The Avenger · Chapter 26 (2/2)

“He told me,” agreed the other gravely. “I went in really to seek you, having an intuition that you had some more important position in life than what I had first imagined. I confess I thought at first that you were one of those idle young men who have nothing to do but to amuse themselves. It was a great gratification to me to learn that I was mistaken. It is all the more gratifying”⁠—(Michael smiled inwardly at the verbosity of age)⁠—“because I need advice on a point of law, which I imagine my lawyer would not offer to me. My position is a very peculiar one, in some ways embarrassing. I am a man who shrinks from the eye of the public and am averse from vulgar intermeddling in other people’s affairs.”

What had he to tell, Michael wondered⁠—this old man, with his habit of nocturnal strolls, might have been a witness to something that had not yet come out.

They stopped at the Dower House, and the old man got out and opened the gate, not closing it until Michael had passed through. Instead of going direct to his sitting-room, he went upstairs, beckoning Michael to come after, and stopped before the room which had been occupied by Adele on the night of her terrible experience.

“I wish you to see these people,” said Mr. Longvale earnestly, “and tell me whether I am acting in accordance with the law.”

He opened the door, and Mike saw that there were now two beds in the room. On one, heavily bandaged and apparently unconscious, was the brown-faced man; on the other, sleeping, was the woman Michael had seen in the tower! She, too, was badly wounded: her arm was bandaged and strapped into position.

Michael drew a long breath.

“That is a mystery solved, anyway,” he said. “Where did you find these people?”

At the sound of his voice the woman opened her eyes and frowned at him fearfully, then looked across to the man.

“You have been wounded?” said Michael in Dutch, but apparently her education had been neglected in respect of European languages, for she made no reply.

She was so uncomfortable at the sight of him that Michael was glad to go out of the room. It was not until they were back in his sanctum that Mr. Longvale told his story.

“I saw them last night about half-past eleven,” he said. “They were staggering down the road, and I thought at first that they were intoxicated, but fortunately the woman spoke, and as I have never forgotten a voice, even when it spoke in a language that was unfamiliar to me, I realized immediately that it was my patient, and went out to intercept her. I then saw the condition of her companion, and she, recognizing me, began to speak excitedly in a language which I could not understand, though I would have been singularly dense if I had had any doubt as to her meaning. The man was on the point of collapse, but, assisted by the woman, I managed to get him into the house and to the room where he now is. Fortunately, in the expectation of again being called to attend her, I had purchased a small stock of surgical dressing and was able to attend to the man.”

“Is he badly hurt?” asked Michael.

“He has lost a considerable quantity of blood,” said the other, “and, though there seems to be no arteries severed or bones broken, the wounds have an alarming appearance. Now, it has occurred to me,” he went on, in his oddly profound manner, “that this unfortunate native could not have received his injury except as the result of some illegal act, and I thought the best thing to do was to notify the police that they were under my care. I called first upon my excellent friend, Mr. John Knebworth, and opened my heart to him. He then told me your position, and I decided to wait your return before I took any further steps.”

“You have solved a mystery that has puzzled me, and incidentally, you have confirmed a story which I had received with considerable scepticism,” said Mike. “I think you were well advised in informing the police⁠—I will make a report to headquarters, and send an ambulance to take these two people to hospital. Is the man fit to be moved?”

“I think so,” nodded the old gentleman. “He is sleeping heavily now, and has the appearance of being in a state of coma, but that is not the case. They are quite welcome to stay here, though I have no convenience, and must do my own nursing, which is rather a bother, for I am not fitted for such a strain. Happily, the woman is able to do a great deal for him.”

“Did he have a sword when he arrived?”

Mr. Longvale clicked his lips impatiently.

“How stupid of me to forget that! Yes, it is in here.”

He went to a drawer in an old-fashioned bureau, pulled it open and took out the identical sword which Michael had seen hanging above the mantelpiece at Griff Towers. It was spotlessly clean, and had been so when Mr. Longvale took it from the brown man’s hands. And yet he did not expect it to be in any other condition, for to the swordsman of the East his sword is his child, and probably the brown man’s first care had been to wipe it clean.

Michael was taking his leave when he suddenly asked:

“I wonder if it would give you too much trouble, Mr. Longvale, to get me a glass of water? My throat is parched.”

With an exclamation of apology, the old man hurried away, leaving Michael in the hall.

Hanging on pegs was the long overcoat of the master of Dower House, and beside it the curly-rimmed beaver and a very prosaic derby hat, which Michael took down the moment the old man’s back was turned. It had been no ruse of his, this demand for a drink, for he was parched. Only Michael had the inquisitiveness of his profession.

The old gentleman returned quickly to find Michael examining the hat.

“Where did this come from?” asked the detective.

“That was the hat the native was wearing when he arrived,” said Mr. Longvale.

“I will take it with me, if you don’t mind,” said Michael after a long silence.

“With all the pleasure in life. Our friend upstairs will not need a hat for a very long time,” he said, with a whimsical little smile.

Michael went back to his car, put the hat carefully beside him, and drove into Chichester; and all the way he was in a state of wonder. For inside the hat were the initials “L. F.” How came the hat of Lawley Foss on the head of the brown man from Borneo?