Part 13 (1/2)
”I am quite satisfied that you know nothing whatever about that which you are pleased to call the mystery of this house. I confess that I have a secret. Who has not? Mine is one that I am very anxious to keep.
Again, I say, who is not desirous of keeping secrets as such? Further, I confess that you have had good grounds for mistrust. That bicycle business was enough to lay me open to suspicion. What I am now going to say I will repeat afterwards upon oath, if you so please, but, as a gentleman, I hope my word will not be doubted. That bicycle was found by my servant standing in the rear of this house the morning after what was evidently the first attempt on your father's life. Whose it was, and whence it came, was for the time a mystery. Then you honoured me with a visit, and I learned in what an uncomfortable position circ.u.mstances had placed me. As I say, I have no desire to emerge from the darkness of my retirement. I did not wish you to know that I had found the bicycle, for fear that you, doubting my word, would carry out your threat of communicating with the police, and having the house searched. Therefore, I secretly returned you the bicycle which evil destiny had given into my hands.
”This I can safely say--and swear, if it please you--that there neither has been, nor is, anything illegal or wrong going on in this house. Does that satisfy you?”
No one answered. Laurence was inclined to doubt the man's word. He had heard some equally astounding falsehoods from him before. Lena, also, knew not whether to believe the statement or not.
”Then,” said the doctor, ”I will fetch a volume of the Testament. But before going any further, tell me if you know any man who would answer to this description--Medium height, iron-grey moustache, possibly a grey beard, but I doubt it; age about sixty; peculiarly courteous and old-fas.h.i.+oned as to speech; an abhorrer of tobacco in any form.”
”That is the Squire--do you know him?” asked Lena and Laurence excitedly, and almost in one breath.
”Ah!” responded Doctor Meadows. But his p.r.o.nunciation of the monosyllable was pregnant with meaning.
CHAPTER XIX
A TRUCE AND A PROMISE
”Then you know my father?” asked Laurence, after the pause that followed the doctor's laconic remark.
”That I cannot say,” responded Meadows, ”but it seems like it, does it not?”
”You astonish me by confessing to a former acquaintance with Squire Carrington. Were you not on the point of taking your oath that you knew nothing about my father?”
”No, I was not going so far as that, I am only prepared to swear that I have had no hand in these attempts on your father's life, for I will tell frankly that I was almost confident I had met your father long before you told me that I was right in my description of his appearance.
Life is indeed strange. A moment ago you were doubting my word--you may feel inclined to do so now, little thinking that probably I alone could throw any light on the mystery. You know this, for I think you have already told me as much, that Ma--Squire Carrington is keeping some deep secret from the world--even from you, his son. What if I, and I alone, am able to reveal that secret?”
”You speak in riddles,” replied Laurence. ”You appear to know my father, yet last time we referred to the subject you told me deliberately that you had not 'the pleasure of his acquaintance.' What am I to believe?
Now you deny all connection with these murderous attacks on his life, and yet you profess to be in a position to reveal the cause of them, and to throw light upon the Squire's well-guarded secret.”
”As I have said,” explained Doctor Meadows, ”fate plays strange tricks with us mortals. I am speaking the truth when I say that I think I know more about your father's secret than any living creature, except the Squire himself, and his a.s.sailant. Tell me, though, what do you know of Mr. Carrington's past?”
”Very little,” replied Laurence; ”if I knew more I might be able myself to shed some light on the darkness. This alone I have been told by my father, who is one of those men who keep their private affairs a sealed book to the rest of the world--that my mother, who was of high birth, died when I was born, twenty-two years ago; that my father never followed any profession or trade, and that I am an only child.”
”Ah,” murmured Meadows, ”that is all you know, is it?” He sat gazing steadily at the fireplace, his brow knit up as though he was wrapped in thought. For a short s.p.a.ce of time there was silence in the Oriental room.
”Well, do you agree,” the doctor said at last, ”to my proposal that I should play the detective and solve the mystery encircling your father's life?”
”I have already obtained the a.s.sistance of an investigator,” replied Laurence, somewhat coldly.
”Ah, and is he quite satisfactory?”
Lena smiled at the question.
”No,” she responded, ”he is hardly all that one can desire. He comes from Burton's Private a.s.sistance Bureau.” She turned to Laurence. ”You must not be ungracious,” she said gently. ”Doctor Meadows--I call him by that name for want of a better, though I am certain it is a disguised one--Doctor Meadows is most kind in making this suggestion. We have really no call upon his generosity at all. If he thinks he is in a position to a.s.sist us in our investigation, why not permit him to do so?
Since he gives us his word as a gentleman that neither he nor his servant has any connection with the plot to murder the Squire, why, he is at liberty to have as many secrets of his own as he likes without being annoyed by suspicious young people like us. Under the circ.u.mstances I am sure Doctor Meadows will not expect you to ask him to the house to pursue his inquiry, but please do let him help us as best he can from here. I am sure his forehead shows him to be an adept at detective work. It's quite as good a one as Sherlock Holmes had!”
Laurence meditated. He naturally could not refuse Lena such a small thing, and because she asked it he changed his behaviour towards the doctor, and became more polite to the old gentleman, who received the alteration with undisguised pleasure.