"Here is the case so far as I've gone," she said. "Lord Helsham left
Grosvenor Square last week after a 'few words' with his mother. What
those 'words' were about, she will not tell me. 'Family matters' is
all the explanation I can get from her. He has not been to his club
or to his country house, or any hotel in his right name, because
inquiries in these directions had been exhausted before I was called
in. He is in great distress of mind about something, because he has
written a heart-broken letter to the girl he probably intended to
marry. She is evidently still devoted to him, so that love has
nothing to do with his mental condition. If love is not the cause of
his extraordinary behaviour, what _can_ be?"
The blind artist, who had sat silently listening, turned his
sightless eyes towards his wife. "Mr. Saxon has told us, Dorcas, that
you had an idea the poor fellow contemplated suicide, and he has told
us how you arrived at that conclusion. If you reject love and
insanity there is only one other thing that will drive a man to
deliberate suicide."
"And that is?"
"Fear."
Dorcas laid her hand gently on her husband's arm. "Yes, your thought
is mine, dear," she said softly, "but what does he fear?"
"What did his mother say to-night, when you told her what your
discoveries had led you to believe?"
"Although, of course, she was horrified, and for a time upset, she
really seemed--how shall I put it?--rather relieved in her mind!"
"Relieved to hear her son was likely to kill himself!" exclaimed
Mrs. Lester indignantly.
"Well, perhaps relieved is hardly the word. She has seemed to me all
along to be in a state of nervous terror as to something _dreadful_
being likely to happen, and when I suggested suicide it seemed as
though _that_ was not the worst that she had contemplated. That's
what I meant by its being a relief to her."
"Whatever is it that Lord Helsham fears," murmured the blind artist,
"it is evident that his mother fears it also. No other theory would
account for her being 'relieved'--as you call it--by the idea
that he has suicide in his mind."
"Yes," said Dorcas Dene, "and she can only feel that relief for two
reasons--either that his death would prevent his arrest for some
crime, or would prevent the discovery of something which would bring
terrible consequences to him."
"Or to her," said Paul, quietly.
Dorcas Dene started.
"Yes!" she cried, springing to her feet, "that's it--that would
account for everything."
"What sort of person is this Lady Helsham?" I asked, venturing to
join in the council.
Dorcas Dene drew her notebook from her pocket. "Here is the family
history as I got it from Mr. ---- when I took up the case. The late
Lord Helsham married a young Scotch lady who was a member of a
travelling opera troupe."
"Heredity again!" murmured Paul. "The son falls in love with an
actress."
"Two years after their marriage the Earl was killed by a fall from
his horse in the hunting-field. The next heir was the Earl's younger
brother, the Hon. John Farman, but the peerage had to remain in
abeyance pending the accouchement of Lady Helsham, an event which
occurred prematurely a month later."
"And the child born a month after its father's death was the present
Lord Helsham?"
"Yes," said Dorcas Dene, "that is so. Here are some further
particulars. Lady Helsham some years later adopted her sister's
little girl, a child of the same age as her son, and the children
were brought up together until lately, when her ladyship endeavoured
to bring about a marriage between the two. But his lordship informed
his mother that the idea was entirely repugnant to him, and
eventually the young lady left the family mansion and went back to
reside with her real mother in Scotland. Mr. ---- said he gave me
these particulars as it was possible, though not probable, that
ill-feeling had come between the mother and son through this young
lady. And it was concerning her that the 'words' occurred which
preceded Lord Helsham's departure from his home."
"And that view of the case you have not thought out at all, Dorcas?"
asked Paul Dene.
"No, I thought it better to look for the girl Lord Helsham was
likely to go after than for the one he was likely to avoid.
But----" Dorcas Dene rose and began to pace the room. No one
spoke a word. Suddenly she came up to me and held out her hand.
"Good-night," she said. "I am so much obliged to you for all your
help to-day. Come and see us again soon, won't you?"
