CHAPTER XVII
MR. POTTER'S SOLUTION
The man from Burton's was a light sleeper--at least, so he believedhimself to be. He woke from his arm-chair doze very suddenly--noticingby the clock on the mantelpiece that he had slept for nearly two hours.He was conscious of having been awakened by some sound. Yet there was noone in the room. He started up from the chair. Was it fancy that, as hedid so, he heard the closing of a door, as though someone had quietlyleft the room?
He glanced at the bed. Yes, someone had entered the sick-room, and forthe hideous purpose that he had conceived to be possible. Only one thingassured him of this fact, but it was quite enough. It told him all.
A pillow which had reposed at the foot of the great bed when he hadfirst entered the room was no longer in that place. It had been shiftedto the other end, and now lay firmly pressed down upon the unconsciouspatient's face. Here was yet another attempt to murder the unhappySquire. It had been placed there to suffocate him.
Hastily, yet gently, the detective raised it from its position, andflung it into a corner. So recently had it been placed upon thepatient's upturned face that no harm had been done. But Mr. Pottershuddered to think what would have happened had he not awakened in timeto avert the catastrophe.
His first duty had been that of "nurse," now his detective instinctsasserted themselves. While he had waited to learn whether the Squire yetlived, he had allowed the would-be murderer time to make good hisescape. But he hurriedly opened the door of the sick-room and peered outinto the dark passage. Not a sound disturbed the silence of night. Mr.Potter muttered something of the nature of an oath as he realised how hehad been caught napping in both senses of the word. The heartless son,Laurence, of whose guilt he was so confident, had nearly got the betterof him. He made up for his shortcoming by keeping awake and alert duringthe remaining hours of his watch. But nothing happened--no one came, andwhen Mrs. Featherston arrived at half-past seven to relieve him for ashort period he threw up for the time the role of nurse, and walked outof the sick-room in his investigator's capacity to learn what he couldabout the true facts of the attack on the moor.
His night had not been wasted. He had carefully examined the Squire'sbody, and convinced himself that a very remarkable, but unsuccessful,attempt to kill the old gentleman had been made. Yet a tiny, ragged cuton the front of the neck, almost upon the throat, was the only visibleclue to the manner of that attempt.
He had further made a careful examination of the room and of the clothesthat the Squire had worn. Yet he obtained but a slight clue that seemedlikely to lead to anything. This was a yellow hair--or rather, yellowwisp of silk--that he found upon the patient's cravat. It was of apeculiar colour, but hardly likely, Potter thought, to prove of anyassistance. Yet he carefully gummed it by means of a strip of courtplaster to a page of his note-book, and proceeded to investigate thefurniture in the room. Nothing in the way of a possible clue came tolight. One thing alone caused him surprise.
This was the discovery of the body of an ordinary bat found lying in adark corner of the room. The creature was dead--it had apparently beencrushed when some furniture had been moved, possibly by the doctor'sdirection.
Mr. Potter carefully picked up his curious find, and placed it in acardboard box on which his eye chanced. The box he placed on a highshelf in a convenient cupboard. It might, he thought, prove useful inthe future.
Confident though he was of Laurence's guilt, he determined not to berash. To start from the beginning was his intention. And so his firstmove was to interview Moggin, the coachman, to whom he introducedhimself as the "nurse." Cautiously guiding the conversation on to thesubject of highwaymen of the present time, he was rewarded by aconfidential description of the attack on the carriage, that hadhappened a few days before. Moggin had, of course, learned of the injurythat had befallen his master, and confessed that he connected the twoattacks with one another, as having been made by the same man.
Mr. Potter was annoyed. The coachman was certainly telling the truth. Hehad deemed it possible that Moggin might have been an accomplice in theso-called attack, and that no "highwayman"--not even another accomplicein disguise--had existed. This was evidently not the case. Ergo, theremust be some other man in league with Laurence. This other accomplicewas a very important person. He had, according to the detective, notonly played the highwayman, but also the market-woman whom Miss Scotthad decided was a man disguised.
Oliver Potter was at a loss to know what step to take next. Strange tosay, it never entered his head to visit Durley Dene. In his confidencethat he was on the right track, he evidently had little doubt but thatthe neighbouring mansion was uninhabited. For who knew anything aboutthe persons that lived there? Only Laurence! Of course, the message thathad been sent by means of a catapult from the grounds of the Dene hadbeen despatched by the accomplice on whom Potter was so anxious to layhis hand.
Then a brilliant idea struck the man from Burton's. Was Selene Scottthat accomplice? Might not she have attacked the carriage on the moor?Might not the story of the market-woman in disguise, and the letter fromDurley Dene, be false? When he came to think of it, Mr. Potter marvelledthat he had not discovered this probability before. Why were LaurenceCarrington and Miss Scott so apparently intimate? Was it not possiblethat they might be engaged--or even married? In which case it would beto their mutual advantage were the Squire dead, since then his moneywould naturally come to them.
"Eureka," cried the man from Burton's, who was proud of his knowledge ofhalf a dozen Greek and Latin words, "I hold in my hand the key to themystery!"
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