Wilfrid had walked into Oldborough with Beatrice and returned to MaldonGrange. The night promised to be long and dull; but there was always thefeeling of restlessness and uncertainty as to what might happen beforemorning. Wilfrid sat in the dining-room smoking cigarettes and tryingto interest himself in a book until the hour for bed came. About eleveno'clock the nurse came into the dining-room with an expression ofannoyance on his face.
"Is anything wrong, Mason?" Wilfrid asked.
"Well, yes, sir," Mason said in an aggrieved tone. "I ordered certainthings from Castlebridge and the people have forgotten to send them.Mr. Cotter said he was going to town about seven o'clock this eveningand would bring the things back with him. Now he wires that he issummoned to London on important business, and that if I want the goods Ishall have to send for them. It is most annoying. There is a certainfood Dr. Shelton said the patient must have. I don't know what to do."
"There is no one we can send," Wilfrid said. "You must bike intoCastlebridge, late as it is. I will look after your patient."
"I know you can do that," Mason replied. "And, really, there doesn'tseem to be any other way."
Wilfrid hesitated and then made some excuse to leave the room.Recalling the conversation he had overheard between Cotter and the manwho called himself Jansen, a sudden idea crossed his mind. He wentstraight to Cotter's room and opened the door without ceremony. It wasvery much as he had expected. The wardrobe was open and most of thedrawers had been pulled out and lay upon the floor. Not so much as apocket-handkerchief remained in any of them. There was no sign of aportmanteau or dressing-basket, either. Wilfrid smiled cynically as helooked round the dismantled room. The first of the rats had left thesinking ship. Beyond question, Cotter had stolen away, and MaldonGrange would see him no more. The telegram he had sent fromCastlebridge was probably the last communication that Maldon would everreceive again from Samuel Flower's confidant and factotum.
No doubt he had feathered his nest. Possibly he had laid his hands uponeverything available. He had fled from the terror to come before it wastoo late. He had been wise in his choice of time.
"I think you had better go!" Wilfrid said when he had returned to thedining-room. "Everybody has gone to bed and your patient will be safein my hands. You ought not to be more than an hour away. The road is agood one and you can't go wrong."
A few minutes later and Mason was speeding off to Castlebridge on hisbicycle. Wilfrid laid his book aside and pitched his cigarette into thegrate. He must sit in the sick-room and watch till Mason returned.Flower lay quiet and still as death. He hardly seemed to breathe.There was a good fire in the room and the atmosphere inclined Wilfrid todrowsiness, and presently he shut his eyes.
He was aroused a little later by the sounds of muttering from the bed.Flower's eyes were closed and seemed to be dreaming about something inwhich the name of Cotter was mixed up.
"Why doesn't he come back?" he was saying. "What a time he is! Hepromised me to see the matter through this afternoon. I was a fool totrust him. I am a fool to trust anybody but myself, and some day hewill desert me and I shall have to bear it all myself. But he doesn'tknow everything; nobody knows the secret that lies hidden in MaldonGrange."
The speaker broke off into a feeble chuckle. There was somethingsinister in this senile mirth, something that caused Wilfrid to turnaway in disgust. The voice ceased a moment later and all was still.
Surely Mason was a long time. More than an hour had passed and therewas no sign of the nurse's return. Wilfrid closed his eyes just for amoment, or so it seemed to him, and when he looked again he saw theclock was pointing to half-past two.
He jumped to his feet with a start. For nearly two hours he had utterlyforgotten his duty to the patient! He turned to the bed to see ifFlower required anything, then a startled cry came from his lips. Thebed was empty!
Wilfrid gazed at the sheets and pillows with a feeling of stupefaction.At first he thought some one must have stolen into the bedroom andkidnapped his patient. But the idea was abandoned as absurd. Wilfridknew himself to be a light sleeper, and it would have been impossiblefor two men or more to enter the bedroom and carry off a heavy man likeFlower. Besides, he would have offered some sort of resistance. Hemust face the matter calmly and find out without delay what had becomeof the patient. Most of his clothes no longer hung over the chair bythe bedside where they had been thrown and even the slippers were gone.
Wilfrid dashed from the room and made a tour throughout the house. Hehad taken the precaution before the nurse left to see that every doorand window was rigidly fastened, but though he ranged from the top tothe bottom of the mansion there was not a bolt out of place or a singlecatch neglected.
Obviously, Flower must be somewhere on the premises. Quickly andquietly Wilfrid went from room to room starting with the top floor andworking down to the basement. He came at length to the cellars andthere he hesitated. It seemed almost a waste of time to scour thosedingy chambers, but Flower was nowhere to be found upstairs, and if theman were roaming about in a state of delirium there was no telling wherehe might wander. From the kitchen Wilfrid procured a candle and set outon his errand. It was cold and damp down here, for the cellars were allbeneath the house. White fungus grew on the walls and clammy moistureoozed from the ceilings. There were certain cell-like structuresclosely barred and locked, and these, Wilfrid concluded, contained wine.He emerged presently into a wider, drier space, at the end of which werethree small, insignificant-looking doors approached by a short flight ofsteps. Wilfrid paused and held the candle above his head, for he couldsee a figure crouching on the top of one of the flights of stairs. Hefancied he could hear the click of a key in the door.
Somebody was there, beyond all doubt. Wilfrid advanced cautiously untilhe ascertained that somebody was really there. Whoever it was took noheed of the approaching light. Wilfrid called out to Flower by name.He had found the missing man.
"Come away," he said. "What madness is this! You will catch your deathof cold. What are you doing here?"
Flower turned a blank face on the questioner. He was only dressed in histrousers and shirt. His face was begrimed with dirt and cobwebs, and hiswhite linen had assumed a dingy hue.
"Go away," he said sullenly. "What are you doing here? It is nobusiness of yours. Now that Cotter is gone none shall share the secret.But I forgot--not even Cotter knows of this. I had sense enough to keepthis to myself. Come and open the door for me. It will be worth yourwhile."
Flower's manner had changed all at once to a fawning civility. Histruculent manner had vanished. He was like one in deadly fear whowelcomes a friend.
"I can't get the key in the lock," he whined. "Perhaps you can do it.The door hasn't been opened for eleven years, and the key has got rusty.You try it."
"We must oil it first," Wilfrid said. "Come upstairs and get some oil.You can't expect to use a key after all that time. Then we will returnand you shall show me your treasures."
Flower obeyed instantly. His limbs staggered under him. It was as muchas Wilfrid could do to get him upstairs and into the bed-room again. Fora moment Flower clung tenaciously to his keys, but they dropped unheededon the floor and his eyes closed again, as if his exertions hadoverpowered him. When he was between the sheets, the strange look ofcoma came over him again. How quiet the house seemed! Then, as he wasfeeling the tense stillness of it all, his ear caught the sound of afootstep on the gravel and a moment later there was a tinkle of pebbleson the window.