"I am entirely in the right when I request you to explain these mysteries to me. My father's position will enable me to obtain a search-warrant without much difficulty, and----"

"Very well, very well, I will tell you all," cried the Major, flinging his cigar stump into the empty fireplace, "though I must ask you to consider all I tell you as strictly private and confidential. Is that not so?"

"It depends entirely upon the nature of your confession," responded Laurence drily.

"Confession! You use hard-sounding words, Mr. Carrington. But here goes!

First, my name is not Jones-Farnell. And, need I say, I am not an invalid."

"I knew that," Laurence interjected.

"In reality, I am one Orlando Meadows. Second, I am not of a military calling, my profession being that of medicine. Third, I am an authority on diseases of the brain, and particularly lunacy and its treatment; and, finally, I have in my charge downstairs a very savage lunatic."

Laurence gasped with amazement. If this were the case--that is, if a maniac were really imprisoned in the house--was it not more than possible that he it was who had made the savage attack on the Squire, and who had been hiding since the night of the attack in the Manse barn?

"Tell me, what is he like?" he asked eagerly.

The "Major," or rather, Doctor Meadows, as he really was, looked at him with a puzzled expression on his well-formed features.

"He is gigantic," was his answer, after a moment's pause; "terribly powerful and repulsively ugly, but pray have no fear on that account. I have him under the strongest lock and key that London can supply."

But Laurence's hopes had been dashed to the ground. The description of Meadows' patient was as dissimilar to that of the person in the barn as it was possible for it to be, and the lunatic was safely locked up downstairs!

The confidence with which the visitor had accepted the doctor's confession was destroyed. Meadows was lying to him, that was quite certain, and yet his story had a complexion of probability about it that deserved attention.

"Doctor!" cried Laurence sternly, "will you take your oath that you are telling me the truth?"

"This is an unpardonable insult," exclaimed Meadows in reply, rising to his feet and clenching his fists in the air. "How dare you insinuate that I am telling lies?"

"Keep calm, if you please, Doctor Meadows," said Carrington. "Prove your a.s.sertion by showing me this gigantic patient of yours."

Instantly there was a change in the doctor's behaviour. He collapsed into his seat with a groan of despair.

"That is impossible," he muttered.

"Why so?"

"It would be unsafe; in fact, positively dangerous to both you and myself," he stammered.

"As a doctor you should be able to tackle your patient," said Laurence.

"As a fairly strong and athletic man I can a.s.sist you. If necessary, there is also your servant. That is, we are three to one. No, Doctor, I can't take such excuses. You must prove your words by at least giving me certain evidence that you have a maniac in your charge downstairs."

"I cannot and I will not," replied the other.

"Then I shall go down and explore the place myself."

"For Heaven's sake, don't," shrieked Meadows, starting up again; "it will be all the worse for you if you do. I forbid you to leave the room until I give you permission, and then my servant will accompany you to the door."

Laurence was puzzled beyond description by the doctor's behaviour. Why was he so anxious that his guest should not explore the house? Was it that he really feared his patient might break loose and attack him? For the matter of that, had he a maniac patient at all? Might not the story be entirely fict.i.tious? Could it be that the black creature (if he or she were really black) who was waging such active warfare against the Squire was in lurking in Durley Dene?

This would account for Meadows' consternation when the idea of Laurence visiting the other rooms in the house was suggested to him. At any rate, the probability of such being the case was worthy of consideration.

"You have someone hiding downstairs--don't deny it!" cried Laurence suddenly.

Meadows' face became deadly pale.

"Yes," he replied hesitatingly. "I told you I had a lunatic--a fierce maniac--whom I am taking charge of downstairs, when I know that by rights he should be in the padded cell of an asylum."

Again did the young man perceive that his companion was lying. His manner was that of a man who is telling a falsehood on which much depends.

"I tell you----" he began, but at that moment an interruption occurred.

The door was thrown open roughly, and a man entered. Laurence recognised him as the person who had played the double part of janitor and market-woman. He was a man of an unprepossessing, not to say criminal, type, and spoke in a surly tone.

"This bit o' paper were 'anded in by an old man a few minutes ago. To be given to Mr. Laurence at once," the man said.

"Then give it to this gentleman," the doctor replied, and the servant did so.

Laurence seized the roughly twisted note with a trembling hand. What was the meaning of a letter coming to him at the Dene? No one but Lena knew where he was. A glance told him that the words hastily scrawled in pencil on a half-sheet of paper were in Miss Scott's usually distinct handwriting.

And this was the terrible message the note contained:--

"Come at once. The Squire has been murdered!"

CHAPTER XIII

THE HORRORS OF DURLEY DENE

"You must excuse me, Doctor," shouted Laurence, when he learned the terrible tidings contained on the slip of paper; "my father has been murdered! I must go this moment." And he rose, so saying, and darted towards the door.

"Stop him, for Heaven's sake!" shrieked Meadows to the dark-faced servant who stood in the doorway. And so it was that young Carrington found his pa.s.sage blocked, and himself flung violently back with such force as one would hardly expect from a medium-sized man like the mysterious doctor's servant.

"Escort Mr. Carrington to the door," ordered Meadows, adding to Laurence, "Forgive me for such treatment. Go at once with Horn--er--Smith; I heartily sympathise with you--that is," was his strange remark, "if you are not deceiving me with an idle story."

But the young man hardly heard the other's muttered words and farewell.

In an agony of dismay and horror at the awful intelligence, he dragged the man-servant from the room.

"Guide me to the door," he cried hoa.r.s.ely, "and quick."

In the weird darkness outside the well-lighted room in which the interview had taken place he was more than helpless in his anxious haste. He charged headlong against the walls and bal.u.s.trades, the man swearing angrily at him as he clung to his arm.

"Steady, you fool," the guide shouted, "or I shall leave you to yourself, and then----"

But Laurence knew only too well that without the man's guidance he could not hope to find his way out of the house of gloom, for he had made the alarming discovery that he had used his last vesta to light his pipe after dinner. So he calmed himself as best he could, and permitted the man to lead him downstairs.

In the hall Carrington found himself stopped short.