Five hours later Barclay opened his eyes, and at first too dazed to move, lay in bed gazing in bewilderment at Leonard McLane taking a quiet snooze in a near-by chair. Gradually Barclay pieced together the events of the night which culminated in the arrest of the murderer and the solution of the mysteries surrounding the death of Dwight Tilghman and James Patterson. A light footstep and the swish of a skirt caused him to turn as quickly as his bandaged head permitted, but the sight of Ethel Ogden repaid him for the excruciating pain that followed the movement.
“How is Julian, Doctor?” asked Ethel. Her low voice brought McLane to his feet and he smiled sleepily at her.
“You caught me napping,” he admitted. “How did you leave Mrs. Ogden?”
“Very much better; the trained nurse says she has rallied wonderfully,” Ethel tip-toed into the room. “It was so fortunate that Cousin Walter got you immediately on the telephone, on discovering Cousin Jane’s condition.”
“I was sitting up talking to Mitchell and Carter Calhoun,” explained McLane, “We were threshing out the problems of the two tragedies. Calhoun, who called here earlier in the evening, was longing to see you and ask about the miniature, as well as talk with Norcross, with whom he has had a more or less scientific correspondence for a number of years, and he suggested that I bring him and Mitchell with me. He argued that you would undoubtedly be up if your cousin was ill. They were waiting downstairs talking to Gilmore, alias Ito, when Julian Barclay made his spectacular run downstairs.”
“Don’t!” Ethel shaded her eyes. “He must have hurt himself seriously when he struck his head against the newel post.”
“Nonsense, Ethel, men have tough skulls,” smiled McLane. “Barclay lost a great deal of blood while we stood talking in the hall, and that is mainly responsible for his loss of consciousness. I assure you he is——”
“Quite recovered,” said Barclay, and at the sound of his weak voice McLane hastened to the bed, leaving Ethel to follow more slowly.
“Well, I can’t pronounce you quite recovered,” he said, feeling Barclay’s pulse and examining the bandages. “But you are getting along satisfactorily. Come and see for yourself, Ethel,” making room for her, but she approached only as far as the foot of the bed. McLane, his eyes twinkling, was about to speak again when a tap sounded at the side of the open door, and Charles looked in.