Colin finished his coffee and looked inquiringly across the table.
"Have you any special plans for this afternoon?" he asked. "If not,
I thought I'd get on with that new parcel of stuff from Paris. The
sooner it's sorted out and classified the better."
The Professor, who was engaged in selecting a cigar, stopped in the
middle of the operation.
"Let me see, Gray," he observed, "how long have you been with me?"
Colin reflected for a moment. "I came on a Wednesday," he said.
"That will be three weeks to-morrow."
"And I believe," continued the Professor, "that except for a few
occasional pauses for sleep and refreshment, you have spent the whole
of that period shut up in the laboratory."
Colin gave a protesting laugh. "Well, I wanted to get the hang of
things as soon as possible," he replied. "I can stand a lot of work
provided it's interesting."
"That appears to be the truth," admitted his employer. "All the
same, every piece of machinery has its breaking-point, and, as I am
beginning to find you extremely useful, I have no wish that you
should suddenly collapse. You will therefore oblige me by going out
into the open air and not showing your face inside this house again
until bedtime."
"Just as you please, sir," said Colin, pushing back his chair. "I
suppose it would be no use my suggesting that you should try a little
of the same prescription yourself?"
The Professor shook his head. "I am more favourably situated than
you, my young friend," he replied. "In the course of nature I shall
soon have all the rest that I need." He chuckled at his own sombre
jest, and, coming forward, laid his hand on Colin's shoulder. "You
have been of very real assistance, to me, Gray," he added, "but there
is no sense in flogging a willing horse. I can quite well spare you
to-day, so off you go, whether you like it or not."
Colin, who had been long enough at the Red Lodge to know the futility
of arguing, at once rose to his feet.
"I will see if I can rout out Mark Ashton," he said, "that doctor pal
of mine I was telling you about the other day. I should think that
with any luck we ought to be able to carry on until midnight."
He accepted a cigar which the Professor offered him, and, making his
way to the telephone in the hall, rang up the Shadwell surgery.
"Hullo!" came a voice, "Who's that? Colin? Why, good Lord, man, we
thought you were dead!"
"Why should I be dead?" retorted Colin. "I'm not one of your
patients."
He heard a laugh at the other end of the wire.
"As a matter of fact," he continued, "I'm just starting off to pay
you a visit."
"Splendid!" was the answer. "Mary's still away up North, but you'll
find me here, and Miss Seymour, too. What more could you want?"
"Nothing," assented Colin. "I was going to suggest that if you can
get away this evening I should take you both out to a theatre."
"No chance of that," replied Mark regretfully. "At least, not so far
as I'm concerned. I might spare Miss Seymour if you'll do something
for me on your way here."
"What is it?"
"I left an umbrella in a taxi last night, a very superior umbrella,
with Mark Ashton engraved on the handle. If you're driving down you
might look in at the Lost Property Office and see whether it's turned
up."
"Right you are," said Colin. "I shall be along in about an hour."
He hung up the receiver, and, putting away the Professor's cigar in
an inside pocket, donned his hat and coat and proceeded to leave the
house.
A little way down the hill, in a side mews off Vicarage Gardens, he
had discovered a new garage, to which he had recently transferred his
patronage. The car was ready for him, and a few minutes later he was
seated at the driving wheel, skilfully threading his way through the
crowded traffic that renders High Street, Kensington, such a
stimulating thoroughfare.
Big Ben was in the act of striking three as he arrived at Westminster
Bridge. He pulled up outside the entrance to the Lost Property
Office, and, pushing open the swing door, advanced to the counter,
where a stalwart constable was thoughtfully scratching his head with
the stump of a pencil.
Having listened in silence to Colin's inquiry, the man got down from
his seat and disappeared into the back regions, returning almost
immediately with the umbrella in his hand.
"You'll have to sign your name here," he announced, pushing forward
an official-looking paper.
"And there'll be two and sixpence reward for the driver."
Without entering upon any superfluous explanations, Colin paid over
the desired sum, and, after neatly forging Mark's signature, made his
way back to the car. He was leaning over the side door, storing away
his trophy, when a gruff voice suddenly addressed him from the
pavement behind.
"Doctor Gray, unless I'm much mistaken!"
Turning round promptly, he found himself face to face with the burly,
shrewd-eyed figure of Inspector Marsden.
"I thought I was right," continued the detective. "It's part of my
business to recognize people by their back view."
Colin gripped the large and efficient-looking hand which the speaker
extended to him.
"I'm awfully glad to see you again," he said heartily. "I hope
you're none the worse for that little dust-up in the King's Road?"
