MAJOR JONES' ERRAND
When Laurence visited his father's room at daybreak next morning he found that the doctor had not left the bedside since he had first been called in. The Squire was progressing as favourably as could be expected, Bathurst said, but it had been such a near squeak that the utmost care was necessary. To explain the nature of the attack on the old gentleman was, strange to say, more than the doctor could do with much accuracy. All he knew was that the patient's neck had almost been broken, the peculiar attitude of the body when found being the result of a powerful attempt by some person unknown to actually kill the victim by breaking his neck!
The doctor went on to recommend that a nurse should be sent down from town, suggesting that one of Burton's "private assistants" would be of peculiar value. It may be as well to mention that these "assistants" were men who were able to act very skilfully in their capacity of nurse, and were also reputable unofficial detectives.
The idea of working with a detective had suggested itself to Laurence before now, but, as has been said, he had feared to call in professional aid lest his father, who was so anxious to retain the secret which he undoubtedly shared with his desperate enemy, might object to the man's presence.
Now, however, things were in a different state. The Squire was unconscious, and, according to Bathurst, might possibly be so for days. At the best he would have to keep his bed for several weeks. During that time, with the assistance of a trained investigator, it seemed probable that the deep mystery which enshadowed Mr. Carrington might be cleared up.
Laurence accordingly despatched a telegram to Burton, the founder of the Private Assistance Bureau, requesting him to "kindly send down an able assistant at once," and then, after remaining a short time with Mrs. Featherston (the housekeeper), who had taken charge of the patient on the doctor's departure, he went downstairs to find the two ladies waiting for breakfast. Mrs. Knox was quite well again and inclined to abuse herself for the loss of her head on the previous night. Her indisposition had not, moreover, seriously affected her appetite. Lena looked pale and tired. She had hardly slept during the night, and no wonder. She alone, with the exception, of course, of Laurence, knew all the details of the mystery, and with the knowledge of the weird attacks on her host and of the unfathomable secrets of the Dene and the Manse barn, sleep was quite impossible. How numerous had the events of yesterday been! First, the message from the Major, then Laurence's proposal, afterwards her anxiety for the safety of the man with whom in the short time she had known him she had fallen desperately in love. Next, the attempted murder of Mr. Carrington, and, finally, the discovery that the master of Durley Dene had visited the grounds of the Manse at midnight for some mysterious purpose as yet unknown. Mrs. Knox, though she plainly demonstrated the unwelcomeness of the idea, was compelled to suggest that she and her niece should no longer trespass upon the kindness of their young host, when so much extra work would necessarily be the result of the Squire's serious illness. However, Laurence would not hear of their going, and Mrs. Knox did not take the trouble to make any further suggestions on the subject.
As soon as they could leave the dining-room without raising Mrs. Knox's suspicion that her niece knew more than she seemed to do, Laurence and Lena went out together into the garden, when the former told Miss Scott that a nurse-detective was coming from London to assist in the solution of the mystery. The fact that he was anything but an ordinary male nurse was to be kept a secret—even from Mrs. Knox herself, for such Laurence knew to be one of the particular requests made to all employing Burton's assistants.
"Well, Laurence," said the girl after a pause in the conversation (she had taken to calling him by his Christian name since his departure to Durley Dene), "well, and have you thought of any more clues?"
"Alas, no. I spent the night thinking, but am no nearer the solution than before. This secret seems inviolable, but perhaps Burton's man will be able to help us. One or two things, though, have impressed me as worthy of consideration.
"First, as I have already told you, it seemed to me at the commencement of my interview that Meadows (we will call him by that name, though I doubt his right to it) was a wonderful actor. If he was playing a part he played it well. Not only did he pretend not to know me, but seemed both surprised at and interested in my carefully guarded assertions of his connection with my father. Yet, later on, when I mentioned the dog-whip (on which alone hangs a secret, I am sure), and afterwards signified my intention of exploring the house, he did not in the least degree disguise his concern. This leads one to think him a very poor actor, for had he some secret to keep he need not fear, since, as to the latter remark of mine, I could not have explored far in the darkness, particularly when I was one man against at least two others; while, as to the other matter, if he could bravado my assertion that he and the Squire had some secret, why did he turn pale and grow nervous when I reminded him of the purchase of the dog-whip? It was in no way a remarkable article to buy, nor one I would be likely to connect with a deep, unsolvable problem.
"A second matter worth noticing is this, that the servant, whom his master had addressed as Smith (though that is probably not his name), and the doctor himself apparently are not on the best of terms with one another. The servant certainly does not respect his master. Why? Because, if your idea is a correct one, Meadows knows that Smith is slowly sealing my father's doom (as the Squire himself said). He may really be a harmless man, though I doubt it, and Smith may know something about his past, for instance, which prohibits him from discharging the servant, though he knows exactly what is going on. But then, if this were the case, what was Meadows doing in the yard at midnight, after his interview with me last evening? No, clearly he is one of the gang who are at such enmity with father.
