I
John woke late next day, and in the moment between sleeping and waking
was dimly conscious of a feeling of extraordinary happiness. For some
reason, which he could not immediately analyze, the world seemed
suddenly to have become the best of all possible worlds. Then he
remembered, and sprang out of bed with a shout.
Emily, lying curled up in her basket, her whole appearance that of a
dog who has come home with the milk, raised a drowsy head. Usually it
was her custom to bustle about and lend a hand while John bathed and
dressed, but this morning she did not feel equal to it. Deciding that
it was too much trouble even to tell him about the man she had seen in
the grounds last night, she breathed heavily twice and returned to her
slumbers.
Having dressed and come out into the open, John found that he had
missed some hours of what appeared to be the most perfect morning in
the world's history. The stable yard was a well of sunshine: light
breezes whispered in the branches of the cedars: fleecy clouds swam in
a sea of blue: and from the direction of the home farm there came the
soothing crooning of fowls. His happiness swelled into a feeling of
universal benevolence toward all created things. He looked upon the
birds and found them all that birds should be: the insects which hummed
in the sunshine were, he perceived, a quite superior brand of insect:
he even felt fraternal toward a wasp which came flying about his face.
And when the Dex-Mayo rolled across the bridge of the moat and Bolt,
applying the brakes, drew up at his side, he thought he had never seen
a nicer-looking chauffeur.
"Good morning, Bolt," said John, effusively.
"Good morning, sir."
"Where have you been off to so early?"
"Mr. Carmody sent me to Worcester, sir, to leave a bag for him at Shrub
Hill station. If you're going into the house, Mr. John, perhaps you
wouldn't mind giving him the ticket?"
John was delighted. It was a small kindness that the chauffeur was
asking, and he wished it had been in his power to do something for him
on a bigger scale. However, the chance of doing even small kindnesses
was something to be grateful for on a morning like this. He took the
ticket and put it in his pocket.
"How are you, Bolt?"
"All right, thank you, sir."
"How's Mrs. Bolt?"
"She's all right, Mr. John."
"How's the baby?"
"The baby's all right."
"And the dog?"
"The dog's all right, sir."
"That's splendid," said John. "That's great. That's fine. That's
capital. I'm delighted."
He smiled a radiant smile of cheeriness and good will, and turned
toward the house. However much the heart may be uplifted, the animal in
a man insists on demanding breakfast, and, though John was practically
pure spirit this morning, he was not blind to the fact that a couple of
eggs and a cup of coffee would be no bad thing. As he reached the door,
he remembered that Mrs. Bolt had a canary and that he had not inquired
after that, but decided that the moment had gone by. Later on, perhaps.
He opened the back door and made his way to the morning room, where
eggs abounded and coffee could be had for the asking. Pausing only to
tickle a passing cat under the ear and make chirruping noises to it, he
went in.
The morning room was empty, and there were signs that the rest of the
party had already breakfasted. John was glad of it. Genially disposed
though he felt toward his species to-day, he relished the prospect
of solitude. A man who is about to picnic on Wenlock Edge in perfect
weather with the only girl in the world, wants to meditate, not to make
conversation.
So thoroughly had his predecessors breakfasted that he found, on
inspecting the coffee pot, that it was empty. He rang the bell.
"Good morning, Sturgis," he said affably, as the butler appeared. "You
might give me some more coffee, will you?"
The butler of Rudge Hall was a little man with snowy hair who had been
placidly withering in Mr. Carmody's service for the last twenty years.
John had known him ever since he could remember, and he had always been
just the same--frail and venerable and kindly and dried-up. He looked
exactly like the Good Old Man in a touring melodrama company.
"Why, Mr. John! I thought you were in London."
"I got back late last night. And very glad," said John heartily, "to be
back. How's the rheumatism, Sturgis?"
"Rather troublesome, Mr. John."
John was horrified. Could these things be on such a day as this?
"You don't say so?"
"Yes, Mr. John. I was awake the greater portion of the night."
"You must rub yourself with something and then go and lie down and have
a good rest. Where do you feel it mostly?"
"In the limbs, Mr. John. It comes on in sharp twinges."
"That's bad. By Jove, yes, that's bad. Perhaps this fine weather will
make it better."
"I hope so, Mr. John."
"So do I, so do I," said John earnestly. "Tell me, where is everybody?"
"Mr. Hugo and the young gentleman went up to London."
"Of course, yes. I was forgetting."
"Mr. Molloy and Miss Molloy finished their breakfast some little time
ago, and are now out in the garden."
"Ah, yes. And my uncle?"
"He is up in the picture gallery with the policeman, Mr. John."
John stared.
"With the what?"
"With the policeman, Mr. John, who's come about the burglary."
"Burglary?"
"Didn't you hear, Mr. John, we had a burglary last night?"
The world being constituted as it is, with Fate waiting round almost
every corner with its sandbag, it is not often that we are permitted to
remain for long undisturbed in our moods of exaltation. John came down
to earth swiftly.
"Good heavens!"
"Yes, Mr. John. And if you could spare the time...."
Remorse gripped John. He felt like a sentinel who, falling asleep at
his post, has allowed the enemy to creep past him in the night.
