MR. HORNCASTLE, FROM DARTMOOR
"And now," said Meadows, as he lay back in his arm-chair, "now, as you
have been good enough to promise to take me into your confidence, may I
ask if you will give me a brief outline of the manner in which this plot
against Mr. Carrington has been carried out?"
"Certainly," said Laurence; and he proceeded to sketch briefly the
events of the last few days.
"Well," said the doctor, when his young visitor had concluded the
narrative, "one thing is quite certain. Since you are now sure that the
enemy is not lurking in this house, he must be even nearer home. I mean
that the chances are he is still hiding in the old barn. By the way, do
you happen to know of any secret place of concealment in that building?"
"No; that I do not. But I feel sure, from the manner in which the
creature escaped from me on the night when I encountered him in the
dark, that there must be such a hiding-place. Strange that a new arrival
should discover a secret room, when I, who have explored the barn
scores of times, have not even learned of its existence."
"Now," pursued Meadows, "I have already told you that I am probably the
one person who can throw any light upon the secrets and mysteries in
which this weird creature plays so important a part, yet I must confess
that I am unable to divulge one word of what I know--or, rather,
suspect--about the Squire's secret. As you are already aware, I do know
your father, Mr. Carrington; that is, I did know him many years ago,
before you were born, and before his marriage. Were I to tell you any
suspicions I should be breaking a promise I made, and have kept for all
these years; and I would rather die than do so. I know that by telling
you this I am probably laying myself open to further suspicion, but I
have found, to my cost, that to tell the truth is the best policy,
whatever the consequences may be. One thing, though, I can do, and that
is to help you to run this fiendish creature to earth. This I may as
well tell you: the person who is haunting your father--the fear of whose
coming has, indeed, haunted him for years--is not a woman, as you have
at one time imagined. It is a man. And with all respect for your
detective-nurse, his motive is neither jealousy, anarchy, nor robbery.
It is revenge!"
"I must say that I always considered that such must be the case," said
Laurence; "hence my inclination to believe it was the poacher who swore
to be even with my father one day."
"Ah!" remarked Doctor Meadows, "if it were only a poacher--a prince of
poachers, even--then our task would be very much easier. As it is, we
must prepare ourselves for a hard battle if we hope to capture the
rascal. Though I know nothing about him personally, I can tell you that
he is certain to be diabolically cunning and clever. You have already
found that out yourself. But, tell me, have you discovered anything in
the nature of a clue? Anything such as the feather the detective in
fiction finds on the murdered man's bed, which may lead to the detection
of the criminal?"
Laurence shook his head. He had left the work of searching the room in
which the final attempt had been made on the Squire's life to the
detective from Burton's. Whether Mr. Oliver Potter had taken the
opportunity thus presented he did not know.
"Then, tell me, please, about your father's room. Is there a
looking-glass over the mantelboard?"
"No; my father dislikes mirrors of any kind. He shaves even without the
aid of a glass. But why?"
"One minute. I think you said your butler found the bedroom door
slightly ajar when he entered, and discovered that your father was
apparently murdered? Yes? Well, then, do you recollect hearing whether
any of the maids happened to be about in the corridor at the time when
the assault must have taken place? A housemaid, for instance, with a
slop pail?"
"No; I was not told that such was the case. Besides, the servants were
at supper when Kingsford went upstairs to attend to the Squire's wants,
so we may be quite sure that none of the women were on the bedroom
floor. But why on earth do you ask? This has surely nothing to do with
the case?"
"I am merely trying to obtain some proof that my theory is the right
one, though, to be sure, proof is hardly necessary. What I wish to
discover is why the assassin did not carry out his vile deed."
"He, no doubt, believed that he had killed the Squire," suggested Lena,
who had been following the conversation with undisguised interest.
Meadows shook his head.
"Or he was interrupted by hearing the butler's footsteps in the
passage," hazarded Laurence.
"In the latter case," said the doctor, "I should say 'no,' because, from
what I can gather, there is no suitable hiding-place in the room in
which he could have concealed himself when the butler came in. There is
always the bed, of course, but I am inclined to think that he was
interrupted in some other way. The question is, how? It might be
answered if we learned that anything had been found in the
room--anything unusual, that is to say. However, we will not trouble
about that now. What should be done is to have the barn thoroughly
overhauled. Once we discover the hiding-place of this creature, we shall
be well on in our investigation."
Laurence was about to reply when an interruption occurred. As on the
occasion of the last visit to Durley Dene, the doctor's strange servant
appeared in the doorway. This time his dusky face was pale, and he
appeared to be in a great state of alarm.
"Here, quick, I want you! Come down at once, will you?" he whispered in
the doctor's ear, but not so low that the visitors could not catch the
words.
The man looked significantly at his master, who rose in haste.
"I regret that I shall have to close this very pleasant interview," he
said, in a quivering voice. "Unexpected business causes my retirement.
But, come, we must meet again before long. I will show you to the door.
Lead the way, if you please, Horncastle."
As Meadows uttered this last word the servant turned to him and frowned
angrily, not aware that both the visitors were watching him.
"Lead the way, Smith, I mean. I always confound your name with that of
my last valet," Dr. Meadows added, as though prompted by the servant's
expression of annoyance.
The shutter of a landing window had been drawn back, so that the light
from outside feebly pierced the darkness within. Thus was the journey
downstairs made easier. The doctor walked in front with the servant.
Laurence made way at the top of the staircase for Lena to go before him.
This she would not do, however, but, fumbling in the semi-darkness, she
found her lover's hand, caught it, and did not release her hold until
the two were safely outside in the dazzling heat of the day.
The door closed behind them.
"How glad I am to get into the outside world once again!" cried Lena,
joyfully, when they had reached the gate of Durley Dene. "Doctor Meadows
is very kind and nice, and a perfect gentleman, yet there is such a
distinct air of mystery about the house, one is given such an impression
that the place is peopled by ghosts, that I must confess I should have
been frightened had I been alone there to-day. But, Laurence, the
mystery is no more solved than ever. It seems to get deeper every time
we make a fresh discovery. We know now that the doctor has nothing to do
with the Squire--I mean that he is not connected with the assaults--and
yet he informs us that he not only knew your father and his secret, but
could explain the whole mystery, if allowed to do so."
"That's what he says," answered Laurence. "Is it the truth? And what is
the urgent business on which he was called away?"
By this time the porch of the Manse was reached, but the door being
closed, and Laurence having mislaid his key, it was necessary to wait
for a servant to answer the bell.
"Did you hear," asked Lena, "that he called the servant Horncastle, and
then corrected himself?"
"Indeed I did; and in spite of all he said about truth being the best
policy, I feel sure he was lying again when he explained that a former
servant was called Horncastle. By the way, Horncastle is no common name,
is it? Somehow I believe I've heard it before. Do you know anyone called
Horncastle? I certainly have some reason for recollecting the name."
At that moment Kingsford appeared at the door.
"Do you happen to know the name 'Horncastle'?" casually asked Laurence
of the butler, as he followed Lena into the house.
"Horncastle, sir?" repeated Kingsford, who, as an old retainer, was
never treated quite as one of the domestic servants. "No, I can't say I
know anyone o' that name, Mister Laurence, leastways excepting 'the'
Horncastle."
"And who is 'the' Horncastle?" asked Laurence, pausing to hear the old
man's answer.
"I mean the famous burgiler, sir, what escaped from Dartmoor six months
back."
"Good gracious!" muttered Laurence to himself, and Lena thought
something that could only be described by an equally forcible
interjection.
"Ah, of course," remarked the young man, fearing to raise the butler's
suspicion.