MAJOR JONES' ERRAND
When Laurence visited his father's room at daybreak next morning he
found that the doctor had not left the bedside since he had first been
called in. The Squire was progressing as favourably as could be
expected, Bathurst said, but it had been such a near squeak that the
utmost care was necessary. To explain the nature of the attack on the
old gentleman was, strange to say, more than the doctor could do with
much accuracy. All he knew was that the patient's neck had almost been
broken, the peculiar attitude of the body when found being the result of
a powerful attempt by some person unknown to actually kill the victim by
breaking his neck!
The doctor went on to recommend that a nurse should be sent down from
town, suggesting that one of Burton's "private assistants" would be of
peculiar value. It may be as well to mention that these "assistants"
were men who were able to act very skilfully in their capacity of nurse,
and were also reputable unofficial detectives.
The idea of working with a detective had suggested itself to Laurence
before now, but, as has been said, he had feared to call in professional
aid lest his father, who was so anxious to retain the secret which he
undoubtedly shared with his desperate enemy, might object to the man's
presence.
Now, however, things were in a different state. The Squire was
unconscious, and, according to Bathurst, might possibly be so for days.
At the best he would have to keep his bed for several weeks. During that
time, with the assistance of a trained investigator, it seemed probable
that the deep mystery which enshadowed Mr. Carrington might be cleared
up.
Laurence accordingly despatched a telegram to Burton, the founder of the
Private Assistance Bureau, requesting him to "kindly send down an able
assistant at once," and then, after remaining a short time with Mrs.
Featherston (the housekeeper), who had taken charge of the patient on
the doctor's departure, he went downstairs to find the two ladies
waiting for breakfast. Mrs. Knox was quite well again and inclined to
abuse herself for the loss of her head on the previous night. Her
indisposition had not, moreover, seriously affected her appetite. Lena
looked pale and tired. She had hardly slept during the night, and no
wonder. She alone, with the exception, of course, of Laurence, knew all
the details of the mystery, and with the knowledge of the weird attacks
on her host and of the unfathomable secrets of the Dene and the Manse
barn, sleep was quite impossible. How numerous had the events of
yesterday been! First, the message from the Major, then Laurence's
proposal, afterwards her anxiety for the safety of the man with whom in
the short time she had known him she had fallen desperately in love.
Next, the attempted murder of Mr. Carrington, and, finally, the
discovery that the master of Durley Dene had visited the grounds of the
Manse at midnight for some mysterious purpose as yet unknown. Mrs. Knox,
though she plainly demonstrated the unwelcomeness of the idea, was
compelled to suggest that she and her niece should no longer trespass
upon the kindness of their young host, when so much extra work would
necessarily be the result of the Squire's serious illness. However,
Laurence would not hear of their going, and Mrs. Knox did not take the
trouble to make any further suggestions on the subject.
As soon as they could leave the dining-room without raising Mrs. Knox's
suspicion that her niece knew more than she seemed to do, Laurence and
Lena went out together into the garden, when the former told Miss Scott
that a nurse-detective was coming from London to assist in the solution
of the mystery. The fact that he was anything but an ordinary male nurse
was to be kept a secret--even from Mrs. Knox herself, for such Laurence
knew to be one of the particular requests made to all employing Burton's
assistants.
"Well, Laurence," said the girl after a pause in the conversation (she
had taken to calling him by his Christian name since his departure to
Durley Dene), "well, and have you thought of any more clues?"
"Alas, no. I spent the night thinking, but am no nearer the solution
than before. This secret seems inviolable, but perhaps Burton's man will
be able to help us. One or two things, though, have impressed me as
worthy of consideration.
"First, as I have already told you, it seemed to me at the commencement
of my interview that Meadows (we will call him by that name, though I
doubt his right to it) was a wonderful actor. If he was playing a part
he played it well. Not only did he pretend not to know me, but seemed
both surprised at and interested in my carefully guarded assertions of
his connection with my father. Yet, later on, when I mentioned the
dog-whip (on which alone hangs a secret, I am sure), and afterwards
signified my intention of exploring the house, he did not in the least
degree disguise his concern. This leads one to think him a very poor
actor, for had he some secret to keep he need not fear, since, as to the
latter remark of mine, I could not have explored far in the darkness,
particularly when I was one man against at least two others; while, as
to the other matter, if he could bravado my assertion that he and the
Squire had some secret, why did he turn pale and grow nervous when I
reminded him of the purchase of the dog-whip? It was in no way a
remarkable article to buy, nor one I would be likely to connect with a
deep, unsolvable problem.
"A second matter worth noticing is this, that the servant, whom his
master had addressed as Smith (though that is probably not his name),
and the doctor himself apparently are not on the best of terms with one
another. The servant certainly does not respect his master. Why?
Because, if your idea is a correct one, Meadows knows that Smith is
slowly sealing my father's doom (as the Squire himself said). He may
really be a harmless man, though I doubt it, and Smith may know
something about his past, for instance, which prohibits him from
discharging the servant, though he knows exactly what is going on. But
then, if this were the case, what was Meadows doing in the yard at
midnight, after his interview with me last evening? No, clearly he is
one of the gang who are at such enmity with father.
