CHAPTER 4. DINNER AT FERNLY
It was just a few minutes before half-past seven when I rang the front-door bell of Fernly Park. The door was opened with admirable promptitude by Parker, the butler.
The night was such a fine one that I had preferred to come on foot. I stepped into the big square hall and Parker relieved me of my overcoat. Just then Ackroyd’s secretary, a pleasant young fellow by the name of Raymond, passed through the hall on his way to Ackroyd’s study, his hands full of papers.
‘ Good evening, doctor. Coming to dine? Or is this a professional call?’ The last was in allusion to my black bag which I had laid down on the oak chest.
I explained that I expected a summons to a confinement case at any moment, and so had come out prepared for an emergency call. Raymond nodded,
