CHAPTER XXI
MR. POTTER SHOWS HIS HAND
"Glad to say, sir," was the butler's news after his remarks aboutHorncastle, "that the master's recovered consciousness, sir, and wouldbe glad to see you. Dr. Bathurst has been and wished me to inform youthat he is quite satisfied with the progress his patient is making. Onlyhe must be kept very quiet, sir; and you'll pardon me mentioning thematter, sir, but, do you know, I don't quite like the looks of that manPotter, the nurse. Seems to me, with all respect, sir, that he'sneglecting his duty, to ask questions about master's movements of late,and such like. Between you and me, sir, I suspect him of being more thanhe makes out. When I was in the service of Sir Hartfoot Greig, sir,there was a robbery, and just such a man as Mr. Potter came down fromLondon to investigate. He did more harm than good, and Sir Hartfoot, heafterwards told me that----"
But Laurence, well aware that when the old servant once got started onone of his long-winded yarns there was no stopping him, cut the storyshort by saying he would hear the rest another time, as he was veryanxious to see his father without delay.
Lena had already retired to her room to remove her outdoor garments, soLaurence at once proceeded to the Squire's bedroom, on the threshold ofwhich he encountered the man from Burton's, who, with a mysterious air,drew him aside into a spare bedroom, explaining that he particularlywished to have a word with him.
"Well, what is it?" asked Laurence, impatiently.
"It's this, sir," replied Mr. Potter. "I think, all things considered,it would be best for you not to visit your father just now."
"What on earth do you mean?"
"Only this, Mr. Laurence Carrington, that I have seen through your game,and shall feel obliged if you will consider yourself under arrest, andremain in this room until I have arranged for your removal."
The young man's remarks on hearing the nurse-detective's words wereforcible and to the point. For this reason there is no necessity tochronicle them here. Sufficient it is to mention that an immediateexplanation was required, and this Mr. Potter did not hesitate to give.His suspicions and their cause have already been dealt with in aprevious chapter. The detective, in tones that betrayed his triumph,briefly sketched the reasoning by which he had reached the conclusionthat the Squire's assailant was none other than his own son, whoseaccomplice was the lady who answered to the name of Selene Scott.
At the mention of Lena's name, and when the absurdity of the situationappealed to Laurence, the young man burst into a fit of hearty laughter.
"You old meddling blunderer," he cried, "what a fine mess you've gotyourself into with your rapid deductions, your startling and originaltheories! Suppose I call the men-servants and have you kicked out of thehouse? It would be less than you deserved. My father's murderer! I'venever heard anything so funny in my life. So Miss Scott was myaccomplice?"
"Exactly," replied the detective, somewhat taken aback by the way inwhich "the criminal" had received the intelligence that his guilt hadbeen discovered; "and if I may be allowed to give you a word of advice,you should control your mirth a trifle. Perhaps you are not aware that Iam in a position to obtain your arrest on suspicion?"
"I certainly am not," answered Laurence. "The best thing you can do, Ithink, is to come with me to the Squire's bedroom. My father hasregained consciousness, I believe. Let us see, then, if he is not ableto prove the absurdity of your charge."
"I will not degrade you with the 'cuffs,' but kindly permit me to takeyour arm. Don't try to commit suicide, now that I've proved your guilt.You can't try games like that on Oliver Potter, late of Scotland Yard,sir!"
With difficulty controlling his amusement, Laurence allowed thedetective to hold his coat sleeve, while he led him into the Squire'sroom, and the presence of the sick man himself.
"Well, Daddy," said the young man, in a low voice, as he approached thebed, "so you are a little better, eh? That's good. You'll soon beyourself again, and let's hope you'll be no more troubled by the attacksof this ruffianly enemy of yours. I'm on his track, Father, and ere longI hope to have him safely between four walls."
"Ah, Laurence, my boy," replied the old gentleman, in a feeble voice,"it's a pleasure to hear your voice. How long have I been ill? What doyou mean by my 'enemy'? It was a--a burglar, Laurence, that tried tomurder me--the burglar whose coming I've been dreading for so long. Theone who attacked us in the carriage, you know. Do you say you're on histrack? That--that's all right, only you--you won't catch him, I'mafraid. But who is this person?" The Squire pointed towards Mr. OliverPotter, who stood at Laurence's side in a great state of trepidation onhearing the patient's cordial greeting to his son.
