there odd in it? If it’s a good house, why shouldn’t Vernon
take it as well as anyone else?”
“It’s a fairly good house.”
He moved, and leaned towards me.
“Originally,” he said, speaking slowly, “originally it was one with
mine. The two houses were thrown into one. That was when Renold, the
author, lived there. Afterwards, it was as it is now. But it’s still
almost like one house.”
“How can that be?”
“Well, the alteration was very flimsily carried out, I suppose; for
in the one house one can—I hope to goodness Vernon isn’t much of a
musician.”
“You’re afraid of being disturbed?”
“If he plays the piano—by Jove!”
He burst into a laugh.
“Look out in the papers very soon,” he said. “I shall probably be
bringing a case against him for annoyance. I can’t stand a hullabaloo
next door after I’ve finished my day’s work. I want rest and peace.
It’s no joke being a successful physician, I can tell you.”