The next moment she was gone.
* * * * *
When Sir Willoughby Sperm learned of his patient's progress, he struck the words "Major Lyveden" out of his diary. The action cost him exactly one hundred guineas, and the secretary by his side bit her lip. To keep that Saturday free for his visit to Hampshire, she had refused nine appointments. But, if he was a bad business man, Sperm was a good doctor. Anthony was out of the wood. Very well. Considering the nature of the peril with which the wood had been quick, the less the fugitive saw of strange doctors, the better for him. To insist upon the gravity of his late disorder was most undesirable. Besides, if at this juncture a specialist's visit to Bell Hammer could serve any useful purpose, Heron was the man to pay it. It was he who had walked and talked with Lyveden when the latter's brain had been sick. So he alone of the doctors could compare Philip drunk with Philip sober. Happily no such comparison was necessary. Had it been vital, it could not have been made. For the patient to renew the acquaintance of the artist he had met at Gramarye—and that in the person of a distinguished brain specialist—would hardly have conduced to his health of mind. Indeed, from the moment that Anthony had reached Bell Hammer in safety, so far as the inmates of that house were concerned, the very name of Dr. Heron was, by his own advice, religiously forgotten as though the man had never been. It was natural, however, that one who had done so much to arrest the disorder should care to hear how Anthony was faring. By a mutual arrangement the cherubic Dr. Gilpin wrote to the former faithfully three times a week.
Similar, though less frequent, reports were regularly rendered to Mr.
Justice Molehill.
One of these latter I will set out, for it was a wise man that wrote it, and the matter is to the point. I would, sirs, that I could show you the handwriting, so fine and easy to read.
Bell Hammer,
nr. Brooch,
Hants.
April 11th, 1921.
DEAR SIR GILES,
Major Lyveden continues mercifully to make good progress.
I saw him myself yesterday for the first time, and must make haste to confess that I am overjoyed. When I say this, you will understand that he is not only the stranger whom we are helping to the acquisition of a great fortune, but the man whom my niece is delighting to honour. Lyveden is a man of great personal charm and fine character, and I am sure that he will administer his heritage wisely and faithfully, and that he will make Valerie a proud and happy woman. I am glad to say, too, that your memory of his appearance is as true as your judgment. In short, he is a splendid specimen of manhood.
There is, of course, no doubt at all that he is our man, i.e. the only nephew of the late Jonathan Roach. Boldly advancing out of my province, I begged leave to ask him a question or two, to which the most exacting of opponents could not in decency have objected. His replies made me ashamed of the doubts which I never—even officially—harboured.