"I was just going," Wilfrid replied. "But, of course, if there is anything that I can do for you——"
"I want to know if anything serious has happened," Beatrice went on. "I could get nothing out of Cotter. The man is paralyzed with fright. All I could learn was that my uncle's life is in danger. What does it mean?"
"I only wish I could tell you," Wilfrid replied, "but I will not rest till I get to the bottom of it. Beyond question, your uncle's life was in danger, and I have no hesitation in telling you so. And I fear you are going to have more trouble before the danger is removed. But there is one thing you must bear in mind—you are perfectly safe yourself. And as far as your uncle is concerned, he seems to be himself again, because you heard him call for Cotter just now."
Wilfrid might have said more, but he had no desire to alarm Beatrice further. He did not want her to know that if he had been less prompt in breaking in the library door the career of the ship-owner would have been at an end by this time. He tried to close the incident with a smile.
"You must go to bed and sleep," he said. "Your uncle and Cotter will sit up all night, and I understand that to-morrow the case is going to be placed in the hands of a detective. It is a good thing that the servants know nothing about the matter. I suppose you saw nothing to alarm you when you were in the garden?"
"No, I was not afraid," Beatrice said simply, "but I did see a thing which puzzled me exceedingly. I saw two of those strange little figures run along the drive closely followed by a gigantic negro, who was plying a whip about their shoulders unmercifully. They didn't seem to resent it in the least; in fact, they behaved just like refractory hounds who had been misbehaving themselves. They passed out of sight in a flash, and then I saw them no more. If you had not known so much I should have been almost ashamed to tell you this, for fear you should laugh at me."
Wilfrid did not laugh. He did not even smile. So the thing that he had put down as a figment of Cotter's diseased brain really was a fact. It was as well to know this, too. The small figures might be illusive. They might even obliterate themselves, but a stalwart negro, standing six feet six in his stockings, was another matter altogether.
"I am glad you told me this," Wilfrid said thoughtfully, "because here we have something like a tangible clue. And now I must be going. I will see your uncle again to-morrow."
Beatrice held out her two hands impulsively.
"How can I thank you for all your kindness?" she said. "How good and brave and patient you are!"