CHAPTER XVI
IN THE DOCTOR'S SURGERY
The delay had only been a trifling one, but Cleek did not, after all,get downstairs in time to witness the first meeting between the worthydoctor and his adored one. By the time he did reach the old-fashioned,daintily kept dining room, the couple were apparently engaged in thecommonplace phrases of ordinary social life.
But Cleek was too well versed in that most complex of all studies--humannature--to be deceived. The veriest child could have seen and understoodevery word or motion of his hostess, and a pitying smile crept upCleek's face as he noted the bearing of the would-be lover. Cleek'sentry with young Wynne drew their united attention.
"Hello! Doc!" was Wynne's boisterous greeting. "Lost your best patient,eh? Never mind, saved you killing her yourself."
The remark was decidedly in bad taste, but its effect on Dr. Verrall wasalmost startling. Every drop of colour fled from his face, and for amoment he looked as if he could have struck the youth.
It was with an obvious effort that the doctor continued his talk withMiss Wynne, but it was Cleek alone who noticed these signs ofperturbation. Again his memory reverted to the night of the murder. Hehad sent Mr. Narkom flying for the doctor, and it had been strange thatVerrall should have been so conveniently on the spot--almost, in fact,as if he had expected a call--rather than at his own house, nearly amile away. He had been on foot, too, and not in a motor which heassuredly would have been, had he been out on his ordinary rounds. Therewas something fishy about the whole affair and Cleek decided to keepboth his eyes open.
His entry, however, with young Wynne's announcement of his sudden attackof faintness, made him an object of extreme solicitude on the part ofMiss Wynne.
"Crocked up, poor beggar, and came near being a new patient for you tokill, doc," explained young Wynne, as he led Cleek into his place at thetable. "Came within an ace of rolling over, and I bet you a new hat,Jenny, it's those beastly strong-smelling flowers you stick about allover the place."
The speaker laughed as though he were making the finest jokes ever made,and even his adoring sister could not but remonstrate.
"Bobby, darling, how can you be so rude to my poor flowers," said she,colouring at his humour in front of this stranger. "I'm sure you oughtto be grateful to them----" then stopped short as if regretting havingspoken.
"Oh, that's right, rub it in," responded her brother with a littlesneering laugh. "I'm always being pulled up for something and justbecause you sold a few for once, I suppose I shall never hear the lastof what those precious flowers of yours have done for me. Wish togoodness I was on my own, like other fellows."
"Oh, Bobby," Miss Wynne said, softly, "you know I didn't mean----"
"No, but you let me know it, mean or no mean," he retorted sullenly,"seems to me that the best thing I can do is to take myself off, andthen everybody will be better. I'll lunch at the inn, thanks. I say,Headland, when you feel up to it, you might meet me there, and perhapswe can have a bit of sporting chat together and these two can spoonamongst the flowers."
With which final dig at his sister's pet hobby and the doctor's evidentdevotion, this engaging young gentleman lurched out of the room and downthe little passage leading to the front door without another word.
A strained silence fell on the party for a second until Jennifer,recovering herself first, said in explanation:
"He's such a big overgrown schoolboy, Mr. Headland, and I'm afraid he'sjealous of my beautiful hyacinths. Please don't give Bobby's rudenessanother thought or I shall feel horribly ashamed."
Cleek shook his head smilingly.
"Pray don't mention it," he said in a smooth tone. "Boys will be boys,you know, and I rather like a dash of sport myself."
That seemed to set the girl at ease, and Cleek had an opportunity for amoment of watching and making notes in that wonderful mental diary ofhis.
It was not until coffee, made by Jennifer's own capable and slenderfingers, had been served and the gentlemen given permission to smoke,that Cleek managed to secure the opportunity he so strongly desired, ofseeing inside that little surgery door.
Diving his hand into his pocket, and having assured himself that theobject he sought was reposing safely at the bottom, he gave vent to alittle exclamation of well-simulated disgust.
"Nuisance, Miss Wynne. I am sorry, but I've left my cigarette case up inyour brother's room. Would you mind if I ran up and got it?"
"Oh, I'll get it for you," said the girl, quickly. But that was thevery thing Cleek was most anxious to avoid.
"No, my dear young lady, I know just exactly where it is and I promisenot to thieve anything----"
With a little asinine snigger at his own humour, Cleek had crossed thetiny room and was on his way up the staircase before Miss Wynne couldfind time to remonstrate.
It took him but a second to reach the landing, and swiftly, silently hegrasped the handle of the surgery door. It yielded to his touch, sprangopen upon well-oiled hinges, and in another moment Cleek had achievedhis object and stood in the little room.
His eyes, trained to observe quickly, took in the shelves of drugs, oncedispensed and used so freely by the dead doctor. The vast array ofbottles stood dust covered and dull, many with spider's webs over thestoppers. All but one, that is, and at that one Cleek's heart gave aleap, and his hand shot out, then stopped poised over it. The label onthe bottle bore the medicinal name for prussic acid, and the dust hadbeen brushed from the neck and stopper. Around the centre lay the marksof long, slender fingers!
Cleek's hand dropped again, and for a second he stood stock still, hisbrows knitted, the little nerve in his temple throbbing incessantly andhis chin pinched up between one finger and thumb. Suddenly he switchedon his heel, a new train of thought aroused by the sight of some whitepowdery atoms that lay at his feet.
