The Doctor saw something in Ogledon’s eyes which completely sobered him; he sank down helplessly in a chair. “You don’t mean—” he began.
Ogledon nodded. “We—we had a row. We’ve had—had rows before. Besides—the fool was in my way—in my way everywhere. I’d got out of him all I wanted. I followed him down to the river, a week ago, and struck him down there—from behind. I know he was dead; I felt for his heart. Then I made a bolt for it; got to Paris, so as to be out of the way—and came back here only to-day. I’ve watched the papers, for a week; I came back, expecting to hear that the body had been found, and that this house was in mourning. Cripps—as Heaven’s above us, there is some devilish Thing going about—from the grave—from anywhere you will—in the likeness of this man we both know to be dead.”
The little Doctor was trembling from head to foot; not sober enough yet to understand the magnitude of the thing, and having, after that lapse of twenty-eight years, but a dim and fleeting recollection of the birth at Chater Hall. Indeed, then, as now, he had been always in so hazy a condition, that it is doubtful if he remembered the real circumstances.
“It has been seen at this meeting; it came here; it dogged us to-night. I’m—I’m choking, Cripps; I must have one of these windows open.”
He crossed the room hurriedly, and flung back a heavy curtain, which hung across the long French window which opened on to the terrace. But, the next moment, he started back with a scream, and covered his face with his hands; for there, in the clear cold light of the moon, stood the living image of Dandy Chater, looking calmly at him.
CHAPTER XIII
INSPECTOR TOKELY IS EMPHATIC
In one of the many rooms of that barrack-like building, which harbours so many guilty secrets, and is so learned in many shady ways of life, and is known to all and sundry as Scotland Yard, there worked—with long intervals for mysterious disappearances into various parts of the country—a small man, with a hard, expressionless face, ornamented with a tuft of greyish hair on the chin.
This man had once had the extraordinary good fortune to pick up a vital piece of evidence—literally, to trip over it; for it was right in his way, and he could not well avoid it. But it brought him into prominent notice; it got him talked about; and, as he was wise enough to appear absolutely impassive, when complimented by his superior officers, and even by a great and bewigged Judge on the Bench, he gained greater credit still; was spoken of with bated breath, by criminals acquainted, by experience, with some of the intricacies of the Yard; and sagely nodded over by those in authority. Then, one lucky chance following another, he rose up, by dint of that hard expressionless face, to something greater still; and, steering clear of blunders, and getting other men with brains to secure information for him, blossomed at last into Inspector Tokely, of the Criminal Investigation Department.
Now, this same Inspector Tokely was a native of the small and unimportant village of Bamberton; had come up from it, indeed, as a raw youth, to enter the police force in London. So that, when news came of the murder of poor Patience Miller, and a request that the matter might be investigated, Inspector Tokely, instead of sending a subordinate, determined to combine business with pleasure, and to see his native place. Thus it came about that the great little man descended on the village, early on the afternoon preceding Philip’s night adventure in the garden, and stirred the already startled community of yokels to its depths.
Reversing the copybook maxim, Inspector Tokely determined to take pleasure before business, and to flutter with envy the bosoms of his former acquaintances. Therefore he put up, with some ostentation, at the Chater Arms; and took his expressionless face, with its dependent tuft, into the bar of that hostelry, when some half-dozen village celebrities were assembled in it. Old Betty Siggs, being busy at the moment, and not having set eyes upon him since his boyhood, failed to notice his entry, or to recognise him other than as a casual visitor. The Inspector, looking down from his height of superior importance and criminal experience on the mere hinds on whom Mrs. Siggs was attending, coughed vigorously to attract her attention, and dropped his portmanteau with a bang upon the floor. Mrs. Siggs, smiling and pleasant, came across, and civilly enquired what she could do for him.