Part 8 (2/2)

”That is how the matter stands at present. But we understand that the police are making active inquiries for any missing man who has lost the third finger of his left hand, and if any of our readers know of such a person, they are earnestly requested to communicate at once, either with us or with the authorities.

”Also we believe that a systematic search is to be made for further remains.”

I laid the newspaper down and fell into a train of reflection. It was certainly a most mysterious affair. The thought that had evidently come to the reporter's mind stole naturally into mine. Could these remains be those of John Bellingham? It was obviously possible, though I could not but see that the fact of the bones having been found on his land, while it undoubtedly furnished the suggestion, did not in any way add to its probability. The connection was accidental and in no wise relevant.

Then, too, there was the missing finger. No reference to any such injury or deformity had been made in the original report of the disappearance, though it could hardly have been overlooked. But it was useless to speculate without facts. I should be seeing Thornd.y.k.e in the course of the next few days, and, undoubtedly, if the discovery had any bearing upon the disappearance of John Bellingham, I should hear of it. With which reflection I rose from the table, and, adopting the advice contained in the spurious Johnsonian quotation proceeded to ”take a walk in Fleet Street” before settling down for the evening.

CHAPTER VI

SIDELIGHTS

The a.s.sociation of coal with potatoes is one upon which I have frequently speculated, without arriving at any more satisfactory explanation than that both products are of the earth, earthy. Of the connection itself Barnard's practice furnished several instances besides Mrs. Jablett's establishment in Fleur-de-Lys Court, one of which was a dark and mysterious cavern a foot below the level of the street, that burrowed under an ancient house on the west side of Fetter Lane--a crinkly, timber house of the three-decker type that leaned back drunkenly from the road as if about to sit down in its own back yard.

Pa.s.sing this repository of the a.s.sociated products about ten o'clock in the morning, I perceived in the shadow of the cavern no less a person than Miss Oman. She saw me at the same moment, and beckoned peremptorily with a hand that held a large Spanish onion. I approached with a deferential smile.

”What a magnificent onion, Miss Oman! and how generous of you to offer it to me--”

”I wasn't offering it to you. But there! Isn't it just like a man--”

”Isn't what just like a man?” I interrupted. ”If you mean the onion--”

”I don't!” she snapped; ”and I wish you wouldn't talk such a parcel of nonsense. A grown man and a member of a serious profession, too! You ought to know better.”

”I suppose I ought,” I said reflectively. And she continued:

”I called in at the surgery just now.”

”To see me?”

”What else should I come for? Do you suppose that I called to consult the bottle-boy?”

”Certainly not, Miss Oman. So you find the lady doctor no use, after all?”

Miss Oman gnashed her teeth at me (and very fine teeth they were, too).

”I called,” she said majestically, ”on behalf of Miss Bellingham.”

My facetiousness evaporated instantly. ”I hope Miss Bellingham is not ill,” I said with a sudden anxiety that elicited a sardonic smile from Miss Oman.

”No,” was the reply, ”she is not ill, but she has cut her hand rather badly. It's her right hand, too, and she can't afford to lose the use of it, not being a great, hulking, lazy, lolloping man. So you had better go and put some stuff on it.”

With this advice, Miss Oman whisked to the right-about and vanished into the depths of the cavern like the Witch of Wokey, while I hurried on to the surgery to provide myself with the necessary instruments and materials, and thence proceeded to Nevill's Court.

Miss Oman's juvenile maid-servant, who opened the door to me, stated the existing conditions with epigrammatic conciseness:

”Mr. Bellingham is hout, sir; but Miss Bellingham is hin.”

<script>