The other lifted up the front seat and thrust away the spanner which he had been holding in his hand.
"It didn't seem to make much difference," he replied, "not judgin' by the way you started off this afternoon. I was half expectin' you and that young lady to come back on a couple of stretchers."
"Oh, we got along all right," said Colin. "Miss Seymour enjoyed the drive very much indeed."
"Did she?" was the somewhat incredulous answer. "Well, I reckon if she knew the state that steering gear was in she must be hard up for a bit of excitement."
Colin laughed, and, stripping off his overalls, stuffed them away into an open locker.
"You had better let me have the key," he said. "I don't suppose I shall be back till about eleven. I have promised to go down to Shadwell for supper, only I must slip round to the hospital and tidy myself up first."
Davis handed over the desired article, and a few minutes afterward, leaving his car in the gutter, Colin hurried up the steps of St. Christopher's and passed in through the swing doors.
On catching sight of him the porter stepped out from his box.
"Telegram for you, sir," he announced. "Come in about a quarter of an hour ago."
Colin paused beneath the big centre light and, ripping open the envelope, pulled out its contents.
The message was short but very much to the point:
"Please call at the Red Lodge to-morrow three-thirty.—CARTER."
In the days when a young and promising draper, called Mr. John Barker, had recently opened a small shop in the High Street, Kensington, Campden Hill was a singularly attractive place to live in. The favourite resort of affluent artists, retired judges, and other persons of culture and dignity, it still managed to retain a semi-rural tranquillity unknown to any other part of central London.
Time, however, which has dealt nobly with Mr. Barker, has unfortunately robbed the district of most of its former charm. Of the old-fashioned houses which stood formerly in their own pleasant grounds only a sadly thinned remnant now survive. Tucked away in odd corners, amid an ever-encroaching flood of "desirable modern residences," they seem to wait sadly for the hour when, in a cloud of dust and mortar, the relentless tapping of the pick serves for their funeral bell.
The Red Lodge, the home of Professor Carter, dated back to the leisured days of George the Third. It was a square, creeper-clad house, surrounded by a high wall, with a covered passageway leading up from the street to the front door. Through the outside gate, the upper half of which consisted of an iron grille, the curiously minded passer-by could, by straining his neck, just obtain a glimpse into the neglected garden. Whether it were worth his while to indulge in such contortions, however, was a matter of some doubt, for a desolate expanse of ill-kept lawn, dotted here and there with stunted bushes and overhung by gaunt trees, was the only prospect that rewarded his enterprise.
Standing on the pavement, Colin inspected what was probably his future residence with a considerable amount of curiosity. He was not in the least fanciful, but even to a thoroughly healthy imagination the old house certainly presented a forlorn and rather mysterious aspect. There seemed to him nothing surprising in the fact that, having once been burgled, the Professor had begun to feel the need of a trustworthy assistant, especially if he were engaged in researches which would undoubtedly possess a large financial value.
On the right of the gate a rusty bell-handle lolled out dejectedly from its socket. Colin gave it a vigorous pull, and a distant jingling somewhere inside the house told him that the wire was still in working order.
Looking through the grille, he waited patiently for the best part of a minute. At last he heard the sound of somebody fumbling with a chain, then the front door opened, and an old, bent woman came slowly down the steps.
Holding her shawl together with one hand, she shuffled along to the end of the passage and peered at him through the ironwork.
"Are you the gentleman that's expected?" she asked suspiciously.
"It's quite likely," said Colin. "Anyhow, I had a telegram from Professor Carter asking me to call at three-thirty."
"That must be right, then," was the somewhat grudging answer, and, turning the lock, she pulled back the gate just wide enough for him to enter.
Following her up the passageway and through the front door, Colin found himself in a big, well-lighted hall, at the back of which a couple of French windows opened out into the garden behind. Several pieces of massive Victorian furniture were ranged symmetrically round the walls, and a broad, thickly carpeted staircase led up to the landing above.
"If you'll step into the library," observed his guide, "I'll tell Mr. Carter you've come."
She opened a door on the right, and, accepting her invitation, Colin passed through into a long, cheerless apartment, three sides of which were almost completely lined with books. There was no fire in the grate, and such chairs as there were looked so extremely uncomfortable that only the most hardened man of letters could have described it as an agreeable resort.
Colin did not attempt to sit down. After a cursory glance round he walked over to the nearest bookcase and began to examine the titles of some of the volumes, all of which appeared to deal with scientific subjects, a fair proportion of them being in French and German. He was deep in this occupation when he heard the door open, and, wheeling round quickly, he found the Professor coming toward him.
Like every other young investigator, Colin was more or less familiar with photographs of his host, but all the same the latter's appearance in real life came to him with something of a shock. A very old man, wearing a skull cap, from which long white hair hung down over his collar, he seemed at first sight to be almost pitifully frail and feeble. It was only when a second glance revealed the gleam which still lurked behind his gold spectacles and the dour, obstinate lines of his mouth and chin that this sense of physical weakness was swept away by a sudden impression of extraordinary intellectual power and immense force of character.
With a little exclamation of annoyance he advanced to where Colin was standing.
"I am sorry that you should have been left alone in this ice house," he began in a high, quavering voice. "I can't imagine why Mrs. Ramsay showed you in here, except that she happens to be a born fool."
Colin accepted the thin, veined hand which the old scientist offered him.
"I have been quite happy, thank you, sir," he said. "I have been inspecting your library."
"I trust that you found something to entertain you," was the answer. "There are some interesting books here, but, unfortunately, they are mixed up with a good deal of trash. Every ignoramus who airs his views on some subject about which he knows nothing seems to think it necessary to send me a copy." He turned toward the entrance. "You had better come into my study," he added. "There is a nice fire there, and we can talk in comfort."
Leading the way to the door, he conducted Colin across the hall into another and almost similarly shaped room exactly opposite. Here also the walls were lined with bookcases, but, thanks to the fire and one or two easy chairs, there was a certain air of homeliness altogether lacking in the library.
The Professor made a gesture towards a dilapidated couch.
"Sit down, Mr. Gray," he continued. "I don't know whether you appreciate a good cigar, but if you do I can offer you something a little out of the ordinary. Of course, if you are sufficiently young and barbarous to prefer a pipe don't hesitate to say so."
"Well, I'm not an expert," admitted Colin. "All the same, I like to improve my education when I get the chance."
The old man smiled grimly, and, moving across to a black oak bureau in the corner, returned with a box of long, delicately shaped Havanas.
"Smoking is the one pleasure left which I can still enjoy," he explained. "Under the circumstances, I take particular care to have the best."
He waited until Colin had lighted up, and then, following his example, placed the box on the table between them and seated himself in a big armchair in front of the fire.
