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And with that a girl appeared within. "Oh, Mr. Potswood," she said, "I'm so glad you've come! I can't think what's wrong with poor uncle! I'm afraid he must be going mad! He is terrified at something, and he has been getting worse, till he could hardly speak or walk. Dr. Lawson has been about an hour ago, and since then uncle has been much quieter, in his study."
Couldn't you see the colour of the man under the eyes, and the shaking of his beard? That was not anger and it was not madness. It was terror, Mr. Potswood sheer, sick terror! Terror, or some emotion very much like it." "But, if terror, why that outburst? What does it mean? If it were terror, why not rather welcome our company and help?" "Don't you see, Mr. Potswood?" answered Hewitt.
The front door was not far from the road, and was clearly visible to passengers who might chance to look through either of the two iron gates that opened one on each end of the semi-circular drive. All these things Martin Hewitt noticed as the Rev. Mr. Potswood pushed open one of these gates, and the two walked up the drive.
But come this is no time for speculation. Plummer you must hold him safely we'll pick up evidence enough when you've got him. I wouldn't leave it, Plummer I'd take him to-night!" "You're right right, as usual, Mr. Hewitt," Plummer agreed. "More especially as the rector was well, a little incautious in talking to him just now." "I? What did I say?" Mr. Potswood asked, astonished.
Go away and take your friends with you! D'you hear? Go away, sir, and don't come here annoying me! Go! Go at once!" Mr. Potswood absolutely staggered with amazement. "Why," he gasped, "it's Mason! He's mad clean mad! Why, Mason, my poor friend, don't you know me?" "Get out, I say!" cried Mason. "Give me no more of your talk! I won't have you here!"
I will ask him to be here, at this house, before a quarter to eight, if you will allow me." And so the telegram went to Plummer, and Hewitt, accepting the rector's invitation to an early dinner before starting on their visit, resigned himself to wait. He did not like the waste of time, as he frankly told Mr. Potswood.
Then he said, in a musing way, rather as though he was thinking aloud than talking to me, 'You were right, after all, Potswood, and I was a fool to disregard your warnings. I oughtn't to have dabbled I should have left those things alone. "I said nothing, thinking it best not to disturb him, but to leave him free to say what he wanted to say in his own way.
"But he's mad!" he protested. "Mad, poor fellow! Merciful heavens, Mr. Hewitt, his whole tale must have been a delusion! A mere madman's fancy! Poor fellow! We must go back, Mr. Hewitt we really must! We can't leave that poor girl there alone with a raving maniac!" "No," Hewitt insisted, "come to the rectory. That is no madness, Mr. Potswood.
"Yes here it is," and the detective took it from his waistcoat pocket. "Thanks," said Hewitt. "Now, see here. That is a little of the red stuff taken from the mark on Denson's forehead a week ago, and found to consist of vermilion, oil and wax. You have seen the second impression of that awful mark on the forehead of your poor friend Mason, Mr. Potswood, to-night.
Potswood endured agonies of suspense, though he also insisted that Mason's wishes must be observed exactly. "What is it all what can it be?" he ejaculated again and again. "What dreadful influence can thus compass a man about, here in London, in these times?" It was autumn, and night fell early. Dinner was over at last, and they had scarcely left the table when Plummer arrived, anxious and eager.
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