CHAPTER XVI
THE MAN FROM BURTON'S
Doctor Bathurst visited the house a second time on the day followingthat when the Squire met with his injury. He reported that all was goingon as well as could be expected, though the patient still remained in anunconscious state.
A telegram had reached Laurence early in the afternoon, informing himthat "Nurse arrives nine to-night," and at precisely the hour specifiedin the message a cab drew up at the outside gate of the Manse, andpresently a tall cadaverous individual in sombre garments, that somehowsuggested the undertaker, was ushered into the dining-room, where supperand Laurence awaited him.
"The--ahem--gentleman from Burton's!" said the young man as thenurse-detective stepped briskly into the room.
"Between yourself and me, yes; to others simply Potter, a qualifiednurse," was the new-comer's reply.
"Ah, then your name is Potter?"
"Yes, Oliver Potter, formerly of New Scotland Yard. And the matterrequiring my help?"
Laurence proceeded to explain, first motioning to the man to seathimself and try his hand at the viands. Not only did he describe theattempts on his father's life, but detailed his visit to the Dene, hisadventure in the barn, and the incidents of the bicycle, which had beentaken and eventually returned, and of the appearance of Meadows in theyard on the previous night.
"Ha! quite a nice little mystery," the detective remarked, with hismouth full, when Laurence had finished his narration of the events thatseemed to have any bearing on the case in point; "a nice little mystery,apparently somewhat tangled, but no doubt quite superficial."
"I warrant that you will find it anything but superficial," respondedCarrington, somewhat nettled at the remark, which seemed a reflectionupon the efforts of Lena and himself to obtain some clue that might leadto the detection of the would-be murderer of the Squire. He went on tosketch briefly Miss Scott's undoubtedly ingenious manner of accountingfor the various mysterious circumstances.
The detective smiled sarcastically.
"Ingenious, as you say, but most improbable. There must certainly be asimpler solution," he said. "But what of the patient--is he progressingas could be expected? Yes. That is good. It will leave me more time towork in my investigating capacity. By the way, Mr. Carrington, I supposeyou don't know if your father belongs to any societies--of an unusualkind, I mean? Nihilistic, for instance, or of a secret nature?"
"No, I am not aware of his connection with any illegal institutions,"replied Laurence coldly. "I may as well mention that my father is agentleman and a magistrate."
"Quite so. I ascertained that such was the case before I leftLondon--reference books, you know. I should have discovered by thistime, though, that he was a gentleman by your boots."
"My boots!"
"Exactly. I can always tell a gentleman by his boots and a lady by herfingers--rings, you know. If you are a gentleman presumably your fatheris also."
It was Laurence's turn to smile. He perceived that Mr. Potter was tryingto impress him, but he was not impressed in the least.
"You're going to treat this case too lightly," he said; "it's somethingout of the common. There are none of your cheap-fictional secretsocieties in this mystery. There's something much deeper in it thanthat. A plot it is, and a well-laid one, too, that will take even you afair amount of skill to bring to light."
There was a marked emphasis on the word "you" that did not escape Mr.Oliver Potter's notice.
"Then you think we can, in your father's case, exclude any idea of asecret connection with some society, such as that I refer to? Take thatuseful word 'jar,' then, and remove the centre letter."
"Really, Mr. Potter, I fail to understand you. Is this professionaljargon necessary? Personally, I am a plain-spoken person." Laurence hadtaken an almost immediate dislike to the man from Burton's, whom heperceived to be as full of the sense of his own importance as theproverbial egg is full of meat.
The imperturbable detective, however, seemed accustomed to what he nodoubt considered the amateur jealousy of his employers, and merelyexplained that he was forgetting Laurence's presence.
