Mr. Marx's Secret Part 29

"It's only an idea. Did Mr. Hart ever suffer from any brain disorder at any time? That's all I want to know. Has his mind always been quite strong?"

She did not answer for a moment and my heart beat fast. Looking at her closely, I could see that the colour had flushed into her cheeks and there was a troubled light in her eyes.

"He has had one or two severe illnesses," she admitted slowly; "brain fever once; and I'm afraid he used to drink too much now and then. The doctor told him that he must be very careful not to excite himself."

"Who was the doctor and where does he live?" I asked quickly.

"Dr. Schofield. He lives on the Lincoln Road, about a mile away. Why have you asked me this?" she added anxiously.

I evaded a direct reply.

"Never mind now," I said. "If anything comes of it, I will let you know."

She tried to detain me with further questions, but I hurried away and she did not follow me out of the door.

"Cis," I said, as I scrambled up to his side, "I want you to go home by the Lincoln Road and call at Dr. Schofield's. It isn't far out of the way."

He nodded.

"All right. You haven't found out anything about old Hart, have you? What was the question you went back to ask Milly?"

"Only about her father's health. No; I haven't found out anything. It's only an idea of mine I want to clear up."

Cecil looked as though he thought I might have told him what the idea was, but he said nothing. In a few minutes he pulled up outside a neat, red-brick house, which, as a shining bra.s.s plate indicated, was Dr.

Schofield's abode.

The doctor was in and disengaged. He came at once into the waiting-room, where I had been shown--a respectable family pract.i.tioner, with intelligent face and courteous manner.

I explained my position as an acquaintance of Miss Hart's, interested in the mysterious disappearance of her father. It had occurred to me to make inquiries as to the state of his health, or, rather, his const.i.tution, I added. Perhaps his prolonged absence might be accounted for by sudden and dangerous illness. Could Dr. Schofield give me any information?

His manner was encouraging. He bade me take a seat and went into the matter gravely.

"To tell you the truth," he said, "I am rather surprised that I have not been appealed to before. In an ordinary case I should feel bound to maintain a strict secrecy with regard to the ailments of my patients, but this is different. As you have asked me this question, I feel bound to tell you what I would not otherwise divulge. Mr. Hart was my patient on two several occasions during the last two years for delirium tremens, and once within my recollection he had a distinct touch of brain fever."

"His mind would not be very strong, then?" I remarked.

Dr. Schofield hesitated.

"He had a wonderful const.i.tution," he said slowly--"a const.i.tution of iron. In ordinary circ.u.mstances I cannot bring myself to think that he could suddenly and completely have lost his reason. But supposing he had received some severe shock, such as a railway accident, or something of that sort, why, then it would be possible, even probable, he might become a raving lunatic in a moment."

"And would his madness be incurable?"

"If properly treated, with a knowledge of his past ailment--no," answered Dr. Schofield; "but if he were treated just like an ordinary madman in a pauper lunatic asylum, he would probably never recover. He would become worse and worse and finally be incurable. I see two objections to accepting any theory of this sort as accounting for his disappearance,"

the doctor continued, after a short pause. "In the first place the shock would have to be violent and unexpected, and this seems improbable; in the next place, he would surely have had some letter or something about him which would have led to his identification!"

"If the shock were the result of foul play, these would be destroyed," I suggested.

"Undoubtedly; but whence the foul play? Hart is known to have had only a few pounds with him when he left."

"Perhaps he had something in his keeping more valuable than money," I remarked.

"What?"

"A secret."

"Have you any grounds for such a belief?" the doctor asked curiously.

I hesitated. In my own mind I believed that I had; but for the present, at any rate, this was best kept to myself. I answered quite truthfully, however.

"I have made a few inquiries here and there," I said, "and I have heard it hinted that he had some secret means of replenishing his purse. He has been known more than once to leave here with only a few sovereigns in his pocket and to come back with his sovereigns turned into banknotes."

"I remember hearing some such tale," the doctor remarked. "I'm afraid it is all rather vague, though."

"I'm very much obliged to you, Dr. Schofield," I a.s.sured him, rising to take my leave.

He followed me to the door and then returned to his interrupted dinner. I mounted into the dog cart and we were soon bowling through the darkness towards Borden Tower.

"Get anything out of the old chap?" Cecil asked.

"Not much. I'm just a little wiser than I was before, that's all. Beastly sorry to keep you waiting so long!"

"Oh, that's all right! But I say, Phil," he added, "what is this idea of yours? You can tell me, can't you?"

"If it comes to anything, I will," I a.s.sured him. "But at present it is altogether too vague and you would only laugh at it. Don't ask me anything more about it yet, there's a good fellow."

"You're very close, all of a sudden," he grumbled. "Why can't you tell me?"

"Because I'm afraid of your letting it out to someone whom I don't want to know anything about it," I answered.

He laughed.

"Ah, well, perhaps you're right!" he said. "I couldn't keep anything back from Milly."

I echoed his laugh, but held my peace. It was not Milly alone from whom I wished my present idea to be kept a secret. In fact, I had not thought of Milly at all. I was only anxious that de Cartienne should remain altogether in the dark as to my clue; and for a remarkably good reason.

CHAPTER x.x.xV.

AN INVITATION.

We drove straight into the courtyard, having no groom with us and entered the house from the back. As we pa.s.sed the little room on the ground floor given up for our sole use as a repository for cricket-nets, fishing-tackle, guns, spare harness, and such like appliances, I opened the door, intending to hang my whip up. To my surprise de Cartienne was there in an old coat, with his sleeves turned up, cleaning a gun. He looked up and greeted us as we entered.

"What a time you men have been! What have you been up to in Little Drayton?"

"Oh, we had lunch with your friend Fothergill and shacked about," Cecil answered. "Tell you what, Len, he's a very decent fellow."

De Cartienne was examining the lock of his gun with great attention, and in the dusk I could not catch his expression.