"Not I, Dr. Cavendish. I went to the Maze betimes this morning to--to pay him a visit; and I was met with a tale that the bird had flown."
"I can tell you, sir, that he was in a most unfit state to travel," said the doctor with angry emphasis. "I don't know what the consequences will be."
"Ay, if he had gone. But it's all moonshine."
"What do you mean by 'moonshine?' Has he gone, or has he not?"
"They say at the Maze he has; but I am sure he has not," was the answer. "There was a motive for his being denied to me, Dr. Cavendish; and so--and so--when I went in this morning they concocted an impromptu tale of his departure. That's what I think."
"They must have concocted it last night then," said the doctor. "The letter, informing me of the circumstance, was posted last night at Foxwood--and therefore must have been written last night."
"Did they write to tell you he had gone?" asked the detective, after a slight pause.
"Mrs. Grey wrote. I got it by the post this morning. She would not trouble me to come over again, she said, as Illy patient had found himself obliged to leave last night. But I have troubled myself to come," added the doctor, wrathfully, "and to see about it; for, of all mad acts, that man's getting up from his bed yesterday, and starting off by a shaking railway train was the maddest. Drive on, James."
The groom touched the horse at the short command, and the animal sprang forward. Mr. Strange thought he would let the station alone for a bit, and loiter about where he was. This letter, written last night, to tell of the departure, somewhat complicated matters.
A very short while, and the doctor came out again. Mr. Strange accosted him as he was about to step into his gig.