"Still a bit sore in the ribs," was the answer. "I fancy the beauty
who got that kick in must have been a footballer at some time or
other in his career. I'll give him football if I ever find out which
of 'em it was."
"How about our ginger-haired friend?" inquired Colin. "I've been
expecting to hear every day that I was wanted as a witness."
"You'll be wanted all right," replied the Inspector. "He's under
remand at present, and I don't suppose the case will come on for
another month. There are several pretty black marks against Master
Dick, and we hope to collect enough evidence to put him out of
business for some considerable period." He paused. "By the way," he
added, "if you've a few minutes to spare, come along up to our place
and let me introduce you to one or two of the boys. I told them what
you did for us the other day, and they'd be glad of the chance of
shaking hands with you."
Knowing that Mark was unlikely to be free until four o'clock, Colin
decided that he might as well accept the invitation. He had never
been inside Scotland Yard, and the prospect rather appealed to him.
"What shall I do with the car?" he asked. "Leave it here?"
"Better bring it into the yard," said the Inspector. "No one will
try to pinch it then--not unless he's a bit of an optimist."
Getting into his seat, Colin started forward alongside his companion,
and turned in through the big iron gates which guard the headquarters
of the London Police Force.
There were several other cars standing against the wall, and, leaving
his own in company with them, he followed the Inspector through a low
doorway and up a long flight of stone stairs.
They emerged into a broad corridor with doors on either side.
"Here we are!" announced his guide, halting in front of the second.
"I don't know who's on duty to-day, but we're sure to find somebody
about."
He led the way into a large, business-like apartment, the principal
furniture of which consisted of a couple of roll-top desks. At one
of them was seated an alert-looking man in a well-cut blue suit, who
glanced up sharply at their entrance.
"Hullo, Pat!" said the Inspector. "I've got someone here I want to
introduce you to. This is Doctor Gray of St. Christopher's Hospital."
The other laid down his pen, and, rising from his chair, shook
Colin's hand.
"You're welcome, sir," he said, with a distinctly Irish accent. "We
have heard all about you from our friend Marsden. My name is
O'Brien--Inspector Patrick O'Brien. I am pleased to have the
privilege of making your acquaintance."
"It's very nice of you to put it like that," said Colin. "I don't
think I deserve any particular compliments, though. I only did what
any one else would have done who had happened to be on the spot."
Both men smiled.
"That may be your impression," was the answer, "but you can take it
from me that you're a trifle off the mark. Watching a police officer
kicked to death is one of the public's favourite entertainments."
"O'Brien comes from Dublin, you see," put in Marsden, "so you must
make allowances for a touch of bitterness." He pulled forward a
chair, and, thrusting his hand into his pocket, produced a large
rubber pouch. "Make yourself comfortable and try a pipe of this
tobacco, doctor," he added. "It was given to me by a ship's captain,
and they don't generally go far wrong--not from what I've seen of
them."
Colin took the proffered seat, and, drawing out his briar, proceeded
to fill it carefully with the fragrant brown flakes.
"I'm rather interested in 'Ginger Dick,'" he remarked. "One would
hardly take him for a Napoleon of crime, judging by his appearance."
"No, his looks aren't anything to shout about," agreed Marsden. "All
the same, he's a dangerous little devil if ever there was one. As I
told you the other day, he's in with all the lowest scum of the Turf,
and, thanks to him and his crowd, there are several of our boys on
the retired list, and likely to remain there."
"It never occurred to me before," said Colin, "but I suppose there
are healthier occupations than being a detective on a racecourse."
"You can back on that," was O'Brien's rejoinder. "I've had some of
it myself, and, though I'm partial to what you may call an active
life, I wasn't exactly sorry when they shifted me to another
department."
"Tell him some of your experiences, Pat," suggested Inspector
Marsden. "It's no use having a distinguished guest if you don't try
to entertain him."
The Irishman, who apparently only needed this encouragement, plunged
at once into a series of reminiscences, all dealing with that dark
underworld of ruffianism which lurks furtively beneath the brilliant
surface of racing. He told his stories well, and Colin, who knew
little or nothing about the Turf, listened to him with absorbed
interest. It was not, indeed, until the hands of the office clock
were pointing to the half-hour that he reluctantly knocked out his
pipe into the fireplace and rose from his chair.
"I hate to break up this cheerful party," he said truthfully, "but
I've promised to be down in Shadwell by four, and I've got an
unpleasant sort of feeling that I must be keeping you both from your
work."
"Oh, you needn't worry about that," replied Marsden, smiling. "I'm
fixed here until midnight anyway, and, no matter how busy Pat is, he
can always find time to talk."
