As he was engaged in his grimy task, Miss Cornelia got out a piece of writing paper from a drawer and placed it on the center table, with a lead pencil beside it.
Bailey emerged from the fireplace with a handful of sooty flakes.
"Is this all right ?" "Yes.

Now rub it on the handle of that bag." She indicated the little black bag in which Doctor Wells carried the usual paraphernalia of a country Doctor.
A private suspicion grew in Bailey's mind as to whether Miss Cornelia's fine but eccentric brain had not suffered too sorely under the shocks of the night.

But he did not dare disobey.

He blackened the handle of the Doctor's bag with painstaking thoroughness and awaited further instructions.
"Somebody's coming!" Dale whispered, warning from her post by the door.
Bailey quickly went to the fireplace and resumed his pretended labors with the fire.

Miss Cornelia moved away from the Doctor's bag and spoke for the benefit of whoever might be coming.
"We all need sleep," she began, as if ending a conversation with Dale, "and I think--" The door opened, admitting Billy.
"Doctor just go upstairs," he said, and went out again leaving the door open.
A flash passed across Miss Cornelia's face.