"But I should like to know more about this case," I said; "I am
much interested in it, you know."
"Yes, I quite understand that," replied the lady detective, "but
I am afraid it will turn out a far more difficult business than I
imagined when I undertook it. Good-night."
There was nothing for me to do but shake hands all round and make as
dignified an exit as was possible under the circumstances.
* * * * * * *
A few days afterwards business called me to Paris, and it was quite
a fortnight later that sitting one evening outside the Café de
la Paix reading the "Daily Telegraph" the name of Lord Helsham
caught my eye, and I turned eagerly to an article headed, "A Mystery
Cleared Up," and read the following:
"The mystery surrounding the strange disappearance of Lord Helsham
has at last been elucidated. His lordship's clothes and watch and
scarf-pin have been found in a small cave on the coast near Cromer.
It is supposed that his lordship, who must have been staying in the
neighbourhood incognito, and who was an expert swimmer, had gone out
early in the morning to bathe from the shore. The supposition is that
he was seized with cramp and sank unobserved, that part of the coast
being a secluded and lonely one. It is not probable after this lapse
of time that the body will be recovered. The missing nobleman was
traced, and the discovery made, by the famous lady detective
Mrs. Dorcas Dene. Lord Helsham is succeeded by his uncle, the
Hon. John Farman, who is unmarried."
Immediately on my return to town I hastened to call at Oak Tree
Road. Dorcas Dene was out in the pretty little garden at the back
reading to her husband, who was sitting under the trees in a great
wicker chair. Toddlekins, the bulldog, was lying stretched out in
the sunshine.
As I looked at the little group from the dining-room window, I could
not help thinking how far removed the loving and tender wife devoting
herself to the blind husband seemed from the woman who had unravelled
the mystery of the tragic fate of young Lord Helsham.
The servant took my card to her mistress, and Dorcas Dene came in
smiling and happy, and gave me a sweet, womanly welcome.
"Won't you come into the garden? Paul will be so pleased," she said.
I shook my head. "Presently. But first I want to know about the
Helsham case. I think you ought to tell me, because once--just for
a little time--we were partners in this business, you know."
Dorcas Dene's gentle face became suddenly grave. "Yes," she said
thoughtfully, "I suppose I ought to tell you. Sit down and you shall
hear the story of what happened after you left that night in as few
words as possible, for I want to get back to the book I am reading
to Paul. It's a sweet book, and we're just in the middle of it. You
ought to read it. It is 'The Man who was Good.'"
"Never mind about the man who was good, I want to hear about the
woman who was clever. How did you find poor Lord Helsham, and what
was the cause of his unhappy fate?"
"You remember our conversation the night we parted," said Dorcas
Dene. "The next morning at nine o'clock I went straight to the
residence of the Hon. John Farman, the person who would succeed to
the title if anything happened to Lord Helsham. He had heard of the
disappearance, but concluded it was some temporary feminine
entanglement. I showed him how necessary it was that he should be
one of the earliest to know of his nephew's fate, and begged him to
tell me anything that would assist me in my enquiries. Having
already certain ideas in my head, I asked him if he knew where Lord
Helsham was born, and he told me that Lady Helsham was confined at
the house of her sister, the wife of a captain in the merchant
service, who had at the time just sailed for Australia. This sister
was residing in Scotland, and Lady Helsham had gone to her in the
early days of her widowhood. Mr. Farman himself was absent from
England at the time on a hunting expedition in the Rockies, and it
was not until a later period that he received the news of his
brother's death and the birth of an heir.
"'Had the child been a girl you would have inherited everything?'
"'With the exception of the income secured to Lady Helsham, yes. As
it was a boy--'
"'You accepted the situation. And when Lady Helsham returned to
London she brought her child with her, of course?'
"'Yes. I arrived a few days after her return. We were not friendly
during my brother's lifetime, but I desired to show every courtesy
I could to the widow.'
