CHAPTER 22When Michael Dorn left the police station he hurried his car to Charlotte Street. At such an early hour of the morning there was no sign or life in this thoroughfare. He expected to be kept waiting before there came an answer to his knocking. But had he known something of old Mackenzie’s habits, he would not have been surprised at the promptitude with which his signal was answered.
The old man was in his dressing-gown and had not been half an hour in bed when Dorn arrived. He looked with mild suspicion at the visitor—a suspicion which was intensified when he learnt the object of his visit.
“Yes, sir, Miss Elizabetta Smith is in the house. Are you from the police?”
“Yes,” said Michael, without stretching the truth. “Can I speak to Miss Smith?”
“She came in late and very distre