"When the detective comes he will start from the assault last night, interview all the servants, and start his inquiry, so that it is of no use for us to do that now, but I am thinking that examination of the room may reveal some traces or clues. At any rate, now that we have called in the man, we must play second fiddle to him. It will be as well, too, to tell him all we know, and then do our best to run the poor old man's enemies to earth.
"Let us now, if there is nothing better to do, stroll down to the place where we saw the man Meadows last night, and see if he has left any clue behind him."
Together they crossed the lawn, and entered the courtyard in which stood the barn.
"That's where he was, that's where he went through the bushes and climbed over the palisade," said Lena, pointing in the direction of the Dene.
"Where did he start, though?" asked Laurence.
"Probably in the barn, or——" She ran forward, as though spurred by a sudden impulse. Carrington followed her in amazement to the little cycle shed, which she had entered.
"Look," cried the girl, and she pointed towards a corner in which stood the missing bicycle, caked with mud, and having the saddle lowered as though for some short rider.
"Gracious me! What made you think that the bicycle would be returned?" asked Laurence, when he had recovered from his surprise, caused by the return of the machine.
"Common sense," replied the girl, with a light laugh. "It suddenly occurred to me that it was just as likely the Major would go out at midnight to the cycle shed as to the barn, for we know that he could have no reason for visiting the latter——"
"Wait," Laurence interrupted. "You are wrong there. He might wish to see the mysterious creature who displayed gymnastic tricks for my sole benefit the night before last."
"My dear Mr. Carrington," replied Lena (and she used that title only because she wished to see his look of regret), "your memory is failing you. Why, you told me yourself that the monkey-like creature—or presumably it—was now within the walls of Durley Dene."
"You astound me, Miss Scott," replied Laurence; "really, I have no recollection of making such a statement."
"You silly boy," answered Lena, with ill-disguised mirth, "what about the strange cry that disturbed your interview with Smith as you were leaving the house last night?"
"Ah! Then you think that cry proceeded from the mouth of the person whom I encountered on the moor and again in the barn?"
"Well, it certainly appears to me that there is something similar in your description of the two sounds. But you yourself can judge better of that than I can."
"Yes; but why should this horrible creature scream as I was leaving the Dene, and if Smith is my father's would-be murderer, who is the person that used the barn as its headquarters?"
"If you knew that, Laurence, there would probably be no mystery at all. It is as to these points we have yet to decide."
"Then, do you mean that, in your opinion, the creature in the barn was not the attempted assassin?"
"We practically decided that last night when we noted the possibility of Smith having crept through the palisade and attacked your father in his room. From what you tell me about the man, I think it more than probable that we are at last on the right track. In brief, we have now come to the following conclusion—or, rather, supposition, for there is just the chance that we are wrong.
"Smith has some long-standing and, undoubtedly, fierce grudge against your father, which can only be paid off by death. He also has some control—powerful control—over this man Meadows. He compels the latter to take Durley Dene, and lets out through the house agent some ridiculous story about an invalid military gentleman of retiring disposition having taken the house. Learning the Squire's movements, he follows him to the Marquis's on your bicycle, which he kindly takes without asking your leave. Being shorter than you, he has to lower the saddle. After the attempt to murder the Squire by setting light to the house, he learns somehow or other that you have left, overtakes and shadows the carriage, and eventually attacks it. On being repulsed, he makes for home, concealing his tracks, as you are aware, by taking off his boots and carrying the bicycle into the Dene. He afterwards compels Meadows to return the cycle to the shed. Knowing who you are, he naturally objects to your having an interview with the sham Major, and is hardly polite when you apply for one.
"However, wishing to make a second attempt on the Squire's life, and to carry out his vile design, he conceives the plan of getting you out of the way."
"Good heavens! I believe you are right."
"He knows you to be energetic and suspicious, and arranges an interview for you with the 'Major,' during the course of which he manages to get into the house and attack the Squire, whom he presumably thinks he has killed. He gets back in time to take up my message, delivered by the butler, to you. Why he induced you to give him money I do not know. Possibly he would have done more—would have enticed you into some room—yes, and murdered you—had it not been for that shrill cry that suddenly disturbed him."
"Lena!" (the pet name slipped out unnoticed by both in Laurence's astonishment)—"Lena, you are a genius. You have solved the mystery."
"On the contrary, I am more in the dark than ever, for in addition to the secret of the man's enmity against your father, we have now to discover who is the strange creature of the shrill voice and ape-like agility, what his connection is with the people of the Dene, and, lastly, why, as I am firmly convinced, he is imprisoned in the basement of the house you visited last night."