His night had not been wasted. He had carefully examined the Squire's body, and convinced himself that a very remarkable, but unsuccessful, attempt to kill the old gentleman had been made. Yet a tiny, ragged cut on the front of the neck, almost upon the throat, was the only visible clue to the manner of that attempt.

He had further made a careful examination of the room and of the clothes that the Squire had worn. Yet he obtained but a slight clue that seemed likely to lead to anything. This was a yellow hair--or rather, yellow wisp of silk--that he found upon the patient's cravat. It was of a peculiar colour, but hardly likely, Potter thought, to prove of any a.s.sistance. Yet he carefully gummed it by means of a strip of court plaster to a page of his note-book, and proceeded to investigate the furniture in the room. Nothing in the way of a possible clue came to light. One thing alone caused him surprise.

This was the discovery of the body of an ordinary bat found lying in a dark corner of the room. The creature was dead--it had apparently been crushed when some furniture had been moved, possibly by the doctor's direction.

Mr. Potter carefully picked up his curious find, and placed it in a cardboard box on which his eye chanced. The box he placed on a high shelf in a convenient cupboard. It might, he thought, prove useful in the future.

Confident though he was of Laurence's guilt, he determined not to be rash. To start from the beginning was his intention. And so his first move was to interview Moggin, the coachman, to whom he introduced himself as the "nurse." Cautiously guiding the conversation on to the subject of highwaymen of the present time, he was rewarded by a confidential description of the attack on the carriage, that had happened a few days before. Moggin had, of course, learned of the injury that had befallen his master, and confessed that he connected the two attacks with one another, as having been made by the same man.

Mr. Potter was annoyed. The coachman was certainly telling the truth. He had deemed it possible that Moggin might have been an accomplice in the so-called attack, and that no "highwayman"--not even another accomplice in disguise--had existed. This was evidently not the case. Ergo, there must be some other man in league with Laurence. This other accomplice was a very important person. He had, according to the detective, not only played the highwayman, but also the market-woman whom Miss Scott had decided was a man disguised.

Oliver Potter was at a loss to know what step to take next. Strange to say, it never entered his head to visit Durley Dene. In his confidence that he was on the right track, he evidently had little doubt but that the neighbouring mansion was uninhabited. For who knew anything about the persons that lived there? Only Laurence! Of course, the message that had been sent by means of a catapult from the grounds of the Dene had been despatched by the accomplice on whom Potter was so anxious to lay his hand.

Then a brilliant idea struck the man from Burton's. Was Selene Scott that accomplice? Might not she have attacked the carriage on the moor?

Might not the story of the market-woman in disguise, and the letter from Durley Dene, be false? When he came to think of it, Mr. Potter marvelled that he had not discovered this probability before. Why were Laurence Carrington and Miss Scott so apparently intimate? Was it not possible that they might be engaged--or even married? In which case it would be to their mutual advantage were the Squire dead, since then his money would naturally come to them.

"Eureka," cried the man from Burton's, who was proud of his knowledge of half a dozen Greek and Latin words, "I hold in my hand the key to the mystery!"

CHAPTER XVIII

AN ASTOUNDING CONFESSION

"Very well," said Lena, when she had learned the young man's impressions of Mr. Oliver Potter's capabilities, "we must do without him. We must work by ourselves. I have a suggestion to make. Let me visit Major Jones-Farnell, alias Meadows. It is somewhat irregular, I have no doubt, but in such a case as this we must not be too particular."

"Excuse me, but you must do nothing of the kind," was the reply.

"Then let me go with you, and see what the two of us can do towards discovering the secret of Durley Dene. I am sure that if once we can discover who this Meadows is, what his relations are with the man Smith, and who the creature that is held in restraint in the bas.e.m.e.nt or cellar of the house is--then, and not before, shall we be able to solve the mystery."

"I don't at all like the idea of you coming with me. The ordeal was quite bad enough for me; what would it be to you?"

"Sir!" Lena cried, with pretended severity, "I am able to stand any ordeal that you can. You see, I am not afraid, or why should I have suggested going alone?"

"Then shall we go together?"

"Yes, and as soon as possible. It is now eleven o'clock. Auntie will not reappear until lunch. The detective is surely capable of looking after your father's safety. What is to prevent us from going at once? You agree? Then wait one moment while I put on my hat."

She hurried off, returning a minute later, prepared for the morning visit.

Laurence, during her short absence, had filled his vesta case, and once again placed the little pistol in his pocket.

"Now we can come," said Lena. And without delay they started off, presently reaching the dark porch of the house of secrets.

Smith, as before, appeared in answer to their ring, but he was far from ready to admit the pair. Finally he said he would consult the Major, and banging the door in their faces, disappeared, to return in a few minutes with a sour grin and a summons to follow upstairs.

