Mr. Marx's Secret

  CHAPTER XXXIV. DR. SCHOFIELD'S OPINION.

  In ten minutes we were in the streets of Little Drayton again, and Cecilhad brought the dog cart to a standstill outside the "Rose and Crown." Hewould have gone in with me, but I begged him not to. I jumped down andwalked straight into the little parlour. Milly was sitting there alone,gazing absently into the fire. She looked up in surprise at my suddenentrance, and half rose.

  "Milly, I want to ask you a question," I said, going up to her side."It's about your father's disappearance."

  "Yes!" she exclaimed eagerly. "What is it? Oh, do tell me quickly!"

  "It's only an idea. Did Mr. Hart ever suffer from any brain disorder atany time? That's all I want to know. Has his mind always been quitestrong?"

  She did not answer for a moment and my heart beat fast. Looking at herclosely, I could see that the colour had flushed into her cheeks andthere was a troubled light in her eyes.

  "He has had one or two severe illnesses," she admitted slowly; "brainfever once; and I'm afraid he used to drink too much now and then. Thedoctor told him that he must be very careful not to excite himself."

  "Who was the doctor and where does he live?" I asked quickly.

  "Dr. Schofield. He lives on the Lincoln Road, about a mile away. Why haveyou asked me this?" she added anxiously.

  I evaded a direct reply.

  "Never mind now," I said. "If anything comes of it, I will let you know."

  She tried to detain me with further questions, but I hurried away and shedid not follow me out of the door.

  "Cis," I said, as I scrambled up to his side, "I want you to go home bythe Lincoln Road and call at Dr. Schofield's. It isn't far out of theway."

  He nodded.

  "All right. You haven't found out anything about old Hart, have you? Whatwas the question you went back to ask Milly?"

  "Only about her father's health. No; I haven't found out anything. It'sonly an idea of mine I want to clear up."

  Cecil looked as though he thought I might have told him what the ideawas, but he said nothing. In a few minutes he pulled up outside a neat,red-brick house, which, as a shining brass plate indicated, was Dr.Schofield's abode.

  The doctor was in and disengaged. He came at once into the waiting-room,where I had been shown--a respectable family practitioner, withintelligent face and courteous manner.

  I explained my position as an acquaintance of Miss Hart's, interested inthe mysterious disappearance of her father. It had occurred to me to makeinquiries as to the state of his health, or, rather, his constitution, Iadded. Perhaps his prolonged absence might be accounted for by sudden anddangerous illness. Could Dr. Schofield give me any information?

  His manner was encouraging. He bade me take a seat and went into thematter gravely.

  "To tell you the truth," he said, "I am rather surprised that I have notbeen appealed to before. In an ordinary case I should feel bound tomaintain a strict secrecy with regard to the ailments of my patients, butthis is different. As you have asked me this question, I feel bound totell you what I would not otherwise divulge. Mr. Hart was my patient ontwo several occasions during the last two years for delirium tremens, andonce within my recollection he had a distinct touch of brain fever."

  "His mind would not be very strong, then?" I remarked.

  Dr. Schofield hesitated.

  "He had a wonderful constitution," he said slowly--"a constitution ofiron. In ordinary circumstances I cannot bring myself to think that hecould suddenly and completely have lost his reason. But supposing he hadreceived some severe shock, such as a railway accident, or something ofthat sort, why, then it would be possible, even probable, he might becomea raving lunatic in a moment."

  "And would his madness be incurable?"

  "If properly treated, with a knowledge of his past ailment--no," answeredDr. Schofield; "but if he were treated just like an ordinary madman in apauper lunatic asylum, he would probably never recover. He would becomeworse and worse and finally be incurable. I see two objections toaccepting any theory of this sort as accounting for his disappearance,"the doctor continued, after a short pause. "In the first place the shockwould have to be violent and unexpected, and this seems improbable; inthe next place, he would surely have had some letter or something abouthim which would have led to his identification!"

  "If the shock were the result of foul play, these would be destroyed," Isuggested.

  "Undoubtedly; but whence the foul play? Hart is known to have had only afew pounds with him when he left."

  "Perhaps he had something in his keeping more valuable than money," Iremarked.

  "What?"

  "A secret."

  "Have you any grounds for such a belief?" the doctor asked curiously.

  I hesitated. In my own mind I believed that I had; but for the present,at any rate, this was best kept to myself. I answered quite truthfully,however.

  "I have made a few inquiries here and there," I said, "and I have heardit hinted that he had some secret means of replenishing his purse. He hasbeen known more than once to leave here with only a few sovereigns in hispocket and to come back with his sovereigns turned into banknotes."

  "I remember hearing some such tale," the doctor remarked. "I'm afraid itis all rather vague, though."

  "I'm very much obliged to you, Dr. Schofield," I assured him, rising totake my leave.

  He followed me to the door and then returned to his interrupted dinner. Imounted into the dog cart and we were soon bowling through the darknesstowards Borden Tower.

  "Get anything out of the old chap?" Cecil asked.

  "Not much. I'm just a little wiser than I was before, that's all. Beastlysorry to keep you waiting so long!"

  "Oh, that's all right! But I say, Phil," he added, "what is this idea ofyours? You can tell me, can't you?"

  "If it comes to anything, I will," I assured him. "But at present it isaltogether too vague and you would only laugh at it. Don't ask meanything more about it yet, there's a good fellow."

  "You're very close, all of a sudden," he grumbled. "Why can't you tellme?"

  "Because I'm afraid of your letting it out to someone whom I don't wantto know anything about it," I answered.

  He laughed.

  "Ah, well, perhaps you're right!" he said. "I couldn't keep anything backfrom Milly."

  I echoed his laugh, but held my peace. It was not Milly alone from whom Iwished my present idea to be kept a secret. In fact, I had not thought ofMilly at all. I was only anxious that de Cartienne should remainaltogether in the dark as to my clue; and for a remarkably good reason.