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Page 48
They sat in the library now, and Henry Lennox spoke to his uncle,
with his eye on the window, waiting for the sight of the doctor's
car.
"They'll want to tear the place down, very likely. They'll
certainly have no mercy on the stones and mortar, any more than
they will on us."
"They can spare themselves that trouble, and you your fears,"
declared Septimus May, who had joined them. "It is impossible that
they will be here until to-morrow. Meantime--"
"It is easy to see what they will do," proceeded young Lennox,
"and what they will think also. Nor can we prevent them, even if
we wanted to. I image their theory will be this. They will
suppose that Mr. Hardcastle, left in that room alone, was actually
on the track of those responsible for Tom's death. They will guess
that, in some way, or by some accident, he surprised the author of
the tragedy, and the assassin, seeing his danger, resorted to the
same unknown means of murder as before. They may imagine some
hidden lunatic concealed here, whose presence is only known to
some of us. They may suspect a homicidal maniac in me, or my uncle,
or Masters, or anybody. Certainly they will seek a natural
explanation and flout the idea of any other."
The clergyman protested, but Henry was not prepared to traverse
the old ground again.
"I have as much right to my opinions as you to yours," he said.
"And I am positive this is man's work."
Then Mary announced that Mannering's car was in sight. The library
windows opened on the western side of the house and afforded a view
of the main drive, along which the doctor's little hooded car came
flying, like a dead leaf in a storm. But it was not alone. A
hospital motor ambulance followed behind it.
They soon learned of curious things, and the house was first thrown
into a great bustle and then restored to peace.
Mannering had spoken for half an hour with London, and received
directions that puzzled him not a little by their implication.
For a moment he seemed unwilling to speak before Mary. Then he
begged her bluntly to leave them for a while.
"It's this way," he said when she was gone. "They're harboring a
mad idea in London, though, of course, the facts will presently
convince them to the contrary. Surely I must know death when I
see it? But a divisional surgeon, or some other medical official,
directs me to bring this poor fellow's body to London to-night.
Every care must be taken, warmth and air applied, and so on.
They've evidently got a notion that, since life appears to go so
easily in the Grey Room, and leave no scratch or wound, either
life has not gone at all, or that it may be within the power of
science to bring it back again. In a sense this is a reflection
upon me--as though it were possible that I could make any mistake
between death and suspended animation; but I must do as I'm ordered.
I travel to town with the dead man to-night, and if they find he
is anything but dead as a doornail, I'll--"
The doctor was writing his reminiscences, "The Recollections of a
Country Physician," and he could not fail to welcome these events,
for they were destined to lend extraordinary attraction to a volume
otherwise not destined to be much out of the common.
He spoke again.
"I should be very glad if you would accompany me, Lennox. I shall
have a police inspector from Plymouth; but it would be a
satisfaction if you could come. Moreover, you would help me in
London."
"I'll come up, certainly. You don't mind, Uncle Walter?"
"Not if Mannering wishes it. We owe him more than we can ever repay.
Anything that we can do to lessen his labors ought to be done."
"I should certainly welcome your company. A small saloon carriage
is to be put on to the Plymouth train that leaves Newton for London
before midnight. We shall be met at Paddington by some of their
doctors. And as to Chadlands, four men arrive to-morrow morning
by the same train that Peter Hardcastle came down in last night.
We shall pass them on the way. They will take charge both of the
Grey Room and the house as soon as they arrive."
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