Part 30 (1/2)
”I have gone so far as to suspect it. But what dreadful news is this? Disappeared? Leaving no clue?”
”We are in hopes, my wife and I, that this may afford a clue.
A letter, and addressed to you; it lay upon his writing-table.
We did not feel ourselves at liberty to break the seal. I trust--I sincerely trust--it may put a period to our suspense.”
Miss Marty took the letter, glanced at the address and tore the paper open with trembling hands. She perused the first few sentences with a puckered, puzzled brow; then of a sudden her eyes grew wide and round. Despite herself she uttered a little gasping cry.
”It contains a clue at least?” asked Mr. Basket, who had been watching her face anxiously. ”Dear lady, what does he say?”
”Nun--nothing,” Miss Marty caught at the back of a Chippendale chair for support.
”Nothing?” echoed Mr. Basket blankly.
”Nothing--That is to say I can't tell you. Oh, this is horrible!”
”But pardon me,” Mr. Basket insisted. ”After travelling all the way from Plymouth!”
”I can't possibly tell you,” she repeated.
”But, madam, consider my responsibility! I must really ask you to consider my responsibility.”
”If I could only realise it! Oh, give me time, sir!”
”Certainly, certainly; by all means take your time. Nevertheless, when you consider my distress of mind, I appeal to you, madam, to be merciful and relieve it. After travelling all this distance in the dark--”
”In the dark?” queried Miss Marty, with a glance at the window.
”Tormented by a thousand speculations. In my house, too! In good health, and apparently the best of spirits; and then without a word, like the snuff of a candle!”
”His brain must be affected,” Miss Marty murmured, gazing at the letter again. The handwriting swam before her. ”Excuse me, sir, I will not detain you a minute.”
She ran from the room and upstairs to her room, her knees shaking beneath her. Heaven grant that the Doctor was at home! She agitated her window-blind violently and drew it down to the third pane.
”You are wanted--urgent,” was the message it conveyed.
Yes, he was at home. ”I come, instantly,” answered her lover's window; and in less than a minute, to her infinite relief, the Doctor emerged from his front doorway and came bustling up the street almost at a trot.
She ran down and admitted him. In her face he read instantly that something serious had happened; something serious if not catastrophical: but with finger on lip she enjoined silence and led the way to the parlour.
”This gentleman has just arrived from Plymouth, with serious news of the Major.”
”Serious? He is not ill, I trust?”
”Worse,” said Mr. Basket.
”But first,” interposed Miss Marty, ”you must read this letter.
Yes, yes!”--blus.h.i.+ng hotly, she thrust it into the Doctor's unresisting hands--”you have the right. Forgive me if I seem indecorous: but in such a situation you only can help me.”
”Eh? Oh, certainly--h'm, h'm!--” The Doctor adjusted his gla.s.ses and began to read in a low mumbling voice. By and by he paused, then slowly looked up with pained, incredulous eyes.
”This is some horrible dream!” he groaned and, feeling his way to the Major's armchair, sank into it heavily.