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 sole à 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.
Could he have fallen in love with Nancy himself? If that were the case it would certainly supply a possible motive. Passion has a queer effect upon some characters, and the mere thought of her making friends with any one else might have filled him with such furious resentment that he had clutched at the first conceivable chance of breaking off their acquaintance.
It was a likely enough solution; and yet, somehow or other, it left Colin unconvinced. He had carried away a very unfavourable impression of Nancy's self-adopted guardian, but it was an impression that declined to fit in with this otherwise plausible theory. Unless his judgment were badly at fault, there was a hard, calculating selfishness stamped upon every line of the man's face. People of that sort are not swept off their feet by sudden outbursts of romantic jealousy, nor—which was another and extremely significant consideration—do they concern themselves unduly over the welfare of a dead friend's offspring.
It was this latter point, indeed, which puzzled Colin completely. He felt convinced that Major Fenton must have had some secret purpose in hunting Nancy out and practically forcing his acquaintance upon her. His story about a twenty-year-old friendship with her father would have sounded well enough in a sentimental novel, but having seen the gentleman for himself, and having had an illuminating example of his ideas of honour and fair play, Colin found the explanation uncommonly difficult to swallow.
Perhaps Inspector Marsden and his colleagues at the Yard would be able to throw some light on the problem. It would be interesting at least to know a little about the Major's career, and whether his past record was at all in keeping with this sudden excursion into philanthropy.
There was another possible source of information in the person of Mr. Medwin. The two men were certainly acquainted, otherwise Fenton's photograph would not have been adorning the mantelpiece in Albert Terrace. When he visited the house again he could easily find an opportunity to make some casual inquiry concerning the original, only it must be done in a sufficiently tactful manner not to arouse the lawyer's curiosity.
In any case, this alternative course could be postponed until he had received the Inspector's report. The odds were that, if there was really anything shady in Fenton's history, Marsden would succeed in unearthing it, and since Nancy seemed to be thoroughly capable of looking after herself, another week's delay was not likely to produce any tragical consequences.
With this consoling reflection Colin donned his pyjamas, and, turning out the fire, clambered into bed. He was just in that pleasantly drowsy stage when one feels half reluctant to fall asleep, and, lying there with the light on, he allowed his thoughts to drift back contentedly over the various details of his two meetings with Nancy.
It was an agreeable occupation, and the longer he indulged in it the more he began to realize what a very necessary part of his life she had already become. A kind of instinctive friendship seemed to have sprung up between them at their first encounter, and, although he had been unable to see her again until to-day, the interval had certainly not succeeded in making the faintest difference.
She was a girl in a thousand, there was no doubt about that! Mark evidently thought so, and, since he compared all women with Mary, his standard was about as high as any one could reasonably demand. How enchantingly pretty she had looked as they had sat opposite to each other at dinner. He had only to shut his eyes and——
Hullo! What the devil was that?
The sound had come from somewhere down below—a queer, half-deadened noise, like the distant crash of breaking glass.
In a second Colin was out of bed and had flung open the door. The lights were still burning exactly as he had left them, and, striding to the banisters, he peered over into the hall. Nothing seemed to be stirring; except for the steady ticking of the grandfather clock the whole house was as silent as a tomb.
With a momentary feeling of relief he moved toward the staircase. It was probably only some small accident; the Professor had most likely dropped a tumbler or broken a retort, and in the stillness of the night the noise had been naturally exaggerated. All the same, it would be just as well to have a look round.
Running lightly down in his bare feet, he crossed the hall and knocked at the laboratory door.
"It's I—Gray," he called out. "Anything wrong, sir?"
As he spoke he turned the handle, and the next moment he found himself standing in the open doorway, staring blankly in front of him.
The room was empty.
For the first time a real sense of misgiving suddenly took possession of him. He wheeled sharply round, and, hurrying back through the hall, rapped loudly at the door of the study.
"Mr. Carter," he shouted, "are you there?"
There was no answer.
He caught hold of the brass knob, only to make another and still more ominous discovery. Somebody had turned the key from inside.
With a quick breath he stepped back a couple of paces, and then, hunching up his shoulder, hurled himself against the panel. Under the impact of twelve stone and a few odd pounds the lock gave with a splintering crash which echoed through the house. The door swung open, and at the same moment the shrill scream of a terrified woman rang out from the top landing.
Clutching the broken woodwork to steady himself, Colin fumbled for the switch. His fingers closed on it in the darkness and, half prepared as he was for some horror, an involuntary cry broke from his lips as the whole room flared suddenly into light.
Face upward, in the centre of the French windows, lay the huddled figure of the Professor. One arm was twisted under him, and his white hair was dabbled in a stream of blood which still oozed slowly from a gaping wound in his forehead.