Part 11 (1/2)

”Yes,” I admitted, reflectively. ”I think he fits in--here. Dr.

Lorrimore said he had been in India for some years, didn't he? He appears to have brought some of it home with him.”

”I suppose this is his drawing-room,” said Miss Raven. ”Now, if only it looked out on palm-trees, and--and all other things that one a.s.sociates with India.”

”Just so,” said I. ”What it does look out on, however, is a typical English garden on which, at present, about a ton of rain is descending. And we are nearly three miles from Ravensdene Court!”

”Oh, but it won't keep on like that, for long,” she said. ”And I suppose, if it does, that we can get some sort of a conveyance--perhaps, Dr.

Lorrimore has a brougham that he'd lend us.”

”I don't think that's very likely,” said I. ”The country pract.i.tioner, I think, is more dependent on a bicycle than on a brougham. But here is Dr. Lorrimore.”

I had just caught sight of him as he entered his garden by a door set in its ivy-covered wall. He ran hastily up the path to the house--within a minute or two, divested of his mackintosh, he opened the door of our room.

”So glad you were near enough to turn in here for shelter!” he exclaimed, shaking hands with us warmly. ”I see that neither of you expected rain--now, I did, and I went out prepared.”

”We made for the first door we saw,” said Miss Raven. ”But we'd no idea it was yours, Dr. Lorrimore. And do tell me!--the Chinese,” she continued, in a whisper. ”Is he your man-servant?”

Lorrimore laughed, rubbing his hands together. That day he was not in the solemn, raven-hued finery in which he had visited Ravensdene Court; instead he wore a suit of grey tweed, in which, I thought, he looked rather younger and less impressive than in black. But he was certainly no ordinary man, and as he stood there smiling at Miss Raven's eager face, I felt conscious that he was the sort of somewhat mysterious, rather elusive figure in which women would naturally be interested.

”Man-servant!” he said, with another laugh. ”He's all the servant I've got. Wing--he's too or three other monosyllabic patronymics, but Wing suffices--is an invaluable person. He's a model cook, valet, launderer, general factotum--there's nothing that he can't or won't do, from making the most perfect curries--I must have Mr. Raven to try them against the achievements of his man!--to taking care about the halfpennies, when he goes his round of the tradesmen. Oh, he's a treasure--I a.s.sure you, Miss Raven, you could go the round of this house, at any moment, without finding a thing out of place or a speck of dust in any corner. A model!”

”You brought him from India, I suppose?” said I.

”I brought him from India, yes,” he answered. ”He'd been with me for some time before I left. So, of course, we're thoroughly used to each other.”

”And does he really like living--here?” asked Miss Raven. ”In such absolutely different surroundings?”

”Oh, well, I think he's a pretty good old hand at making the best of the moment,” laughed Lorrimore. ”He's a philosopher. Deep--inscrutable--in short, he's Chinese. He has his own notions of happiness. At present he's supremely happy in getting you some tea--you mightn't think it, but that saffron-faced Eastern can make an English plum-cake that would put the swellest London pastry-cook to shame! You must try it!”

The Chinaman presently summoned us to tea, which he had laid out in another room--obviously Lorrimore's dining-room. There was nothing Oriental in that; rather, it was eminently Victorian, an affair of heavy furniture, steel engravings, and an array, on the sideboard, of what, I suppose, was old family plate. Wing ushered us and his master in with due ceremony and left us; when the door had closed on him, Lorrimore gave us an arch glance.

”You see how readily and skilfully that chap adapts himself to the needs of the moment,” he said. ”Now, you mightn't think it, but this is the very first time I have ever been honoured with visitors to afternoon tea. Observe how Wing immediately falls in with English taste and custom! Without a word from me, out comes the silver tea-pot, the best china, the finest linen! He produces his choicest plum-cake; the bread-and-b.u.t.ter is cut with wafer-like thinness; and the tea--ah, well, no Englishwoman, Miss Raven, can make tea as a Chinese man-servant can!”

”It's quite plain that you've got a treasure in your house, Dr.

Lorrimore,” said Miss Raven. ”But then, the Chinese are very clever, aren't they?”

”Very remarkable people, indeed,” a.s.sented our host. ”Shrewd, observant, penetrative. I have often wondered if this man of mine would find any great difficulty in seeing through a brick wall!”

”He would be a useful person, perhaps, in solving the present mystery,” said I. ”The police seem to have got no further.”

”Ah, the Quick business?” remarked Lorrimore. ”Um!--well, as regards that, it seems to me that whatever light is thrown on it will have to be thrown from the other angle--from Devonport. From all that I heard and gathered, it's very evident that what is really wanted is a strict examination into the immediate happenings at Noah Quick's inn, and also into the antecedents of Noah and Salter. But is there anything fresh?”

I told him, briefly, all that had happened that afternoon--of the information given by James Beeman and of the disappearance of the tobacco-box.

”That's odd!” he remarked. ”Let's see--it was the old gentleman I saw at Ravensdene Court who had some fancy about that box, wasn't it?--Mr.

Cazalette. What was his idea, now?”

”Mr. Cazalette,” I replied, ”saw, or fancied he saw, certain marks or scratches within the lid of the box which he took to have some meaning: they were, he believed, made with design--with some purpose.

He thought that by photographing them, and then enlarging his photograph, he would bring out those marks more clearly, and possibly find out what they were really meant for.”

”Yes?” said Lorrimore. ”Well--what has he discovered?”