Part 18 (1/2)

”I know,” responded Meadows slowly, ”that the 'long arm of coincidence'

is, well, longer than the 'long arm of the law.'”

”What do you mean?”

”I have already told you. I mean that I, the suspected, spied-upon man of mystery (that's so, is it not?), I am the man who alone can throw light upon--can, moreover, effectually solve--the secrets of your father, Major Carrington's life.”

”Then he is 'the' Major Carrington, of Madras?”

”He is.”

”But,” muttered Laurence, half aloud, ”he told me that only one man (besides his enemy) ever learned his strange, inviolate secret.”

”And I am that one man,” responded the ”doctor.”

”Now,” exclaimed Laurence angrily, ”now I know you are lying. The man who held the Squire's secret died years ago.”

”And,” was the ”doctor's” quiet reply, ”so did I!”

And, before Laurence could find words to express his feelings at such a mad, mysterious remark, there came the sound of flying feet thundering along the stone pa.s.sage and drawing towards the door, through which he had himself been dragged after the attack in the dark.

The oak door now stood open. From within no one would have believed it to be a door, the oak panelling of the walls being so skilfully imitated on it.

Through it, like a madman, rushed the convict servant, Horncastle. His face was white as a sheet, his breath came in jerks. Terror was manifest on his repulsive features.

”Thank G.o.d, I'm free from it,” he almost shrieked, as he rushed up to the other two men.

Lighted only by a single tallow candle, the scene was a strange one--one that an artist would have given much to have an opportunity of picturing. The shadows on the men's faces, the cunningly wrought panelling of the great lonesome hall, the air of mystery that seemed to hang about the place--all these made the picture one that Laurence never forgot.

”Well,” asked Meadows, ”why have you not caught him?”

”The darkness,” explained the convict servant, ”the darkness, the awful darkness! I'd stand up to any man in the kingdoms, but that cursed silence and gloom and its 'orrors are a bit too much. And that creature, 'arf man, 'arf beast, seemed like the 'old man' 'isself, the way he slipped out of my grasp, which ain't a light one, as this 'ere gent knows.” And the fellow had the audacity to pat Laurence on the shoulder.

He was no longer the terrified creature of a moment before, when in the company of two of his fellow-creatures.

Meadows looked at him with ill-disguised expressions of disgust. But he did not speak. Instead, he motioned to the servant to depart.

By this time Laurence was able to rise and move about without being overcome by the pains in his neck and head. He turned to Meadows, who had astounded him a moment before by his casual remark that he was a man who had been dead many years.

”Please explain the strange observation you made when Mr.--er--Horncastle interrupted us by his return.” The convict scowled, and looked daggers at Meadows, who, however, did not notice, for he was deep in thought.

”Mr. Carrington,” he said at length, ”I can tell you a little now, but not all. First tell me in what way you think you were attacked.”

”I cannot. I only know that I felt as though someone was cutting my throat.”

”Someone,” replied ”Doctor Meadows,” ”was doing more. He was trying to break your neck.”

”Ah!” Laurence exclaimed, ”like he did my poor father's. And how did he do it? It was all so quickly, so cleverly done.”

”It was done by a man who has made a careful study of murder.”