"When the detective comes he will start from the assault last night,
interview all the servants, and start his inquiry, so that it is of no
use for us to do that now, but I am thinking that examination of the
room may reveal some traces or clues. At any rate, now that we have
called in the man, we must play second fiddle to him. It will be as
well, too, to tell him all we know, and then do our best to run the poor
old man's enemies to earth.
"Let us now, if there is nothing better to do, stroll down to the place
where we saw the man Meadows last night, and see if he has left any clue
behind him."
Together they crossed the lawn, and entered the courtyard in which stood
the barn.
"That's where he was, that's where he went through the bushes and
climbed over the palisade," said Lena, pointing in the direction of the
Dene.
"Where did he start, though?" asked Laurence.
"Probably in the barn, or----" She ran forward, as though spurred by a
sudden impulse. Carrington followed her in amazement to the little cycle
shed, which she had entered.
"Look," cried the girl, and she pointed towards a corner in which stood
the missing bicycle, caked with mud, and having the saddle lowered as
though for some short rider.
"Gracious me! What made you think that the bicycle would be returned?"
asked Laurence, when he had recovered from his surprise, caused by the
return of the machine.
"Common sense," replied the girl, with a light laugh. "It suddenly
occurred to me that it was just as likely the Major would go out at
midnight to the cycle shed as to the barn, for we know that he could
have no reason for visiting the latter----"
"Wait," Laurence interrupted. "You are wrong there. He might wish to see
the mysterious creature who displayed gymnastic tricks for my sole
benefit the night before last."
"My dear Mr. Carrington," replied Lena (and she used that title only
because she wished to see his look of regret), "your memory is failing
you. Why, you told me yourself that the monkey-like creature--or
presumably it--was now within the walls of Durley Dene."
"You astound me, Miss Scott," replied Laurence; "really, I have no
recollection of making such a statement."
"You silly boy," answered Lena, with ill-disguised mirth, "what about
the strange cry that disturbed your interview with Smith as you were
leaving the house last night?"
"Ah! Then you think that cry proceeded from the mouth of the person whom
I encountered on the moor and again in the barn?"
"Well, it certainly appears to me that there is something similar in
your description of the two sounds. But you yourself can judge better of
that than I can."
"Yes; but why should this horrible creature scream as I was leaving the
Dene, and if Smith is my father's would-be murderer, who is the person
that used the barn as its headquarters?"
"If you knew that, Laurence, there would probably be no mystery at all.
It is as to these points we have yet to decide."
"Then, do you mean that, in your opinion, the creature in the barn was
not the attempted assassin?"
"We practically decided that last night when we noted the possibility of
Smith having crept through the palisade and attacked your father in his
room. From what you tell me about the man, I think it more than probable
that we are at last on the right track. In brief, we have now come to
the following conclusion--or, rather, supposition, for there is just the
chance that we are wrong.
"Smith has some long-standing and, undoubtedly, fierce grudge against
your father, which can only be paid off by death. He also has some
control--powerful control--over this man Meadows. He compels the latter
to take Durley Dene, and lets out through the house agent some
ridiculous story about an invalid military gentleman of retiring
disposition having taken the house. Learning the Squire's movements, he
follows him to the Marquis's on your bicycle, which he kindly takes
without asking your leave. Being shorter than you, he has to lower the
saddle. After the attempt to murder the Squire by setting light to the
house, he learns somehow or other that you have left, overtakes and
shadows the carriage, and eventually attacks it. On being repulsed, he
makes for home, concealing his tracks, as you are aware, by taking off
his boots and carrying the bicycle into the Dene. He afterwards compels
Meadows to return the cycle to the shed. Knowing who you are, he
naturally objects to your having an interview with the sham Major, and
is hardly polite when you apply for one.
"However, wishing to make a second attempt on the Squire's life, and to
carry out his vile design, he conceives the plan of getting you out of
the way."
"Good heavens! I believe you are right."
"He knows you to be energetic and suspicious, and arranges an interview
for you with the 'Major,' during the course of which he manages to get
into the house and attack the Squire, whom he presumably thinks he has
killed. He gets back in time to take up my message, delivered by the
butler, to you. Why he induced you to give him money I do not know.
Possibly he would have done more--would have enticed you into some
room--yes, and murdered you--had it not been for that shrill cry that
suddenly disturbed him."
"Lena!" (the pet name slipped out unnoticed by both in Laurence's
astonishment)--"Lena, you are a genius. You have solved the mystery."
"On the contrary, I am more in the dark than ever, for in addition to
the secret of the man's enmity against your father, we have now to
discover who is the strange creature of the shrill voice and ape-like
agility, what his connection is with the people of the Dene, and,
lastly, why, as I am firmly convinced, he is imprisoned in the basement
of the house you visited last night."