“Isn’t it splendid!” he remarked when I referred to his cure. “Old Professor Goltman, in Dresden, has worked a miracle. I can now get about quite well, and I feel quite twenty years younger.”
“You look it,” I declared, for he certainly seemed an entirely different man from the decrepit invalid who wheeled himself in his chair, and had often to be carried upstairs.
Thoughts of Mürren reminded me that Harold Ruthen had been there for a few days at the same time as the invalid. Evidently they must have met there and their acquaintance must have been renewed in London, where Ruthen was now acting on Humphreys’ behalf in regard to the house.
It struck me too, that if I mentioned Ruthen I might be thought too inquisitive. But I decided to watch closely, for I was beginning to grow distrustful of both the doctor and his friend: of Ruthen I had never been anything else. My suspicions were greatly strengthened by a curious circumstance which occurred about a week later.
Though I had struggled against it I had decided to go down and see Thelma again, and put to her certain other questions which I hoped would induce her to give me her entire confidence. The fact was that I could not keep away from her, try how I would.
I little dreamed of the consequences that visit was to have!
CHAPTER XIII
SPUME OF THE STORM
It was evening when I alighted from the train at the clean, spick-and-span little town of Bexhill, which in summer and autumn is so animated, yet in spring and winter is practically deserted.
Darkness had already fallen and a rough easterly wind caused the leafless boughs of the trees to crack and sway. A heavy gale was blowing in the Channel that night and the boiling surf swept in upon the shingle.
As I walked towards Bedford Avenue, that quiet select thoroughfare of detached red-brick houses which lies close to the sea, I noticed, on the opposite side of the way, two persons—a man and a girl—walking slowly in the direction which I was taking.