"I must go up and see about this."
"Very good, Mr. John. But if I might have a word...."
"Some other time, Sturgis."
He ran up the stairs to the picture gallery. Mr. Carmody and Rudge's
one policeman were examining something by the window, and John, in the
brief interval which elapsed before they became aware of his presence,
was enabled to see the evidence of the disaster. Several picture
frames, robbed of their contents, gaped at him like blank windows.
A glass case containing miniatures had been broken and rifled. The
Elizabethan salt cellar presented to Aymas Carmody by the Virgin Queen
herself was no longer in its place.
"Gosh!" said John.
Mr. Carmody and his companion turned.
"John! I thought you were in London."
"I came back last night."
"Did you see, or observe or hear anything of this business?" asked the
policeman.
Constable Mould was one of the slowest-witted men in Rudge, and he had
eyes like two brown puddles filmed over with scum, but he was doing his
best to look at John keenly.
"No."
"Why not?"
"I wasn't here."
"You said you were, sir," Constable Mould pointed out cleverly.
"I mean, I wasn't anywhere near the house," replied John impatiently.
"Immediately I arrived I went out for a row on the moat."
"Then you did not see or observe anything?"
"No."
Constable Mould, who had been licking the tip of his pencil and holding
a notebook in readiness, subsided disappointedly.
"When did this happen?" asked John.
"It is impossible to say," replied Mr. Carmody. "By a most unfortunate
combination of circumstances the house was virtually empty from almost
directly after dinner. Hugo and his friend, as you know, left for
London yesterday morning. Mr. Molloy and his daughter took the car
to Birmingham to see a play. And I myself retired to bed early with
a headache. The man could have effected an entrance without being
observed almost any time after eight o'clock. No doubt he actually did
break in shortly before midnight."
"How did he get in?"
"Undoubtedly through this window by means of a ladder."
John perceived that the glass of the window had been cut out.
"Another most unfortunate thing," proceeded Mr. Carmody, "is that the
objects stolen, though so extremely valuable, are small in actual size.
The man could have carried them off without any inconvenience. No doubt
they are miles away by this time, possibly even in London."
"Was this here stuff insured?" asked Constable Mould.
"Yes. Curiously enough, the reason my nephew here went to London
yesterday was to increase the insurance. You saw to that matter, John?"
"Oh, yes." John spoke absently. Like everybody else who has ever found
himself on the scene of a recently committed burglary, he was looking
about for clues. "Hullo!"
"What is the matter?"
"Did you see this?"
"Certainly I saw it," said Mr. Carmody.
"I saw it first," said Constable Mould.
"The man must have cut his finger getting it."
"That's what I thought," said Constable Mould.
The combined Mould-Carmody-John discovery was a bloodstained
fingerprint on the woodwork of the window sill: and, like so many
things in this world, it had at first sight the air of being much
more important than it really was. John said he considered it valuable
evidence, and felt damped when Mr. Carmody pointed out that its value
was decreased by the fact that it was not easy to search through the
whole of England for a man with a cut finger.
"I see," said John.
Constable Mould said he had seen it right away.
"The only thing to be done, I suppose," said Mr. Carmody resignedly,
"is to telephone to the police in Worcester. Not that they will
be likely to effect anything, but it is as well to observe the
formalities. Come downstairs with me, Mould."
They left the room, the constable, it seemed to John, taking none
too kindly to the idea that there were higher powers in the world of
detection than himself. His uncle, he considered, had shown a good
deal of dignity in his acceptance of the disaster. Many men would have
fussed and lost their heads, but Lester Carmody remained calm. John
thought it showed a good spirit.
He wandered about the room, hoping for more and better clues. But the
difficulty confronting the novice on these occasions is that it is so
hard to tell what is a clue and what is not. Probably, if he only knew,
there were clues lying about all over the place, shouting to him to
pick them up. But how to recognize them? Sherlock Holmes can extract a
clue from a wisp of straw or a flake of cigar ash. Doctor Watson has to
have it taken out for him and dusted and exhibited clearly with a label
attached. John was forced reluctantly to the conclusion that he was
essentially a Doctor Watson. He did not rise even to the modest level
of a Scotland Yard Bungler.
He awoke from a reverie to find Sturgis at his side.
II
"Ah, Sturgis," said John absently.
He was not particularly pleased to see the butler. The man looked as if
he were about to dodder, and in moments of intense thought one does not
wish to have doddering butlers around one.
"Might I have a word, Mr. John?"
John supposed he might, though he was not frightfully keen about it. He
respected Sturgis's white hairs, but the poor old ruin had horned in at
an unfortunate moment.
"My rheumatism was very bad last night, Mr. John."
John recognized the blunder he had made in being so sympathetic just
now. At the time, feeling, as he had done, that all mankind were his
little brothers, to inquire after and display a keen interest in
Sturgis's rheumatism had been a natural and, one might say, unavoidable
act. But now he regretted it. He required every cell in his brain for
this very delicate business of clue-hunting, and it was maddening to be
compelled to call a number of them off duty to attend to gossip about
a butler's swollen joints. A little coldly he asked Sturgis if he had
ever tried Christian Science.
"It kept me awake a very long time, Mr. John."