"And now, my young friend," he said, "let us get to business. I believe that Onslow has said something to you about my reasons for asking you to come and see me."
Colin nodded. "Sir George called at the hospital yesterday," he said. "I understood from him that you were thinking of engaging a resident assistant, and that he had suggested me as a possible choice."
The Professor drew down the corners of his mouth in a dry smile.
"Oh, you understood that, did you?" he remarked. "Well, it's hardly the impression which Onslow conveyed to me. From the enthusiastic fashion in which he spoke about your abilities I gathered that I should be remarkably fortunate if you would even consider the proposal."
Colin flushed handsomely. "Sir George has always been uncommonly kind to me," he said, "but he knows that I should regard it as a tremendous honour to be allowed to work under you."
The Professor looked at him over the top of his spectacles.
"Well, I am glad to hear you speak so sensibly. Most clever young men are intolerably conceited." He paused. "I think I ought to make the situation quite plain before we go any further. As Onslow may have mentioned, this suggested arrangement of mine isn't quite the compliment to your professional skill which it appears to be on the surface."
Colin laughed. "Yes, I know about that, sir," he replied. "I can only say that if you will allow me to assist you in the daytime I don't care how many burglars I have to tackle at night."
"It's hardly likely to be a regular feature of your duties," returned the Professor. "Still, the fact remains that this house has been broken into once, and there seems to be no apparent reason why the same thing shouldn't happen again."
"Did you lose much?" asked Colin.
The old man shook his head. "Nothing that I am aware of. My visitor, whoever he was, got into this room by the window. The only thing damaged was that desk in the corner." He nodded toward the black oak bureau. "The safe over there in which I generally keep a certain amount of money, was absolutely untouched."
"He might have been interrupted in the middle of his job," suggested Colin.
"He might have been," assented the Professor, "but as it happens he wasn't. It was not until Mrs. Ramsay came in here the next morning that we had the least idea anything was wrong."
Colin leaned forward and knocked off his ash into the fireplace. "It seems rather an extraordinary thing," he remarked. "Had you any specially valuable papers—I mean, anything like a description of some new scientific process—which people might want to get hold of?"
"I daresay I had," was the answer, "but if so it was certainly not in that desk. I keep everything relating to my work in a special cabinet in the laboratory. You would think that a gentleman who was sufficiently intelligent to try to steal things of that nature would at least assure himself first that he was on the right ground."
"What had the police got to say about it?" Colin inquired. "I suppose you called them in?"
"I did nothing of the sort," returned the Professor abruptly. "I have only a very limited amount of time remaining to me, and there are plenty of excellent ways in which I can occupy it. Because some lunatic chooses to break open my desk and rummage through my papers I fail to see why I should waste several valuable hours standing in a witness box answering superfluous and probably impertinent questions. All the same, these sorts of experiences are extremely upsetting to a man of my age. They alarm the household and they distract me from my work. In case of a similar experience, I should be glad to feel that there was someone on the premises who could be trusted to act with promptness and efficiency."
"You can depend on me for that," said Colin, "as long as I'm not asleep."
There was a brief pause while the Professor took off his spectacles and polished them with a red silk handkerchief.
"Well, now that we understand each other," he continued, "I think it would be as well to discuss one or two practical details. With regard to your remuneration, for instance. I don't know what you are getting at St. Christopher's, but I propose to give you four hundred a year. You will have no expenses living in the house, so unless you are foolishly extravagant that ought to be quite an adequate salary."
"It will do me very nicely," said Colin. "As a matter of fact, I've got a little money of my own, and the only extravagant habit I've developed so far is keeping a car."
The Professor grunted. "When I was your age," he remarked, "young men either walked or rode. Still, as long as you are capable of amusing yourself it doesn't matter to me how you spend your leisure time." He replaced his spectacles and returned the handkerchief to his breast pocket "I shall give instructions that you are to be properly looked after, but whether they will be carried out is another matter. Since my man Kennedy left me I have had no one in the house except Mrs. Ramsay and the cook. They are both old, like myself, and my own wants are so simple that their ideas of catering are probably a little on the Spartan side. If you find you are uncomfortable, or that you are not getting enough to eat and drink, you must let me know." He paused. "As for recreation or entertainment—well, if you are expecting anything of that nature you are coming to the wrong place. The only visitor I ever have is my solicitor, Mr. Medwin, whom, by the way, I am expecting this afternoon. I warn you frankly that unless you can throw yourself into your work you will find life here intolerably dull."
Colin shook his head. "I don't think we need discuss that, sir," he said cheerfully. "Anyway, as far as my present feelings are concerned I wouldn't change places with any one in England."
With another and rather more approving grunt the Professor hoisted himself slowly out of his chair.
"You seem to have some sense, my young friend," he observed. "How would you like to come along and look at the laboratory? I don't suppose Medwin will be here for another twenty minutes."
"I should like it very much," said Colin promptly.
He rose to his feet, and, dropping the stump of his cigar into the fire, followed his host out of the room and along the hall. On reaching the French windows the Professor turned to the left, and, having descended a couple of steps, pulled up in front of a solid-looking door, which he proceeded to unlock with a Yale key.
"This, of course, is not part of the original house," he explained. "I had it built on about twenty years ago, and one way and another it's cost me a pretty penny, I can tell you."
He led the way inside, and, with an air of pride that he made no effort to conceal, turned on the electric light.
For a private laboratory the place was certainly unique. A large, lofty room, roofed with glass and lined with white tiles, it appeared to have been fitted up with a complete disregard for expense that would have excited envy in the most lavishly endowed American university.
For several seconds Colin stood looking round in voiceless appreciation. His eyes wandered in turn over the shining array of taps and switches, the enamelled basins, the big electric furnace, and all the other up-to-date appliances which gleamed invitingly under the hard, unshaded light.
At last, with a sigh of satisfaction, he turned to the Professor.
"As long as I can work here," he said, "I don't care what I have to eat or drink."
Evidently pleased with his companion's enthusiasm, the old man closed the door carefully behind them, and, having replaced the key in his pocket, started off on an explanatory tour of the room. With the absorption of an expert loosed upon his favourite topic, he moved methodically along from one spot to another, stopping in front of each object in turn to explain or demonstrate its various uses.
Colin, who was more than content to play the part of a listener, followed him round in absolute silence. Familiar as he was with all the latest developments in research, his acquaintance with many branches was naturally of a rather superficial nature, and, although he was prepared for something of the sort, the apparent depth and accuracy of the Professor's knowledge filled him with amazed respect.
To what height this feeling might have attained it is impossible to say, for just as they had arrived at the electric furnace a sudden tap on the door interrupted their proceedings.
With an impatient click of his tongue the aged scientist glanced sharply round in the direction of the sound.
"Now who the devil's that?" he exclaimed. "I have given orders repeatedly that when I'm in here I am not to be disturbed."