"I want to hear some more of his reminiscences," said Colin, "and
yours, too. Perhaps if you could both get away together the same
evening you would come out and feed with me? We could go to the
Cheshire Cheese or somewhere like that. I can't ask you to my place,
because at present I'm acting as bottle-washer to Professor Carter."
"The Cheshire Cheese sounds all right to me," said O'Brien
approvingly. "You give us a ring when you've got a spare night, and
we'll try and fix it up."
"Things are getting altogether too one-sided," objected Marsden.
"Can't you think of a little service we could do for you, doctor,
just by way of a change?"
Colin was on the point of making some laughing disclaimer, when an
idea suddenly occurred to him.
"Would it be a lot of trouble to get me some information about a man
I was introduced to the other day?" he asked.
"Not a bit," replied Marsden. "What's his name?"
"Fenton," said Colin. "Major Fenton. He's a chap of about
forty-five, tall, clean-shaven, with rather a red face. All I know
about him is that he has been a long time abroad, and that at present
he is living in London and drives a Daimler car. It's only a matter
of personal curiosity, but if you could find out who he is and what
sort of reputation he has I should be uncommonly grateful."
Marsden jotted down the particulars and folded up the paper.
"That ought to be simple enough," he replied. "I'll hand this over
to Ainsworth, who's in charge of all that kind of thing, and if you
look us up in about a week we shall probably be able to give you the
gentleman's life history."
Colin expressed his thanks, and, having shaken hands with each of
them in turn, made his way back down the staircase and out into the
main courtyard.
Resuming his journey eastward, he followed the Embankment as far as
Blackfriars Bridge, where he struck off through a maze of side
streets, which eventually brought him out close to the grimy and
retired tavern presided over by Mr. Higgins.
The yard door was open, and a glance inside revealed the burly
outline of the proprietor himself, engaged in the domestic task of
washing his bull terrier. On hearing the car he paused in his
operations and signalled to Colin to enter.
"Bring 'er along in, mister," he called out. "Bring 'er along in,
an' look out for that bleedin' bucket."
Carrying out these instructions successfully, Colin jerked forward
over the cobblestones until he came to a halt alongside the seated
figure.
"Pleased to see yer," continued Mr. Higgins, in a hospitable tone.
"Quite a time since you was 'ere last, ain't it?"
"It's getting on for a month," admitted Colin, as he clambered out of
the car. "In fact I've not been since the night I brought Miss
Seymour."
At the mention of Nancy's name the landlord's mottled face wreathed
itself into a smile.
"Didn't know then that you was goin' to leave 'er be'ind yer," he
observed jocularly. "Thought you'd give us a kind of pleasant
surprise, eh, guv'nor?"
"That was the idea," replied Colin. "I was just going to ask you if
you'd seen anything of her."
"I done more than that," was the proud rejoinder; "I've 'ad a talk
with 'er, I 'ave. I 'appened to be outside when she come by last
Thursday, an' she stopped and chatted away as friendly as kiss me
'and. Ah, she's one o' the right sort, she is; no blarsted frills
nor nonsense about 'er."
"I suppose she'll be quite safe going about alone?" said Colin.
"People know she's working for the doctor?"
"Lor' love yer, yus," ejaculated Mr. Higgins. "No one wouldn't
interfere with 'er, not round 'ere. This ain't the West End. We
knows 'ow to be'ave ourselves in Shadwell."
"I'm just going along to the surgery now," said Colin. "I'll tell
her some of the nice things you've been saying about her."
"You do," was the answer. "An' you can add, with my best respecks,
mister, that if ever she'd honour this 'ouse by droppin' in and
takin' a cup o' tea, there'd be no prouder man than Bill 'Iggins, not
in the 'ole of London."
Five minutes later, with a pleasant tingle of anticipation in his
heart, Colin mounted the steps of Mark's residence and jerked briskly
at the bell. The door was opened by Martha Jane, the fat,
grubby-faced little maid-of-all-work, who welcomed him with the grin
of an old acquaintance.
"You'll find 'em hupstairs in the study," she announced, in answer to
his inquiry. "I know they're expectin' you, 'cos the doctor told me
not to bring tea till you came."
"Well, here I am," said Colin. "Is there anything good to eat?"
"I'm makin' scones," replied Martha Jane. "Some o' them yaller ones,
wot you gen'rally seems to fancy."
Colin stepped inside and deposited Mark's umbrella in the hat stand.
"You push off and continue the good work," he remarked. "I'll find
my own way up."
Still grinning, Martha Jane closed the front door and shuffled along
the passage toward the kitchen. Just as she disappeared there was a
sound on the landing above and Mark's spectacled face protruded
itself over the banisters.