"I read in a paper the other day that bee stings sometimes have a good
effect."
"Bee stings, sir?"
"So they say. You get yourself stung by bees, and the acid or whatever
it is in the sting draws out the acid or whatever it is in you."
Sturgis was silent for a while, and John supposed he was about to
ask if he could direct him to a good bee. Such, however, was not the
butler's intention. It was Sturgis, the old retainer with the welfare
of Rudge Hall nearest his heart--not Sturgis the sufferer from twinges
in the limbs--who was present now in the picture gallery.
"It is very kind of you, Mr. John," he said, "to interest yourself, but
what I wished to have a word with you about was this burglary of ours
last night."
This was more the stuff. John became heartier.
"A most mysterious affair, Sturgis. The man apparently climbed in
through this window, and no doubt escaped the same way."
"No, Mr. John. That's what I wished to have a word with you about. He
went away down the front stairs."
"What! How do you know?"
"I saw him, Mr. John."
"You saw him?"
"Yes, Mr. John. Owing to being kept awake by my rheumatism."
The remorse which had come upon John at the moment when he had first
heard the news of the burglary was as nothing to the remorse which
racked him now. Just because this fine old man had one of those mild,
goofy faces and bleated like a sheep when he talked, he had dismissed
him without further thought as a dodderer. And all the time the
splendid old fellow, who could not help his face and was surely not to
be blamed if age had affected his vocal chords, had been the God from
the Machine, sent from heaven to assist him in getting to the bottom
of this outrage. There is no known case on record of a man patting a
butler on the head, but John at this moment came very near to providing
one.
"You saw him!"
"Yes, Mr. John."
"What did he look like?"
"I couldn't say, Mr. John, not really definite."
"Why couldn't you?"
"Because I did not really see him."
"But you said you did."
"Yes, Mr. John, but only in a manner of speaking."
John's new-born cordiality waned a little. His first estimate, he felt,
had been right. This was doddering, pure and simple.
"How do you mean, only in a manner of speaking?"
"Well, it was like this, Mr. John...."
"Look here," said John. "Tell me the whole thing right from the start."
Sturgis glanced cautiously at the door. When he spoke, it was in a
lowered voice, which gave his delivery the effect of a sheep bleating
with cotton wool in its mouth.
"I was awake with my rheumatism last night, Mr. John, and at last it
come on so bad I felt I really couldn't hardly bear it no longer. I
lay in bed, thinking, and after I had thought for quite some time, Mr.
John, it suddenly crossed my mind that Mr. Hugo had once remarked,
while kindly interesting himself in my little trouble, that a glassful
of whisky, drunk without water, frequently alleviated the pain."
John nodded. So far, the story bore the stamp of truth. A glassful
of neat whisky was just what Hugo would have recommended for any
complaint, from rheumatism to a broken heart.
"So I thought in the circumstances that Mr. Carmody would not object if
I tried a little. So I got out of bed and put on my overcoat, and I had
just reached the head of the stairs, it being my intention to go to the
cellarette in the dining room, when what should I hear but a noise."
"What sort of noise?"
"A sort of sneezing noise, Mr. John. As it might be somebody sneezing."
"Yes? Well?"
"I was stottled."
"Stottled? Oh, yes, I see. Well?"
"I remained at the head of the stairs. For quite a while I remained at
the head of the stairs. Then I crope ..."
"You what?"
"I crope to the door of the picture gallery."
"Oh, I see. Yes?"
"Because the sneezing seemed to have come from there. And then I heard
another sneeze. Two or three sneezes, Mr. John. As if whoever was in
there had got a nasty cold in the head. And then I heard footsteps
coming toward the door."
"What did you do?"
"I went back to the head of the stairs again, sir. If anybody had told
me half an hour before that I could have moved so quick I wouldn't
have believed him. And then out of the door came a man carrying a bag.
He had one of those electric torches. He went down the stairs, but it
was only when he was at the bottom that I caught even a glimpse of his
face."
"But you did then?"
"Yes, Mr. John, for just a moment. And I was stottled."
"Why? You mean he was somebody you knew?"
The butler lowered his voice again.
"I could have sworn, Mr. John, it was that Doctor Twist who came over
here the other day from Healthward Ho."
"Doctor Twist!"
"Yes, Mr. John. I didn't tell the policeman just now, and I wouldn't
tell anybody but you, because after all it was only a glimpse, as
you might say, and I couldn't swear to it, and there's defamation of
character to be considered. So I didn't mention it to Mr. Mould when
he was inquiring of me. I said I'd heard nothing, being in my bed at
the time. Because, apart from defamation of character and me not being
prepared to swear on oath, I wasn't sure how Mr. Carmody would like the
idea of my going to the dining-room cellarette even though in agonies
of pain. So I'd be much obliged if you would not mention it to him, Mr.
John."
"I won't."
"Thank you, sir."
"You'd better leave me to think this over, Sturgis."
"Very good, Mr. John."
"You were quite right to tell me."
"Thank you, Mr. John. Are you coming downstairs to finish your
breakfast, sir?"
John waved away the material suggestion.
"No. I want to think."
"Very good, Mr. John."