He shuffled wrathfully down the room, and, jerking open the door, revealed the lean figure of Mrs. Ramsay.
"What's the matter?" he demanded. "Why don't you obey my instructions?"
"It's no good getting cross," returned the housekeeper impassively. "You asked Mr. Medwin to call, and you can't leave 'im sitting in the study."
"Oh, he's come, has he?" was the slightly mollified answer. "Well, in that case I suppose we had better go along and make ourselves civil to him." He turned to Colin, who had followed him to the door. "You will stay to tea, of course?" he added.
Colin, who was trying hard not to smile, expressed his willingness, and, having closed and locked the laboratory, the Professor conducted him back through the hall to the room which they had recently quitted.
A big, clean-shaven, middle-aged man, who was standing in front of the fire, stepped forward at their entrance.
"I hope I am not too punctual," he began, in a curiously smooth voice. "I think four o'clock was the time you mentioned in your letter."
He shook hands with his host, and at the same time his glance travelled inquisitively toward Colin.
"That's quite correct," replied the Professor. "I was just showing the laboratory to my young friend here. By the way, let me introduce you. Doctor Gray—Mr. Medwin."
Colin felt his hand enveloped in a large, soft palm, while a pair of very acute eyes rapidly scanned his face.
"I am delighted to meet you," said Mr. Medwin.
"It's a pleasure that you will probably have on future occasions," observed the Professor. "Doctor Gray is coming to live here as my resident assistant."
It seemed to Colin that in spite of his bland manner the lawyer was momentarily disconcerted.
"Really," he observed, after a slight hesitation, "I had no idea that you were contemplating anything of that sort."
"I don't suppose you had," said the Professor drily. "The idea only occurred to me last week, but when I make up my mind I generally act upon it at once. If you will forgive my saying so, Medwin, it's a habit that some members of your profession might cultivate with advantage."
Mr. Medwin, who appeared to have recovered his self-possession, smiled affably.
"I won't dispute the statement," he said. "There's no doubt that, taking us altogether, we're a dilatory lot."
The arrival of Mrs. Ramsay with the tea made a temporary diversion, and, having requested Colin to officiate, the Professor seated himself on the couch alongside his visitor.
"What I chiefly wanted to see you about," he began, "was that new agreement with the American Dye Company. I had a letter from them yesterday, and, with their usual transatlantic hustle, they are anxious to get the matter settled up at once."
"Well, there's no reason why it shouldn't be," returned the other. "I went through the papers last night, and they all seem to be in order. If I had known you were in a hurry I would have brought them along." He paused. "Perhaps Doctor Gray would be good enough to stroll back with me as far as my house after tea. In that case I can hand them over to him. I would fetch them myself, but, unfortunately, I have an engagement."
"I can manage that all right," said Colin. "I sha'n't be wanted at the hospital until seven."
He finished pouring out the tea, and, having distributed the cups, took the vacant seat on the farther side of the fireplace.
Somehow or other the personality of the big, suave solicitor had already inspired him with a vague distrust. He always disliked men with soft hands and that particular type of voice, especially when, as in the present case, their eyes were unpleasantly close together.
He had, too, an instinctive feeling that, in spite of his apparent friendliness, Mr. Medwin was by no means disposed to regard him as a desirable addition to the Red Lodge. Whether it was a mere whim of the latter's, or whether he resented the prospect of anybody else being mixed up with the Professor's business affairs, it was impossible to guess. The only thing Colin felt sure about was that the announcement of his engagement had come to the other as a distinctly unwelcome surprise.
After chatting away amiably for about twenty minutes, Mr. Medwin at length rose to his feet and announced that it was time for him to be taking his departure.
"I live quite close by, in Albert Terrace," he added, turning to Colin, "so if you are in no special hurry it's hardly worth while bothering about a taxi. You can walk there and back in a quarter of an hour."
"And I shall be extremely obliged to you for your trouble, Gray," interposed the Professor. "It will be a great convenience to me to have the papers to-night. I am really beginning to wonder how I have managed to get along all this time without you."
Colin laughed, and, picking up his hat from the side table where he had originally placed it, followed the still smiling Mr. Medwin out into the hall and along the covered passageway.
They exchanged no remark until the iron gate had closed behind them, when, turning down the hill, his new acquaintance addressed him with an air of good-natured amusement.
"A queer character, our old friend," he observed. "I always say he might have stepped bodily out of one of Dickens's books." He paused, and eyed Colin again with that sharp, penetrating glance of his. "Have you known him long?" he added.
"Not very," said Colin. "About an hour, to be exact."
Mr. Medwin raised his eyebrows.
"Really!" he exclaimed. "Then I suppose your arrangement to come and live at the Red Lodge was only decided this afternoon?"
Colin nodded.
"I wonder what put the idea into his head," continued the lawyer. "It's almost the last thing one would have expected from such a confirmed old hermit."
For a moment Colin hesitated. The question was natural enough, but since the Professor had chosen to remain silent he thought it better to keep his own counsel.
"There is a lot of hard work in connection with research," he replied. "When a man gets to his age he's bound to require a certain amount of help."
"Yes, yes, that's true, of course," assented the other. "As a matter of fact, I have suggested to him several times myself that he was overtaxing his strength. The only thing that surprises me is his proposal that you should live in the house." He paused. "If you won't think me inquisitive, may I ask how you came to make his acquaintance?"
"There was nothing very remarkable about it," said Colin. "I happen to be house surgeon at St. Christopher's, and Sir George Onslow, one of the visiting physicians, was good enough to mention my name to him."
"I have often heard of St. Christopher's," returned Mr. Medwin pleasantly. "A client of mine, Lord Cleveland, was vice-chairman for several years. You'll find your new existence rather dull, won't you, after the life and bustle of a big hospital?"
"I don't expect to," said Colin. "I am extremely interested in research work, and from what I have seen of the Professor I think we shall get along together very nicely."
As he spoke they came out into the High Street, and, not knowing which way to turn, he glanced inquiringly at his companion.
"Straight across the road," said Mr. Medwin. "It's only just round the corner out of Kensington Square."
They made their way through the traffic, and a few minutes' walk brought them to a row of small white, semi-detached houses, each one standing back behind a narrow strip of garden.
Mr. Medwin pulled up in front of the third, and opened the gate for Colin.
"This is my chateau," he announced. "Not quite so magnificent as the Red Lodge, but it does well enough for a middle-aged bachelor."
He proceeded up the path, and, unlocking the front door, ushered Colin into a tiny hall, the walls of which were hung round with valuable sporting prints.
"I prefer a small house to a flat," he continued, "and I am lucky enough to have a French manservant and his wife, who run the entire place for me."
