Part 14 (1/2)

”Not one syllable!” answered Goodyer. ”But I could see he was dead sure of having it.”

”Well--keep quiet about it,” continued Ayscough. ”There'll be an inquest, you know, and what you have to tell'll come in handy, then.

There's some mystery about all this affair, Mr. Goodyer, and it's going to take some unravelling.”

”You're right!” said Goodyer. ”I believe you!”

He went off along the street, and the detective turned to Purdie and motioned him towards the hospital.

”Queer, all that, sir!” he muttered. ”Very queer! But it all tends to showing that my theory's the right one. Now if you'll just stop in the waiting-room a few minutes, I'll find out if these doctors have come to any conclusion about the precise nature of the poison.”

Purdie waited for ten minutes, speculating on the curiosities of the mystery into which he had been so strangely plunged: at last the detective came back, shaking his head.

”Can't get a definite word out of 'em, yet,” he said, as they went away. ”There's two or three of 'em--big experts in--what do you call it--oh, yes, toxology--putting their heads together over the a.n.a.lysing business, and they won't say anything so far--they'll leave that to the inquest. But I gathered this much, Mr. Purdie, from the one I spoke to--this man Parslett was poisoned in some extremely clever fas.h.i.+on, and by some poison that's not generally known, which was administered to him probably half-an-hour before it took effect. What's that argue, sir, but that whoever gave him that poison is something of an expert?

Deep game, Mr. Purdie, a very deep game indeed!--and now I don't think there's much need to be anxious about that young friend of yours. I'm certain, anyway, that the man who poisoned Parslett is the man who killed poor old Daniel Multenius. But--we shall see.”

Purdie parted from Ayscough outside the hospital and walked along to Mrs. Flitwick's house in Star Street. He met Melky Rubinstein emerging from the door; Melky immediately pulled out a telegram which he thrust into Purdie's hand.

”Just come, mister!” exclaimed Melky. ”There's a word for you in it--I was going to your hotel. Read what he says.”

Purdie unfolded the pink paper and read.

”On the track all right understand Purdie is in town if he comes to Star Street explain all to him will wire again later in day.”

”Good!” said Purdie. He handed back the telegram and looked meditatively at Melky. ”Are you busy this morning?” he asked.

”Doing no business whatever, mister,” lisped Melky, solemnly. ”Not until this business is settled--not me!”

”Come to the hotel with me,” continued Purdie. ”I want to talk to you about something.”

But when they reached the hotel, all thought of conversation was driven out of Purdie's mind for the moment. The hall-porter handed him a note, remarking that it had just come. Purdie's face flushed as he recognized the handwriting: he turned sharply away and tore open the envelope.

Inside, on a half-sheet of notepaper, were a few lines--from the pretty governess at Mr. Spencer Levendale's.

”Can you come here at once and ask for me? There is something seriously wrong: I am much troubled and have no one in London I can consult.”

With a hasty excuse to Melky, Purdie ran out of the hotel, and set off in quick response to the note.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

THE PRIVATE LABORATORY

As he turned down Spring Street towards Suss.e.x Square, Purdie hastily reviewed his knowledge of Mr. Spencer Levendale and his family. He had met them, only two months previously, at a remote and out-of-the-way place in the Highlands, in a hotel where he and they were almost the only guests. Under such circ.u.mstances, strangers are soon drawn together, and as Levendale and Purdie had a common interest in fis.h.i.+ng they were quickly on good terms. But Purdie was thinking now as he made his way towards Levendale's London house that he really knew very little of this man who was evidently mixed up in some way with the mystery into which young Andie Lauriston had so unfortunately also become intermingled. He knew that Levendale was undoubtedly a very wealthy man: there were all the signs of wealth about him; he had brought several servants down to the Highlands with him: money appeared to be plentiful with him as pebbles are on a beach. Purdie learnt bit by bit that Levendale had made a great fortune in South Africa, that he had come home to England and gone into Parliament; that he was a widower and the father of two little girls--he learnt, too, that the children's governess, Miss Elsie Bennett, a pretty and taking girl of twenty-two or three, had come with them from Cape Town. But of Levendale's real character and self he knew no more than could be gained from holiday acquaintance. Certain circ.u.mstances told him by Melky about the rare book left in old Multenius's parlour inclined Purdie to be somewhat suspicious that Levendale was concealing something which he knew about that affair--and now here was Miss Bennett writing what, on the face of it, looked like an appealing letter to him, as if something had happened.

Purdie knew something had happened as soon as he was admitted to the house. Levendale's butler, who had accompanied his master to the Highlands, and had recognized Purdie on his calling the previous day, came hurrying to him in the hall, as soon as the footman opened the door.

”You haven't seen Mr. Levendale since you were here yesterday, sir?” he asked, in a low, anxious voice.

”Seen Mr. Levendale? No!” answered Purdie. ”Why--what do you mean?”

The butler looked round at a couple of footmen who hung about the door.