Left alone, John walked to the window and frowned meditatively out.
His brain was now working with a rapidity and clearness which the most
professional of detectives might have envied. For the first time since
his cousin Hugo had come to him to have his head repaired he began to
realize that there might have been something, after all, in that young
man's rambling story. Taken in conjunction with what Sturgis had just
told him, Hugo's weird tale of finding Doctor Twist burgling the house
became significant.
This Twist, now. After all, what about him? He had come from nowhere to
settle down in Worcestershire, ostensibly in order to conduct a health
farm. But what if that health farm were a mere blind for more dastardly
work. After all, it was surely a commonplace that your scientific
criminal invariably adopted some specious cover of respectability for
his crimes....
Into the radius of John's vision there came Mr. Thomas G. Molloy,
walking placidly beside the moat with his dashing daughter. It seemed
to John as if he had been sent at just this moment for a purpose.
What he wanted above all things was a keen-minded sensible man of the
world with whom to discuss these suspicions of his, and who was better
qualified for this rôle than Mr. Molloy? Long since he had fallen
under the spell of the other's magnetic personality, and had admired
the breadth of his intellect. Thomas G. Molloy was, it seemed to him,
the ideal confidant.
He left the room hurriedly, and ran down the stairs.
III
Mr. Molloy was still strolling beside the moat when John arrived. He
greeted him with his usual bluff kindliness. Soapy, like John some half
hour earlier, was feeling amiably disposed toward all mankind this
morning.
"Well, well, well!" said Soapy. "So you're back? Did you have a
pleasant time in London?"
"All right, thanks. I wanted to see you...."
"You've heard about this unfortunate business last night?"
"Yes. It was about that...."
"I have never been so upset by anything in my life," said Mr. Molloy.
"By pure bad luck Dolly here and myself went over to Birmingham
after dinner to see a show, and in our absence the outrage must have
occurred. I venture to say," went on Mr. Molloy, a stern look creeping
into his eyes, "that if only I'd been on the spot the thing could never
have happened. My hearing's good, and I'm pretty quick on a trigger,
Mr. Carroll--pretty quick, let me tell you. It would have taken a right
smart burglar to have gotten past me."
"You bet it would," said Dolly. "Gee! It's a pity. And the man didn't
leave a single trace, did he?"
"A fingerprint--or it may have been a thumb print--on the sill of the
window, honey. That was all. And I don't see what good that's going to
do us. You can't round up the population of England and ask to see
their thumbs."
"And outside of that not so much as a single trace. Isn't it too bad!
From start to finish not a soul set eyes on the fellow."
"Yes, they did," said John. "That's what I came to talk to you about.
One of the servants heard a noise and came out and saw him going down
the staircase."
If he had failed up to this point to secure the undivided attention of
his audience, he had got it now. Miss Molloy seemed suddenly to come
all eyes, and so tremendous were the joy and relief of Mr. Molloy that
he actually staggered.
"Saw him?" exclaimed Miss Molloy.
"Sus-saw him?" echoed her father, scarcely able to speak in his delight.
"Yes. Do you by any chance know a man named Twist?"
"Twist?" said Mr. Molloy, still speaking with difficulty. He wrinkled
his forehead. "Twist? Do I know a man named Twist, honey?"
"The name seems kind of familiar," admitted Miss Molloy.
"He runs a place called Healthward Ho about twenty miles from here. My
uncle stayed there for a couple of weeks. It's a place where people go
to get into condition--a sort of health farm, I suppose you would call
it."
"Of course, yes. I have heard Mr. Carmody speak of his friend Twist.
But...."
"Apparently he called here the other day--to see my uncle, I
suppose--and this servant I'm speaking about saw him and is convinced
that he was the burglar."
"Improbable, surely?" Mr. Molloy seemed still to be having a little
trouble with his breath. "Surely not very probable. This man Twist,
from what you tell me, is a personal friend of your uncle. Why,
therefore.... Besides, if he owns a prosperous business...."
John was not to be put off the trail by mere superficial argument.
Doctor Watson may be slow at starting, but, once started, he is a
bloodhound for tenacity.
"I've thought of all that. I admit it did seem curious at first. But
if you come to look into it you can see that the very thing a burglar
who wanted to operate in these parts would do is to start some business
that would make people unsuspicious of him."
Mr. Molloy shook his head.
"It sounds far-fetched to me."
John's opinion of his sturdy good sense began to diminish.
"Well, anyhow," he said in his solid way, "this servant is sure he
recognized Twist, and one can't do any harm by going over there and
having a look at the man. I've got quite a good excuse for seeing him.
My uncle's having a dispute about his bill, and I can say I came over
to discuss it."
"Yes," said Mr. Molloy in a strained voice. "But----"
"Sure you can," said Miss Molloy, with sudden animation. "Smart of you
to think of that. You need an excuse, if you don't want to make this
Twist fellow suspicious."
"Exactly," said John.
He looked at the girl with something resembling approval.
"And there's another thing," proceeded Miss Molloy, warming to her
subject. "Don't forget that this bird, if he's the man that did the
burgling last night, has a cut finger or thumb. If you find this Twist
is going around with sticking plaster on him, why then that'll be
evidence."
