by Gerald Biss
Ann gave a little involuntary scream; and Whiskers continued digging at the leaves furiously until I called him off.
I bent down and examined him. He was icy cold and absolutely unconscious, but his heart was beating faintly; and I thanked God that I had slipped my flask into my pocket. I tried to raise him gently and forced a little whiskey between his clenched teeth; but he moaned painfully, and I realized that his collar-bone was broken, if not his whole shoulder-blade shattered. However, I managed to get my arm underneath to lift him a little. Then I ran my hands gently over him, opening his motor-coat, and found to my satisfaction that, owing to the leather lining, he was not so saturated underneath as one would have expected.
“Bar his left-shoulder and collar-bone, I don’t think there is anything broken, though I am not sure of a couple of ribs on his right side, as I daren’t turn him over alone,” I said to Ann, who was standing by, pale but self-possessed. “His right ankle is badly sprained, too. I can’t move him by myself in case I do any damage.”
“I’ll wait here while you go for help,” she said calmly; and, nervous and unhappy as I felt at the idea of leaving her alone, I saw at once that there was no other way out of it.
“The nearest policeman keeping people off is only just over half a mile away,” I said, assenting. “I won’t be more than a few minutes. I’ll send him on to Mutton for a bearer-party and the doctor, and come straight back to you. Rub his hands gently with some whisky from my flask,” I added, loosening the laces of his brogues and pouring some spirit into them as I spoke.
“I will leave Whiskers to guard you.”
Then, without another word I made off, as fast as the trees permitted, in the direction of the bridle-path.
I found the man without difficulty and dispatched him hotfoot to Inspector Mutton; and it was not much more than a quarter of an hour before I was back again.
***
To my surprise I found that Ann was not alone, and recognized through the trees, as I drew near, the strange figure of the Professor in his grey fur cap and coat.
Ann was seated on the ground with young Bullingdon’s head in her lap; and the Professor was busy doing his best to bind up the shoulder and collar-bone with strips of what I recognized as Ann’s petticoat. His large sharp pocketknife lay on the ground; and he had cut off the clothing in the way, and was working skilfully and deftly with his curious long fingers, which had always fascinated me.
“The poor young man!” he exclaimed, looking up for an instant, as I approached. “I was taking a ramble through your woods—” (“Trespassing as usual,” I could not help but thinking, a trifle grimly)—“when I heard your dog bark and then growl; so I came in this direction, and it was all Miss Clymping could do to keep him quiet.”
Frankly I did not care a damn about his explanation, as I saw he knew his job and was the right man in the right place at the moment.
“His collar-bone is broken, and the shoulder has been put out and possibly broken,” he went on, as he worked; “but it is so swollen that I can hardly tell. Two right ribs fractured.” Then he began endeavouring gently to restore the circulation. “Give him some more whisky out of your flask.” Then he slipped off his fur coat and wrapped it round the poor unconscious, white-faced boy, for which I could have blessed him.
“Miss Ann had better go back to the house, and get a bed aired and ready and a big fire lit,” he continued, speaking as one accustomed to give orders; “and you can roll your jacket up and make a pillow for his head in place of her lap.”
“Yes,” I said, speaking for the first time, as I helped Ann up, shifting his head as little as possible. “Run home, Ann dear, and get everything ready. Telephone to Handcross and Crawley for doctors immediately, and send Jevons and Wilson and anyone else handy along as fast as possible with brandy, blankets, pillows, and the big luggage barrow with a mattress on it; and don’t forget my first-aid case.”
Ann was as pale as the lad on the ground, but quite calm, as I pressed her arm encouragingly.
“I won’t be long,” was all she said, as she started off in her quick, athletic way; and I knew instinctively that everything would he ready.
It will be touch-and-go,” said the Professor. not stopping in his work, as he talked, “especially if pneumonia supervenes; but he is young, and the exposure was not so great as it might have been owing to his heavy leather-lined coat. His head is a bit bruised, but the cut on the forehead is not as serious as it looks.”
I could not but feel grateful to him for his psychological appearance and all that he was doing; and I thanked him perhaps a little inconsequently.
He only shrugged his shoulders.
“It is lucky my afternoon walk took me this way,” he said as calmly as though it were an everyday occurrence. “The police called at the Dower House on their search yesterday; and that was the first I had heard of this extraordinary event. Of course I could not help them at all; but this afternoon I thought I would go down to the scene of the accident, or whatever it was, and see if they had found anything. Yes, it was fortunate. Chafe his left foot, please.”
He spoke perfect English, but with a strong guttural accent; and I obeyed him instinctively, feeling that he knew what he was about.
It was less than half an hour before Inspector Mutton arrived with four policemen and a couple of C.I.D. men; and I told them exactly what had happened, explaining also the lucky accident of be Professor’s presence.
Mutton was obviously in a state of suppressed excitement, but distinctly disgruntled that the discovery had not been made by the police; and he said very little. He stooped down and picked up the pieces of Bullingdon’s motor-coat, jacket, and underclothes, which the Professor had cut to bits with his sharp knife in slitting them off the body.