He opened a door to the left, and, switching on the electric light, revealed a charmingly furnished dining-room.
"Perhaps you won't mind waiting in here for a moment," he added. "You will find some whisky and soda and a box of cigarettes on the sideboard. Make yourself at home while I go and fetch the papers."
With another genial smile he disappeared into the opposite apartment, and, accepting his invitation, Colin strolled across the room and helped himself to a cigarette.
It was quite evident that, although he was contented with a small house, Mr. Medwin was a gentleman of taste and means. The fine Persian carpet, the harmoniously coloured curtains, and the admirably preserved Chippendale chairs could only have been the choice of a man who was blessed with an ample income and a cultivated feeling for beautiful surroundings.
Having surveyed everything with leisurely appreciation, Colin mixed himself a drink and sauntered back to the fireplace. He had taken a sip and was reaching up to deposit his glass upon the mantelpiece when a small photograph in a silver frame suddenly attracted his attention. He paused mid-way and stared at it with interest. It was a snapshot of a man upon horseback—a rough amateur effort, apparently taken just before the start of a steeplechase.
The rider's face was turned full toward him, and, slightly out of focus as the negative was, the features seemed curiously familiar. He lifted it down and examined it more closely. The impression that it was a picture of someone whom he had met became stronger than ever, but although he racked his memory he could get no nearer toward placing the original.
He was still puzzling over the problem when he heard footsteps crossing the hall. Replacing the frame in its former position, he faced round toward the door, and the next moment Mr. Medwin entered carrying a large envelope in his hand.
"There are the papers," he said, handing them to Colin. "I am sorry to have kept you waiting." His eye fell upon the glass, and with an approving nod he turned away in the direction of the sideboard. "I think I shall have to follow your example," he added, "if it's merely to drink success to your new venture."
He splashed some spirit into a tumbler and filled it up with water.
"My best wishes!" he said heartily, "and I hope that the experiment will prove a complete success."
"I hope so, too," returned Colin. "It certainly looks promising enough as far as it's gone at present."
The lawyer emptied his glass and replaced it beside the tantalus.
"I shall be very interested to hear how you get on," he continued. "The Professor is a wonderful old gentleman, but of course he's inclined to be a trifle eccentric. With a little tact, however, I think you ought to manage him excellently. As soon as you have settled down you must come round to dinner one night and tell me all about it."
Colin made some conventional reply to the effect that he would be delighted, though, as a matter of strict accuracy, the prospect of his confiding in Mr. Medwin seemed to him to be a particularly remote one.
However, he shook hands cordially enough, and, escorted by his host as far as the garden gate, started off briskly down the terrace on his return journey.
He had reached the corner and was just turning into Kensington Square when his thoughts suddenly went back to the photograph which he had been examining in the dining-room.
At the same moment a flash of memory darted through his mind, and he pulled up short with a half-stifled exclamation.
He knew now!
It was a portrait of Major Fenton, the man to whom Nancy had introduced him outside her studio.
Colin finished his coffee and looked inquiringly across the table.
"Have you any special plans for this afternoon?" he asked. "If not, I thought I'd get on with that new parcel of stuff from Paris. The sooner it's sorted out and classified the better."
The Professor, who was engaged in selecting a cigar, stopped in the middle of the operation.
"Let me see, Gray," he observed, "how long have you been with me?"
Colin reflected for a moment. "I came on a Wednesday," he said. "That will be three weeks to-morrow."
"And I believe," continued the Professor, "that except for a few occasional pauses for sleep and refreshment, you have spent the whole of that period shut up in the laboratory."
Colin gave a protesting laugh. "Well, I wanted to get the hang of things as soon as possible," he replied. "I can stand a lot of work provided it's interesting."
"That appears to be the truth," admitted his employer. "All the same, every piece of machinery has its breaking-point, and, as I am beginning to find you extremely useful, I have no wish that you should suddenly collapse. You will therefore oblige me by going out into the open air and not showing your face inside this house again until bedtime."
"Just as you please, sir," said Colin, pushing back his chair. "I suppose it would be no use my suggesting that you should try a little of the same prescription yourself?"
The Professor shook his head. "I am more favourably situated than you, my young friend," he replied. "In the course of nature I shall soon have all the rest that I need." He chuckled at his own sombre jest, and, coming forward, laid his hand on Colin's shoulder. "You have been of very real assistance, to me, Gray," he added, "but there is no sense in flogging a willing horse. I can quite well spare you to-day, so off you go, whether you like it or not."
Colin, who had been long enough at the Red Lodge to know the futility of arguing, at once rose to his feet.
"I will see if I can rout out Mark Ashton," he said, "that doctor pal of mine I was telling you about the other day. I should think that with any luck we ought to be able to carry on until midnight."
He accepted a cigar which the Professor offered him, and, making his way to the telephone in the hall, rang up the Shadwell surgery.
"Hullo!" came a voice, "Who's that? Colin? Why, good Lord, man, we thought you were dead!"
"Why should I be dead?" retorted Colin. "I'm not one of your patients."
He heard a laugh at the other end of the wire.
"As a matter of fact," he continued, "I'm just starting off to pay you a visit."
"Splendid!" was the answer. "Mary's still away up North, but you'll find me here, and Miss Seymour, too. What more could you want?"
"Nothing," assented Colin. "I was going to suggest that if you can get away this evening I should take you both out to a theatre."
"No chance of that," replied Mark regretfully. "At least, not so far as I'm concerned. I might spare Miss Seymour if you'll do something for me on your way here."
"What is it?"
"I left an umbrella in a taxi last night, a very superior umbrella, with Mark Ashton engraved on the handle. If you're driving down you might look in at the Lost Property Office and see whether it's turned up."
"Right you are," said Colin. "I shall be along in about an hour."
He hung up the receiver, and, putting away the Professor's cigar in an inside pocket, donned his hat and coat and proceeded to leave the house.
A little way down the hill, in a side mews off Vicarage Gardens, he had discovered a new garage, to which he had recently transferred his patronage. The car was ready for him, and a few minutes later he was seated at the driving wheel, skilfully threading his way through the crowded traffic that renders High Street, Kensington, such a stimulating thoroughfare.
Big Ben was in the act of striking three as he arrived at Westminster Bridge. He pulled up outside the entrance to the Lost Property Office, and, pushing open the swing door, advanced to the counter, where a stalwart constable was thoughtfully scratching his head with the stump of a pencil.
Having listened in silence to Colin's inquiry, the man got down from his seat and disappeared into the back regions, returning almost immediately with the umbrella in his hand.
"You'll have to sign your name here," he announced, pushing forward an official-looking paper.
"And there'll be two and sixpence reward for the driver."
Without entering upon any superfluous explanations, Colin paid over the desired sum, and, after neatly forging Mark's signature, made his way back to the car. He was leaning over the side door, storing away his trophy, when a gruff voice suddenly addressed him from the pavement behind.
