"Are you serious?"
"When I was in Newcaster yesterday morning I made all possible inquiries; I was in Newcaster again to-day, and inquired still further. I honestly believe, without being, I think, unduly conceited, that I have nearly as much medical knowledge as the local sawbones. I put two and two together. I returned to town; then, this afternoon, I saw the man who, so far as I know, is the greatest surgeon living. I told him the whole story, as I knew it; and, also, as I suspected it. Without pledging himself in any way, he agreed with me in thinking that it was at least possible that the last diagnosis was as defective as the first--he has gone down to Newcaster to find out. I meant to say nothing till I had heard from him, one way or the other; but my hand has been forced. He has promised to let me have a telegram, directed to Mr Vernon's house, so soon as he himself is certain. It may come at any moment; it may have come already. I would suggest to you, Mr Arnecliffe, that you do nothing, except sit tight, until we know what the contents of that promised telegram are. It was with that idea in my mind that I sent you here; and, before starting to join you, I managed to convey a hint that, if a telegram did arrive for me, it was to be brought to me here, with the least possible delay." As he finished speaking the door was opened--to admit Jim Vernon. "Why," exclaimed Strathmoira, "I shouldn't be surprised if this is the bearer of tidings. Jim, you're kindly welcome to the family houseboat; especially as I'm hopeful that, somewhere on board, you've some sort of a suit which you can lend me."
The new-comer stared at the speaker in undisguised amazement.
"My hat, what a sight you are! Why ever have you been trying to drown yourself, rigged out like that?"
"My dear Jim, suit first; questions afterwards. What is that I see in your hand?"
"You've been and let us in for no end of a jolly nice thing--they're in a pretty state of fluster round at our place--the police seem to have taken the whole house into custody--I'd no end of a job to get away, I can tell you that. I left the mater in hysterics on the couch; the pater waltzing about like a tiger in a fit; and Frances using language hot enough to singe your hair--you can bet your life there's no place like home to-night!"
"I think I asked you what that is you're holding in your hand."
"This? So far as I know it's a telegram; but as it's addressed to you I haven't opened the envelope to inquire, so you can look for yourself."
Jim handed the yellow envelope to Strathmoira, who promptly tore it open, glanced at its contents, then held the slip of pink paper above his head, with the somewhat singular exclamation, which suggested--if it suggested nothing else--that, at last, even his imperturbability was moved:
"What ho, she bumps!"