Part 11 (1/2)
”Lena!” (the pet name slipped out unnoticed by both in Laurence's astonishment)--”Lena, you are a genius. You have solved the mystery.”
”On the contrary, I am more in the dark than ever, for in addition to the secret of the man's enmity against your father, we have now to discover who is the strange creature of the shrill voice and ape-like agility, what his connection is with the people of the Dene, and, lastly, why, as I am firmly convinced, he is imprisoned in the bas.e.m.e.nt of the house you visited last night.”
CHAPTER XVI
THE MAN FROM BURTON'S
Doctor Bathurst visited the house a second time on the day following that when the Squire met with his injury. He reported that all was going on as well as could be expected, though the patient still remained in an unconscious state.
A telegram had reached Laurence early in the afternoon, informing him that ”Nurse arrives nine to-night,” and at precisely the hour specified in the message a cab drew up at the outside gate of the Manse, and presently a tall cadaverous individual in sombre garments, that somehow suggested the undertaker, was ushered into the dining-room, where supper and Laurence awaited him.
”The--ahem--gentleman from Burton's!” said the young man as the nurse-detective stepped briskly into the room.
”Between yourself and me, yes; to others simply Potter, a qualified nurse,” was the new-comer's reply.
”Ah, then your name is Potter?”
”Yes, Oliver Potter, formerly of New Scotland Yard. And the matter requiring my help?”
Laurence proceeded to explain, first motioning to the man to seat himself and try his hand at the viands. Not only did he describe the attempts on his father's life, but detailed his visit to the Dene, his adventure in the barn, and the incidents of the bicycle, which had been taken and eventually returned, and of the appearance of Meadows in the yard on the previous night.
”Ha! quite a nice little mystery,” the detective remarked, with his mouth full, when Laurence had finished his narration of the events that seemed to have any bearing on the case in point; ”a nice little mystery, apparently somewhat tangled, but no doubt quite superficial.”
”I warrant that you will find it anything but superficial,” responded Carrington, somewhat nettled at the remark, which seemed a reflection upon the efforts of Lena and himself to obtain some clue that might lead to the detection of the would-be murderer of the Squire. He went on to sketch briefly Miss Scott's undoubtedly ingenious manner of accounting for the various mysterious circ.u.mstances.
The detective smiled sarcastically.
”Ingenious, as you say, but most improbable. There must certainly be a simpler solution,” he said. ”But what of the patient--is he progressing as could be expected? Yes. That is good. It will leave me more time to work in my investigating capacity. By the way, Mr. Carrington, I suppose you don't know if your father belongs to any societies--of an unusual kind, I mean? Nihilistic, for instance, or of a secret nature?”
”No, I am not aware of his connection with any illegal inst.i.tutions,”
replied Laurence coldly. ”I may as well mention that my father is a gentleman and a magistrate.”
”Quite so. I ascertained that such was the case before I left London--reference books, you know. I should have discovered by this time, though, that he was a gentleman by your boots.”
”My boots!”
”Exactly. I can always tell a gentleman by his boots and a lady by her fingers--rings, you know. If you are a gentleman presumably your father is also.”
It was Laurence's turn to smile. He perceived that Mr. Potter was trying to impress him, but he was not impressed in the least.
”You're going to treat this case too lightly,” he said; ”it's something out of the common. There are none of your cheap-fictional secret societies in this mystery. There's something much deeper in it than that. A plot it is, and a well-laid one, too, that will take even you a fair amount of skill to bring to light.”
There was a marked emphasis on the word ”you” that did not escape Mr.
Oliver Potter's notice.
”Then you think we can, in your father's case, exclude any idea of a secret connection with some society, such as that I refer to? Take that useful word 'jar,' then, and remove the centre letter.”
”Really, Mr. Potter, I fail to understand you. Is this professional jargon necessary? Personally, I am a plain-spoken person.” Laurence had taken an almost immediate dislike to the man from Burton's, whom he perceived to be as full of the sense of his own importance as the proverbial egg is full of meat.