"'And as the child grew up you saw him----'
"'Frequently. He was very much attached to me, and latterly my nephew
and myself have been on very friendly terms.'
"'But you have not assisted in any way in endeavouring to find him?'
"'No. I called on Lady Helsham, and she declared there was no cause
for alarm. It was an entanglement. She begged me to do nothing for
fear of making a scandal. That is why I am rather astonished to
learn that she has employed professional assistance' (he bowed to me)
'and let me know nothing about it.'
"'And Lady Helsham's sister and the captain?'
"'The sister is the mother of the little girl Lady Helsham afterwards
adopted. I understood when this young lady left Grosvenor Square, she
had gone back to her mother, who is now a widow.'
"'And now will you tell me what sort of a young man Lord Helsham was.
Was he flighty, weak-minded, dissipated, cunning?'
"'Oh, no,' replied Mr. Farman, 'he was a most lovable and amiable
young fellow--highly strung, and sensitive to a degree--romantic
undoubtedly, but the soul of honour.'
"I bade Mr. Farman good-day, promising him the earliest information,
and went to the ------ Theatre. There I ascertained the address
of Miss Dalroy, and at once sought an interview with her, telling
her frankly that I was trying to find her lover and restore him to
his friends.
"With tears in her eyes she offered to give me any assistance she
could. She told me Lord Helsham had promised to marry her, and she
showed me the letters she had had since his disappearance. They all
spoke of a great shock he had received, and one of them of 'a
terrible discovery which must separate them for ever.' It was not
concerning her, but a matter relating to his own family.
"By this time I was convinced that the idea which had come to me
when I so rudely asked you to take your departure was the key to the
mystery. I _knew_ after reading those letters what the skeleton
in the Helsham family cupboard was, and I understood the dilemma in
which the high-spirited and honourable young man suddenly found
himself.
"I asked Miss Dalroy to let me see the last envelope she had
received. Fortunately she had kept the letter in it, and showed it
to me.
"The letter had been posted in Dunkeld. Dunkeld was in Scotland.
That was where Lady Helsham's adopted daughter was--that was where
Lady Helsham's sister lived, the sister in whose house Lord Helsham
had been born. It was there that I should probably get the latest
news of him.
"I went home, and flinging a few things into a Gladstone bag, caught
the first train North. Twelve hours later I was in Dunkeld. A few
hurried inquiries of the railway porters at the station, and the
solitary flyman outside, and at the little station hotel, told me
that I was, as they say in the sensational detective stories, 'on the
track.' A young gentleman answering the description I have of Lord
Helsham had come there a few days previously. The flyman had driven
him to the house of Mrs. ----, the merchant captain's widow, which
was nearly five miles from the station, and nothing had been seen of
him since.
"When the flyman had deposited me at the house, I made my way up the
pathway with a fluttering heart, for in spite of my profession, I
have still that feminine weakness in moments of excitement. The door
was opened by an old Scotch servant. I asked for Mrs. ----, and
without waiting for an answer walked straight into a room where I
could hear voices.
"An elderly spectacled man was talking with a widow lady. As I
entered I caught one sentence--but that was music in my ears.
"'There's not the slightest danger--it's a feverish cold--but the
poor young fellow is very low and nervous. I should note leave him
alone.'
"It was a doctor who was speaking. I didn't want to guess twice who
the poor young gentleman was.
"The widow lady started as I entered and angrily asked me what
I wanted.
"'A few words with you alone,' I answered. The doctor bowed and
left us together.
"'Who are you?' exclaimed the widow, betraying her nervous agitation
in her manner, 'and what do you want with me?'
"'My name is Dorcas Dene--I come from Lady Helsham with a message
for her son.
"'You know----!' gasped the widow.
"'That he is here and upstairs ill--yes. This _terrible discovery_
has been a severe shock to him.'
"At the words 'terrible discovery' the widow lady reeled and caught
a chair for support.
"'You know that--Lady Helsham has told you?'
