‘Ever since he was a lad in Canada,’ answered the millionaire. ‘I have every confidence in Donald’s ability, and he was for half a year with Gianesi and Giambresi, learning to work their system.’
Donald’s honesty, it was clear, he never dreamed of suspecting. Merton blushed, as he remembered that a doubt as to whether the engineer had been ‘got at’ had occurred to his own mind. For a heavy bribe (Merton had fancied) Donald might have been induced, perhaps by some Stock Exchange operator, to tamper with the wireless centre of communication. But, from Mr. Macrae’s perfect confidence, he felt obliged to drop this attractive hypothesis.
They dined at the usual hour, and not long after dinner Lady Bude said good-night, while her lord, who was very tired, soon followed her example. Merton and the millionaire paid a visit to Blake, whom they found asleep, and the doctor, having taken supper and accepted an invitation to stay all night, joined the two other men in the smoking-room. In answer to inquiries about the patient, Dr. MacTavish said, ‘It’s jist concussion, slight concussion, and nervous shoke. No that muckle the maiter wi’ him but a clour on the hairnspan, and midge bites, forbye the disagreeableness o’ being clamped doon for a wheen hours in a wat tussock o’ bracken.’
This diagnosis, though not perfectly intelligible to Merton, seemed to reassure Mr. Macrae.
‘He’s a bit concetty, the chiel,’ added the worthy physician, ‘and it may be a day or twa or he judges
he can leave his bed. Jist nervous collapse. But, bless my soul, what’s thon?’
‘Thon’ had brought Mr. Macrae to his feet with a bound. It was the thrill of the electric bell which preluded to communications from the wireless communicator! The instrument began to tick, and to emit its inscribed tape.
‘Thank heaven,’ cried the millionaire, ‘now we shall have light on this mystery.’ He read the message, stamped his foot with an awful execration, and then, recovering himself, handed the document to Merton. ‘The message is a disgusting practical joke,’ he said. ‘Some one at the central agency is playing tricks with the instrument.’
‘Am I to read the message aloud?’ asked Merton.
It was rather a difficult question, for the doctor was a perfect stranger to all present, and the matters involved were of an intimate delicacy, affecting the most sacred domestic relations.