THE MAJOR REVEALS HIS SECRET
"My dear sir," Laurence resumed, after a short pause, "you are well
aware that your remarks are idle ones. I have no cause for complaint on
any such grounds as those you mention. As a neighbour you are the most
desirable that man could have, except----"
"Except what?"
"Except in one particular--the cause, as you very well know, of my
presence here to-night."
"I am quite at a loss to understand what you mean, Mr.----." He
hesitated for the other to supply the name.
"Carrington, as you are also well aware."
"Carrington! Oh, indeed! No relation, I suppose, to Major Harold
Carrington, who was formerly stationed at Madras?"
"No; I have not heard of any relative who was an Indian officer.
Curiously enough, though, my father is Harold Carrington. But pray let
us put an end to all this twaddle. I was forgetting that you know as
well as I do all about my unfortunate father."
"Really, Mr. Carrington, you amaze me. I can't imagine what you mean
when you speak as you do. I was formerly intimately acquainted with a
Major Carrington (who, as I have already stated, was an Indian officer
of repute) when I was living at Madras, but since you say that your
father is not that Harold Carrington, I regret that I have not the
pleasure of his acquaintance, though you so persistently declare that I
have."
Laurence did not reply for a moment. He was more than astonished at the
convincing manner in which the Major spoke. Was he a marvellous actor,
or was it possible that he had no connection with the Squire's would-be
assassin? The latter idea was impossible. Had not he proved--and Lena,
too--that there could be no doubt of the Major's close connection with
the person whose headquarters seemed to be the Manse barn?
No, the man must be acting a part, as he might naturally be expected to
do. And he was acting it so cleverly that Laurence was almost inclined
to believe him to be ignorant of the terrible plot that was thickening
round the unhappy Squire.
The man had already confessed--or had practically done so--that his name
was not Major Jones-Farnell. He had been visibly concerned at the
mention of the dog-whip. What did it mean? The first discovery clearly
proved that the man was playing a part. The second surely pointed to the
fact that he was not speaking sincerely.
"Well, Major," said Carrington, after a pause, which he had occupied in
deliberating thus, "let us then, for the moment, drop the question of
how much or how little you know about my father, and revert to the cause
of your invitation so strangely delivered to me this morning."
"Ah, now we are talking sense," replied Laurence's companion; "you mean
you wish to know why I requested you not to go to the police? But first,
pray tell me on what grounds you intend--or shall we say
intended?--applying for a warrant to search this house. A retiring
disposition is no crime--at least, so my knowledge of legal subjects
leads me to believe."
"Of course not," responded Laurence angrily; "kindly do not prevaricate.
But, by the way, how did you send me that message this morning?"
"As to that, my servant is the best person for you to apply to for an
answer. I presume, though, that he delivered the note by means of his
catapult, a weapon and instrument in the use of which he is extremely
proficient. You must excuse the mode of delivery. I am short-handed--my
establishment consists of myself and my man."
"Indeed! and I am under the impression that the 'man' affects clothing
that one does not usually see upon men!"
"For various reasons, I confess, my servant walks abroad in a harmless
disguise."
"And attacks pedestrians in the high road!" muttered Laurence.
"Certainly not, unless they threaten him with pains and penalties that
he does not deserve!" was the reply.
"Again let me impress upon you that the cause of my visit has not yet so
much as been explained by you," exclaimed Carrington, enraged at the
Major's repeated parrying of the question.
"I think you promised that you would first explain your reason for
suspecting us, as you seem to, of crimes the nature of which you insist
on refraining from mentioning."
"You know very well that I have good cause for suspicion. Tell me, what
is the meaning of this darkened house; this secrecy; the necessity for
disguise; and lastly, what is your connection with the person who stole
my bicycle for a terrible purpose?"
Once again, as he made this last remark, did the visitor perceive
noticeable tokens of concern on the face of his host. There was a look
of dread--dread of exposure--in his eyes. He puffed rapidly at his
cigar--a sure sign of discomfort--and shifted two or three times in his
seat before replying.
"You are pressing me very hard, Mr. Carrington," he said at length, "and
I see no reason why I should answer your questions, which, you will
pardon me for saying so, incline towards impertinence."
"I am entirely in the right when I request you to explain these
mysteries to me. My father's position will enable me to obtain a
search-warrant without much difficulty, and----"
"Very well, very well, I will tell you all," cried the Major, flinging
his cigar stump into the empty fireplace, "though I must ask you to
consider all I tell you as strictly private and confidential. Is that
not so?"