“You say the cloth was all torn and lacerated, sir?” he asked, turning to me.
I nodded.
“They will afford us precious little clue now,” he said ungraciously, as he examined them.
“They have all been hacked to pieces; and no one could draw any deductions from them in the state they are.”
“It was necessary,” intervened the Professor sharply, showing his white teeth a little angrily.
“There are occasions when you cannot wait for the police, when you are doing their work.”
It was put rather brutally, and Mutton took the rebuke with obvious bad grace and turned on his heel busying himself with orders to his men and a consultation with the detectives from Scotland Yard in an undertone; and I felt that, if ever he could do the Professor a bad turn and get his own back for the snub in front of his own men and the more important representatives from London, it would be done with his whole heart.
It was nearly an hour after Ann had left us that I heard Jevons calling through the wood, and the waiting seemed interminable; and after that it was frightfully slow and difficult work carrying Bullingdon through the close trees to the luggage-barrow. Several times the poor chap groaned; but the Professor, who, unasked, had undertaken the direction of operations to the chagrin of Mutton, took little notice.
“A good sign,” was all he said.
At last we got him as comfortable as possible on the barrow; and, hearing from Jevons that the doctors were on their way, the Professor turned to me and bade me good afternoon without taking the slightest notice of anyone else.
“Then I can be of no further service,” he said as coolly as though he were leaving a tea-party; “so there is no need for me to accompany you. I will resume my fur coat, if I may, as the patient is now wrapped in blankets, and I am rather susceptible to chills. I only trust that I have not got one myself.”
I helped him on with his treasured coat and thanked him again, not, however, without a certain reaction at his apparent callousness and readiness to shift further responsibility; but I really had no particular desire for his presence at the house, with my own doctors available.
He waved his hand to me, turned on his heel, and swung off with
his peculiar long stride as our little cavalcade started on its slow and weary progress.
It took what seemed an interminable time to get back to the house in our endeavour not to shake or jolt Bullingdon more than was unfortunately unavoidable; and, when we got there, we had to get him upstairs—fortunately a wide staircase—and into bed.
Everything was ready, and two doctors waiting and Ann instinctively fell into the role of head nurse, for which she was well fitted not only by nature, but by a course of “first-aid” which she had insisted upon after leaving school.
So it was a quarter past five before I found my self down in the hall again; and, as I rang for Jevons to bring me a large whiskey and soda, I remembered for the first time that I had forgotten all about Lincoln Osgood and meeting his train.
MEMORANDUM
By Lincoln Osgood (continued)
At this point I enter the action of this strange narrative directly, and henceforth the writing of it will he quite straightforward and falls altogether, or practically altogether, to my pen. The preceding documents have gathered together first-hand all the threads of the story, which I was loth in the peculiar circumstances to deal with second-hand, as, when this manuscript is complete, each of the extraordinary happenings will then stand vouched for by eye-witnesses and direct participators, leaving no room for doubt or allegations of imagination, such as is part and parcel of mere fiction.
***
Now to the story, as I entered it at 4.30 P.M. on Tuesday, April 3, upon my arrival at Crawley Station.
I must admit that I was surprised not to find the car waiting to meet me, as it was so unlike methodical and hospitable old Burgess, who had never once before failed to be on the platform in person.
Naturally I was disappointed not to see his familiar form; but I guessed there must be some good reason. After waiting about expectantly for a quarter of an hour I cast round for a conveyance, but found considerable difficulty in finding one, as, what between police, reporters, and morbid sightseers, everything seemed to have been engaged.
At last, just as I had made up my mind to foot the seven miles to Clymping Manor, I managed to commandeer at an extortionate price a ramshackle old fly, which drove up and deposited a load of excited visitors from Brighton, full of the latest gossip.
“There’s a rumour that they’ve found something in the Clymping Woods,” one of them volunteered in his self-importance; “but nobody knows what yet.”
“It may only be another rumour,” interjected one of the others pessimistically.
So this was the reason of Burgess’s absence, I thought to myself; and I bade my bottle-nosed old charioteer make his overworked horse put the best of its four doubtful legs foremost.
“This gentleman’s for Clymping Manor,” the porter vouchsafed, claiming importance in his turn: and I immediately became the cynosure of all eyes—a figure of mystery, the latest importation from Scotland Yard, an unofficial Sherlock Holmes or what not!
I sat back in the rickety old conveyance and lit a cigar, making myself as comfortable as possible in view of my prospective hour and more of jolting: and it was no small relief when, a little over halfway, a car approached at something considerably over the futile English speed limit and drew up with a scrunch, the chauffeur calling out something to my driver.
I put my head out and recognized Wilson; and it was not long before I had transferred myself and my baggage to the car, much to the relief of my charioteer, who pocketed his ample fare at the saving of half his long double journey.
In the car Wilson told me what had happened, explaining fully how it was that Burgess had overlooked the time and could not come himself: and I was naturally all agog to get to the house.
At the entrance of the drive I found a constable on duty, who let us pass at once on recognizing the car; and there was another policeman at the front door—a strange sort of reception.
