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Updated: June 14, 2025
But a very little conversation with the doctor sufficed to satisfy Langholm's curiosity, and to remove from his mind the wild prepossession which he had allowed to grow upon it with every hour of that wasted day.
"It remains to be seen whether there is evidence enough to convict." "Have you communicated with the police?" "Not yet." "They seem to have some absurd bee in their helmet down here, you know." "They don't get it from me." It was impossible any longer to doubt the import of Langholm's earnest and rather agitated manner.
Steel had abandoned all pretence of rowing; his tone was one of admiration, in both senses of the word, and his dark eyes seemed to penetrate to the back of Langholm's brain. "I can establish it," was the reply. "Well! I think you have done wonders; but you will have to do something more before they will listen to you at Scotland Yard. What about a motive?"
This was not seen by more than two of their acquaintance. Morna Woodgate had both the observation and the opportunities to see a little how the land lay between them. Charles Langholm had the experience and the imagination to guess a good deal. But it was little enough that Morna saw, and Langholm's guesses were as wide of the mark as only the guesses of an imaginative man can be.
But the other made it a duty. Yet, when she came this afternoon, I could not do my duty. I had not the courage. It was too big a thing just to be with her again! And then the other lady I thanked God for her too for she made it impossible for me to speak. But to you I must ... especially after what you say." The man came out in Langholm's ministrations.
"I cannot, without her leave; but if you like I will tell her about you." There was no answer as they drove on. Then of a sudden Langholm's arm was seized and crushed by bony fingers. "I am dying," the low voice whispered hoarsely in his ear. "Can't you see it for yourself? I shall never get better; it might be a year or two, it may be weeks. But I want to see her again and make sure.
Steel seemed disposed to discuss every aspect of the subject except that of the investigations upon which his very life might depend. Langholm glanced at him in horror as they walked. The broad brim of his Panama hat threw his face in shadow to the neck; but to Langholm's heated imagination, it was the shadow of the black cap and of the rope itself that he saw out of the corners of his eyes.
There was a sly restrained humor in Langholm's tone. "I do and don't be long." "Oh, no, I shan't be a minute." There were other lights in the other cottage. It was not at all late. A warm parallelogram appeared and disappeared as Langholm opened his door and went in. Was it a sound of bolts and bars that followed?
Nor was there any further anxiety in Langholm's heart. His balance was a clear hundred more than he had expected to find it, and his whole soul sang the praises of a country life. Unbusinesslike and unmethodical as he was, in everything but the preparation of MS., such a discovery could never have been made in town, where Langholm's expenditure had marched arm-in-arm with his modest earnings.
But Langholm had a soul far below roses at the present moment; his neatly numbered sheets of ruled sermon-paper were nearing the five hundredth page; his hero and his heroine were in the full sweep of those emotional explanations which they had ingeniously avoided for the last three hundred at least; in a word, Charles Langholm's new novel is being finished while you wait.
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