"Doctor Gray, unless I'm much mistaken!"
Turning round promptly, he found himself face to face with the burly, shrewd-eyed figure of Inspector Marsden.
"I thought I was right," continued the detective. "It's part of my business to recognize people by their back view."
Colin gripped the large and efficient-looking hand which the speaker extended to him.
"I'm awfully glad to see you again," he said heartily. "I hope you're none the worse for that little dust-up in the King's Road?"
"Still a bit sore in the ribs," was the answer. "I fancy the beauty who got that kick in must have been a footballer at some time or other in his career. I'll give him football if I ever find out which of 'em it was."
"How about our ginger-haired friend?" inquired Colin. "I've been expecting to hear every day that I was wanted as a witness."
"You'll be wanted all right," replied the Inspector. "He's under remand at present, and I don't suppose the case will come on for another month. There are several pretty black marks against Master Dick, and we hope to collect enough evidence to put him out of business for some considerable period." He paused. "By the way," he added, "if you've a few minutes to spare, come along up to our place and let me introduce you to one or two of the boys. I told them what you did for us the other day, and they'd be glad of the chance of shaking hands with you."
Knowing that Mark was unlikely to be free until four o'clock, Colin decided that he might as well accept the invitation. He had never been inside Scotland Yard, and the prospect rather appealed to him.
"What shall I do with the car?" he asked. "Leave it here?"
"Better bring it into the yard," said the Inspector. "No one will try to pinch it then—not unless he's a bit of an optimist."
Getting into his seat, Colin started forward alongside his companion, and turned in through the big iron gates which guard the headquarters of the London Police Force.
There were several other cars standing against the wall, and, leaving his own in company with them, he followed the Inspector through a low doorway and up a long flight of stone stairs.
They emerged into a broad corridor with doors on either side.
"Here we are!" announced his guide, halting in front of the second. "I don't know who's on duty to-day, but we're sure to find somebody about."
He led the way into a large, business-like apartment, the principal furniture of which consisted of a couple of roll-top desks. At one of them was seated an alert-looking man in a well-cut blue suit, who glanced up sharply at their entrance.
"Hullo, Pat!" said the Inspector. "I've got someone here I want to introduce you to. This is Doctor Gray of St. Christopher's Hospital."
The other laid down his pen, and, rising from his chair, shook Colin's hand.
"You're welcome, sir," he said, with a distinctly Irish accent. "We have heard all about you from our friend Marsden. My name is O'Brien—Inspector Patrick O'Brien. I am pleased to have the privilege of making your acquaintance."
"It's very nice of you to put it like that," said Colin. "I don't think I deserve any particular compliments, though. I only did what any one else would have done who had happened to be on the spot."
Both men smiled.
"That may be your impression," was the answer, "but you can take it from me that you're a trifle off the mark. Watching a police officer kicked to death is one of the public's favourite entertainments."
"O'Brien comes from Dublin, you see," put in Marsden, "so you must make allowances for a touch of bitterness." He pulled forward a chair, and, thrusting his hand into his pocket, produced a large rubber pouch. "Make yourself comfortable and try a pipe of this tobacco, doctor," he added. "It was given to me by a ship's captain, and they don't generally go far wrong—not from what I've seen of them."
Colin took the proffered seat, and, drawing out his briar, proceeded to fill it carefully with the fragrant brown flakes.
"I'm rather interested in 'Ginger Dick,'" he remarked. "One would hardly take him for a Napoleon of crime, judging by his appearance."
"No, his looks aren't anything to shout about," agreed Marsden. "All the same, he's a dangerous little devil if ever there was one. As I told you the other day, he's in with all the lowest scum of the Turf, and, thanks to him and his crowd, there are several of our boys on the retired list, and likely to remain there."
"It never occurred to me before," said Colin, "but I suppose there are healthier occupations than being a detective on a racecourse."
"You can back on that," was O'Brien's rejoinder. "I've had some of it myself, and, though I'm partial to what you may call an active life, I wasn't exactly sorry when they shifted me to another department."
"Tell him some of your experiences, Pat," suggested Inspector Marsden. "It's no use having a distinguished guest if you don't try to entertain him."
The Irishman, who apparently only needed this encouragement, plunged at once into a series of reminiscences, all dealing with that dark underworld of ruffianism which lurks furtively beneath the brilliant surface of racing. He told his stories well, and Colin, who knew little or nothing about the Turf, listened to him with absorbed interest. It was not, indeed, until the hands of the office clock were pointing to the half-hour that he reluctantly knocked out his pipe into the fireplace and rose from his chair.
"I hate to break up this cheerful party," he said truthfully, "but I've promised to be down in Shadwell by four, and I've got an unpleasant sort of feeling that I must be keeping you both from your work."
"Oh, you needn't worry about that," replied Marsden, smiling. "I'm fixed here until midnight anyway, and, no matter how busy Pat is, he can always find time to talk."
"I want to hear some more of his reminiscences," said Colin, "and yours, too. Perhaps if you could both get away together the same evening you would come out and feed with me? We could go to the Cheshire Cheese or somewhere like that. I can't ask you to my place, because at present I'm acting as bottle-washer to Professor Carter."
"The Cheshire Cheese sounds all right to me," said O'Brien approvingly. "You give us a ring when you've got a spare night, and we'll try and fix it up."
"Things are getting altogether too one-sided," objected Marsden. "Can't you think of a little service we could do for you, doctor, just by way of a change?"
Colin was on the point of making some laughing disclaimer, when an idea suddenly occurred to him.
"Would it be a lot of trouble to get me some information about a man I was introduced to the other day?" he asked.
"Not a bit," replied Marsden. "What's his name?"
"Fenton," said Colin. "Major Fenton. He's a chap of about forty-five, tall, clean-shaven, with rather a red face. All I know about him is that he has been a long time abroad, and that at present he is living in London and drives a Daimler car. It's only a matter of personal curiosity, but if you could find out who he is and what sort of reputation he has I should be uncommonly grateful."
Marsden jotted down the particulars and folded up the paper.
"That ought to be simple enough," he replied. "I'll hand this over to Ainsworth, who's in charge of all that kind of thing, and if you look us up in about a week we shall probably be able to give you the gentleman's life history."
Colin expressed his thanks, and, having shaken hands with each of them in turn, made his way back down the staircase and out into the main courtyard.
Resuming his journey eastward, he followed the Embankment as far as Blackfriars Bridge, where he struck off through a maze of side streets, which eventually brought him out close to the grimy and retired tavern presided over by Mr. Higgins.
The yard door was open, and a glance inside revealed the burly outline of the proprietor himself, engaged in the domestic task of washing his bull terrier. On hearing the car he paused in his operations and signalled to Colin to enter.
