Though he was scarcely conscious of it, the telling of that story brought him some measure of relief. It eased the ordeal of waiting for news from the next room. He was forced to concentrate his thoughts on what he was saying to the exclusion of anxieties and fears, and shortly his chief concern was the clear presentation of his narrative.
He deemed it advisable that Krech, since he knew so much, should know all. The single incident he left untold was his dashing of the lethal glass from Ocky's lips—that, as she had stipulated, should remain their own secret.
"You always manage to fool me, Creighton," said his friend as the detective ended. "I never guessed Merrill was your man, and I never dreamed that you knew about Janet's flight in time to wish Kitty Doyle on her. Jean and I would have bet any amount of money that you weren't within a hundred miles of the truth."
"Your bet would have been safe twenty-four hours ago."
"Now the question is—"
Creighton suddenly sprang into activity. A door had opened and shut softly close at hand, a light footfall sounded from the hall, and the detective leaped to fling back his door as a set of bony knuckles was extended to rap on it.
Krech did not leave his chair, but his ears were strained to their limit. He caught various illuminating phrases from a brisk, capable little person with flowing white whiskers.
"Resting now ... Opiates ... Careful examination ... Curious case ... Similar one ... Medical text books ... To-morrow ... MacNaughton ... Billy MacNaughton ... Best Man ... Know Him? ... Fine fellow ... Exquisite touch with the knife ... I will telegraph ... No complications ... No reason for excessive alarm ... Very simple ... Expert surgeon ... Splendid constitution ... Strong as a Shetland pony ... Better go to bed yourself ... Good-night ... Tut-tut, don't mention it ... Good-night!"
Creighton shut the door quietly, turned and lighted the lamp. Krech saw that much of the trouble had gone from his face—much, but not all.
"You heard what he said, Krech?"