Part 6 (2/2)

”Upon my word,” he says, with a touch of coldness in his tone; ”this is quite dramatic.”

”It's a very good tableaux,” admits the new comer, ”but dramatic as the present day drama goes? No, it's too naturally brought about, as you will admit, when I explain my presence here. Your mention of my name, while I lay sprawled across the great branch, within easy hearing, was rather sensational, to me, but, of course you can explain that.”

By this time Constance has recovered herself, and rises to the occasion; in fact, she rather enjoys the situation; this is one of the emergencies wherein she is quite at home. Without stopping for commonplace remarks, or expressions of surprise, she goes straight to the point.

”How we came to be discussing you, you must understand, if you are really Mr. Bathurst, and--have been very long in that tree.”

”I have been 'very long' in that tree, I feel it,” ruefully. ”And I _am_ Neil Bathurst, detective; never was anybody else, and by the by, here is this doctor; I heard him giving me a capital 'recommend;' now bid him step up and identify me,” and he laughs as if he had uttered a capital joke.

Doctor Heath laughs now, as he comes closer and scrutinizes him by the light from the drawing room.

”Oh, I recognize you by your voice, which you have not attempted to disguise, and by your--a--a.s.surance.”

”I thought so!” rubbing his hands with a satisfied air.

”But that physiognomy, I never saw before.”

The detective laughs.

”No, this is one of my business faces, and you, sir, are one of the few who have known me simply as a man, without inference to my occupation; a man like me may be expected to turn up anywhere, but you, sir, are the last man I expected to see in this place.”

”Nevertheless, I have been an inhabitant of W---- for a year; but enough of me for the present. Mr. Bathurst, this lady is Miss Wardour, in whose service you have been retained.”

Miss Wardour extends a gracious, welcoming hand.

”Mr. Bathurst has heard me express my desire to know him,” she says, with a little ripple of laughter, ”so no more need be said on the subject. Mr. Bathurst you came as opportunely as a fairy G.o.dmother; and now let us go in and take my aunt into our counsels.”

She lifts the lace curtains and pa.s.ses in; as she goes, Dr. Heath lays a detaining hand on the detective's arm.

”Mr. Bathurst,” he whispers; ”in W---- I am Dr. Heath, from nowhere.”

”I comprehend,” significantly.

”Thank you;” then they too pa.s.s through the window, and the detective goes through the ordeal of presentation to Aunt Honor.

Mrs. Aliston, being a thorough woman, who knows her perquisites, gets through with the necessary amount of astonishment, e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns, questionings, and expressions of delight; all things are overcome by time, even a woman's volubility. And during the flow of her discourse the detective is communing thus with his ”inner consciousness:”

”So we have been retained by this handsome young lady? Well, that's intelligence! and what does the old lady mean by supposing that Mr.

Lamotte has told me this and that? Who the deuce is Lamotte? Why the deuce don't somebody ask me how I came to be perched in that tree? Do they think it's the proper thing for detectives to tumble in among them out of the trees and the skies? After all, it is like a drama, for I'll be blessed if I see any sense in it all.”

”I see you are all more or less attracted by my personal appearance,” he says, after Aunt Honor has given up the floor. ”Now that I think of it, it's _not_ just the thing for a drawing room.”

Mr. Neil Bathurst, or his present presentment, is a medium sized man, attired in garments that have once been elegant, but are now frayed, threadbare, travel worn; his feet are encased in boots that have once been jaunty; his hat is as rakish as it is battered; his face wears that dull reddish hue, common to fair complexions that have been long exposed to sun and wind; his hair and beard, somewhat matted, somewhat disordered, may have borne some tinge of auburn or yellow once, but they too, have, unmistakeably, battled with the sun, and have come out a light hay color. As Constance looks at him, she, mentally, confesses that he _is_ certainly the oddest figure she has ever entertained in her drawing room.

”I have been wondering just what grade of humanity you are supposing yourself to represent just now,” says Doctor Heath, eyeing him quizzically.

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