"Bring 'er along in, mister," he called out. "Bring 'er along in, an' look out for that bleedin' bucket."
Carrying out these instructions successfully, Colin jerked forward over the cobblestones until he came to a halt alongside the seated figure.
"Pleased to see yer," continued Mr. Higgins, in a hospitable tone. "Quite a time since you was 'ere last, ain't it?"
"It's getting on for a month," admitted Colin, as he clambered out of the car. "In fact I've not been since the night I brought Miss Seymour."
At the mention of Nancy's name the landlord's mottled face wreathed itself into a smile.
"Didn't know then that you was goin' to leave 'er be'ind yer," he observed jocularly. "Thought you'd give us a kind of pleasant surprise, eh, guv'nor?"
"That was the idea," replied Colin. "I was just going to ask you if you'd seen anything of her."
"I done more than that," was the proud rejoinder; "I've 'ad a talk with 'er, I 'ave. I 'appened to be outside when she come by last Thursday, an' she stopped and chatted away as friendly as kiss me 'and. Ah, she's one o' the right sort, she is; no blarsted frills nor nonsense about 'er."
"I suppose she'll be quite safe going about alone?" said Colin. "People know she's working for the doctor?"
"Lor' love yer, yus," ejaculated Mr. Higgins. "No one wouldn't interfere with 'er, not round 'ere. This ain't the West End. We knows 'ow to be'ave ourselves in Shadwell."
"I'm just going along to the surgery now," said Colin. "I'll tell her some of the nice things you've been saying about her."
"You do," was the answer. "An' you can add, with my best respecks, mister, that if ever she'd honour this 'ouse by droppin' in and takin' a cup o' tea, there'd be no prouder man than Bill 'Iggins, not in the 'ole of London."
Five minutes later, with a pleasant tingle of anticipation in his heart, Colin mounted the steps of Mark's residence and jerked briskly at the bell. The door was opened by Martha Jane, the fat, grubby-faced little maid-of-all-work, who welcomed him with the grin of an old acquaintance.
"You'll find 'em hupstairs in the study," she announced, in answer to his inquiry. "I know they're expectin' you, 'cos the doctor told me not to bring tea till you came."
"Well, here I am," said Colin. "Is there anything good to eat?"
"I'm makin' scones," replied Martha Jane. "Some o' them yaller ones, wot you gen'rally seems to fancy."
Colin stepped inside and deposited Mark's umbrella in the hat stand.
"You push off and continue the good work," he remarked. "I'll find my own way up."
Still grinning, Martha Jane closed the front door and shuffled along the passage toward the kitchen. Just as she disappeared there was a sound on the landing above and Mark's spectacled face protruded itself over the banisters.
"You've been a devil of a time coming," he observed. "We were beginning to think you must have had a breakdown."
"I like that!" retorted Colin, struggling out of his overcoat. "Here have I been chasing all round London after your infernal umbrella——"
"Oh, you've got it, have you?" interrupted Mark. "That's topping. You don't know how deeply indebted I am to you."
"Yes, I do," said Colin. "Exactly half-a-crown—what I had to give the cabman as a reward for his honesty."
Nancy's face appeared suddenly beside that of her employer and smiled down at him in friendly welcome.
"Please don't start quarrelling about money," she said pathetically. "I'm simply dying for a cup of tea."
There seemed to be something strangely familiar and attractive to Colin in the mere sound of her voice, and, running lightly up the staircase, he pressed both their hands in a simultaneous greeting.
"I'm so sorry," he exclaimed. "I was forgetting the brutal way in which Mark always treats his staff. I suppose he has been working you to death and half starving you at the same time."
"Of course I have," declared Mark. "Look at her worn and haggard appearance."
"Well, we haven't been exactly idle," admitted Nancy, laughing. "All the same, I think I am bearing up pretty well."
Mark led the way into the study, where a table was already laid, and waved his hand toward the largest of the armchairs.
"You take the seat of honour, Colin," he said. "It's a privilege we always keep for distinguished strangers."
"There's no need to rub it in," objected Colin. "I should have looked you up ages ago if it hadn't been for my devotion to duty. This is the first holiday I've had since I went to the Professor's."
"How are you getting on?" asked Nancy.
"Up to the present," replied Colin modestly, "I think I have given what they call complete satisfaction."
"What's the old man like?" demanded Mark. "Easy to live with?"
Colin hesitated. "It all depends," he answered. "We've managed to hit it off well enough, but then I've rather gone out of my way to humour his little weaknesses. He's one of the sort that you've just got to take or leave. As long as you do exactly what he wants he's kindness itself. If any one tried to oppose him or contradict him I should think he could be distinctly unpleasant."
"There must be a lot of people about like that," said Nancy. "At least, I seem to have run up against a good few."
"And how do you stand with regard to the job?" inquired Mark. "I suppose he doesn't let you into more secrets than he can possibly help?"
"Oh, yes, he does," replied Colin. "He lets me into everything. I've soaked up so much knowledge the last three weeks that I'm beginning to wonder whether there's anything left to learn."
Mark gazed at him with a certain amount of incredulity. "Do you mean to say that if he died to-morrow you would be in a position to carry on his work?"
"I'd have a damn good shot at it, anyway," declared Colin. "Of course, I haven't a quarter of his ability, but he's discussed all his ideas with me, and explained them in such detail that if I couldn't make something or other out of them I should be next door to an idiot."
Mark turned to Nancy and nodded his head. "It's panning out just as I prophesied," he said sadly. "We sha'n't see much more of him at Shadwell. Before we can look round he'll be splashing about in a Rolls-Royce and——"
His prediction was cut short by the sudden appearance of Martha Jane, who lurched in through the doorway carrying a large tray and breathing somewhat heavily from her exertions.
"I vote that we adjourn the discussion of my future," suggested Colin, as they pulled up their chairs round the table. "It's your private affairs that interest me, Mark. As the person responsible for the engagement I want to know whether you are pleased with your new assistant."
Nancy, who had seated herself in front of the tray, paused with the teapot in mid-air.
"This is very embarrassing," she observed. "Hadn't I better leave the room for a few moments?"
"You go on pouring out," said Mark firmly. "You can blush just as well here as in the passage." He helped himself to a scone and pushed the plate across the table toward Colin. "When you told us you'd found an angel, my lad," he continued, "you were speaking the literal truth. I had no idea that there was another such woman in the world apart from Mary."
"Don't listen to him," interrupted Nancy hastily. "The truth is that both he and Mrs. Ashton are so ridiculously good-natured that they hadn't the heart to turn me away."
"I know Mary's opinion already," said Colin. "I had a touching little letter from her just before she went North. She seems to regard me as a highly successful understudy of Providence."
