The House of Disappearance by J. Jefferson Farjeon

Author:J. Jefferson Farjeon [Farjeon, J. Jefferson]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Spitfire Publishers LTD
Published: 2023-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19 The Closing Net

Detective Druce and the silver-haired old man were standing in the hall. The latter looked up quickly as Peter and Angela entered—his manner was almost bird-like in its nervous briskness—while the detective paused in the middle of a remark, and frowned.

“Hallo, Mr Druce!” exclaimed Peter shamelessly. “We’ve just been on a little tour of inspection.”

Druce made no comment just then. He merely inclined his head toward the silver-haired old man, and announced:

“This is Doctor Glade.” To Angela he added, “I dare say you’ve met the doctor before?”

“No, this is our first meeting,” chirped the doctor, advancing and taking her hand. “I am only sorry we could not have met under—h’m—happier conditions. But crises pass. Yes, crises pass. As a medical man I can assure you of that, Miss Vernon.” He turned toward Peter with a smile. “We have still to be introduced.”

“My name is Armstrong,” replied Peter, studying him. “I dare say Mr Druce has told you I am staying here. Tell me, doctor—what’s happened to Sir Julius?”

“Sir Julius?” repeated Dr Glade, and pursed his lips. He glanced toward the detective, and shook his head. “I’m afraid I haven’t any too good news of Sir Julius.”

“Why, what has happened to him?” cried Angela.

“He’s had rather a nasty accident,” proceeded the doctor, and, as he spoke, there flashed into the minds of both Angela and Peter a memory of Mrs Catesby’s forecast. “There’s rather a bad hill before my house.” They recalled the hill, too, in the housekeeper’s prediction. “I’m afraid the chauffeur’s brakes were defective——”

“Yes, yes, but is he badly hurt?” interrupted Peter.

“He is unconscious,” responded Dr Glade. “But—yes—I think we shall pull him through.”

Angela gave a little exclamation, and turned suddenly away. Peter controlled himself more successfully, and continued quietly:

“What about the chauffeur, doctor? Was he hurt too?”

“The chauffeur,” murmured Dr Glade, and again glanced toward the detective. “Better tell them, eh? Very sad, very sad. The chauffeur, my dear Mr Armstrong, I regret to say, is—h’m—dead.”

“The trip seems to have been a disastrous one,” said Detective Druce, taking up the story. “When I left you, Mr Armstrong, I found there was no available car, and I had to walk to the doctor’s house. I met him, coming here in his own car, when he had completed three-quarters of the journey. He told me what had happened, and I returned with him here——”

“You mean you haven’t seen Sir Julius?” exclaimed Peter.

“I had to choose between seeing Sir Julius, who had been attended to, and returning to Miss Ayrton, who had not,” came the detective’s dry rejoinder. “Obviously Sir Julius had to wait. But I am going back to see Sir Julius now, and then I shall be able to see him myself—and form my own conclusions.”

“Who is with him now?” asked Angela.

“I keep a nurse on the premises,” broke in the doctor. “A most efficient woman—most efficient.”

“Then I suppose it’s necessary for you to go back?” queried Peter. “This minute?”

“I am particularly anxious to go back,” returned Detective Druce, looking at the young man significantly.

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