The House 'Round the Corner Part 23

"She didn't. I came away without her knowledge!"

"Ah!"

"You needn't say 'Ah!' in that disapproving way. Why shouldn't I visit Elmdale and this house if I wanted to?"

"You have quite failed to understand my exclamation. It was an involuntary tribute to my own powers."

"If you mean that Edith is a cat, I agree with you. When she hears that Percy has fallen downstairs and lamed himself, she won't believe a word of it. Before we know where we are she will be here herself."

"We have five bedrooms. The house will then be full," he said placidly.

"Five? Oh! you include my mother in your reckoning. Bob, don't you think I ought to telegraph early in the morning and tell her not to come?"

"No. If you adopt the scheme I have evolved for the routing of all Walkers and the like, the arrival of your mother will be the one thing requisite to insure its complete triumph."

Then he laid bare his project. Stephen Garth was dead and buried. Let him remain so. Mrs. Ogilvey herself would be the first to approve of any fair means which would save her husband from the probing and prying of the police. There was always the probability that he was innocent of any crime. Even if, from the common-sense point of view, they must a.s.sume that he knew of the ghastly secret which the house could reveal sooner or later, it did not necessarily follow that such cognizance was a guilty one. Thus did Armathwaite juggle with words, until his hearer was convinced that he could secure her a respite from the tribulations of the morrow, at least, though the graver problem would remain to vex the future.

They were yet talking earnestly when the iron hasp of the gate clicked in its socket.

"Dr. Scaife!" cried Marguerite, rising hurriedly. Then she bethought herself. "I suppose it doesn't really matter now who sees me," she added, "and I should so much like to meet him. He is one of our oldest friends in Yorkshire."

"Meet him, by all means; but don't forget your new role. In fact, it would be well if you rehea.r.s.ed it at once. The doctor will be a valuable factor in the undoing of Walker."

The bell rang. Armathwaite himself went to the door. A slightly-built, elderly man, wearing a bowler hat and an overcoat, was standing there.

In the lane beyond the gate gleamed the lamps of a dog-cart, and a groom was holding the horse's head.

"I'm Doctor Scaife," announced the newcomer. "I'm told you have had an accident of some sort here!"

"Yes," said Armathwaite. "Come in, doctor! You've probably heard my name--Armathwaite. I've just rented this place for the summer, and a young friend of mine, who arrived unexpectedly to-day, had the ill-luck to slip on the stairs and sprain his ankle. I've done what I could by way of first-aid. I hope you received my message correctly?"

"About the india-rubber bandage, do you mean? Yes, I've brought one.

Lucky your man caught me. I was just starting for another village; but I can make the call on my way home. Where is the patient?"

At that minute the doctor set eyes on Marguerite, who had come to the door of the dining-room. Her face was in shadow, because the lamp on the table was directly behind her.

"Well, Uncle Ferdie, you dear old thing--don't you know me?" she cried.

Dr. Scaife was not a man of demonstrative habit; but, for once in his life, he literally gasped with surprise.

"Meg!" he stammered. "My own little Meg!"

He grasped her hands in both of his. A dozen questions were hovering on his lips, yet all he could find to say was:

"Is Mrs. Garth here, too?"

"No; mother comes to-morrow, or next day at latest."

"You intend remaining, I hope?"

"Well, our movements are rather erratic, but we shall have several opportunities of meeting you before we go."

Betty appeared, carrying a lamp, which she set on a bracket at the corner of the stairs. Scaife, still holding Meg's hand, drew her to the light.

"Come here!" he said. "Let me have a good look at you. Prettier than ever, 'pon me soul! And how is your dear mother? Where have you buried yourself all this time? How long is it? Two years! Never a line to a forlorn uncle, even at Christmas! I shan't forgive you to-morrow, but I'm so pleased to see you to-night that at present I'll forget your neglect."

"Uncle Ferdie, it was not my fault. Mother couldn't bear me to mention Elmdale or any of its a.s.sociations."

"Ah, of course! of course! But time is the great healer. I'll pray for continued fine weather, so that her beloved moor may smile on her arrival. Well, well! I feel as though I had seen--er--seen a fairy. Mind you don't vanish before I come downstairs. I'm ready now, Mr.

Armathwaite."

The worthy doctor had nearly blundered, but he had executed what Americans call a "side-step" neatly enough. Armathwaite smiled at the girl. She had pa.s.sed this initial test with honors. A couple more such experiences, and James Walker would be flouted as a mischievous fool if he talked of Stephen Garth being alive.

As he piloted the doctor upstairs, Armathwaite glanced at the window of ill-omen. The light of the lamp had conquered the external gloaming. The leaded divisions of colored gla.s.s were apparently of one uniform tint.

Even the somber figure in black armor had lost its predominance.

Whittaker, who was lying on his back, tried to turn when the two men entered his bedroom. He groaned, and said querulously:

"Couldn't you have got here sooner, doctor? I'm suffering the worst sort of agony. This confounded ankle of mine must have been tied up all wrong."

"We'll soon put that right," said Scaife, with professional cheerfulness. "Will you hold the lamp, Mr. Armathwaite, while I have a look? What time did the accident happen?"

"Exactly at half-past seven," said Armathwaite.

The doctor consulted his watch.

"Oh, come now, you're really very fortunate, Mr.----"

"Whittaker," put in Armathwaite.

"Ah, yes! Did you mention the name? The mere sight of Meg Garth drove everything else from my mind. But it's only a quarter to nine, Mr.

Whittaker, and a messenger had to reach me at Bellerby, three miles away. h.e.l.lo, who tied this bandage? You, Mr. Armathwaite? Have you had hospital training?"

"No; nothing beyond the rough and ready ways of a camp. A friend in the Indian Medical certainly taught me how to adjust a strip of lint."

"You shouldn't grumble, young man; you've been looked after in first-cla.s.s style," said the doctor, smiling at Percy. "It may relieve your mind if I tell you that I couldn't have done any better myself. Or, perhaps, if the pain is very bad, you'll think that the poorest sort of consolation. Fortunately, Mr. Armathwaite warned me as to what had happened, so I've brought a lotion which will give you some relief. Now, tell me when I touch a sore place. I shan't hurt you more than is needed to find out exactly where the trouble lies."

In a few minutes Scaife had reached the same conclusion as Armathwaite.

Indeed, he gave the latter a look which was easily understandable. If it were not for the moral effect of his presence on the sufferer, he need not have been summoned from Bellerby that night. He applied the soothing lotion, however, and subst.i.tuted a thin, india-rubber strip for the linen bandage. Then he and Armathwaite a.s.sisted Whittaker to undress, and placed him in bed as comfortably as possible.

"Now, I want to a.s.sure you that the prompt attention you received prevented a very awkward swelling," said the doctor, before taking his departure. "You've sprained that ankle rather badly. If it had been allowed to swell it would have given you a very nasty time. As it is, if you're careful, you'll be able to hobble about in a fortnight."

"A fortnight!" Whittaker almost shrieked. "I can't lie here a fortnight!"

"Whether you remain here or not, you'll be lucky if you can put that foot on the ground within that time. You may be moved, if you're carried, though I don't advise it."

"But it's perfect rot to talk about being stewed up in this room all that time," protested the other, his eyes gleaming yellow, and his fingers plucking nervously at the bed-clothes. "This isn't my house. I'm a stranger here. Besides, there are things I must do. I have to be up and about to-morrow, without fail."

Dr. Scaife nodded. He was far too wise a person to argue with an excited patient.