"And, by Gad, it's true!" broke in Mark with enthusiasm. "I should have been absolutely in the soup without Miss Seymour. She's simply splendid, Colin. Down here at nine o'clock every morning, and working away like a galley slave until seven or eight in the evening."
"Well, that's what I'm paid for," objected Nancy. "And, besides, I don't look on it as work. I so enjoy the feeling that I'm doing something useful, instead of sitting all day typing out a lot of stories that nobody wants to read."
"What do the patients think of the arrangement?" asked Colin. "I gathered from Mr. Higgins that it's one of the principal topics of local interest."
"It's been the best advertisement I ever had," replied Mark, with a chuckle. "I was a little doubtful at first, so I've told everybody that Miss Seymour and Mary are first cousins. We're rather strong on the conventions in Shadwell, and that put everything on a nice, respectable footing."
"I don't like tampering with the truth," said Colin. "All the same, it has its advantages at times." He glanced mischievously at Nancy. "In future, for instance," he added, "it will be obviously necessary that we should both address you by your Christian name."
Nancy laughed. "I never thought of that," she said. "It shows how unaccustomed I am to anything in the nature of deception."
"You'll soon improve," returned Colin hopefully. "It's wonderful what one can do after a month or two with the medical profession." He leaned forward and selected another scone from the rapidly dwindling pile. "Now what about that theatre idea of mine?" he continued. "Can't you possibly manage it, Mark? I'll do the thing in a really generous way—stand you dinner and seats and drive you both home in the car afterward."
Mark shook his head reluctantly. "I'd come like a shot if I could," he replied, "but I've about twenty prescriptions to make up and a dozen cases to attend to." He paused. "All the same," he added, "there's no earthly reason why you shouldn't take Miss Seymour."
"Oh, that's not fair," protested Nancy. "I can't go off and leave you to do all the work."
Mark folded his arms. "There's only one thing I demand from my staff," he observed sternly, "and that is complete and unquestioning obedience." He turned to Colin. "What you both want," he added, "is some fresh air and a little healthy amusement. Why not have a run out into the country first? It's a fine evening, and you can get back up West in plenty of time for the theatre."
"Now I call that a jolly bright notion!" exclaimed Colin. "What do you say, Cousin Nancy?"
"It sounds most tempting," agreed Nancy. "All the same, I think it would be horribly selfish. I am sure that if any one needs an evening off it's the doctor. The last thing I promised Mrs. Ashton was not to allow him to overwork."
"I am the head of the family," insisted Mark, "and my orders are that you leave this house directly you've finished tea. Take her for a good long spin to start with, Colin, give her a nice dinner, and then get seats for something really frivolous and cheerful. That's my prescription, and I depend on you to see that it's properly administered."
* * * * * * * * *
With her eyes shining, and her cheeks flushed by the wind, Nancy stepped out of the car on to the comparatively deserted pavement of Whitcomb Street.
"Oh!" she said with a faint sigh. "That was simply heavenly!"
Colin, who had jumped down first to open the door, looked at her with an approving twinkle.
"Not bad, was it?" he agreed. "We've only been an hour and a half and we must have done at least forty miles."
He glanced round in the direction of the Motor Club, outside which they had alighted, and at the same moment a broad-shouldered, seedy-looking gentleman in a dilapidated ulster suddenly appeared out of the darkness.
"Oh, there you are, Joe," he continued. "I want you to look after the car for me. We're dining and going to a theatre, so I don't suppose I shall be back until half-past eleven."
"That's all right, sir," replied Joe comfortingly. "You'll find me 'ere, no matter wot time you come."
"Now, where shall we make for?" inquired Colin, turning to Nancy. "Unless you've any particular choice I suggest Romano's and the Vaudeville."
Nancy looked a little doubtful. "I'm thinking of my clothes," she explained. "I'm not fit to go anywhere really smart."
Colin studied her critically. "Don't you believe it," he said. "You could walk straight into Paradise without even tidying up."
He slipped half-a-crown into Joe's hand, and, taking Nancy firmly by the elbow, piloted her across the street in the direction of Leicester Square.
Ten minutes later, escorted by a sympathetic manager, they were making their way toward a small table in the balcony of the famous Strand restaurant.
"You order the dinner," said Nancy, as they took their seats. "I always enjoy things much more if somebody else chooses them."
She leaned forward in her chair and looked down contentedly at the animated scene below, while Colin picked up the menu and studied it with becoming gravity.
"I think we'll have a little clear soup to start with," he began, "followed by soleà la bonne femme, a roast grouse, and iced meringues." He paused. "Do you prefer champagne or sparkling Moselle?"
"I don't know," said Nancy frankly. "I've never tasted either of them."
"We'll have a half bottle of both then," said Colin. "You can try them and see which you like best, and I'll drink the other."
"By the way," he added, as the waiter hurried off with the order, "have you been seeing anything of that friend of yours, Major Fenton—the chap you introduced me to in Jubilee Place?"
For a moment Nancy remained silent.
"Why do you ask me that?" she inquired.
"Oh, I don't know," said Colin casually. "It just happened to come into my head."
She paused again. "He has been round at the studio two or three evenings," she said slowly. "As a matter of fact, he was there last night."
"I suppose he's heard all about your new job?"
She nodded. "Doctor Gray——" she began.
"Make it Colin," he interrupted. "I can't call you Nancy unless you back me up."
"Well, Colin, then——" She hesitated once more. "There's something I think I ought to tell you about Major Fenton, only—only it's horribly difficult for me to know how to put it."
"Wait until you've had some dinner," he suggested. "No one talks comfortably when they're half starving."
She shook her head. "No, now I've started I think I'd better go on and get it over. The first time I saw Major Fenton after we met him together he naturally asked me who you were. I told him what I knew about you and how we'd become acquainted, and, although he didn't say much, he seemed to think that I'd done wrong in asking you back to my studio. I suppose in a way he looks on himself as a sort of guardian of mine."
"Perhaps he does," said Colin gravely. "People who have lived a long time in hot climates often suffer from hallucinations!"
"That didn't matter," continued Nancy, "but last night when he came round he spoke about you again, and this time he said something that made me really angry—something that I'm perfectly sure isn't true."
Colin was leaning toward her, his gray eyes alight with interest.
"What was it?" he demanded briefly.
"He—well, he didn't put it quite definitely, but he hinted that you were not the sort of man to make a friend of; that you were leaving the hospital on account of some dreadful scandal about one of the nurses."
For a second Colin stared at her in blank amazement. Then he suddenly broke into a peal of laughter.
"Good heavens, Nancy!" he exclaimed. "If you'd only seen 'em!"
"I didn't believe it, of course," she went on hurriedly. "I was certain he must be making some stupid mistake."