"It depends entirely upon the nature of your confession," responded
Laurence drily.
"Confession! You use hard-sounding words, Mr. Carrington. But here goes!
First, my name is not Jones-Farnell. And, need I say, I am not an
invalid."
"I knew that," Laurence interjected.
"In reality, I am one Orlando Meadows. Second, I am not of a military
calling, my profession being that of medicine. Third, I am an authority
on diseases of the brain, and particularly lunacy and its treatment;
and, finally, I have in my charge downstairs a very savage lunatic."
Laurence gasped with amazement. If this were the case--that is, if a
maniac were really imprisoned in the house--was it not more than
possible that he it was who had made the savage attack on the Squire,
and who had been hiding since the night of the attack in the Manse barn?
"Tell me, what is he like?" he asked eagerly.
The "Major," or rather, Doctor Meadows, as he really was, looked at him
with a puzzled expression on his well-formed features.
"He is gigantic," was his answer, after a moment's pause; "terribly
powerful and repulsively ugly, but pray have no fear on that account. I
have him under the strongest lock and key that London can supply."
But Laurence's hopes had been dashed to the ground. The description of
Meadows' patient was as dissimilar to that of the person in the barn as
it was possible for it to be, and the lunatic was safely locked up
downstairs!
The confidence with which the visitor had accepted the doctor's
confession was destroyed. Meadows was lying to him, that was quite
certain, and yet his story had a complexion of probability about it that
deserved attention.
"Doctor!" cried Laurence sternly, "will you take your oath that you are
telling me the truth?"
"This is an unpardonable insult," exclaimed Meadows in reply, rising to
his feet and clenching his fists in the air. "How dare you insinuate
that I am telling lies?"
"Keep calm, if you please, Doctor Meadows," said Carrington. "Prove your
assertion by showing me this gigantic patient of yours."
Instantly there was a change in the doctor's behaviour. He collapsed
into his seat with a groan of despair.
"That is impossible," he muttered.
"Why so?"
"It would be unsafe; in fact, positively dangerous to both you and
myself," he stammered.
"As a doctor you should be able to tackle your patient," said Laurence.
"As a fairly strong and athletic man I can assist you. If necessary,
there is also your servant. That is, we are three to one. No, Doctor, I
can't take such excuses. You must prove your words by at least giving me
certain evidence that you have a maniac in your charge downstairs."
"I cannot and I will not," replied the other.
"Then I shall go down and explore the place myself."
"For Heaven's sake, don't," shrieked Meadows, starting up again; "it
will be all the worse for you if you do. I forbid you to leave the room
until I give you permission, and then my servant will accompany you to
the door."
Laurence was puzzled beyond description by the doctor's behaviour. Why
was he so anxious that his guest should not explore the house? Was it
that he really feared his patient might break loose and attack him? For
the matter of that, had he a maniac patient at all? Might not the story
be entirely fictitious? Could it be that the black creature (if he or
she were really black) who was waging such active warfare against the
Squire was in lurking in Durley Dene?
This would account for Meadows' consternation when the idea of Laurence
visiting the other rooms in the house was suggested to him. At any rate,
the probability of such being the case was worthy of consideration.
"You have someone hiding downstairs--don't deny it!" cried Laurence
suddenly.
Meadows' face became deadly pale.
"Yes," he replied hesitatingly. "I told you I had a lunatic--a fierce
maniac--whom I am taking charge of downstairs, when I know that by
rights he should be in the padded cell of an asylum."
Again did the young man perceive that his companion was lying. His
manner was that of a man who is telling a falsehood on which much
depends.
"I tell you----" he began, but at that moment an interruption occurred.
The door was thrown open roughly, and a man entered. Laurence recognised
him as the person who had played the double part of janitor and
market-woman. He was a man of an unprepossessing, not to say criminal,
type, and spoke in a surly tone.
"This bit o' paper were 'anded in by an old man a few minutes ago. To be
given to Mr. Laurence at once," the man said.
"Then give it to this gentleman," the doctor replied, and the servant
did so.
Laurence seized the roughly twisted note with a trembling hand. What was
the meaning of a letter coming to him at the Dene? No one but Lena knew
where he was. A glance told him that the words hastily scrawled in
pencil on a half-sheet of paper were in Miss Scott's usually distinct
handwriting.
And this was the terrible message the note contained:--
"Come at once. The Squire has been murdered!"