"You've been a devil of a time coming," he observed. "We were
beginning to think you must have had a breakdown."
"I like that!" retorted Colin, struggling out of his overcoat. "Here
have I been chasing all round London after your infernal umbrella----"
"Oh, you've got it, have you?" interrupted Mark. "That's topping.
You don't know how deeply indebted I am to you."
"Yes, I do," said Colin. "Exactly half-a-crown--what I had to give
the cabman as a reward for his honesty."
Nancy's face appeared suddenly beside that of her employer and smiled
down at him in friendly welcome.
"Please don't start quarrelling about money," she said pathetically.
"I'm simply dying for a cup of tea."
There seemed to be something strangely familiar and attractive to
Colin in the mere sound of her voice, and, running lightly up the
staircase, he pressed both their hands in a simultaneous greeting.
"I'm so sorry," he exclaimed. "I was forgetting the brutal way in
which Mark always treats his staff. I suppose he has been working
you to death and half starving you at the same time."
"Of course I have," declared Mark. "Look at her worn and haggard
appearance."
"Well, we haven't been exactly idle," admitted Nancy, laughing. "All
the same, I think I am bearing up pretty well."
Mark led the way into the study, where a table was already laid, and
waved his hand toward the largest of the armchairs.
"You take the seat of honour, Colin," he said. "It's a privilege we
always keep for distinguished strangers."
"There's no need to rub it in," objected Colin. "I should have
looked you up ages ago if it hadn't been for my devotion to duty.
This is the first holiday I've had since I went to the Professor's."
"How are you getting on?" asked Nancy.
"Up to the present," replied Colin modestly, "I think I have given
what they call complete satisfaction."
"What's the old man like?" demanded Mark. "Easy to live with?"
Colin hesitated. "It all depends," he answered. "We've managed to
hit it off well enough, but then I've rather gone out of my way to
humour his little weaknesses. He's one of the sort that you've just
got to take or leave. As long as you do exactly what he wants he's
kindness itself. If any one tried to oppose him or contradict him I
should think he could be distinctly unpleasant."
"There must be a lot of people about like that," said Nancy. "At
least, I seem to have run up against a good few."
"And how do you stand with regard to the job?" inquired Mark. "I
suppose he doesn't let you into more secrets than he can possibly
help?"
"Oh, yes, he does," replied Colin. "He lets me into everything.
I've soaked up so much knowledge the last three weeks that I'm
beginning to wonder whether there's anything left to learn."
Mark gazed at him with a certain amount of incredulity. "Do you mean
to say that if he died to-morrow you would be in a position to carry
on his work?"
"I'd have a damn good shot at it, anyway," declared Colin. "Of
course, I haven't a quarter of his ability, but he's discussed all
his ideas with me, and explained them in such detail that if I
couldn't make something or other out of them I should be next door to
an idiot."
Mark turned to Nancy and nodded his head. "It's panning out just as
I prophesied," he said sadly. "We sha'n't see much more of him at
Shadwell. Before we can look round he'll be splashing about in a
Rolls-Royce and----"
His prediction was cut short by the sudden appearance of Martha Jane,
who lurched in through the doorway carrying a large tray and
breathing somewhat heavily from her exertions.
"I vote that we adjourn the discussion of my future," suggested
Colin, as they pulled up their chairs round the table. "It's your
private affairs that interest me, Mark. As the person responsible
for the engagement I want to know whether you are pleased with your
new assistant."
Nancy, who had seated herself in front of the tray, paused with the
teapot in mid-air.
"This is very embarrassing," she observed. "Hadn't I better leave
the room for a few moments?"
"You go on pouring out," said Mark firmly. "You can blush just as
well here as in the passage." He helped himself to a scone and
pushed the plate across the table toward Colin. "When you told us
you'd found an angel, my lad," he continued, "you were speaking the
literal truth. I had no idea that there was another such woman in
the world apart from Mary."
"Don't listen to him," interrupted Nancy hastily. "The truth is that
both he and Mrs. Ashton are so ridiculously good-natured that they
hadn't the heart to turn me away."
"I know Mary's opinion already," said Colin. "I had a touching
little letter from her just before she went North. She seems to
regard me as a highly successful understudy of Providence."
"And, by Gad, it's true!" broke in Mark with enthusiasm. "I should
have been absolutely in the soup without Miss Seymour. She's simply
splendid, Colin. Down here at nine o'clock every morning, and
working away like a galley slave until seven or eight in the evening."
"Well, that's what I'm paid for," objected Nancy. "And, besides, I
don't look on it as work. I so enjoy the feeling that I'm doing
something useful, instead of sitting all day typing out a lot of
stories that nobody wants to read."