This time Laurence struck a match on entering the house. The servant did not object, but he kept very close to the visitors, eyeing the lady as though coveting the bracelets she wore. The faint light of the match revealed little, for the pa.s.sages were unfurnished, and green mildew clung to the stone walls. It was, however, a considerable aid to their progress towards Mr. Meadows' sanctum. Anything was better, thought Laurence, than the grim, impenetrable darkness of the previous visit.

As on the former occasion, the porter ushered them into the Oriental chamber in which sat the owner of the house, withdrawing immediately when they were once inside.

The doctor sprang to his feet immediately and held out his hand--which Laurence appeared not to notice.

"Good-morning to you," he said politely. "Madam, I am more than honoured by your visit. My only regret is the inefficiency of my establishment. I think, though, you will find this chair comfortable, and trust the smell of tobacco smoke does not inconvenience you. Unfortunately I have no drawing-room, as your brother--I believe he is your brother--no?--then your friend--will have told you."

He spoke fast, as though fearing that Laurence would commence by asking unpleasant questions.

"Doctor Meadows," said Carrington, "this lady and I have come to you to-day to endeavour to learn the reason of your remarkable behaviour of late. I am aware that you would do anything rather than receive a visit from the police, but that is one of the two alternatives I offer you now. The other is that you explain fully your relations with my father, Squire Carrington, of Northden Manse."

"Mr. Carrington," replied the doctor, "I told you the night before last you are making some great mistake in connecting me in any way with your father. Must I tell you so again now?"

"Then, answer me this. What were you doing in the grounds of our house at midnight, shortly after my visit here and the attempt to murder my father in his room? What were you doing, I ask, on that occasion; and how comes it that on the following morning the stolen bicycle, by the rider of which a former attack on the Squire was made, is found in the shed from which it was taken?"

As Laurence spoke in a sharp, determined tone, both Lena and he noticed that the colour died away from Doctor Meadows' cheeks. For a moment he could not reply. His concern was very apparent. At last he answered.

"Mr. Carrington," he said, "I see that it is no use for me to withhold anything from you. You have been too sharp for me. What if I were to tell you that my secret has nothing whatever to do with your father or the strange attempts to murder him in cold blood, and that it is only by unfortunate circ.u.mstances I come to be suspected by you of connection with the plot against the Squire?"

"I shouldn't believe it," replied Laurence, frankly and deliberately; "however, I pray you to tell me your story. Do not forget, by the way, that you have confessed to telling a pack of lies on different occasions before now--about the Persian cat and the whip, the lunatic in the cellar, your invalid Major, and so on. By the way, let me advise you, if you wish to keep your secret from me, not to allow the creature imprisoned downstairs to shriek while I am in the house."

So great was the effect of these words on Doctor Meadows that at first Lena feared he was going to faint. He sank down into his chair, sweat standing out on his forehead; then he sprang up and darted towards Laurence as though about to attack him with his fists.

"Good G.o.d!" he cried. "How much do you know? Are you bent on ruining me?

Tell me, quickly, exactly, how much you know?"

Laurence was more than astounded at this outburst. Acting on a suggestion of Lena, he had sprung upon the other a remark about the creature whom he had seen in the barn, and who, according to Miss Scott's mode of accounting for the various mysterious circ.u.mstances of the case, was being held in restraint by the inhabitants of Durley Dene.

That the chance shot had gone home was surely proved by the excited behaviour of Doctor Meadows.

For a moment Laurence hesitated. Should he play a game of "bluff" and pretend that he knew all? He felt inclined to do this, but reflected that he might be placing Lena in a position of danger were he to do so.

For, once Meadows believed his closely guarded secret was known, what steps might not he take to compel those who had learned that secret to keep silence? Consequently, he replied, "That is surely my own business?"

But Doctor Meadows was not satisfied.

"That's no answer," he cried. "I must have an answer. How much do you know? Tell me!"

"All I know is," responded Laurence, "that one of the members of your household is moving heaven and earth to do away with my unhappy father, and I shrewdly suspect which of you it is. I know better than to believe that you and your servant alone occupy this house of dark deeds."

"There you are, bringing up that absurd notion that I (or, in your own words, one of my household) am the author of the attempts on your father's life. If you won't take my word for it that no one living in this house is in any way responsible for the Squire's terrible position, will it satisfy you if I swear upon the Book that such is the case?"

"You dare not," said Laurence positively.

"Not only do I dare to, but I will do so," answered Meadows; "but first, tell me what you know about the person whom you allege is imprisoned in this house."

"In the first place," Laurence replied, "I know that, for some reason or other, he has been hiding in the Manse barn. Secondly, that he possesses the activity of an ape; and, thirdly, that he is black, and that his voice is the strangest I have ever heard."

"Thank Heaven!" muttered Meadows, not too low for the two visitors to hear it. He sat down once again, and the colour returned to his cheeks.

"Are you satisfied that I know something about him?" asked Laurence, none too pleased with the way in which the doctor had taken his information.