Ellis made no reply. It was a habit of his very often not to answer Charley, and the latter did not mind it in the least.
“Now listen,” pursued Musgrave. “I’ll tell you something now. I’ve been here for two days. Langley, who owns the hotel here, is an old patient of mine. He wired me to come down an’ see a man who was ill in his place—chap asked him to get a doctor. Rattray, the medico here, is in hospital himself, undergoing an operation for appendicitis, so I came along. Now, I’m a specialist. I don’t undervalue my professional services in the least, I can assure you. Quit that, years ago. I have my fee. Those that don’t care to pay it are welcome to get somebody else—that’s all there’s to it. Now—coming back to this case in hand—naturally, after having to come all the way down here, one of the first things I did was to sound Langley as to my prospective patient’s financial stability. May sound mercenary, or merciless, whichever you please—to you—but, as I said before—Well, Langley said he was all right, as far as he knew. Seemed to have plenty of money—has paid up square enough during the week or so he’s been in the hotel—was an absolute stranger to him—registered as John Walters, from Toronto—said he’d been sick for a couple of days. So I went upstairs to have a look at him. He looks to me like a clerk, counter-jumper—town-bred, anyway—might be anything—I don’t know what his line in life is—never asked him. He must have divined that I’d been questioning Langley about him, for one of the first things he said to me was: ‘Money’s all right, Doctor. Oh, I’ve got plenty of “dough.”’ And he fumbles under the bedclothes and shakes three or four hundred-dollar bills at me. Hundred-dollar ones, mind you! Afterwards, when I was examining him, I found he was wearing a leather money-belt next to his skin—you know—the kind we used to have in South Africa, with pockets all round. I don’t know, of course, how much he’s got in it; but he hangs on to it mighty close, and seems very nervous and suspicious. He’s a pretty sick man, anyway. I may have to rush him into town to one of the hospitals, and operate on him right away. I’m just waiting for a certain symptom to show up. Now, here’s one of the queerest parts about this business. The morning after he’d put up at the hotel—so Langley tells me—this girl came here, along with some chap. Whether they’re man and wife, or not, I couldn’t say; they’re living together as such, at all events, and they’ve rented that cottage. What the fellow’s name is I don’t know, or what his business here is, either. He dresses fairly well, and he’s got good looks—of a certain type. But it sure is a d—d bad face, all the same. Typical ‘white-slaver’s.’ Well, yesterday afternoon I went upstairs to see my patient. I’d just got to the landing where his room is, when I heard somebody talking to him—in precious loud, ugly tones, too. I heard this: ‘Yer thought yer could “shake” me—hidin’ away in this burg, eh? Now, look a-here. I’m nigh broke—you’re flush. If yer don’t come across quick, I’m a-goin’ to start somethin’. I’ve bin here close on a week now, an’ I ain’t a-goin’ to wait no longer!’
“I promptly opened the door and stepped in, and here was my gentleman, standing by the side of Walters’ bed. The expression on his mug was anything but sweet, and as for Walters—he was all in—collapsed, absolutely. ‘What’s the trouble?’ I said. ‘Oh, nothin’,’ says Mr. Man, kind of off-hand; ‘just a-talkin’ over a little business matter with my friend, here.’ ‘Well, now look here,’ I said; ‘I’m the doctor attending this man. He isn’t in a fit condition to talk business to anybody, especially your kind. Just look at him, man! Now, you get straight out of here—right now. I’m not going to have you worrying this man in the condition that he’s in; and remember, you’re to stay out—for good. You keep away from here altogether, or I’ll d—d soon take steps to make you. D’you hear?’ He looked at me in a precious mean, ugly sort of way, but he slunk out, and he hasn’t been near Walters since. That’s why I wanted Churchill. Looks now as if he might know something, eh?”
Ellis uttered a short, mirthless laugh. “That’s what,” he answered succinctly.
They walked on in silence for awhile.
“It’s like this,” resumed Musgrave. “I’m purely and simply in the position of a doctor called in to see a patient. As long as I’m remunerated for my professional services it’s none of my business to go poking about, prying into other people’s affairs, and I don’t intend to in this case. That’s up to you. But, all the same, the whole thing seems a kind of a rum go, and I thought I’d better mention it to one of you. Whatever’s this fellow, Walters, going around with all this money cached on him for? keeping indoors always, religiously, at night—so Langley says ... of no occupation—never speaking to anybody if he can help it ... as mum as you please.... Never letting on to Langley, or any one, that he knew this other chap, either. Then this talk I overheard in his bedroom ... proper blackmail. The plot thickens—ahem! I think we’d better temporarily assume the respective rôles of Sherlock Holmes and his pal, Dr. Watson, to clear up this dark mystery,” he concluded, with a melodramatic chuckle.
The Sergeant nodded, with a thoughtful grin.
“M-m, yes! it sure does look kind of queer,” he murmured. “Guess I’ll take a dekho at both these ginks tomorrow, Charley, before I pull out to the Creek. That girl, for instance. You can take your oath she’s just travelin’ with that chap. Been enticed away from some little country burg—you know the ways and means these brutes have o’ working these things? Once away from home they’re done for, and scared to go back. He must be just usin’ her as a decoy-duck for some rotten business best known to himself, but you could see how green she was. Churchill—what? the d—d fool—riskin’ his job—gossipy one-horse dorp like this!”
They had reached the door of the hotel.
“Well, I’m going to turn in,” said the doctor. “Sure you won’t come in and have a drink?”