Chapter TWENTY-THREE: An Interesting Invalid

Andy was glad when Downer had gone. The news the reporter had brought was startling. He had neither seen nor heard from Stella since he had left Beverley. A letter from her father had told him that she was staying with relations for a month, for apparently Kenneth Nelson was satisfied. It would be a simple matter for Andy to discover the identity of the sick sailor, but he shrank from spying upon the girl and whatever secret she had. He was even more reluctant to revive the painful unrest which he had experienced when he had returned to town. Life had lost a great deal of its colour and sweetness when she had gone out of his life. Pique? Perhaps he was piqued that she did not come to him in her trouble. He wished he had asked Downer about her hand. Was it bandaged still, he wondered? Why hadn’t she told him everything? He had heard things from outside. That had hurt him.

As to the sick sailor——He shrugged his shoulders. He found nothing significant in that episode. Stella was a law unto herself. If it pleased her to devote herself to the sick poor, that was a matter entirely for herself. And yet—he told himself that he was curious to discover the identity of the invalid. In reality, as he knew, he was hungry to see the girl again.

He sat down to write her a letter, and succeeded in writing and destroying three before he came to his decision. She knew him well enough to believe that he would not spy on her, and that his intentions were not antagonistic. Having decided this much, the rest was easy.

He put on his hat, and out of the laboratory walked at a leisurely pace in the direction of Castle Street. Even his leisure had a significance. It was consistent with an indefinite and haphazard call. He intended walking through the street; whether he would call or not he would decide when he got there. In reality, his decision had been taken, and he did not hesitate for a second before he raised the knocker of No. 73.

He heard a whisper of voices and a creak on the stairs. A little interval, and then the door was opened.

Stella’s jaw dropped at the sight of him.

“Oh!” she said. It was the first time he had seen her embarrassed. “This is a surprise, Andrew,” she went on. “However did you find out where I was? I don’t live here. I’m just paying a visit.”

She was jerky of speech and inconsequent. More noticeable was the fact that she stood square in the doorway and made no attempt to invite him inside.

“I thought I’d look you up,” said Andrew quietly. “They told me you were nursing somebody here.”

“Who told you? Father doesn’t know,” she said quickly.

She had gone red and white again, and was so palpably distressed at having been found that, with a sick little feeling at his heart, he was on the point of turning away when she stopped him.

“Will you wait here one moment?” she said.

She went down the passage and into a room. Presently she came out again.

“Come in,” she said. “I want to introduce you to my patient.”

Andy hesitated for a second, and then followed her. She stood inside the room holding the door, and from where he stood in the passage he could only see the foot of a bed.

“Come in,” she said again, and Andy entered.

He stared at the invalid, unable to believe his eyes. It was Scottie!

“Well I’m damned!” said Andy, and his profanity was justified.

Scottie did not look very ill, and, though he lay on the bed under a light coverlet, he was fully dressed.

“What is the matter with you, Scottie?”

“Malaria with complications,” said Scottie promptly.

“What is the matter with him?” asked Andy.

The girl looked at Scottie, then looked back at Andy again.

“I suppose I shall have to tell you,” she said. “Scottie hurt himself,” she continued hurriedly. “He didn’t want to go to a doctor, and, you see, I had a nursing course, and though it was a terrible wound, I managed to heal it.”

Scottie nodded.

“That’s right, Macleod. With all due respect to you, she is the only doctor I have ever had who worked a miracle.”

“You’re hurt, are you?” said Andy slowly. “In the hand by any chance?”

Scottie nodded.

“Not as the result of a pistol fired haphazard in the dark by an outraged householder, whose home had been burgled?”

“Got it first time,” said Scottie cheerfully. “I happened to be in the park and stepped in the way of one of his projectiles.”

“I see,” said Andy softly, and seeing, was relieved. “So it was your hand that was hurt, and Miss Nelson took you up to her room and bandaged it? I didn’t notice anything when you went away.”

“I kept my hands in my pockets,” said Scottie. “It gave me a little extra hell, but it was worth it.”

“You see, Andrew,” said the girl, laying her hand on his arm, “Mr. Scottie was badly hurt, and if he had gone to a doctor there would have been all sorts of stupid enquiries. The police were looking for a man with a hurt hand.”

“So you burgled Beverley Hall, did you?” said Andy, sitting down and glowering at the unabashed Scottie. “What’s all this talk I heard about your reformation?”

“It is working very well,” said Scottie agreeably. “The camouflage being no longer necessary, I will take my hand from beneath the counterpane and get up. The truth is, Macleod,” he said with convincing frankness, “I had an idea that the gent who held up you and Wilmot with a gun was a servant at the Hall, so I went up to investigate. I was anxious to get that marriage certificate back.”

“What servant at the Hall?” asked Andy.

“I didn’t know then and I don’t know now which one, and maybe it would have been better if I had given you my views and you had conveyed them to Salter. That it was a servant at the Hall I am sure. I have seen him. After you told me about what happened at Wilmot’s place I slipped out of the house and got into Salter’s grounds. I’ve always had a theory that Merrivan’s murderer made his escape that way. In fact, my pet theory was that he was one of the gamekeepers, and so he is!”

