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Somehow this invitation to enter was the last thing that Captain Alec had expected. Beaumaroy led the way into the parlor, Captain Alec following. "Well, I thought your old friend didn't care to see strangers," he said, continuing the conversation. "He was tired and fretful to-night, so I got him to bed, and gave him a soothing draught one that our friend Dr. Arkroyd sent him.
Evans a means of relief rather than a threat of rivalry; even more easily he slipped into the same way of regarding Mary Arkroyd, helped thereto by a lingering feeling that, after all and in spite of all, when it came to really serious cases, a woman could not, at best, play more than second fiddle.
"If he should happen to be calmer now, I hope you will not consider it necessary to tell him that you suspect anything unusual." "He is secretive?" "He lives in terror." "Of what?" "Of being shut up. May I lead the way in, Dr. Arkroyd?" They entered the cottage, and Beaumaroy shut the door. A lamp was burning dimly in the passage. He turned it up. "Would you kindly wait here one minute?"
"Just in time, wasn't it?" asked Mary Arkroyd. "Two days before the the ceremony! Mercifully it had all been kept very quiet, because it was only three months since poor Gilly was killed. I forget whether you ever met Gilly? My half-brother, you know?" "Only once in Collingham Gardens. He had an exeat, and dashed in one Saturday morning when we were just finishing our work. Don't you remember?"
"Well, good-bye, Dr. Arkroyd. I'll see how he is to-morrow, and ask you to be kind enough to call again, if it seems advisable. And a thousand thanks." "Good-night, Mr. Beaumaroy." She started the car. Beaumaroy walked back to the hall door. Mary glanced behind her once, and saw him standing by it, again framed by the light behind him, as she had seen him on her arrival.
"From what the lawyers say, the old man seems to have been getting rid of his money, somehow or to somebody," she grumbled, in a positive whisper. To Mr. Naylor's intense relief, Beaumaroy interrupted this conversation. "Well, how do you like this little place, Mrs. Radbolt?" he asked cheerfully. "Not a bad little crib, is it? Don't you think so too, Dr. Arkroyd?"
His family took no notice of this roving up and down; it was a habit, and was tacitly accepted as meaning that he had, for the moment, had enough of the company, and even of his own sallies at its expense. "I've asked Dr. Arkroyd to bring her over, Miss Walford, I mean, the first day it's fine enough for tennis," Mrs. Naylor pursued.
Shall I try and get him out, or will you " "I will go in with you, of course, Mr. Beaumaroy." His old mirthful, yet rueful, smile came on his lips just for a moment. Then he was grave and formal again. "This way, then, if you please, Dr. Arkroyd," he said deferentially. Mr.
"Indeed I wish I was in a position to make you one myself. I should like to take it as it stands lock, stock and barrel. But I've sunk all I had in another venture hope it turns out a satisfactory one! So I'm not in a position to do it. If Mrs. Radbolt wants to sell, what would you think of it, Dr. Arkroyd, as a speculation?"
"He must be very ill, that old gentleman," Jeanne opined. "And poor Doctor Arkroyd will be very tired. She will find the walk across the heath very fatiguing." "Walk, Jeanne? Didn't she take the car?" cried Cynthia, surprised. No, the Doctor had not taken the car; she had started to walk with Mr. Beaumaroy; the parlormaid had certainly told Jeanne that. "I tell you what," said the Captain.
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