"What do the patients think of the arrangement?" asked Colin. "I
gathered from Mr. Higgins that it's one of the principal topics of
local interest."
"It's been the best advertisement I ever had," replied Mark, with a
chuckle. "I was a little doubtful at first, so I've told everybody
that Miss Seymour and Mary are first cousins. We're rather strong on
the conventions in Shadwell, and that put everything on a nice,
respectable footing."
"I don't like tampering with the truth," said Colin. "All the same,
it has its advantages at times." He glanced mischievously at Nancy.
"In future, for instance," he added, "it will be obviously necessary
that we should both address you by your Christian name."
Nancy laughed. "I never thought of that," she said. "It shows how
unaccustomed I am to anything in the nature of deception."
"You'll soon improve," returned Colin hopefully. "It's wonderful
what one can do after a month or two with the medical profession."
He leaned forward and selected another scone from the rapidly
dwindling pile. "Now what about that theatre idea of mine?" he
continued. "Can't you possibly manage it, Mark? I'll do the thing
in a really generous way--stand you dinner and seats and drive you
both home in the car afterward."
Mark shook his head reluctantly. "I'd come like a shot if I could,"
he replied, "but I've about twenty prescriptions to make up and a
dozen cases to attend to." He paused. "All the same," he added,
"there's no earthly reason why you shouldn't take Miss Seymour."
"Oh, that's not fair," protested Nancy. "I can't go off and leave
you to do all the work."
Mark folded his arms. "There's only one thing I demand from my
staff," he observed sternly, "and that is complete and unquestioning
obedience." He turned to Colin. "What you both want," he added, "is
some fresh air and a little healthy amusement. Why not have a run
out into the country first? It's a fine evening, and you can get
back up West in plenty of time for the theatre."
"Now I call that a jolly bright notion!" exclaimed Colin. "What do
you say, Cousin Nancy?"
"It sounds most tempting," agreed Nancy. "All the same, I think it
would be horribly selfish. I am sure that if any one needs an
evening off it's the doctor. The last thing I promised Mrs. Ashton
was not to allow him to overwork."
"I am the head of the family," insisted Mark, "and my orders are that
you leave this house directly you've finished tea. Take her for a
good long spin to start with, Colin, give her a nice dinner, and then
get seats for something really frivolous and cheerful. That's my
prescription, and I depend on you to see that it's properly
administered."
* * * * * * * * *
With her eyes shining, and her cheeks flushed by the wind, Nancy
stepped out of the car on to the comparatively deserted pavement of
Whitcomb Street.
"Oh!" she said with a faint sigh. "That was simply heavenly!"
Colin, who had jumped down first to open the door, looked at her with
an approving twinkle.
"Not bad, was it?" he agreed. "We've only been an hour and a half
and we must have done at least forty miles."
He glanced round in the direction of the Motor Club, outside which
they had alighted, and at the same moment a broad-shouldered,
seedy-looking gentleman in a dilapidated ulster suddenly appeared out
of the darkness.
"Oh, there you are, Joe," he continued. "I want you to look after
the car for me. We're dining and going to a theatre, so I don't
suppose I shall be back until half-past eleven."
"That's all right, sir," replied Joe comfortingly. "You'll find me
'ere, no matter wot time you come."
"Now, where shall we make for?" inquired Colin, turning to Nancy.
"Unless you've any particular choice I suggest Romano's and the
Vaudeville."
Nancy looked a little doubtful. "I'm thinking of my clothes," she
explained. "I'm not fit to go anywhere really smart."
Colin studied her critically. "Don't you believe it," he said. "You
could walk straight into Paradise without even tidying up."
He slipped half-a-crown into Joe's hand, and, taking Nancy firmly by
the elbow, piloted her across the street in the direction of
Leicester Square.
Ten minutes later, escorted by a sympathetic manager, they were
making their way toward a small table in the balcony of the famous
Strand restaurant.
"You order the dinner," said Nancy, as they took their seats. "I
always enjoy things much more if somebody else chooses them."
She leaned forward in her chair and looked down contentedly at the
animated scene below, while Colin picked up the menu and studied it
with becoming gravity.
"I think we'll have a little clear soup to start with," he began,
"followed by sole _à la bonne femme_, a roast grouse, and iced
meringues." He paused. "Do you prefer champagne or sparkling
Moselle?"
"I don't know," said Nancy frankly. "I've never tasted either of
them."
"We'll have a half bottle of both then," said Colin. "You can try
them and see which you like best, and I'll drink the other."
"By the way," he added, as the waiter hurried off with the order,
"have you been seeing anything of that friend of yours, Major
Fenton--the chap you introduced me to in Jubilee Place?"