John's approval deepened.
"That's a great idea," he agreed. "What I was thinking was that I
wanted to find out if Twist has a cold in the head."
"A kuk-kuk-kuk...?" said Mr. Molloy.
"Yes. You see, the burglar had. He was sneezing all the time, my
informant tells me."
"Well, say, this begins to look like the goods," cried Miss Molloy
gleefully. "If this fellow has a cut thumb _and_ a cold in the head,
there's nothing to it. It's all over except tearing off the false
whiskers and saying 'I am Hawkshaw, the Detective!' Say, listen. You
get that little car of yours out and you and I will go right over to
Healthward Ho, now. You see, if I come along that'll make him all the
more unsuspicious. We'll tell him I'm a girl with a brother that's been
whooping it up a little too heavily for some time past, and I want to
make inquiries with the idea of putting him where he can't get the
stuff for a while. I'm sure you're on the right track. This bird Twist
is the villain of the piece, I'll bet a million dollars. As you say, a
fellow that wanted to burgle houses in these parts just naturally would
settle down and pretend to be something respectable. You go and get
that car out, Mr. Carroll, and we'll be off right away."
John reflected. Filled though he was with the enthusiasm of the chase,
he could not forget that his time to-day was ear-marked for other and
higher things than the investigation of the mysterious Doctor Twist, of
Healthward Ho.
"I must be back here by a quarter to one," he said.
"Why?"
"I must."
"Well, that's all right. We're not going to spend the week end with
this guy. We're simply going to take a look at him. As soon as we've
done that, we come right home and turn the thing over to the police.
It's only twenty miles. You'll be back here again before twelve."
"Of course," said John. "You're perfectly right. I'll have the car out
in a couple of minutes."
He hurried off. His views concerning Miss Molloy now were definitely
favourable. She might not be the sort of girl he could ever like,
she might not be the sort of girl he wanted staying at the Hall, but
it was idle to deny that she had her redeeming qualities. About her
intelligence, for instance, there was, he felt, no doubt whatsoever.
And yet it was with regard to this intelligence that Soapy Molloy was
at this very moment entertaining doubts of the gravest kind. His eyes
were protruding a little, and he uttered an odd, strangled sound.
"It's all right, you poor sap," said Dolly, meeting his shocked gaze
with a confident unconcern.
Soapy found speech.
"All right? You say it's all right? How's it all right? If you hadn't
pulled all that stuff...."
"Say, listen!" said Dolly urgently. "Where's your sense? He would have
gone over to see Chimp anyway, wouldn't he? Nothing we could have done
would have headed him off that, would it? And he'd noticed Chimp had a
cut finger, without my telling him, wouldn't he? All I've done is to
make him think I'm on the level and working in cahoots with him."
"What's the use of that?"
"I'll tell you what use it is. I know what I'm doing. Listen, Soapy,
you just race into the house and get those knock-out drops and give
them to me. And make it snappy," said Dolly.
As when on a day of rain and storm there appears among the clouds a
tiny gleam of blue, so now, at those magic words "knock-out drops," did
there flicker into Mr. Molloy's sombre face a faint suggestion of hope.
"Don't you worry, Soapy. I've got this thing well in hand. When we've
gone you jump to the 'phone and get Chimp on the wire and tell him this
guy and I are on our way over. Tell him I'm bringing the kayo drops and
I'll slip them to him as soon as I arrive. Tell him to be sure to have
something to drink handy and to see that this bird gets a taste of it."
"I get you, pettie!" Mr. Molloy's manner was full of a sort of
awe-struck reverence, like that of some humble adherent of Napoleon
listening to his great leader outlining plans for a forthcoming
campaign; but nevertheless it was tinged with doubt. He had always
admired his wife's broad, spacious outlook, but she was apt sometimes,
he considered, in her fresh young enthusiasm, to overlook details.
"But, pettie," he said, "is this wise? Don't forget you're not in
Chicago now. I mean, supposing you do put this fellow to sleep, he's
going to wake up pretty soon, isn't he? And when he does won't he raise
an awful holler?"
"I've got that all fixed. I don't know what sort of staff Chimp keeps
over at that joint of his, but he's probably got assistants and all
like that. Well, you tell him to tell them that there's a young lady
coming over with a brother that wants looking after, and this brother
has got to be given a sleeping draught and locked away somewhere to
keep him from getting violent and doing somebody an injury. That'll get
him out of the way long enough for us to collect the stuff and clear
out. It's rapid action now, Soapy. Now that Chimp has gummed the game
by letting himself be seen we've got to move quick. We've got to make
our getaway to-day. So don't you go off wandering about the fields
picking daisies after I've gone. You stick round that 'phone, because
I'll be calling you before long. See?"
"Honey," said Mr. Molloy devoutly, "I always said you were the brains
of the firm, and I always will say it. I'd never have thought of a
thing like this myself in a million years."
IV
It was about an hour later that Sergeant-Major Flannery, seated at his
ease beneath a shady elm in the garden of Healthward Ho, looked up
from the novelette over which he had been relaxing his conscientious
mind and became aware that he was in the presence of Youth and Beauty.