Burgess was out on the step before the car had stopped, and wrung my hand between his.
“Forgive me, old chap,” he began “It’s all right,” I answered, interrupting; “I quite understand. Wilson explained to me as we came along. But are you sure I shan’t be in the way?”
“Quite the reverse,” he replied, with decided emphasis, as he led the way in. “I have never looked forward to your arrival more or wanted a pal so badly—or Ann either. You are the one man I can really talk to; and God knows I badly want someone to whom I can unburden myself.”
He helped me off with my heavy coat with his own hands: and I felt it was good to be welcomed so warmly.
Then we went into the old panelled hall, which I had always thought just the jolliest place in the world and looked upon as the real embodiment of home on my distant travels.
“It is good to be home, old man,” I said, warming myself in front of the big log fire as he poured me out a drink, which I needed badly after my journey. “Somehow, as a roving bachelor, I always look upon Clymping Manor as home, and make for it the moment I arrive in England.”
“That’s good hearing. You know we have found young Bullingdon?”
I nodded.
“Yes; and I hope it’s the first step towards unravelling this extraordinary mystery. It struck me right in the face when I landed yesterday; and nobody seems able to talk about anything else.
“It was all new to me, but I’ve lost no time in reading it up: and you must tell me all about it.
How is Lord Bullingdon?”
Burgess shook his head.
“Devilish bad: but he is young and strong. The doctors are with him now; and I have telephoned to town for Sir Humphrey Bedell who, by luck, turns out to have attended his family for years. He is bringing down Sir Bryan O’Callaghan in case an operation is needed, and a couple of nurses. At present Ann is in charge. We shan’t get much chance of a yarn to-night, I fear, between doctors, nurses, and detectives.”
***
And so it turned out. It seemed one long procession, all one after another, coming to Burgess for this thing and that. First there was Inspector Mutton and the C.I.D. men, who announced that Major Blenkinsopp was on his way; and then the local doctors, looking very grave and rather important.
They confirmed what Professor Wolff had said, but agreed that he had done very well with the limited means to hand. They had set the fractures and dressed the wounds, and incidentally spoke very warmly of Ann’s help. Of the shock and concussion they could say very little; and they could not directly account for the torn shoulder, which had looked very angry, but appeared to be settling down wonderfully.
“As to the question of exposure, he would probably not have lasted through another night, and it was really only his greatcoat that saved him as it is,” said Dr. Drake: “and I hope that with his youth and constitution we may stave off pneumonia. With any luck he may pull through; but it is impossible to say anything much at present.”
At Burgess’s suggestion the doctors agreed to stay on until the specialists arrived from London; and he went off to see the housekeeper about dinner at some indefinite hour for the four doctors, Major Blenkinsopp, and anyone else who might turn up. So, despite the quiet that prevailed, it was a very busy house, every few minutes one or other of the doctors going up to have a look at the unconscious patient; but I did not catch even a glimpse of Ann, who would not leave the room for an instant.
It was not long, either, before Major Blenkinsopp arrived on a fast car which had wasted no time; and later he told us, with a cynical laugh, that he had been twice held up by the police on the way down for exceeding the legal limit. I was very glad to meet him; and he proved a most interesting, capable man, of great coolness and sound judgment, tall and soldierly in appearance, with a lithe, active figure, somewhere approaching fifty, with a rather sallow skin suggestive of India, and a grizzled moustache.
After hearing the doctors’ report he went up to the sick-room for a few minutes in order to identify Lord Bullingdon, whom he happened to know slightly personally and very well by s
ight—the first actual personal identification—just to make certain that there could be no mistake.
Then he took Burgess off to the library, which had been handed over to the police as headquarters; and, after carefully going into his personal story, he interviewed Inspector Mutton and the Scotland Yard men, and heard all that they had to report.
A little over an hour later the London doctors arrived, with two nurses in a second car; and, after a few words with the local doctors, they all went up to the sick-room.
Watching it there in the hall, and occasionally entering into a bit here and there, it seemed to me for all the world like a scene upon the stage out of a well-mounted melodrama: but I had to possess my soul in patience so far as Burgess was concerned, as I did not like to ask questions of anyone else, feeling the anomaly of my own position.
“What about his relatives?” I asked Burgess, during an interval.
“Curiously enough he has very few near relatives,” he answered. “I spoke to Sir Humphrey upon the subject over the telephone, and he told me that he would get into touch with Colonel Gorleston, his uncle and until recently his guardian, who also happens incidentally to be his heir. lIe turns out to be in Ireland on the Curragh with his regiment, the 10th Lancers: and Sir Humphrey has telegraphed to him. It may be a day or two before he is over, if he happens to be at Gorleston Castle, which is right out in the wilds and does not get letters or papers till two days late. It looks as though he is; or the news yesterday would have brought him over by the first boat. But we shall see.”
Blenkinsopp joined us; and over a drink we discussed the case while we waited for the doctors.
“By the way,” I asked, “what about this man Manders, whom you speak of? Is he Fitzroy Manders, the barrister?"