For a moment Nancy remained silent.
"Why do you ask me that?" she inquired.
"Oh, I don't know," said Colin casually. "It just happened to come
into my head."
She paused again. "He has been round at the studio two or three
evenings," she said slowly. "As a matter of fact, he was there last
night."
"I suppose he's heard all about your new job?"
She nodded. "Doctor Gray----" she began.
"Make it Colin," he interrupted. "I can't call you Nancy unless you
back me up."
"Well, Colin, then----" She hesitated once more. "There's something
I think I ought to tell you about Major Fenton, only--only it's
horribly difficult for me to know how to put it."
"Wait until you've had some dinner," he suggested. "No one talks
comfortably when they're half starving."
She shook her head. "No, now I've started I think I'd better go on
and get it over. The first time I saw Major Fenton after we met him
together he naturally asked me who you were. I told him what I knew
about you and how we'd become acquainted, and, although he didn't say
much, he seemed to think that I'd done wrong in asking you back to my
studio. I suppose in a way he looks on himself as a sort of guardian
of mine."
"Perhaps he does," said Colin gravely. "People who have lived a long
time in hot climates often suffer from hallucinations!"
"That didn't matter," continued Nancy, "but last night when he came
round he spoke about you again, and this time he said something that
made me really angry--something that I'm perfectly sure isn't true."
Colin was leaning toward her, his gray eyes alight with interest.
"What was it?" he demanded briefly.
"He--well, he didn't put it quite definitely, but he hinted that you
were not the sort of man to make a friend of; that you were leaving
the hospital on account of some dreadful scandal about one of the
nurses."
For a second Colin stared at her in blank amazement. Then he
suddenly broke into a peal of laughter.
"Good heavens, Nancy!" he exclaimed. "If you'd only seen 'em!"
"I didn't believe it, of course," she went on hurriedly. "I was
certain he must be making some stupid mistake."
Colin's lips tightened. "I object to people making mistakes of that
sort about me," he observed rather grimly.
Before Nancy could reply the waiter arrived with the soup, followed a
moment later by another, who proceeded to uncork and pour out the
wine.
"You mustn't take it too seriously," she continued, as soon as they
were alone again. "It was a detestable thing of Major Fenton to say,
but I don't think he meant any real harm by it. He explained that
he'd heard the story from somebody at his club, and that he'd only
repeated it to me because he felt that it was his duty. As I told
you before, just because he once knew my father, he seems to have
some ridiculous notion that he ought to look after me."
Colin, who had been sprinkling a little pepper into his soup, looked
up with a smile.
"Well, don't let's waste our time discussing it any more," he said
cheerfully. "It's just a silly lie, and, anyway, there are lots of
much pleasanter things to talk about." He raised his glass. "I'm
going to propose the health of our old pal 'Ginger Dick.' He may
have his faults, but, after all, if it wasn't for him we shouldn't be
sitting here now."
"That's true," agreed Nancy. "Here's to 'Ginger Dick." She took a
long sip and then set down her glass. "If that's sparkling Moselle,"
she added thoughtfully, "I don't think I'll bother about tasting the
champagne."
* * * * * * * * *
At about twenty minutes before midnight, faithful to his pledged
word, the reliable Joe slouched forward out of the shadows and
greeted them with a friendly salute.
"'Ere we are, guv'nor," he announced. "All ready an' waitin' for
yer, as the grave-digger said."
He opened the door of the car for Nancy, and, making his way round to
the front, succeeded after two or three abortive efforts in starting
up the engine.
"She's a bit cold, like meself," he continued. "It's bin freezin'
crool 'ard all the evenin', an' I reckon we both got a touch of it in
our innards."
"You must follow it up with something hot," said Colin, handing him
another half-crown. "Rum's the best as long as you don't put too
much water into it."
"I ain't likely to," replied Joe, with a grin. "There's quite enough
o' that done before we gets the blarsted stuff."
He pocketed the coin, and, closing the door after them, stepped back
on to the pavement.
"Good-night, sir, an' thank yer kindly. Good-night, miss, an' Gawd
bless yer both."
"I like Joe," said Nancy, as they slid out into the glare and tumult
of Piccadilly Circus. "Is that his profession--standing there all
night looking after cars?"
"That's his present profession," replied Colin, "but he's what you
might call come down in the world. Before he took to drink he used
to be one of the best middle-weight boxers in England."
Nancy opened her blue eyes to their fullest extent.
"A prize-fighter?" she exclaimed.
Colin nodded. "Joe Bates of Wapping. One of the gamest men who ever
stepped into a ring."
