The Lady Sleuths MEGAPACK TM(183)
Loveday began to explain, and gradually recollection seemed to come back to him.
“Ah, yes, yes,” he said. “I remember; you’ve come to assist me with my great work. You promised, you know, to help me out of the hole I’ve got into. Very enthusiastic, I remember they said you were, on certain abstruse points in comparative philology. Now, Miss—Miss—I’ve forgotten your name—tell me a little of what you know about the elemental sounds of speech that are common to all languages. Now, to how many would you reduce those elemental sounds—to six, eight, nine? No, we won’t discuss the matter here, the cups and saucers distract me. Come into my den at the other end of the house; we’ll have perfect quiet there.”
And utterly ignoring the fact that he had not as yet broken his fast, he rose from the table, seized Loveday by the wrist, and led her out of the room and down the long corridor that led through the south wing to his study.
But seated in that study his energy once more speedily exhausted itself.
He placed Loveday in a comfortable chair at his writing-table, consulted her taste as to pens, and spread a sheet of foolscap before her. Then he settled himself in his easy-chair, with his back to the light, as if he were about to dictate folios to her.
In a loud, distinct voice he repeated the title of his learned work, then its sub-division, then the number and heading of the chapter that was at present engaging his attention. Then he put his hand to his head. “It’s the elemental sounds that are my stumbling-block,” he said. “Now, how on earth is it possible to get a notion of a sound of agony that is not in part a sound of terror? or a sound of surprise that is not in part a sound of either joy or sorrow?”
With this his energies were spent, and although Loveday remained seated in that study from early morning till daylight began to fade, she had not ten sentences to show for her day’s work as amanuensis.
Loveday in all spent only two clear days at Troyte’s Hill.
On the evening of the first of those days Detective Griffiths received, through the trustworthy post-boy, the following brief note from her:
“I have found out that Hales owed Sandy close upon a hundred pounds, which he had borrowed at various times. I don’t know whether you will think this fact of any importance.—L. B.”
Mr. Griffiths repeated the last sentence blankly. “If Harry Craven were put upon his defence, his counsel, I take it, would consider the fact of first importance,” he muttered. And for the remainder of that day Mr. Griffiths went about his work in a perturbed state of mind, doubtful whether to hold or to let go his theory concerning Harry Craven’s guilt.
The next morning there came another brief note from Loveday which ran thus:
“As a matter of collateral interest, find out if a person, calling himself Harold Cousins, sailed two days ago from London Docks for Natal in the Bonnie Dundee?”
To this missive Loveday received, in reply, the following somewhat lengthy dispatch:
“I do not quite see the drift of your last note, but have wired to our agents in London to carry out its suggestion. On my part, I have important news to communicate. I have found out what Harry Craven’s business out of doors was on the night of the murder, and at my instance a warrant has been issued for his arrest. This warrant it will be my duty to serve on him in the course of to-day. Things are beginning to look very black against him, and I am convinced his illness is all a sham. I have seen Waters, the man who is supposed to be attending him, and have driven him into a corner and made him admit that he has only seen young Craven once—on the first day of his illness—and that he gave his certificate entirely on the strength of what Mrs. Craven told him of her son’s condition. On the occasion of this, his first and only visit, the lady, it seems, also told him that it would not be necessary for him to continue his attendance, as she quite felt herself competent to treat the case, having had so much experience in fever cases among the blacks at Natal.