Toward him, across the lawn, was walking a girl who, his experienced
eye assured him at a single glance, fell into that limited division of
the Sex which is embraced by the word "Pippin." Her willowy figure was
clothed in some clinging material of a beige colour, and her bright
hazel eyes, when she came close enough for them to be seen, touched in
the Sergeant-Major's susceptible bosom a ready chord. He rose from his
seat with easy grace, and his hand, falling from the salute, came to
rest on the western section of his waxed moustache.
"Nice morning, miss," he bellowed.
It seemed to Sergeant-Major Flannery that this girl was gazing upon him
as on some wonderful dream of hers that had unexpectedly come true, and
he was thrilled. It was unlikely, he felt, that she was about to ask
him to perform some great knightly service for her, but if she did he
would spring smartly to attention and do it in a soldierly manner while
she waited. Sergeant-Major Flannery was pro-Dolly from the first moment
of their meeting.
"Are you one of Doctor Twist's assistants?" asked Dolly.
"I am his only assistant, miss. Sergeant-Major Flannery is the name."
"Oh? Then you look after the patients here?"
"That's right, miss."
"Then it is you who will be in charge of my poor brother?" She uttered
a little sigh, and there came into her hazel eyes a look of pain.
"Your brother, miss? Are you the lady...."
"Did Doctor Twist tell you about my brother?"
"Yes, miss. The fellow who's been...."
He paused, appalled. Only by a hair's-breadth had he stopped himself
from using in the presence of this divine creature the hideous
expression "mopping it up a bit."
"Yes," said Dolly. "I see you know about it."
"All I know about it, miss," said Sergeant-Major Flannery, "is that the
doctor had me into the orderly room just now and said he was expecting
a young lady to arrive with her brother, who needed attention. He said
I wasn't to be surprised if I found myself called for to lend a hand in
a roughhouse, because this bloke--because this patient was apt to get
verlent."
"My brother does get very violent," sighed Dolly. "I only hope he won't
do you any injury."
Sergeant-Major Flannery twitched his banana-like fingers and inflated
his powerful chest. He smiled a complacent smile.
"He won't do _me_ an injury, miss. I've had experience with...." Again
he stopped just in time, on the very verge of shocking his companion's
ears with the ghastly noun "souses" ... "with these sort of nervous
cases," he amended. "Besides, the doctor says he's going to give the
gentleman a little sleeping draught, which'll keep him as you might say
'armless till he wakes up and finds himself under lock and key."
"I see. Yes, that's a very good idea."
"No sense in troubling trouble till trouble troubles you, as the saying
is, miss," agreed the Sergeant-Major. "If you can do a thing in a nice,
easy, tactful manner without verlence, then why use verlence? Has the
gentleman been this way long, miss?"
"Four years."
"You ought to have had him in a home sooner."
"I have put him into dozens of homes. But he always gets out. That's
why I'm so worried."
"He won't get out of Healthward Ho, miss."
"He's very clever."
It was on the tip of Sergeant-Major Flannery's tongue to point out
that other people were clever, too, but he refrained, not so much from
modesty as because at this moment he swallowed some sort of insect.
When he had finished coughing he found that his companion had passed on
to another aspect of the matter.
"I left him alone with Doctor Twist. I wonder if that was safe."
"Quite safe, miss," the Sergeant-Major assured her. "You can see the
window's open and the room's on the ground floor. If there's trouble
and the gentleman starts any verlence, all the doctor's got to do is to
shout for 'elp and I'll get to the spot at the double and climb in and
lend a hand."
His visitor regarded him with a shy admiration.
"It's such a relief to feel that there's someone like you here, Mr.
Flannery. I'm sure you are wonderful in any kind of an emergency."
"People have said so, miss," replied the Sergeant-Major, stroking his
moustache and smiling another quiet smile.
"But what's worrying me is what's going to happen when my brother comes
to after the sleeping draught and finds that he is locked up. That's
what I meant just now when I said he was so clever. The last place he
was in they promised to see that he stayed there, but he talked them
into letting him out. He said he belonged to some big family in the
neighbourhood and had been shut up by mistake."
"He won't get round _me_ that way, miss."
"Are you sure?"
"Quite sure, miss. If there's one thing you get used to in a place like
this, it's artfulness. You wouldn't believe how artful some of these
gentlemen can be. Only yesterday that Admiral Sir Rigby-Rudd toppled
over in my presence after doing his bending and stretching exercises
and said he felt faint and he was afraid it was his heart and would
I go and get him a drop of brandy. Anything like the way he carried
on when I just poured half a bucketful of cold water down his back
instead, you never heard in your life. I'm on the watch all the time, I
can tell you, miss. I wouldn't trust my own mother if she was in here,
taking the cure. And it's no use arguing with them and pointing out to
them that they came here voluntarily of their own free will, and are
paying big money to be exercised and kept away from wines, spirits, and
rich food. They just spend their whole time thinking up ways of being
artful."
"Do they ever try to bribe you?"
"No, miss," said Mr. Flannery, a little wistfully. "I suppose they take
a look at me and think--and see that I'm not the sort of fellow that
would take bribes."
"My brother is sure to offer you money to let him go."
"How much--how much good," said Sergeant-Major Flannery carefully,
"does he think that's going to do him?"
