He remained looking at him for a
moment, asking himself a question. It was rather a curious
question. He was asking himself why the door was open.
Well, not exactly why the door was open; that could be explained
easily enough. But why had he expected the door to be shut? He
did not remember shutting it, but somehow he was surprised to see
it open now, to see Cayley through the doorway, just coming into
the room. Something working sub-consciously in his brain had
told him that it was surprising. Why?
He tucked the matter away in a corner of his mind for the moment;
the answer would come to him later on. He had a wonderfully
retentive mind. Everything which he saw or heard seemed to make
its corresponding impression somewhere in his brain; often
without his being conscious of it; and these photographic
impressions were always there ready for him when he wished to
develop them.
Cayley joined him at the window.
"I've telephoned," he said. "They're sending an inspector or
some one from Middleston, and the local police and doctor from
Stanton.
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