Max’s heart beat faster. The doctor had read him like a book. How could his guesses be that accurate? Who could have told him?

“What makes you believe that?” Max asked carefully.

“Come now.” The doctor smirked. “Your presence alone has told me everything I need to know.”

Max folded his arms across his chest. “I don’t believe that at all.”

Doctor Francis leaned back. “Then let me enlighten you. I know that you are planning on asking to stay here tonight, which is fine incindentally. You arrived alone, during the night, rousting the head doctor from his bed on urgent business. Even though you haven’t identified yourself, you have the presence of a policeman. From that alone, I can deduce that nothing short of murder brought you out here. Moira informed me that no coach waits outside and no one would make the arduous journey to Saltaire on foot, especially at night. So why would a murder bring you to my door step?”

“You tell me.” Max said.

“Murder is the work of either a desperate mind- or a deranged one.”