"You wouldn't take it, would you?"
"Who, me, miss? Take money to betray my trust, if you understand the
expression?"
"Whatever he offers you, I will double. You see, it's so very important
that he is kept here, where he will be safe from temptation, Mr.
Flannery," said Dolly, timidly, "I wish you would accept this."
The Sergeant-Major felt a quickening of the spirit as he gazed upon the
rustling piece of paper in her hand.
"No, no, miss," he said, taking it. "It really isn't necessary."
"I know. But I would rather you had it. You see, I'm afraid my brother
may give you a lot of trouble."
"Trouble's what I'm here for, miss," said Mr. Flannery bravely.
"Trouble's what I draw my salary for. Besides, he can't give much
trouble when he's under lock and key, as the saying is. Don't you
worry, miss. We're going to make this brother of yours a different man.
We...."
"Oh!" cried Dolly.
A head and shoulders had shot suddenly out of the study window--the
head and shoulders of Doctor Twist. The voice of Doctor Twist sounded
sharply above the droning of bees and insects.
"Flannery!"
"On the spot, sir."
"Come here, Flannery. I want you."
"You stay here, miss," counselled Sergeant-Major Flannery paternally.
"There may be verlence."
V
There were, however, when Dolly made her way to the study some five
minutes later, no signs of anything of an exciting and boisterous
nature having occurred recently in the room. The table was unbroken,
the carpet unruffled. The chairs stood in their places, and not even a
picture glass had been cracked. It was evident that the operations had
proceeded according to plan, and that matters had been carried through
in what Sergeant-Major Flannery would have termed a nice, easy, tactful
manner.
"Everything jake?" inquired Dolly.
"Uh-hum," said Chimp, speaking, however, in a voice that quavered a
little.
Mr. Twist was the only object in the room that looked in any way
disturbed. He had turned an odd greenish colour, and from time to time
he swallowed uneasily. Although he had spent a lifetime outside the
law, Chimp Twist was essentially a man of peace and accustomed to look
askance at any by-product of his profession that seemed to him to come
under the heading of rough stuff. This doping of respectable visitors,
he considered, was distinctly so to be classified; and only Mr.
Molloy's urgency over the telephone wire had persuaded him to the task.
He was nervous and apprehensive, in a condition to start at sudden
noises.
"What happened?"
"Well, I did what Soapy said. After you left us the guy and I talked
back and forth for a while, and then I agreed to knock a bit off the
old man's bill, and then I said 'How about a little drink?' and then we
have a little drink, and then I slip the stuff you gave me in while he
wasn't looking. It didn't seem like it was going to act at first."
"It don't. It takes a little time. You don't feel nothing till you
jerk your head or move yourself, and then it's like as if somebody has
beaned you one with an iron girder or something. So they tell me," said
Dolly.
"I guess he must have jerked his head, then. Because all of a sudden
he went down and out," Chimp gulped. "You--you don't think he's ... I
mean, you're sure this stuff...?"
Dolly had nothing but contempt for these masculine tremors.
"Of course. Do you suppose I go about the place croaking people? He's
all right."
"Well, he didn't look it. If I'd been a life-insurance company I'd have
paid up on him without a yip."
"He'll wake up with a headache in a little while, but outside of that
he'll be as well as he ever was. Where have you been all your life that
you don't know how kayo drops act?"
"I've never had occasion to be connected with none of this raw work
before," said Chimp virtuously. "If you'd of seen him when he slumped
down on the table, you wouldn't be feeling so good yourself, maybe. If
ever I saw a guy that looked like he was qualified to step straight
into a coffin, he was him."
"Aw, be yourself, Chimp!"
"I'm being myself all right, all right."
"Well, then, for Pete's sake, be somebody else. Pull yourself together,
why can't you. Have a drink."
"Ah!" said Mr. Twist, struck with the idea.
His hand was still shaking, but he accomplished the delicate task of
mixing a whisky and soda without disaster.
"What did you with the remains?" asked Dolly, interested.
Mr. Twist, who had been raising the glass to his lips, lowered it
again. He disapproved of levity of speech at such a moment.
"Would you kindly not call him 'the remains,'" he begged. "It's all
very well for you to be so easy about it all and to pull this stuff
about him doing nothing but wake up with a headache, but what I'm
asking myself is, will he wake up at all?"
"Oh, cut it out! Sure, he'll wake up."
"But will it be in this world?"
"You drink that up, you poor dumb-bell, and then fix yourself another,"
advised Dolly. "And make it a bit stronger next time. You seem to need
it."
Mr. Twist did as directed, and found the treatment beneficial.
"You've nothing to grumble at," Dolly proceeded, still looking on the
bright side. "What with all this excitement and all, you seem to have
lost that cold of yours."
"That's right," said Chimp, impressed. "It does seem to have got a
whole lot better."
"Pity you couldn't have got rid of it a little earlier. Then we
wouldn't have had all this trouble. From what I can make of it, you
seem to have roused the house by sneezing your head off, and a bunch of
the help come and stood looking over the banisters at you."
Chimp tottered. "You don't mean somebody saw me last night?"