"What made him take to drink?" inquired Nancy.
"I think it was chiefly the death of his wife," said Colin. "Anyhow,
he went all to pieces about two years ago, and ended up by getting
run over in the Fulham Road. They brought him along to St.
Christopher's, where we managed to patch him up. I felt sorry for
the poor chap, and when he came out I got him that job at the Motor
Club. As people go, I think he's by way of being rather grateful."
He swung clear of the traffic outside the Ritz, and with a warning
bark from the horn the little car leaped forward down the long,
brilliantly lit slope.
Turning up her coat collar with one hand, Nancy settled herself
contentedly in her seat.
"It's been a most exciting evening," she said. "I've enjoyed every
single minute of it."
"So have I," agreed Colin with enthusiasm. "What do you say to
repeating the experiment next week?"
"Only on one condition," replied Nancy. "I've got to take my turn in
paying for dinner."
"But that's absurd!" protested Colin. "I'm a great deal richer than
you are."
"No, you're not," was the indignant answer. "Why, I'm simply rolling
in money. I've no expenses now except the rent of my studio, and
Doctor Ashton pays me at least twice what I'm worth."
"I don't believe that," said Colin. "Still, if you're determined to
be proud and ostentatious I suppose you must have your way."
He swerved to the left behind St. George's Hospital, and, cutting
through the select precincts of Belgrave Square, came out within a
few yards of the King's Road. In another minute they were turning
the corner into Jubilee Place.
"Next week's a bargain, then," said Colin, as they stood facing each
other on the empty pavement. "It's no good trying to fix a day at
present; I'll just ring up one morning and we'll arrange it over the
'phone."
Nancy nodded. "That will be best," she said. "You mustn't desert
the Professor--not unless he can manage all right without you."
She gave him her hand, which Colin squeezed in a friendly grip.
"Good-night, Nancy," he said. "Sleep well, and when you see Mark,
tell him that for once in his life he actually prescribed the right
treatment."
He waited until the front door had closed behind her, and then,
having lit himself a cigarette, climbed back into the car, and
started off again in the direction of Campden Hill.
It was a few minutes after midnight when he let himself in at the
outer gate of the Red Lodge. The light was still burning in the
hall, and, knowing from experience that the Professor frequently
continued his work until the early hours of the morning, he walked
straight through to the laboratory and tapped lightly on the door.
As he half expected, there was a creak of footsteps inside, and the
Professor himself, wearing an old Jaeger dressing gown, appeared on
the threshold. At the same moment a peculiarly acrid and unpleasant
smell drifted past him into the passage.
"So you've come back, eh?" he said in his queer, high-pitched voice.
"I hope you enjoyed your evening?"
"I didn't do badly," replied Colin. "I went to Shadwell, saw my
friends, had a forty-mile run in the car, and finished up with a
dinner and a theatre."
The old man nodded grimly. "It sounds rather an exhausting form of
recreation. I should imagine that after all that you must be quite
ready for your bed."
"Oh, I'm not tired," said Colin, "not in the slightest. If you've
got anything on hand I should like to come in and make myself useful."
"You'll do nothing of the sort," returned the Professor. "You will
help yourself to a whisky and soda, and then you will go straight
upstairs to your room."
Colin hesitated. "And how about you, sir? Surely you've done enough
work for to-day?"
"I shall be following you shortly," was the answer. "I am only
waiting to see the result of a small experiment."
He nodded a curt good-night, and, stepping back again into the
laboratory, closed the door behind him.
Dismissed in this unceremonious fashion, Colin made his way into the
dining room, where he found a plate of sandwiches and a siphon set
out ready for him on a tray. It was unthinkable that such an idea
could have occurred to the unaided intelligence of Mrs. Ramsay, and,
rather surprised at the Professor's consideration, he proceeded to
mix a drink, which he carried with him up the staircase.
His room was situated on the first floor--a large, comfortable
apartment looking out toward the back. It had been fitted up since
his arrival with a gas stove, and, having lighted this and placed his
tumbler upon the dressing table, he began in a leisurely fashion to
get ready for bed.
The chief subject that occupied his thoughts was the revelation which
Nancy had made to him at dinner. What on earth had induced Major
Fenton to concoct that ridiculous story about a scandal at St.
Christopher's Hospital? That it was an invention of his own Colin
felt certain, and no man would take the responsibility of fathering
such a lie unless he had some particularly strong object in view.
Could he have fallen in love with Nancy himself? If that were the
case it would certainly supply a possible motive. Passion has a
queer effect upon some characters, and the mere thought of her making
friends with any one else might have filled him with such furious
resentment that he had clutched at the first conceivable chance of
breaking off their acquaintance.
