The Queen's Scarlet Part 47

"I wasn't talking about doctors," said d.i.c.k, "but of you and your shampooing."

"All right, have it your own way; but you began to get better the morning after the guv'nor brought Miss Deane, and since I shampooed you."

"Absurd!" cried d.i.c.k.

"That's right, stick to it; but I say that when a man's weak and upset, if he has a good shampoo--I mean a real shampoo, given by anyone who understands it--he begins to feel better directly. There, it stands to reason. Even a watch won't go without it's properly cleaned now and then; so how can you expect it of a human being? But never mind, sir, you are better, and that's everything. Mind my coming up?"

"Mind? No; I'm glad to see you, Jerry. How is Mr Lacey?"

"Well, I wanted to talk to you about him, sir."

"Not going back, surely?" said d.i.c.k, eagerly.

"Well, he is and he isn't, if you can understand that."

"But has the doctor seen him?"

"Wouldn't do no good, if he did, sir. Sort of complaint no doctor couldn't cure."

"Now, look here, Jerry; do you see that gla.s.s of lemonade?"

"See it? Of course."

"Then take warning: if you begin telling me that nothing will do Mr Lacey any good but a shampoo, I'll throw it at you."

Jerry grinned.

"You are getting better, d.i.c.k Smithson, and no mistake," he said; "but you can drink the stuff, for you won't have to throw it at me, because shampooing ain't no good for a bit o' gambling--whether it's horse-racing or cards."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, this, S'Rich--"

"Hush!"

_Slap_!

Jerry gave himself a heavy pat on the mouth.

"Forgot," he muttered. "Look here, sir--I mean d.i.c.k Smithson--has Mr Lacey got plenty of money?"

"I don't know. He must be pretty well-off or he couldn't live as he does."

"Oh, I don't see that. Lots o' gentry lives in good style and no money per rannum, as we calls it, at all. But you think he is pretty well-off?"

"Yes; why are you talking like this?"

"Because he ought to be stopped, or somebody else ought."

"I don't understand you, Jerry. Speak out openly, please."

"Oh, very well, then, I will, even if it costs me my place. You see, I've burnt my fingers, so that I know," and these words came fast. "I can't help seeing when anyone's getting into the fire."

"Do you mean, in plain English, Jerry, that Mr Lacey is betting and gambling?"

"That's just what I do mean, in plain English."

"But it seems impossible, situated as he is."

"With a hangel to take care of him? It do."

"He never seemed to me to be a man who would care for such things."

"More he would if he wasn't led on to it. It is his doing--him, I mean!"

"My cousin?"

"That's him; and I'm beginning to think you ought to do something as soon as you're well enough. Speak up, and say who you are and why you're here."

"They'd call me an impostor, Jerry."

"What, when you've got me for a witness? Not they, sir; I can prove anything. You ought to do something. You ought indeed."

"Must get well first, Jerry."

"Of course, no one can't be expected to do much when he's weak as you are. But as soon as you feel strong enough, do pray make a start; and, just look here, it's your dooty--it is, indeed. If you don't, him as has shown himself your friend 'll be suffering for it, and if he does, so will somebody else."

"Let me get well," said d.i.c.k, knitting his brows.

"Well, I will; but, look here, if you don't, my conscience won't let me hold my tongue no longer; I shall speak out myself."

"You wouldn't dare, Jerry, after your promise."

The doctor's visit brought Jerry's to an end, and at last d.i.c.k was left alone to think out his position and what he ought to do.

But he could not plan just then; he was too weak, and his head grew confused.

"It will have to wait," he said with a sigh. "Everything in the past seems now like part of a dream, and I'm beginning to feel as if I really am d.i.c.k Smithson, and that I have no right to think anything about Mark.

Yes, my head feels all wrong, and as if that weary time was coming back. What did the doctor say--that I must sleep all I can? I will."

His eyelids were already drooping from sheer weariness, and a few minutes later he was lying back fast asleep, with nature working steadily and well to build up his strength.

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.

THE MISSING MAN.

Jerry Brigley was operating upon his master's head, a few days later, with a couple of hair-brushes, and these he used in the most dexterous manner; and the results were wonderfully different from those produced by the people who brushed one's boyish hair in the good old times.