"'I had to know,' I answered, evading the question. 'Now for the sake
of everybody we must decide what is the best to be done to avoid
scandal. He talks of killing himself, but that is cowardly. What do
_you_ think can be done?'
"It was a trap and the woman fell into it.
"'I don't know,' she gasped. 'Bertie declares that if he lives he
will not retain the title or the property. He says that his death is
the only thing that can save me and my sister from--from----' She
hesitated; then with a sudden terror that she had betrayed too much,
she cried, 'But if you know--tell me _what_ you know.'
"'Only what I was bound to know to be of any use in the case,' I
said, quietly. 'That the child which Lady Helsham bore in this house
was not the child she returned to London with as the heir. He has
discovered that he has unwittingly dispossessed another of the title
and estates, and he refuses to be a party to the fraud any longer.
The only way in which he can restore them is by dying. To publish the
truth now would be to put Lady Helsham in the dock, and, as you say,
you also, for you were a party to the imposture.'
"'It was my sister who persuaded me--who took my baby boy from me
and left the girl at home with me. My husband was away. Only the old
servant you have just seen was with me, and she cannot read or write.
It was so simple and--and----'
"'And the doctor?'
"She hesitated. 'Why do you ask these questions of me? If you know
all Lady Helsham must have told you.'
"'I have come from Lady Helsham to find her son--the rest I have
learned for myself. Now you must tell me everything or I cannot
help you. If I abandon the case it will be taken up by the police.'
"I succeeded at last in showing the unhappy woman that she must make
a clean breast of it, and she confessed everything. There was no idea
of fraud at first. Lady Helsham came to her sister, who was alone and
expecting her confinement. It was the coincidence of her own child
being born prematurely, and within twenty-four hours of her sister's,
that made Lady Helsham grasp at the idea. Had she confessed that her
child was a girl she would have had to give up everything--except her
allowance under the will--to her husband's brother. The captain's
wife was attended by a local midwife. The doctor from the nearest
town sent for to Lady Helsham was away at a consultation, and only
returned twenty-four hours after the premature birth of her child.
When he arrived he simply saw that his patient was doing well. The
sisters had by that time agreed on the fraud with the assistance of
the midwife, who received a good allowance from Lady Helsham for her
assistance. The doctor left, fully assured that Lady Helsham had
given birth to a son, and from that hour the fraud became a simple
one. The only person who might have betrayed them was the simple
Scotch servant, who probably was too ignorant to understand what had
been done or too terrified to open her mouth afterwards, for fear of
being looked upon as an accomplice.
"This was the Helsham mystery. Lady Helsham had, it seems, in her
rage at her supposed son's refusal to marry her real daughter, whom
she loved and desired to benefit, involuntarily revealed her secret,
threatening the young fellow with the loss of everything if
he refused.
"Thereupon he quitted the house, but he feared to tell the truth,
because he would be giving up his own mother to a long term of penal
servitude. In his overwrought frame of mind he saw only one
loophole--suicide. His death would allow the title and estates to
pass to the rightful owner without the fraud being discovered and
the guilty parties punished.
"He had gone to bid his mother--whom he had hitherto only regarded
as his aunt--farewell, and tell her what he intended to do, had
broken do, had broken down, and had been unable to leave the house
again."
"But he committed suicide after all!" I exclaimed.
Dorcas Dene smiled. "No, I arranged that. I knew that for the young
man's sake the real Lord Helsham would spare the guilty mother if
possible. I persuaded the young man to let me take his watch and
clothes. I selected a place as far away from the hiding place of the
missing man as possible, and decided on the Norfolk coast, near
Cromer. I found the clothes where I put them."
"And the real Lord Helsham knows?"
"Everything. No good purpose would have been served by prosecuting
the two women. The new Lord Helsham insisted on a written confession
from all concerned, which he retains for his own protection. As I
was employed by one of the guilty parties, it would have been
unprofessional of me to give them to justice."
