The Mysterious Mr. Badman by W.F. Harvey

Author:W.F. Harvey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sourcebooks

XIII

A Consultation

“I suppose we are doing the best thing,” said Diana next morning, as she settled down into her corner seat. “Somehow I don’t altogether like this dividing of forces. Do you think Mr. Digby will be all right by himself at Gaunt Lodge? After all, Mr. Stillwinter was a friend of Olaf Wake’s, and I for one don’t know very much about him.”

“There’s no need to worry about my uncle,” Jim replied. “There’s not very much that escapes his eye, and he’s a shrewd enough judge of character, far shrewder than old Stillwinter, for instance, though I fancy even Wake was not quite as successful as he thought he was in the impression he made on him. It’s quite on the cards, too, that my uncle may discover something. He has a flair for significant detail. You must get him some time to talk to you about his pictures and the characteristics of his Dutch and Flemish masters. If he feels that he is becoming too positive in laying down the law, he may tell you, for his own discipline rather than for your edification, the story of how he was completely taken in by the Schalken replica.”

“I wish he would,” said Diana. “There are lots of things I’d like to hear Mr. Digby talk about. He seems to me one of those rare individuals who have the gift of establishing personal relations with all sorts and conditions of men and who in the process has become both wise and kind. I wish I had known him before.”

“I expect he shares your wish,” Jim answered, with a smile; “but I’m glad you think like that. He’s the finest gentleman I know and north country through and through. It’s an awful pity, Miss Conyers,” he went on, “that your holiday should have been broken into like this. You came down here for a rest, but I’m afraid there’s precious little awaiting you in the next few weeks, if I read things aright.”

“It wasn’t altogether for the rest I came,” said Diana. “I love Deepdale End, and the older I get the more I dislike town. I like my slice of life to be of thick home-made bread, not much ham and no mustard; and I want to eat it in a contemplative fashion out of doors, preferably by one of your moorland streams. But, and there always seems to be a but, mother is delicate and my father depends upon me for help, more I think than he imagines. You’ll stay with us, of course, while you are in town?”

“I’d love to,” said Jim, “but I think it would be better if I didn’t. The less we’re seen together, the safer we shall be. We must at all costs keep from Wake the suspicion that my uncle and I are working against him. I don’t credit him with extraordinary resources, but it’s quite on the cards that he has someone keeping a watch on Sir Richard’s movements. No, I’ll see if they can put me up at my old digs in Bloomsbury and telephone to you this evening.

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