It was a likely enough solution; and yet, somehow or other, it left
Colin unconvinced. He had carried away a very unfavourable
impression of Nancy's self-adopted guardian, but it was an impression
that declined to fit in with this otherwise plausible theory. Unless
his judgment were badly at fault, there was a hard, calculating
selfishness stamped upon every line of the man's face. People of
that sort are not swept off their feet by sudden outbursts of
romantic jealousy, nor--which was another and extremely significant
consideration--do they concern themselves unduly over the welfare of
a dead friend's offspring.
It was this latter point, indeed, which puzzled Colin completely. He
felt convinced that Major Fenton must have had some secret purpose in
hunting Nancy out and practically forcing his acquaintance upon her.
His story about a twenty-year-old friendship with her father would
have sounded well enough in a sentimental novel, but having seen the
gentleman for himself, and having had an illuminating example of his
ideas of honour and fair play, Colin found the explanation uncommonly
difficult to swallow.
Perhaps Inspector Marsden and his colleagues at the Yard would be
able to throw some light on the problem. It would be interesting at
least to know a little about the Major's career, and whether his past
record was at all in keeping with this sudden excursion into
philanthropy.
There was another possible source of information in the person of Mr.
Medwin. The two men were certainly acquainted, otherwise Fenton's
photograph would not have been adorning the mantelpiece in Albert
Terrace. When he visited the house again he could easily find an
opportunity to make some casual inquiry concerning the original, only
it must be done in a sufficiently tactful manner not to arouse the
lawyer's curiosity.
In any case, this alternative course could be postponed until he had
received the Inspector's report. The odds were that, if there was
really anything shady in Fenton's history, Marsden would succeed in
unearthing it, and since Nancy seemed to be thoroughly capable of
looking after herself, another week's delay was not likely to produce
any tragical consequences.
With this consoling reflection Colin donned his pyjamas, and, turning
out the fire, clambered into bed. He was just in that pleasantly
drowsy stage when one feels half reluctant to fall asleep, and, lying
there with the light on, he allowed his thoughts to drift back
contentedly over the various details of his two meetings with Nancy.
It was an agreeable occupation, and the longer he indulged in it the
more he began to realize what a very necessary part of his life she
had already become. A kind of instinctive friendship seemed to have
sprung up between them at their first encounter, and, although he had
been unable to see her again until to-day, the interval had certainly
not succeeded in making the faintest difference.
She was a girl in a thousand, there was no doubt about that! Mark
evidently thought so, and, since he compared all women with Mary, his
standard was about as high as any one could reasonably demand. How
enchantingly pretty she had looked as they had sat opposite to each
other at dinner. He had only to shut his eyes and----
Hullo! What the devil was that?
The sound had come from somewhere down below--a queer, half-deadened
noise, like the distant crash of breaking glass.
In a second Colin was out of bed and had flung open the door. The
lights were still burning exactly as he had left them, and, striding
to the banisters, he peered over into the hall. Nothing seemed to be
stirring; except for the steady ticking of the grandfather clock the
whole house was as silent as a tomb.
With a momentary feeling of relief he moved toward the staircase. It
was probably only some small accident; the Professor had most likely
dropped a tumbler or broken a retort, and in the stillness of the
night the noise had been naturally exaggerated. All the same, it
would be just as well to have a look round.
Running lightly down in his bare feet, he crossed the hall and
knocked at the laboratory door.
"It's I--Gray," he called out. "Anything wrong, sir?"
As he spoke he turned the handle, and the next moment he found
himself standing in the open doorway, staring blankly in front of him.
The room was empty.
For the first time a real sense of misgiving suddenly took possession
of him. He wheeled sharply round, and, hurrying back through the
hall, rapped loudly at the door of the study.
"Mr. Carter," he shouted, "are you there?"
There was no answer.
He caught hold of the brass knob, only to make another and still more
ominous discovery. Somebody had turned the key from inside.
With a quick breath he stepped back a couple of paces, and then,
hunching up his shoulder, hurled himself against the panel. Under
the impact of twelve stone and a few odd pounds the lock gave with a
splintering crash which echoed through the house. The door swung
open, and at the same moment the shrill scream of a terrified woman
rang out from the top landing.
Clutching the broken woodwork to steady himself, Colin fumbled for
the switch. His fingers closed on it in the darkness and, half
prepared as he was for some horror, an involuntary cry broke from his
lips as the whole room flared suddenly into light.
Face upward, in the centre of the French windows, lay the huddled
figure of the Professor. One arm was twisted under him, and his
white hair was dabbled in a stream of blood which still oozed slowly
from a gaping wound in his forehead.