MR. HORNCASTLE, FROM DARTMOOR
"And now," said Meadows, as he lay back in his arm-chair, "now, as you have been good enough to promise to take me into your confidence, may I ask if you will give me a brief outline of the manner in which this plot against Mr. Carrington has been carried out?"
"Certainly," said Laurence; and he proceeded to sketch briefly the events of the last few days.
"Well," said the doctor, when his young visitor had concluded the narrative, "one thing is quite certain. Since you are now sure that the enemy is not lurking in this house, he must be even nearer home. I mean that the chances are he is still hiding in the old barn. By the way, do you happen to know of any secret place of concealment in that building?"
"No; that I do not. But I feel sure, from the manner in which the creature escaped from me on the night when I encountered him in the dark, that there must be such a hiding-place. Strange that a new arrival should discover a secret room, when I, who have explored the barn scores of times, have not even learned of its existence."
"Now," pursued Meadows, "I have already told you that I am probably the one person who can throw any light upon the secrets and mysteries in which this weird creature plays so important a part, yet I must confess that I am unable to divulge one word of what I know—or, rather, suspect—about the Squire's secret. As you are already aware, I do know your father, Mr. Carrington; that is, I did know him many years ago, before you were born, and before his marriage. Were I to tell you any suspicions I should be breaking a promise I made, and have kept for all these years; and I would rather die than do so. I know that by telling you this I am probably laying myself open to further suspicion, but I have found, to my cost, that to tell the truth is the best policy, whatever the consequences may be. One thing, though, I can do, and that is to help you to run this fiendish creature to earth. This I may as well tell you: the person who is haunting your father—the fear of whose coming has, indeed, haunted him for years—is not a woman, as you have at one time imagined. It is a man. And with all respect for your detective-nurse, his motive is neither jealousy, anarchy, nor robbery. It is revenge!"
"I must say that I always considered that such must be the case," said Laurence; "hence my inclination to believe it was the poacher who swore to be even with my father one day."
"Ah!" remarked Doctor Meadows, "if it were only a poacher—a prince of poachers, even—then our task would be very much easier. As it is, we must prepare ourselves for a hard battle if we hope to capture the rascal. Though I know nothing about him personally, I can tell you that he is certain to be diabolically cunning and clever. You have already found that out yourself. But, tell me, have you discovered anything in the nature of a clue? Anything such as the feather the detective in fiction finds on the murdered man's bed, which may lead to the detection of the criminal?"
Laurence shook his head. He had left the work of searching the room in which the final attempt had been made on the Squire's life to the detective from Burton's. Whether Mr. Oliver Potter had taken the opportunity thus presented he did not know.
"Then, tell me, please, about your father's room. Is there a looking-glass over the mantelboard?"
"No; my father dislikes mirrors of any kind. He shaves even without the aid of a glass. But why?"
"One minute. I think you said your butler found the bedroom door slightly ajar when he entered, and discovered that your father was apparently murdered? Yes? Well, then, do you recollect hearing whether any of the maids happened to be about in the corridor at the time when the assault must have taken place? A housemaid, for instance, with a slop pail?"
"No; I was not told that such was the case. Besides, the servants were at supper when Kingsford went upstairs to attend to the Squire's wants, so we may be quite sure that none of the women were on the bedroom floor. But why on earth do you ask? This has surely nothing to do with the case?"
"I am merely trying to obtain some proof that my theory is the right one, though, to be sure, proof is hardly necessary. What I wish to discover is why the assassin did not carry out his vile deed."
"He, no doubt, believed that he had killed the Squire," suggested Lena, who had been following the conversation with undisguised interest.
Meadows shook his head.
"Or he was interrupted by hearing the butler's footsteps in the passage," hazarded Laurence.
"In the latter case," said the doctor, "I should say 'no,' because, from what I can gather, there is no suitable hiding-place in the room in which he could have concealed himself when the butler came in. There is always the bed, of course, but I am inclined to think that he was interrupted in some other way. The question is, how? It might be answered if we learned that anything had been found in the room—anything unusual, that is to say. However, we will not trouble about that now. What should be done is to have the barn thoroughly overhauled. Once we discover the hiding-place of this creature, we shall be well on in our investigation."
Laurence was about to reply when an interruption occurred. As on the occasion of the last visit to Durley Dene, the doctor's strange servant appeared in the doorway. This time his dusky face was pale, and he appeared to be in a great state of alarm.
"Here, quick, I want you! Come down at once, will you?" he whispered in the doctor's ear, but not so low that the visitors could not catch the words.
The man looked significantly at his master, who rose in haste.
"I regret that I shall have to close this very pleasant interview," he said, in a quivering voice. "Unexpected business causes my retirement. But, come, we must meet again before long. I will show you to the door. Lead the way, if you please, Horncastle."
As Meadows uttered this last word the servant turned to him and frowned angrily, not aware that both the visitors were watching him.
"Lead the way, Smith, I mean. I always confound your name with that of my last valet," Dr. Meadows added, as though prompted by the servant's expression of annoyance.
The shutter of a landing window had been drawn back, so that the light from outside feebly pierced the darkness within. Thus was the journey downstairs made easier. The doctor walked in front with the servant. Laurence made way at the top of the staircase for Lena to go before him. This she would not do, however, but, fumbling in the semi-darkness, she found her lover's hand, caught it, and did not release her hold until the two were safely outside in the dazzling heat of the day.
The door closed behind them.
"How glad I am to get into the outside world once again!" cried Lena, joyfully, when they had reached the gate of Durley Dene. "Doctor Meadows is very kind and nice, and a perfect gentleman, yet there is such a distinct air of mystery about the house, one is given such an impression that the place is peopled by ghosts, that I must confess I should have been frightened had I been alone there to-day. But, Laurence, the mystery is no more solved than ever. It seems to get deeper every time we make a fresh discovery. We know now that the doctor has nothing to do with the Squire—I mean that he is not connected with the assaults—and yet he informs us that he not only knew your father and his secret, but could explain the whole mystery, if allowed to do so."
"That's what he says," answered Laurence. "Is it the truth? And what is the urgent business on which he was called away?"
By this time the porch of the Manse was reached, but the door being closed, and Laurence having mislaid his key, it was necessary to wait for a servant to answer the bell.
"Did you hear," asked Lena, "that he called the servant Horncastle, and then corrected himself?"
"Indeed I did; and in spite of all he said about truth being the best policy, I feel sure he was lying again when he explained that a former servant was called Horncastle. By the way, Horncastle is no common name, is it? Somehow I believe I've heard it before. Do you know anyone called Horncastle? I certainly have some reason for recollecting the name."
At that moment Kingsford appeared at the door.
"Do you happen to know the name 'Horncastle'?" casually asked Laurence of the butler, as he followed Lena into the house.
"Horncastle, sir?" repeated Kingsford, who, as an old retainer, was never treated quite as one of the domestic servants. "No, I can't say I know anyone o' that name, Mister Laurence, leastways excepting 'the' Horncastle."
"And who is 'the' Horncastle?" asked Laurence, pausing to hear the old man's answer.
"I mean the famous burgiler, sir, what escaped from Dartmoor six months back."
"Good gracious!" muttered Laurence to himself, and Lena thought something that could only be described by an equally forcible interjection.
"Ah, of course," remarked the young man, fearing to raise the butler's suspicion.