"And the young man himself?"
"Is rapidly recovering from his illness in that quiet and lonely
little house in his identity. Lord Helsham has behaved handsomely.
He wishes his 'nephew' to marry in his real name the girl he loves,
and the young couple will presently go by separate routes to America,
and there be united, and, as they love each other, will be able to
live happily on the income Lord Helsham will allow them. Of course
if any difficulty should arise with regard to the succession the
truth will have to be known. Until then it is 'our' secret. In the
meantime Lady Helsham has wisely decided to live abroad, and only
her solicitor is aware of her address.
"And now you know all about the Helsham mystery. Come into the
garden and see Paul, and tell me what you think of the new collar
I've bought Toddlekins for his birthday."
"But," I exclaimed, "the new Lord Helsham is compounding a felony,
and--well, is it wise of him, seeing that the young man _is_
still alive?"
Dorcas Dene shrugged her shoulders. "My dear Mr. Saxon," she said,
"if everybody did the legal thing and the wise thing, there would be
very little work left for a lady detective."
_III. THE MAN WITH THE WILD EYES_
I had become a constant visitor at Oak Tree Road. I had conceived a
great admiration for the brave and yet womanly woman who, when her
artist husband was stricken with blindness, and the future looked
dark for both of them, had gallantly made the best of her special
gifts and opportunities and nobly undertaken a profession which was
not only a harassing and exhausting one for a woman, but by no means
free from grave personal risks.
Dorcas Dene was always glad to welcome me for her husband's sake.
"Paul has taken to you immensely," she said to me one afternoon,
"and I hope you will call in and spend an hour or two with him
whenever you can. My cases take me away from home so much--he cannot
read, and my mother, with the best intentions in the world, can never
converse with him for more than five minutes without irritating him.
Her terribly matter of fact views of life are, to use his own
expression, absolutely 'rasping' to his dreamy, artistic
temperament."
I had plenty of spare time on my hands, and so it became my custom
to drop in two or three times a week, and smoke a pipe and chat with
Paul Dene. His conversation was always interesting, and the gentle
resignation with which he bore his terrible affliction quickly won
my heart. But I am not ashamed to confess that my frequent journeys
to Oak Tree Road were also largely influenced by my desire to see
Dorcas Dene, and hear more of her strange adventures and experiences
as a lady detective.
From the moment she knew that her husband valued my companionship she
treated me as one of the family, and when I was fortunate enough to
find her at home, she discussed her professional affairs openly
before me. I was grateful for this confidence, and frequently I was
able to assist her by going about with her in cases where the
presence of a male companion was a material advantage to her. I had
upon one occasion laughingly dubbed myself her "assistant," and by
that name I was afterwards generally known. There was only one
drawback to the pleasure I felt at being associated with Dorcas Dene
in her detective work. I saw that it would be quite impossible for
me to avoid reproducing my experiences in some form or other. One
day I broached the subject to her cautiously.
"Are you not afraid of the assistant one day revealing the
professional secrets of his chief?" I said.
"Not at all," replied Dorcas (everybody called her Dorcas, and I
fell into the habit when I found that she and her husband preferred
it to the formal "Mrs. Dene"); "I am quite sure that you will not be
able to resist the temptation."
"And you don't object?"
"Oh, no, but with this stipulation, that you will use the material
in such a way as not to identify any of the cases with the real
parties concerned."
That lifted a great responsibility from my shoulders, and made me
more eager than ever to prove myself a valuable "assistant" to the
charming lady who honoured me with her confidence.
* * * * * * *
We were sitting in the dining-room one evening after dinner.
Mrs. Lester was looking contemptuously over the last number of the
"Queen", and wondering out loud what on earth young women were
coming to with their tailor-mades and their bicycle costumes. Paul
was smoking the old briar-root pipe which had been his constant
companion in the studio when he was able to paint, poor fellow, and
Dorcas was lying down on the sofa. Toddlekins, nestled up close to
her, was snoring gently after the manner of his kind.