"You see," he said, "I always classify my notes in a simpleform--invented by myself--my own idea, sir. In such a case as this Istart from the commencement. There must be some cause of these repeatedattacks on Mr. Carrington's life. What is it? The possible ones arejealousy, anarchy, robbery--J. A. R., see? Rather novel, isn't it? Youcan't forget things when you select a word to remember them by. Well,then, you say anarchy is out of the question. This leaves us withjealousy and robbery. Are you aware of anything having been stolen onthe occasion of last night's attempt at murder? No. Well, perhaps youhaven't had time to find out whether any valuable has disappeared. Areyou aware, then, of anyone who is jealous of your father? Any woman withwhom there was some engagement or arrangement in byegone days? Anyfellow-magistrate with a grudge? Anyone of that kind? No. Then theproblem is harder than I anticipated. J. A. R., it must be one of those.My selection of the words is almost infallible. Stay! There's still therobbery possibility undecided. Perhaps your father possessed something,of the existence of which you were not aware. Yes, it must be a case ofrobbery. At any rate, we will start with that idea. Squire attackedtwice. On first occasion out-of-doors. Presumably, the article theattacking party wants is something the Squire carries about on hisperson, incriminating letter, or what not. On the second attempt heevidently captures the 'something,' and decamps, leaving the Squire halfdead--or, let me see, it was three-quarters dead, wasn't it?" (Thiswithout the ghost of a smile.) "Problem, find the desperate party, andrestore Squire to health. Yes, a nice little job. Thanks for sending forme. I don't often fail; never, I might say, except, of course, in veryknotty cases. Well, good-night, Mr. Carrington, or perhaps you won'tmind taking me to the sick-room? I've my bag here containingeverything--nothing like a bag, you know, for holding things--and I'lltake night duty to-day. Your good housekeeper'll want a little rest, nodoubt. Upstairs, then."
Laurence opened the door and led the way to the Squire's bedroom.Horrified is the only word that will adequately express his impressionof the man from Burton's. He had heard so much of the adroitness andability of the nurse-detectives that he was at a loss to understandPotter's behaviour, which was almost that of a lunatic. The thin,garrulous specimen of humanity, with his absurd "ingenious words" andhis nonsensical hypotheses, seemed more like a mummer than aninvestigator of crime. But no sooner had he entered the sick-room thanthe young man saw that whatever his very evident shortcomings as adetective might be, he was an experienced nurse. Every action pointed tothat fact, and when Laurence, accompanied by Mrs. Featherston, left thesick-room with the intention of retiring to bed, he was quite satisfiedthat his unconscious parent was in safe hands. But he felt instinctivelythat, as an assistant in solving the mystery, Lena was worth a dozensuch as Oliver Potter.
Possibly young Mr. Carrington would have been surprised had he seen thechange that came over the features of the man from Burton's when leftalone with his insensible patient.
The stupid, grinning expression on his face gave place to one of cunningand delight.
"Aha, young man," he muttered to himself, "you've put me down as a fool,as I intended that you should. We'll see who is the fool before long. Itwas very necessary," he went on, "that he should think me a fool, too,for otherwise he would be eternally suspicious. As it is, he willconsider me a mere child in the investigating line, which will give methe opportunities I want.
"As if I couldn't see through the whole thing! Green's 'Landed Gentry'told me how much Laurence would gain by his father's death. No doubt theyouth has got into hot water. Creditors pressing. Bills much overdue. Iknow the sort of thing. I only wonder he wasn't more artful in makinghis plans. He looked a smart fellow, but then, appearances aredeceitful. At any rate, he seems a duffer to have failed to murder theold chap both times.
"I wonder nobody has seen through his game before. I must find theaccomplice who played the part of the cycling highw
ayman on the heath.The idea of his being on a cycle is novel.
"I presume, when he found that the accomplice hadn't polished the oldchap off, he decided to do the job himself. In order to avoid thepossible suspicion of the women staying in the house he invents thestory of the interview with the imaginary Major Jones-Farnell, and goesoff to this Durley Dene, or pretends to. No sooner does he find that theold man has retired to bed than he goes in and makes a desperate attemptto kill him. He knows that he must kill the Squire outright, or he willbe exposed immediately, should the old man live and be able to tell thetale. Unfortunately for him he is interrupted in some way, and leaveshis father only half dead. The doctor compels him to send for me,otherwise he would not probably have done so. So long as the Squireremains unconscious Laurence is safe. If he recovers, then his assailantis done for. Therefore, the chances are that a final attempt to do forthe poor old man will be made, if there is any probability of hisrecovering consciousness. I must be on the alert."
But he was not as good as his word, and evidently made but a feebledefence against the onslaught of Morpheus, for within a very few minutesof settling down in the cosy arm-chair by the bedside he was fastasleep.
And while he slept that which he anticipated came to pass.
The House of Strange Secrets: A Detective Story Page 16
