Part 6 (1/2)
”Yes,--it's contagious.”
Then they both laugh, and relapse into silence. Presently, she says:
”We are sure to have the wrong man. Why did you not tell me the name of your great detective, so that I might have commissioned Mr. Lamotte to bring him? That man has been in my mind all day. You have made me enamored of him.”
”Why?” laughing indulgently; ”I barely mentioned him.”
”No matter; you say he is a splendid officer?”
”There is no better. I know of none as good.”
”And his name?”
”A very romantic one: Neil J. Bathurst.”
”Why!” stepping suddenly to the window. ”Aunt Honor!”
”Well,” replies Mrs. Aliston, from behind her newspaper.
”What is the name of your wonderful detective, who brought those two murderers from Europe, and had them properly hung?”
”Mr. Neil Bathurst. Why, my dear?”
”Oh, nothing special, auntie;” then returning to the window, ”Auntie never loses trace of a crime or a trial in high life. I have heard her talk of this man's splendid exploits, by the hour. She is a walking catalogue in all aristocratic sensations. So this is your great man?
Well, if he is in the city, we must have him. Mr. Lamotte shall bring his man, or send him; there should be work for two. As for me, I intend to secure the services of Mr. Neil J. Bathurst.”
”He may not be within reach; he is constantly moving, and always busy.”
”No matter. I tell you I want to see this man.”
”That being the case, I may as well present myself.”
They start at the sound of a strange voice near them. There is a rustling of leaves, and from one of the great oak's extended branches, a form swings downward, and drops lightly upon the gra.s.s, just before the place where they stand.
”Who are you?” demands Doctor Heath, sternly, as the eavesdropper approaches. ”And what does this impertinence mean?”
[Ill.u.s.tration: ”Who are you?”]
Before they can think, the man approaches the balcony, puts his hands upon the railing, and springs lightly over; standing in the full light that falls from within, he doffs his hat like a courtier, and bending before Constance, says, in a voice that is, for a man, singularly rich and mellow:
”Madame, I am here at your service. I am Neil J. Bathurst.”
CHAPTER V.
THE DEDUCTIONS OF A DETECTIVE.
Both Constance and Dr. Heath fancy that they comprehend the situation almost instantaneously. The stranger's movements have been so cat-like, his voice so carefully modulated, that Aunt Honor reads on, never dreaming that an addition has been made to the party. Dr. Heath is the first to speak.