“What!”

Scottie nodded. There was no doubt about his earnestness.

“Don’t you see why it might have been? The gamekeepers were the only people who were around at night and who have the range of the estate to hide in. I told you about the man I saw sneaking in the trees. What I didn’t tell you was that he was dressed like a gamekeeper—Brown velvet coat and gaiters——”

“Well, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I wanted to do a little private detective work myself,” said Scottie. “It would have tickled me to death if I could have come up to you and said: ‘Macleod, meet the murderer of Merrivan and Sweeny?’ Conceit. I admit it. I am human.”

“Well, what happened?”

“I got into the park,” said Scottie, “and I made a bee-line for the house. Unless the lad who held you up went straight back I should see him, if my theory was correct. I did see him,” he said impressively, “I was lying under a bush when he came up. I could have put out my hand and touched him, but for certain reasons I didn’t. He went straight into the house.”

“By which way?” asked Andy.

“Through a window,” said the other. “The window I opened afterwards, though I didn’t find it so easy. There was no light in the room when he pulled the window down after him. I thought I had missed him, but after a while he put on a light—the little lamp on Salter’s desk.”

“That was the library?”

Scottie nodded.

“His back was towards me and he was leaning over the desk looking at something.”

“Was he a gamekeeper?”

“He was a gamekeeper,” agreed Scottie. “Which of the bunch I couldn’t swear to. I’ve never shot up the estate, though I’ve met a few brigands from Beverley that have.”

Andrew stared at him.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” said Scottie. “I only saw him for a few seconds. He pulled open one drawer and then he pulled open another, and then, quite unexpectedly, he put the light out. I didn’t understand why he did this at first, but I soon found it out. I had only just time to dip down under the window when he came to it and pulled down the blind. Then the light went on again, and was on for about four or five minutes. After that time it went out, and I waited for a long while before I moved. You see, I expected him to come out by the front door, and that’s where I made a mistake. It was an hour before I discovered that he had come out by the servants’ hall. I worked my way round the house, and was wondering what I should do next, when a little door leading to the courtyard opened and a man came out. I guessed by his kit that he was my man, and I watched him out of sight.”

“Did you see his face?”

Scottie shook his head.

“It was much too dark,” he said. “He was a gamekeeper, and my gamekeeper, I’ll swear. After he’d gone I went back to the front and tried the window where he got in, but he had fastened it. It took me about a quarter of an hour to get it open, and I went straight to the library. I admit I made it untidy,” said Scottie, “but I’ll swear to you, Macleod, that I was not after loot. It is not my game to burgle a house unless I know where the stuff is to be found.”

“I thought that, too, Scottie, but I can’t quite understand why you made such a mess, as you call it.”

“I don’t know myself,” said Scottie, “but I had an idea he had broken in to read Salter’s private papers, and I was mighty anxious to see what he could have been looking for.”

“Did you burn anything?”

“Did I what?” said Scottie in surprise.

“Did you burn anything?”

“No, I didn’t burn anything.” Scottie shook his head. “Why, was anything burnt?”

“Go on with your story,” said Andy.

“There isn’t much more to tell,” replied the other. “Like a fool I started loafing around the house and barged into Salter’s room. I wish I hadn’t,” he said ruefully, examining his bandaged hand.

The girl’s eyes had been on Andy all the time. She had heard the story again and again. Now she added her narrative.

“When Scottie came back and told me, I was awfully worried. I thought he really had been burgling. But when he explained he had been looking for the murderer I did all I could for him. He told me he would be caught because you were certain to notify the doctors in the neighbourhood to look for a man with a gun-shot wound, and when Mr. Scottie said he had a little house in town that he rented, I promised to come and dress his hand every day.”

Andrew drew a long sigh.

“My professional training induces me to call Scottie a liar. My instinct tells me he is speaking the truth,” he said. “Really, you people are almost as much a nuisance to me as Abraham Selim. Have you lost the use of your hand, Scottie?”

“I have not,” said the other with satisfaction. “Sorry to disappoint you, Macleod, but my hand’s in thorough working order. The bullet missed the bone and I am nearly well again. If you hadn’t come to-day, Macleod, you wouldn’t have seen me. And I wish you hadn’t.”

“I had to come,” said Andy slowly. “Downer trailed you—at least, he trailed Miss Nelson. By the way, who is the gentleman upstairs?”

Scottie looked guilty for a second.

“He is a friend of mine,” he said carelessly, “an old college chum.”

“Dartmoor College, or Pentonville Preparatory?” asked the sarcastic Andy, and Scottie smiled indulgently.

“The stage lost something when you went in for doctoring, Macleod,” he said. “No, he is just an old friend. You wouldn’t know him, and don’t call him down,” he added hastily. “He’s much too shy!”

The discreet Andy acceded to his request.