Fascinated, she read the story to the end, half-expecting that the name of Mr. Beale would occur.
There were many names all unknown to her and one that occurred with the greatest frequency was that of James Kitson. Mr. Beale did not appear to have played any part. She read for an hour, sitting on the floor by the cupboard. She reached the last page, closed the book and slipped it back in the cupboard. She wondered why Beale had preserved this record and whether his antagonism to the doctor was founded on that case. At first she thought she identified him with the mysterious man who had appeared in the plantation before the murder, but a glance back at the description of the stranger dispelled that idea. For all the reputation he had, Mr. Beale did not have "an inflamed, swollen countenance, colourless bloodshot eyes," nor was he bald.
She was annoyed with herself that she had allowed her work to be interrupted, and in penance decided to remain on until six instead of five o'clock as she had intended. Besides, she half expected that Mr. Beale would return, and was surprised to discover that she was disappointed that he had not.
At six o'clock she dismissed the boy, closed and locked the office, and made her way downstairs into the crowded street.
To her surprise she heard her name spoken, and turned to face Dr. van Heerden.
"I have been waiting for you for nearly an hour," he said with good-humoured reproach.
"And your patients are probably dying like flies," she countered.
It was in her mind to make some excuse and go home alone, but curiosity got the better of her and impelled her to wait to discover the object of this unexpected visitation.
"How did you know where I was working?" she asked, as the thought occurred to her.
He laughed.
"It was a very simple matter. I was on my way to a patient and I saw you coming out to lunch," he said, "and as I found myself in the neighbourhood an hour ago I thought I would wait and take you home. You are doing a very foolish thing," he added.
"What do you meanin stopping to talk to you when I ought to be on my way home to tea?"
"No, in engaging yourself to a man like Beale. You know the reputation he has! My dear girl, I was shocked when I discovered who your employer was."
"I don't think you need distress yourself on my account, doctor," she said quietly. "Really, Mr. Beale is quite pleasantin his lucid moments," she smiled to herself.
She was not being disloyal to her employer. If he chose to encourage suspicion in his mode of life he must abide by the consequences.
"But a drunkard, faugh!" The exquisite doctor shivered. "I have always tried to be a friend of yours, Miss Cresswell, and I hope you are going to let me continue to be, and my advice to you in that capacity isgive Mr. Beale notice."
"How absurd you are!" she laughed. "There is no reason in the world why I should do anything of the sort. Mr. Beale has treated me with the greatest consideration."
"What is he, by the way?" asked the doctor.
"He's an agent of some sort," said the girl, "but I am sure you don't want me to discuss his business. And now I must go, doctor, if you will excuse me."