"Uncle Henry knows already," said Clarice, impetuously. "The discovery of the envelope gave him a shock--he said so, and wanted to see you, doctor. I expect the sight of the fern recalled the murders to him at once. I had an idea that the fern was familiar to me, but until Mr. Ackworth refreshed my memory, I could not be sure."
"I'll speak to Chalks," said Jerce, rising, "but it will be just as well that no one else in the house should know about the matter, and----"
"There's one who knows," said a voice, coming from a distant alcove, and Ferdy's head appeared over the back of a deep leather armchair, which faced towards a window.
The doctor started and looked displeased. "Ferdinand," he said, in an angry voice, "why did you listen to what does not concern you?"
"I think it concerns me a great deal," said Ferdy, coolly, and came forward into the full light of the room, very pale, and with ruffled hair. "I went to sleep in that chair, and woke up at the sound of your voices. I listened, half unconsciously, and then, when the story became interesting, I listened with all my ears. As the chair-back is towards you, I expect you did not see me."
"I wish you had come out, Ferdy," said Clarice, much annoyed, as she recalled her conversation with Ackworth, "how long have you been sleeping?"
"Not very long. I came in through the window, when you were out on the terrace."
Ackworth looked hard at Ferdy to see if he was lying, but could only make out that the young man looked extremely upset. He remarked upon it with some dryness, and Baird turned on him at once with the fractiousness of a spoilt child. "That story has made me quite sick," said he, restlessly. "I don't want to be murdered in my bed."
"The warning was not sent to you," said Clarice, contemptuously.
"If it had been, I'd have gone to the police station right off. I wish you had let me go on that night, doctor."