Colin's lips tightened. "I object to people making mistakes of that sort about me," he observed rather grimly.
Before Nancy could reply the waiter arrived with the soup, followed a moment later by another, who proceeded to uncork and pour out the wine.
"You mustn't take it too seriously," she continued, as soon as they were alone again. "It was a detestable thing of Major Fenton to say, but I don't think he meant any real harm by it. He explained that he'd heard the story from somebody at his club, and that he'd only repeated it to me because he felt that it was his duty. As I told you before, just because he once knew my father, he seems to have some ridiculous notion that he ought to look after me."
Colin, who had been sprinkling a little pepper into his soup, looked up with a smile.
"Well, don't let's waste our time discussing it any more," he said cheerfully. "It's just a silly lie, and, anyway, there are lots of much pleasanter things to talk about." He raised his glass. "I'm going to propose the health of our old pal 'Ginger Dick.' He may have his faults, but, after all, if it wasn't for him we shouldn't be sitting here now."
"That's true," agreed Nancy. "Here's to 'Ginger Dick." She took a long sip and then set down her glass. "If that's sparkling Moselle," she added thoughtfully, "I don't think I'll bother about tasting the champagne."
* * * * * * * * *
At about twenty minutes before midnight, faithful to his pledged word, the reliable Joe slouched forward out of the shadows and greeted them with a friendly salute.
"'Ere we are, guv'nor," he announced. "All ready an' waitin' for yer, as the grave-digger said."
He opened the door of the car for Nancy, and, making his way round to the front, succeeded after two or three abortive efforts in starting up the engine.
"She's a bit cold, like meself," he continued. "It's bin freezin' crool 'ard all the evenin', an' I reckon we both got a touch of it in our innards."
"You must follow it up with something hot," said Colin, handing him another half-crown. "Rum's the best as long as you don't put too much water into it."
"I ain't likely to," replied Joe, with a grin. "There's quite enough o' that done before we gets the blarsted stuff."
He pocketed the coin, and, closing the door after them, stepped back on to the pavement.
"Good-night, sir, an' thank yer kindly. Good-night, miss, an' Gawd bless yer both."
"I like Joe," said Nancy, as they slid out into the glare and tumult of Piccadilly Circus. "Is that his profession—standing there all night looking after cars?"
"That's his present profession," replied Colin, "but he's what you might call come down in the world. Before he took to drink he used to be one of the best middle-weight boxers in England."
Nancy opened her blue eyes to their fullest extent.
"A prize-fighter?" she exclaimed.
Colin nodded. "Joe Bates of Wapping. One of the gamest men who ever stepped into a ring."
"What made him take to drink?" inquired Nancy.
"I think it was chiefly the death of his wife," said Colin. "Anyhow, he went all to pieces about two years ago, and ended up by getting run over in the Fulham Road. They brought him along to St. Christopher's, where we managed to patch him up. I felt sorry for the poor chap, and when he came out I got him that job at the Motor Club. As people go, I think he's by way of being rather grateful."
He swung clear of the traffic outside the Ritz, and with a warning bark from the horn the little car leaped forward down the long, brilliantly lit slope.
Turning up her coat collar with one hand, Nancy settled herself contentedly in her seat.
"It's been a most exciting evening," she said. "I've enjoyed every single minute of it."
"So have I," agreed Colin with enthusiasm. "What do you say to repeating the experiment next week?"
"Only on one condition," replied Nancy. "I've got to take my turn in paying for dinner."
"But that's absurd!" protested Colin. "I'm a great deal richer than you are."
"No, you're not," was the indignant answer. "Why, I'm simply rolling in money. I've no expenses now except the rent of my studio, and Doctor Ashton pays me at least twice what I'm worth."
"I don't believe that," said Colin. "Still, if you're determined to be proud and ostentatious I suppose you must have your way."
He swerved to the left behind St. George's Hospital, and, cutting through the select precincts of Belgrave Square, came out within a few yards of the King's Road. In another minute they were turning the corner into Jubilee Place.
"Next week's a bargain, then," said Colin, as they stood facing each other on the empty pavement. "It's no good trying to fix a day at present; I'll just ring up one morning and we'll arrange it over the 'phone."
Nancy nodded. "That will be best," she said. "You mustn't desert the Professor—not unless he can manage all right without you."
She gave him her hand, which Colin squeezed in a friendly grip.
"Good-night, Nancy," he said. "Sleep well, and when you see Mark, tell him that for once in his life he actually prescribed the right treatment."
He waited until the front door had closed behind her, and then, having lit himself a cigarette, climbed back into the car, and started off again in the direction of Campden Hill.
It was a few minutes after midnight when he let himself in at the outer gate of the Red Lodge. The light was still burning in the hall, and, knowing from experience that the Professor frequently continued his work until the early hours of the morning, he walked straight through to the laboratory and tapped lightly on the door.
As he half expected, there was a creak of footsteps inside, and the Professor himself, wearing an old Jaeger dressing gown, appeared on the threshold. At the same moment a peculiarly acrid and unpleasant smell drifted past him into the passage.
"So you've come back, eh?" he said in his queer, high-pitched voice. "I hope you enjoyed your evening?"
"I didn't do badly," replied Colin. "I went to Shadwell, saw my friends, had a forty-mile run in the car, and finished up with a dinner and a theatre."
The old man nodded grimly. "It sounds rather an exhausting form of recreation. I should imagine that after all that you must be quite ready for your bed."
"Oh, I'm not tired," said Colin, "not in the slightest. If you've got anything on hand I should like to come in and make myself useful."
"You'll do nothing of the sort," returned the Professor. "You will help yourself to a whisky and soda, and then you will go straight upstairs to your room."
Colin hesitated. "And how about you, sir? Surely you've done enough work for to-day?"
"I shall be following you shortly," was the answer. "I am only waiting to see the result of a small experiment."
He nodded a curt good-night, and, stepping back again into the laboratory, closed the door behind him.
Dismissed in this unceremonious fashion, Colin made his way into the dining room, where he found a plate of sandwiches and a siphon set out ready for him on a tray. It was unthinkable that such an idea could have occurred to the unaided intelligence of Mrs. Ramsay, and, rather surprised at the Professor's consideration, he proceeded to mix a drink, which he carried with him up the staircase.
His room was situated on the first floor—a large, comfortable apartment looking out toward the back. It had been fitted up since his arrival with a gas stove, and, having lighted this and placed his tumbler upon the dressing table, he began in a leisurely fashion to get ready for bed.
The chief subject that occupied his thoughts was the revelation which Nancy had made to him at dinner. What on earth had induced Major Fenton to concoct that ridiculous story about a scandal at St. Christopher's Hospital? That it was an invention of his own Colin felt certain, and no man would take the responsibility of fathering such a lie unless he had some particularly strong object in view.