The detective felt almost inclined to indulge in profanity. He had beenled off on a wrong scent. So much was very plain. "For once in yourlife, Oliver Potter," he muttered to himself, "you've made a badblunder."
"Who is this person?" again asked Mr. Carrington. "Surely you have notengaged a fresh servant? It isn't the doctor, is it? Laurence, I don'tlike new faces. Ask that gentleman what he is doing here."
"This," said Laurence, seeing fit to disguise the real truth, "is afriend of mine who happened to be staying in the village. As he has hadsome experience of nursing, he was good enough to offer his services onhearing of your illness. While you were unconscious he rendered Mrs.Featherston valuable assistance. Now you are better, he will, of course,leave you. I will accompany him to the door, Father, and then will comeback and see you again. Is your neck very bad?"
"It's very sore and weak, my boy. That's a good lad, go and show yourfriend out, and thank him for his kindness. Then return to me for alittle talk. Mrs. Featherston, please stay until Mr. Laurence returns."
"Now, sir," said young Carrington, when, with the detective, he had leftthe sick-room, "are you quite convinced of your absurd blunder?"
"I am, and I sincerely regret it, Mr. Laurence," replied the man fromBurton's. "It's not often that I err. When I do I feel it--feel it, sir,deeply. I am obliged to you for your kindness in withholding the truthfrom your father. I shouldn't like Squire Carrington to think meincompetent, though for that matter----"
"We won't refer to the subject any further, Mr. Potter. I will now drawyou a cheque and wish you a very good day, regretting that your valuableservices are no longer required."
A few minutes later the detective was ready to depart.
"Glad to have made your acquaintance, sir," he said, as he stood on thedoorstep. "I suppose I may use your name as a reference? Perhaps you mayrequire my assistance another time. Here is my card. If you should everwant me again that address will always find me. By the way, I'm of aforgiving nature, and always like to help young amateurinvestigators--give them encouragement, you know. Well, I've left a clueto the mystery behind in a cardboard box in the cupboard of theSquire's room. Don't thank me--anything to help a young friend. Fineday, isn't it?" And Mr. Oliver Potter, late of Scotland Yard, walkedbriskly out of the house, upsetting the umbrella stand as he went, andchuckling beneath his breath.
"Thank Heaven, he's gone!" muttered Laurence. "If ever there existed agreater bore than our friend from Burton's I shouldn't care to meethim."
He returned to the bedroom, and relieved Mrs. Featherston, taking a seatby his father's side.
"Daddy," he said, when the door closed upon the genial housekeeper, "I'mplaying the part of an amateur detective. My one aim just now is to getto the bottom of the mystery of the two determined attacks on your life.It's no use for you to try to deceive me. You have some deepsecret--something is haunting you every moment of your existence; and Ishall not rest until I have discovered what it is."
"Laurence, don't, don't try! It's for your own sake that I ask it ofyou. When I am dead you will know all. Until then, do not try todiscover what is not meant for you to learn. I want you to love andrespect your father while he lives. Therefore do as I beg of you."
"Don't talk like that, Daddy," said Laurence, gently, "as if anythingcould alter my feelings towards you. Is this secret anything that
concerns my--mother?"
"No, my boy, thank God, it is not!"
"Then answer me this; have you ever heard of a Doctor Meadows?"
"Meadows! No. But why, Laurence?"
"Or a Major Jones-Farnell?"
"No, no! But----"
"Or of a fellow named Horncastle?" pursued the younger man.
"Never!"
"Then, have you ever mentioned anything about the matter which you wishto keep a secret from me to a living soul?"
"Why all these questions, Laurence? You know now that I have a secret,so there is no need for me to deny it. I have never before now breatheda word of this to a single soul, with the exception of one person."
"And he?"
"He is dead. My secret lies within my own heart. No cross-questioningshall drag it from me."
"One thing more, then I will not speak to you again for a little while,because you must be kept quite quiet. Were you ever in India? If so,did you happen to meet there a Major Carrington, of Madras?"
With startling suddenness the sick man darted up in his bed. He staredsilently at his son for a moment, terror plainly imprinted upon hisfeatures. Then, still speechless, he collapsed again upon the pillows.Presently he turned his face away, so that he could no longer see hisson, whose words had so visibly concerned him.
"I am very tired, Laurence," he said, peevishly. "You have talked toolong already. I must ask you to leave the room. Please do not annoy meany further with this absurd cross-questioning."