Cautiously he bent down and touched one of the crumbling balls.
"Magnesia," he muttered. "By all the Gods--and that remnant of pellet inthe dead man's mouth!" And the good Dr. Verrall was a friend of thefamily, so of course he would have access to this long-forgotten surgerywhich Cleek himself would never have known existed had it not been forthe providential opening of the door. What, indeed, was the connectionbetween Miss Jennifer and the dead "Miss Cheyne"?--or was it Dr.Verrall, after all? Bobby Wynne? Cleek dismissed him from his mindaltogether as utterly harmless, though again there was the reluctance ofthat youth to allow him to enter this very room. There was the trail ofmagnesia, too. Now if he could find any trace of that most child-likeand bland of medicines in Master Bobby's own room---- This thoughtcaused a sudden recollection of the two below and he moved away quickly.Swiftly and as noiselessly as he had entered, he passed out, the problemrendered still deeper by the knowledge he had obtained.
Darting into young Wynne's room, he gave it a lightning scrutiny, butthere was no trace of magnesia to be found. But of course this roomwould be swept out every day and so no remnants of dust and powder wouldbe permitted to lie there.
Down the staircase he went once more, stopping only to withdraw hissilver cigarette-case from the pocket it had never left, and his hand onthe dining room door to open it, he stood rigid, for through it cameMiss Jennifer's metallic and artificial voice.
"Edgar, dear, you are sure we are safe? I don't trust this man----"
"Perfectly safe, darling," came the deep-toned answer. "Leave everythingto me and fear nothing. You shall be safe, that I swear."
"Oho!" Cleek's lips puckered for a soundless whistle. "Edgar, eh?" SoDr. Verrall's name was Edgar, too, for it was certainly that personagewho had answered her question and their relation to one another now wasobvious.
Had she meant Edgar Verrall then, and not Sir Edgar Brenton after all?Yet the initial on the revolver was B. Last night he could have swornthat she was in love with the young baronet and was planning to marryhim, but now he asked himself: "Which Edgar was it?"
Without a sound, he let go the handle, and after a swift glance round tosee that his
action was not likely to be observed by a servant if onethere were, he backed noiselessly half-way up the staircase and thencame down again, heavy-footed and whistling.
When he entered the room, it was to find the lovers calm and collected.
"Please forgive me, Miss Wynne," said Cleek, genially, flourishing thecigarette-case in his fingers. "I've been the deuce of a time, but thedashed thing had fallen down behind the dressing chest, and I had aregular hunt for it. I hope Mr. Wynne won't mind my intruding on hissanctum. You must explain it to him for me."
"Oh, no, not Bobby," said that gentleman's sister a little absently, "solong as you do not disturb his racing calender, that's all that mattersto him."
Cleek forebore to comment upon this other than in a general: "Oh, boyswill sow their wild oats, you know," and then went forward and held outhis hand.
"Well, good-bye, Miss Wynne, and thank you for a pleasant luncheon. I'lllook you up again some time if I may. You've been awfully kind puttingup with me, and that young brother of yours is a real good sort."
Then he smiled, took his departure, and went presumably to meet Mr.Narkom.
Yet had the occupants of the house he had left been watching hismovements they would have been surprised to see that his footsteps ledhim exactly in the opposite direction from that of the village policestation. He simply vanished round the angle of the house and stood onthe gravelled path, apparently absorbed in looking at the gnarled oldwistaria plant which covered the entire wall. His memory for rooms hadtold him that that small tightly closed window was that of the surgeryin which he had made so momentous a discovery. The garden all round him,shut off from the main road by a fairly high wall and shielded by tallelm trees, was a veritable paradise of flowers.
Flowers had always been a passion with Cleek himself, and for a fewmoments he stood there drinking in the exquisite perfume of thehyacinths which hung round him like a cloud of sweetest scent. Blue,pink and purest white, with tulips and all the various kinds of narcissigrouped about them they transformed the place into a fairy glen. Lookingabout him Cleek recognized what constant care and attention had beenexpended upon the spot. It was a harmless hobby and possibly a payingone in a small way, but not sufficient to pay Master Bobby's racingdebts. Cleek's brows drew together involuntarily. Again he saw the flushof pain, and if he were not mistaken of remorse too, in Jennifer Wynne'sface.
His eyes wandered mechanically from bed to bed, coming to rest on theone just beneath the window.
Yes, there was undoubtedly a footprint, long and narrow, a woman'sfootprint obviously, clearly marked and only partially concealed by thetulip leaves. His eyes flashed up to the ivy which stretched green andunbroken to the surgery window. Unbroken? No, it certainly was not, forcloser observation revealed the fact that many of the branches were tornand bruised. Someone light and lithe had evidently climbed up and thusobtained an entry to the surgery. _But who?_
Cleek stood there, his brows pulled down, his chin pinched hard as hethought of the prussic acid and other things. It could not be JenniferWynne herself, for obviously she would not have entered the room fromthe outside, nor young Wynne, either. Who was it?
The breeze stirred the leaves of the ivy and Cleek found himself gazingmechanically upon a little fragment of material caught in the sharptwigs. He looked at it for several minutes before he realized the cluewhich lay before him.
Then his hand shot out, the stuff lay in the open palm, and with itsomething more--a man's life.