Dorcas had had a hard and exciting week, and had not been ashamed to
confess that she felt a little played out. She had just succeeded in
rescuing a young lady of fortune from the toils of an unprincipled
Russian adventurer, and stopping the marriage almost at the altar
rails by the timely production of the record of the would-be
bridegroom, which she obtained with the assistance of M. Goron, the
head of the French detective police. It was a return compliment.
Dorcas had only a short time previously undertaken for M. Goron a
delicate investigation, in which the son of one of the noblest
houses in France was involved, and had nipped in the bud a scandal
which would have kept the Boulevards chattering for a month.
Paul and I were conversing below our voices, for Dorcas's measured
breathing showed us that she had fallen into a doze.
Suddenly Toddlekins opened his eyes and uttered an angry bark. He
had heard the front gate bell.
A minute later the servant entered and handed a card to her
mistress, who, with her eyes still half closed, was sitting up on
the sofa.
"The gentleman says he must see you at once, ma'am, on business of
the greatest importance."
Dorcas looked at the card. "Show the gentleman into the dining-room,"
she said to the servant, "and say that I will be with him directly."
Then she went to the mantel-glass and smoothed away the evidence of
her recent forty winks. "Do you know him at all?" she said, handing
me the card.
"Colonel Hargreaves, Orley Park, near Godalming." I shook my head,
and Dorcas, with a little tired sigh, went to see her visitor.
A few minutes later the dining-room bell rang, and presently the
servant came into the drawing-room. "Please, sir," she said,
addressing me, "mistress says will you kindly come to her at once?"
When I entered the dining-room I was astonished to see an elderly,
soldierly-looking man lying back unconscious in the easy chair, and
Dorcas Dene bending over him.
"I don't think it's anything but a faint," she said. "He's very
excited and over-wrought, but if you'll stay here I'll go and get
some brandy. You had better loosen his collar--or shall we send for
a doctor?"
"No, I don't think it is anything serious," I said, after a hasty
glance at the invalid.
As soon as Dorcas had gone I began to loosen the Colonel's cravat,
but I had hardly commenced before, with a deep sigh, he opened his
eyes and came to himself.
"You're better now," I said. "Come--that's all right."
The Colonel stared about him for a moment, and then said,
"I--I--where is the lady?"
"She'll be here in a moment. She's gone to get some brandy."
"Oh, I'm all right now, thank you. I suppose it was the excitement,
and I've been travelling, had nothing to eat, and I'm so terribly
upset. I don't often do this sort of thing, I assure you."
Dorcas returned with the brandy. The Colonel brightened up directly
she came into the room. He took the glass she offered him and
drained the contents.
"I'm all right now," he said. "Pray let me get on with my story.
I hope you will be able to take the case up at once. Let me
see--where was I?"
He gave a little uneasy glance at me. "You can speak without reserve
before this gentleman," said Dorcas. "It is possible he may be able
to assist us if you wish me to come to Orley Park at once. So far you
have told me that your only daughter, who is five-and-twenty, and
lives with you, was found last night on the edge of the lake in your
grounds, half in the water and half out. She was quite insensible,
and was carried into the house and put to bed. You were in London at
the time, and returned to Orley Park this morning in consequence of
a telegram you received. That is as far as you had got when you
became ill."
"Yes--yes!" exclaimed the Colonel, "but I am quite well again now.
When I arrived at home this morning shortly before noon I was
relieved to find that Maud--that is my poor girl's name--was quite
conscious, and the doctor had left a message that I was not to be
alarmed, and that he would return and see me early in the afternoon.
"I went at once to my daughter's room and found her naturally in a
very low, distressed state. I asked her how it had happened, as I
could not understand it, and she told me that she had gone out in
the grounds after dinner and must have turned giddy when by the edge
of the lake and fallen in."
"Is it a deep lake?" asked Dorcas.
