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.