"He, no doubt, believed that he had killed the Squire," suggested Lena, who had been following the conversation with undisguised interest.

Meadows shook his head.

"Or he was interrupted by hearing the butler's footsteps in the pa.s.sage," hazarded Laurence.

"In the latter case," said the doctor, "I should say 'no,' because, from what I can gather, there is no suitable hiding-place in the room in which he could have concealed himself when the butler came in. There is always the bed, of course, but I am inclined to think that he was interrupted in some other way. The question is, how? It might be answered if we learned that anything had been found in the room--anything unusual, that is to say. However, we will not trouble about that now. What should be done is to have the barn thoroughly overhauled. Once we discover the hiding-place of this creature, we shall be well on in our investigation."

Laurence was about to reply when an interruption occurred. As on the occasion of the last visit to Durley Dene, the doctor's strange servant appeared in the doorway. This time his dusky face was pale, and he appeared to be in a great state of alarm.

"Here, quick, I want you! Come down at once, will you?" he whispered in the doctor's ear, but not so low that the visitors could not catch the words.

The man looked significantly at his master, who rose in haste.

"I regret that I shall have to close this very pleasant interview," he said, in a quivering voice. "Unexpected business causes my retirement.

But, come, we must meet again before long. I will show you to the door.

Lead the way, if you please, Horncastle."

As Meadows uttered this last word the servant turned to him and frowned angrily, not aware that both the visitors were watching him.

"Lead the way, Smith, I mean. I always confound your name with that of my last valet," Dr. Meadows added, as though prompted by the servant's expression of annoyance.

The shutter of a landing window had been drawn back, so that the light from outside feebly pierced the darkness within. Thus was the journey downstairs made easier. The doctor walked in front with the servant.

Laurence made way at the top of the staircase for Lena to go before him.

This she would not do, however, but, fumbling in the semi-darkness, she found her lover's hand, caught it, and did not release her hold until the two were safely outside in the dazzling heat of the day.

The door closed behind them.

"How glad I am to get into the outside world once again!" cried Lena, joyfully, when they had reached the gate of Durley Dene. "Doctor Meadows is very kind and nice, and a perfect gentleman, yet there is such a distinct air of mystery about the house, one is given such an impression that the place is peopled by ghosts, that I must confess I should have been frightened had I been alone there to-day. But, Laurence, the mystery is no more solved than ever. It seems to get deeper every time we make a fresh discovery. We know now that the doctor has nothing to do with the Squire--I mean that he is not connected with the a.s.saults--and yet he informs us that he not only knew your father and his secret, but could explain the whole mystery, if allowed to do so."

"That's what he says," answered Laurence. "Is it the truth? And what is the urgent business on which he was called away?"

By this time the porch of the Manse was reached, but the door being closed, and Laurence having mislaid his key, it was necessary to wait for a servant to answer the bell.

"Did you hear," asked Lena, "that he called the servant Horncastle, and then corrected himself?"

"Indeed I did; and in spite of all he said about truth being the best policy, I feel sure he was lying again when he explained that a former servant was called Horncastle. By the way, Horncastle is no common name, is it? Somehow I believe I've heard it before. Do you know anyone called Horncastle? I certainly have some reason for recollecting the name."

At that moment Kingsford appeared at the door.

"Do you happen to know the name 'Horncastle'?" casually asked Laurence of the butler, as he followed Lena into the house.

"Horncastle, sir?" repeated Kingsford, who, as an old retainer, was never treated quite as one of the domestic servants. "No, I can't say I know anyone o' that name, Mister Laurence, leastways excepting 'the'

Horncastle."

"And who is 'the' Horncastle?" asked Laurence, pausing to hear the old man's answer.

"I mean the famous burgiler, sir, what escaped from Dartmoor six months back."

"Good gracious!" muttered Laurence to himself, and Lena thought something that could only be described by an equally forcible interjection.

"Ah, of course," remarked the young man, fearing to raise the butler's suspicion.

CHAPTER XXI

MR. POTTER SHOWS HIS HAND

"Glad to say, sir," was the butler's news after his remarks about Horncastle, "that the master's recovered consciousness, sir, and would be glad to see you. Dr. Bathurst has been and wished me to inform you that he is quite satisfied with the progress his patient is making. Only he must be kept very quiet, sir; and you'll pardon me mentioning the matter, sir, but, do you know, I don't quite like the looks of that man Potter, the nurse. Seems to me, with all respect, sir, that he's neglecting 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 than he 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 from London to investigate. He did more harm than good, and Sir Hartfoot, he afterwards told me that----"

But Laurence, well aware that when the old servant once got started on one of his long-winded yarns there was no stopping him, cut the story short by saying he would hear the rest another time, as he was very anxious to see his father without delay.

Lena had already retired to her room to remove her outdoor garments, so Laurence at once proceeded to the Squire's bedroom, on the threshold of which he encountered the man from Burton's, who, with a mysterious air, drew him aside into a spare bedroom, explaining that he particularly wished 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, and remain in this room until I have arranged for your removal."

The young man's remarks on hearing the nurse-detective's words were forcible and to the point. For this reason there is no necessity to chronicle them here. Sufficient it is to mention that an immediate explanation was required, and this Mr. Potter did not hesitate to give.

His suspicions and their cause have already been dealt with in a previous chapter. The detective, in tones that betrayed his triumph, briefly sketched the reasoning by which he had reached the conclusion that the Squire's a.s.sailant was none other than his own son, whose accomplice was the lady who answered to the name of Selene Scott.

At the mention of Lena's name, and when the absurdity of the situation appealed to Laurence, the young man burst into a fit of hearty laughter.

"You old meddling blunderer," he cried, "what a fine mess you've got yourself into with your rapid deductions, your startling and original theories! Suppose I call the men-servants and have you kicked out of the house? It would be less than you deserved. My father's murderer! I've never heard anything so funny in my life. So Miss Scott was my accomplice?"

"Exactly," replied the detective, somewhat taken aback by the way in which "the criminal" had received the intelligence that his guilt had been 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 I am in a position to obtain your arrest on suspicion?"

"I certainly am not," answered Laurence. "The best thing you can do, I think, is to come with me to the Squire's bedroom. My father has regained consciousness, I believe. Let us see, then, if he is not able to prove the absurdity of your charge."

"I will not degrade you with the 'cuffs,' but kindly permit me to take your 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 amus.e.m.e.nt, Laurence allowed the detective to hold his coat sleeve, while he led him into the Squire's room, and the presence of the sick man himself.

"Well, Daddy," said the young man, in a low voice, as he approached the bed, "so you are a little better, eh? That's good. You'll soon be yourself again, and let's hope you'll be no more troubled by the attacks of this ruffianly enemy of yours. I'm on his track, Father, and ere long I 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 do you mean by my 'enemy'? It was a--a burglar, Laurence, that tried to murder me--the burglar whose coming I've been dreading for so long. The one who attacked us in the carriage, you know. Do you say you're on his track? That--that's all right, only you--you won't catch him, I'm afraid. But who is this person?" The Squire pointed towards Mr. Oliver Potter, who stood at Laurence's side in a great state of trepidation on hearing the patient's cordial greeting to his son.

The detective felt almost inclined to indulge in profanity. He had been led off on a wrong scent. So much was very plain. "For once in your life, Oliver Potter," he muttered to himself, "you've made a bad blunder."

"Who is this person?" again asked Mr. Carrington. "Surely you have not engaged a fresh servant? It isn't the doctor, is it? Laurence, I don't like new faces. Ask that gentleman what he is doing here."