"Yes, in the middle, but shallow near the edge. It is a largish lake,
with a small fowl island in the centre, and we have a boat upon it."
"Probably it was a sudden fainting fit--such as you yourself have
had just now. Your daughter may be subject to them."
"No, she is a thoroughly strong, healthy girl."
"I am sorry to have interrupted you," said Dorcas; "pray go on, for
I presume there is something behind this accident besides a fainting
fit, or you would not have come to engage my services in the matter."
"There is a great deal more behind it," replied Colonel Hargreaves,
pulling nervously at his grey moustache. "I left my daughter's
bedside devoutly thankful that Providence had preserved her from such
a dreadful death, but when the doctor arrived he gave me a piece of
information which caused me the greatest uneasiness and alarm."
"He didn't believe in the fainting fit?" said Dorcas, who had been
closely watching the Colonel's features.
The Colonel looked at Dorcas Dene in astonishment. "I don't know how
you have divined that," he said, "but your surmise is correct. The
doctor told me that he had questioned Maud himself, and she had told
him the same story--sudden giddiness and a fall into the water. But
he had observed that on her throat there were certain marks, and
that her wrists were bruised.
"When he told me this I did not at first grasp his meaning. 'It must
have been the violence of the fall,' I said.
"The doctor shook his head and assured me that no accident would
account for the marks his experienced eye had detected. The marks
round the throat must have been caused by the clutch of an assailant.
The wrists could only have been bruised in the manner they were by
being held in a violent and brutal grip."
Dorcas Dene, who had been listening apparently without much interest,
bent eagerly forward as the Colonel made this extraordinary
statement. "I see," she said. "Your daughter told you that she had
fallen into the lake, and the doctor assures you that she must have
told you an untruth. She had been pushed or flung in by someone
else after a severe struggle."
"Yes!"
"And the young lady, when you questioned her further, with this
information in your possession, what did she say?"
"She appeared very much excited, and burst into tears. When I
referred to the marks on her throat, which were now beginning to
show discoloration more distinctly, she declared that she had
invented the story of the faint in order not to alarm me--that she
had been attacked by a tramp who must have got into the grounds, and
that he had tried to rob her, and that in the struggle, which took
place near the edge of the lake, he had thrown her down at the
water's edge and then made his escape."
"And that explanation you _do_ accept?" said Dorcas, looking at the
Colonel keenly.
"How can I? Why should my daughter try to screen a tramp? Why did
she tell the doctor an untruth? Surely the first impulse of a
terrified woman rescued from a terrible death would have been to
have described her assailant in order that he might have been
searched for and brought to justice."
"And the police, have they made any inquiries? Have they learned if
any suspicious persons were seen about that evening?"
"I have not been to the police. I talked the matter over with the
doctor. He says that the police inquiries would make the whole thing
public property, and it would be known everywhere that my daughter's
story, which has now gone all over the neighbourhood, was untrue.
But the whole affair is so mysterious, and to me so alarming, that I
could not leave it where it is. It was the doctor who advised me to
come to you and let the inquiry be a private one."
"You need employ no one if your daughter can be persuaded to tell
the truth. Have you tried?"
"Yes. But she insists that it was a tramp, and declares that until
the bruises betrayed her she kept to the fainting-fit story in order
to make the affair as little alarming to me as possible."
Dorcas Dene rose. "What time does the last train leave for
Godalming?"
"In an hour," said the Colonel, looking at his watch. "At the
station my carriage will be waiting to take us to Orley Court. I
want you to stay beneath my roof until you have discovered the key
to the mystery."
"No," said Dorcas, after a minute's thought. "I could do no good
to-night, and my arrival with you would cause talk among the
servants. Go back by yourself. Call on the doctor. Tell him to say
his patient requires constant care during the next few days, and
that he has sent for a trained nurse from London. The trained nurse
will arrive about noon to-morrow."
"And you?" exclaimed the Colonel, "won't you come?"