"Sure they saw you. Didn't Soapy tell you that over the wire?"
"I could hardly make out all Soapy was saying over the wire. Say! What
are we going to do?"
"Don't you worry. We've done it. The only difficult part is over. Now
that we've fixed the remains...."
"Will you please...!"
"Well, call him what you like. Now that we've fixed that guy the
thing's simple. By the way, what did you do with him?"
"Flannery took him upstairs."
"Where to?"
"There's a room on the top floor. Must have been a nursery or
something, I guess. Anyway, there's bars to the windows."
"How's the door?"
"Good solid oak. You've got to hand it to the guys who built these old
English houses. They knew their groceries. When they spit on their
hands and set to work to make a door, they made one. You couldn't push
that door down, not if you was an elephant."
"Well, that's all right, then. Now, listen, Chimp. Here's the low-down.
We...." She broke off. "What's that?"
"What's what?" asked Mr. Twist, starting violently.
"I thought I heard someone outside in the corridor. Go and look."
With an infinite caution born of alarm, Mr. Twist crept across the
floor, reached the door and flung it open. The passage was empty. He
looked up and down it, and Dolly, whose fingers had hovered for an
instant over the glass which he had left on the table, sat back with an
air of content.
"My mistake," she said. "I thought I heard something."
Chimp returned to the table. He was still much perturbed.
"I wish I'd never gone into this thing," he said, with a sudden gush of
self-pity. "I felt all along, what with seeing that magpie and the new
moon through glass...."
"Now, listen!" said Dolly vigorously. "Considering you've stood Soapy
and me up for practically all there is in this thing except a little
small change, I'll ask you kindly, if you don't mind, not to stand
there beefing and expecting me to hold your hand and pat you on the
head and be a second mother to you. You came into this business because
you wanted it. You're getting sixty-five per cent. of the gross. So
what's biting you? You're all right so far."
It was in Mr. Twist's mind to inquire of his companion precisely what
she meant by this expression, but more urgent matter claimed his
attention. More even than the exact interpretation of the phrase "so
far," he wished to know what the next move was.
"What happens now?" he asked.
"We go back to Rudge."
"And collect the stuff?"
"Yes. And then make our getaway."
No programme could have outlined more admirably Mr. Twist's own
desires. The mere contemplation of it heartened him. He snatched
his glass from the table and drained it with a gesture almost
swash-buckling.
"Soapy will have doped the old man by this time, eh?"
"That's right."
"But suppose he hasn't been able to?" said Mr. Twist with a return of
his old nervousness. "Suppose he hasn't had an opportunity?"
"You can always find an opportunity of doping people. You ought to know
that."
The implied compliment pleased Chimp.
"That's right," he chuckled.
He nodded his head complacently. And immediately something which may
have been an iron girder or possibly the ceiling and the upper parts of
the house seemed to strike him on the base of the skull. He had been
standing by the table, and now, crumpling at the knees, he slid gently
down to the floor. Dolly, regarding him, recognized instantly what he
had meant just now when he had spoken of John appearing like a total
loss to his life-insurance company. The best you could have said of
Alexander Twist at this moment was that he looked peaceful. She drew in
her breath a little sharply, and then, being a woman at heart, took a
cushion from the armchair and placed it beneath his head.
Only then did she go to the telephone and in a gentle voice ask the
operator to connect her with Rudge Hall.
"Soapy?"
"Hello!"
The promptitude with which the summons of the bell had been answered
brought a smile of approval to her lips. Soapy, she felt, must have
been sitting with his head on the receiver.
"Listen, sweetie."
"I'm listening, pettie!"
"Everything's set."
"Have you fixed that guy?"
"Sure, precious. And Chimp, too."
"How's that? Chimp?"
"Sure. We don't want Chimp around, do we, with that
sixty-five--thirty-five stuff of his? I just slipped a couple of drops
into his highball and he's gone off as peaceful as a lamb. Say, wait
a minute," she added, as the wire hummed with Mr. Molloy's low-voiced
congratulations. "Hello!" she said, returning.
"What were you doing, honey? Did you hear somebody?"
"No. I caught sight of a bunch of lilies in a vase, and I just slipped
across and put one of them in Chimp's hand. Made it seem more sort of
natural. Now listen, Soapy. Everything's clear for you at your end
now, so go right ahead and clean up. I'm going to beat it in that guy
Carroll's runabout, and I haven't much time, so don't start talking
about the weather or nothing. I'm going to London, to the Belvidere.
You collect the stuff and meet me there. Is that all straight?"
"But, pettie!"
"Now what?"
"How am I to get the stuff away?"
"For goodness' sake! You can drive a car, can't you? Old Carmody's car
was outside the stable yard when I left. I guess it's there still. Get
the stuff and then go and tell the chauffeur that old Carmody wants to
see him. Then, when he's gone, climb in and drive to Birmingham. Leave
the car outside the station and take a train. That's simple enough,
isn't it?"
There was a long pause. Admiration seemed to have deprived Mr. Molloy
of speech.
"Honey," he said at length, in a hushed voice, "when it comes to the
real smooth stuff you're there every time. Let me just tell you...."
"All right, baby," said Dolly. "Save it till later. I'm in a hurry."