Part 52 (1/2)
”As a matter of fact a man named Bush has been to see my mother. I dare not tell Dr. Heathcote; at one time I fancy Bush did her good, or she got better naturally, but she believes in him. He hasn't been for some time now, but she was speaking of him the other day.”
”I'll look up my man's card and send it on to you,” said Quarles. ”You get Mrs. Crosland to see him, never mind Dr. Heathcote.”
”I didn't know you had suffered from rheumatism,” I said to Quarles as we left the house.
”Didn't you! Have it now sometimes. Well, Wigan, what do you make of this affair? Do you think the burglars are responsible?”
”I want time to think.”
”We'll just call in and see Dr. Heathcote,” said Quarles.
The doctor was a young man rather overburdened with his own importance.
He was inclined to think that Crosland had done Grange Park a service by shooting one of the burglar gang.
”I only hope the authorities won't get sentimental and make it needlessly unpleasant for him.”
”I shouldn't think so,” I returned. ”I may take it, doctor, that the man had been dead only a short time when you saw him?”
”Quite. Death must have been practically instantaneous.”
”Oh, there is no doubt about Crosland's narrative, it is quite straightforward,” said Quarles, ”but I shouldn't be surprised if he found the inquiry awkward. I think his mother ought to know the truth.”
”Why not?” asked Heathcote.
”He seems to think it would be bad for her in her state of health.”
”I'll talk to him,” said the doctor. ”The old lady is not so bad as he supposes. To tell you the truth I think the nurse is rather a fool and frightens her. I tried to get them to change her, but she seems to be a sort of relation.”
”That's the worst of relations, they're so constantly in the way,”
said Quarles.
We left the doctor not much wiser than when we went, it seemed to me, but Quarles appeared to find considerable food for reflection. He was silent until we were in the train.
”Wigan, you must see that a watch is kept upon Clarence Lodge day and night. Have half a dozen men drafted into the neighborhood. You want to know who goes to the house, and any one leaving it must be followed.
Poulton's a good man, I should keep him there, and let him be inquisitive about callers. Then telegraph at once to the Paris police. Ask if George Radley is still at the Vendome Hotel. If he is tell them to keep an eye on him. Now, here's my card. Take it to Schuster, 12 Grant Street, Pimlico, and ask him if he knows anything of a man named Bush, a quack specialist in rheumatism. Find out all you can about Bush. To-morrow morning you must go to Grange Park again, and see young Crosland. He may complain about the watch which is being kept over the house. If he does, spin him the official jargon about information received, etc., intimate your fear that the gang may attempt reprisals, and tell him you are bound to take precautions. After that come on to Chelsea. We ought to be able to arrive at some decision then. Oh, and one other thing, you might see if you have any one resembling the dead man in your criminal portrait gallery at the Yard.”
”A fairly full day's work,” I said with a smile.
”I am going to be busy, too, with a theory I have got. To-morrow we will see if your facts fit in with it.”
To avoid repet.i.tion I shall come to the results of my inquiries as I related them to Quarles next day. I got back from Grange Park soon after two o'clock, had a couple of sandwiches and a gla.s.s of wine in the Euston Road, and then took a taxi to Chelsea. Zena and the professor were already in the private room, Zena doing nothing. Quarles engaged in some proposition of Euclid, apparently. On the writing table were a revolver and some cartridges.
”I have told Zena the whole affair as far as we know it,” said Quarles, putting his papers on the table, ”and she asks me a foolish question, Wigan. 'Why didn't the butler run for the police instead of Miss Crosland?' Have you got any information which will help to answer it?”
”It doesn't seem to me very strange that she went,” I returned. ”I have been busy, but there is not very much to tell. I have got the house watched as you suggested. The Paris police telegraph that an Englishman named George Radley is at the Hotel Vendome, a harmless tourist apparently, going about Paris seeing the sights. Schuster was able to give me Bush's address, and I called upon him, but did not see him. He had gone to a case in Yorks.h.i.+re, but may be back any time. He lives in Hampstead, in quite a pleasant flat overlooking the Heath.”
”Is he married?”
”No, he has a housekeeper, rather a deaf old lady who speaks of him as the doctor.”