Mysterious Mr. Sabin, E. Phillips Oppenheim [best books to read for self development .txt] 📗

reading with breathless haste—the papers seemed almost to fly through his fingers. Wolfenden was a little puzzled. Mr. Blatherwick, who had been watching the proceedings with blank amazement, rose and came over towards them.

“You will excuse me, Lord Wolfenden,” he said, “but if the admiral should come back and find a stranger with you looking over his work, he will——”

“It’s all right, Blatherwick,” Wolfenden interrupted, the more impatiently since he was far from comfortable himself. “This gentleman is a physician.”

The secretary resumed his seat. Dr. Wilmot was reading with lightning-like speed sheet after sheet, making frequent notes in a pocket-book which he had laid on the table before him. He was so absorbed that he did not seem to hear the sound of wheels coming up the avenue.

Wolfenden walked to the window, and raising the curtain, looked out. He gave vent to a little exclamation of relief as he saw a familiar dogcart draw up at the hall door, and Dr. Whitlett’s famous mare pulled steaming on to her haunches.

“It is Dr. Whitlett,” he exclaimed. “He has followed you up pretty soon.”

The sheet which the physician was reading fluttered through his fingers. There was a very curious look in his face. He walked up to the window and looked out.

“So it is,” he remarked. “I should like to see him at once for half a minute—then I shall have finished. I wonder whether you would mind going yourself and asking him to step this way?”

Wolfenden turned immediately to leave the room. At the door he turned sharply round, attracted by a sudden noise and an exclamation from Blatherwick. Dr. Wilmot had disappeared! Mr. Blatherwick was gazing at the window in amazement!

“He’s gone, sir! Clean out of the window—jumped it like a cat!”

Wolfenden sprang to the curtains. The night wind was blowing into the room through the open casement. Fainter and fainter down the long avenue came the sound of galloping horses. Dr. Franklin Wilmot had certainly gone!

Wolfenden turned from the window to find himself face to face with Dr. Whitlett.

“What on earth is the matter with your friend Wilmot?” he exclaimed. “He has just gone off through the window like a madman!”

“Wilmot!” the doctor exclaimed. “I never knew any one of that name in my life. The fellow’s a rank impostor!”

CHAPTER XVI GENIUS OR MADNESS?

For a moment Wolfenden was speechless. Then, with a presence of mind which afterwards he marvelled at, he asked no more questions, but stepped up to the writing-table.

“Blatherwick,” he said hurriedly, “we seem to have made a bad mistake. Will you try and rearrange these papers exactly as the admiral left them, and do not let him know that any one has entered the room or seen them.”

Mr. Blatherwick commenced his task with trembling fingers.

“I will do my best,” he said nervously. “But I am not supposed to touch anything upon this table at all. If the admiral finds me here, he will be very angry.”

“I will take the blame,” Wolfenden said. “Do your best.”

He took the country doctor by the arm and hurried him into the smoking-room.

“This is a most extraordinary affair, Dr. Whitlett,” he said gravely. “I presume that this letter, then, is a forgery?”

The doctor took the note of introduction which Wilmot had brought, and adjusting his pince-nez, read it hastily through.

“A forgery from the beginning to end,” he declared, turning it over and looking at it helplessly. “I have never known any one of the name in my life!”

“It is written on notepaper stamped with your address,” Wolfenden remarked. “It is also, I suppose, a fair imitation of your handwriting, for Lady Deringham accepted it as such?”

The doctor nodded.

“I will tell you,” he said, “all that I know of the affair. I started out to pay some calls this evening about six o’clock. As I turned into the main road I met a strange brougham and pair of horses being driven very slowly. There was a man who looked like a gentleman’s servant sitting by the side of the coachman, and as I passed them the latter asked a question, and I am almost certain that I heard my name mentioned. I was naturally a little curious, and I kept looking back all along the road to see which way they turned after passing my house. As a matter of fact, although I pulled up and waited in the middle of the road, I saw no more of the carriage. When at last I drove on, I knew that one of two things must have happened. Either the carriage must have come to a standstill and remained stationary in the road, or it must have turned in at my gate. The hedge was down a little higher up the road, and I could see distinctly that they had not commenced to climb the hill. It seemed very odd to me, but I had an important call to make, so I drove on and got through as quickly as I could. On my way home I passed your north entrance, and, looking up the avenue, I saw the same brougham on its way up to the house. I had half a mind to run in then—I wish now that I had—but instead of doing so I drove quickly home. There I found that a gentleman had called a few minutes after I had left home, and finding me out had asked permission to leave a note. The girl had shown him into the study, and he had remained there about ten minutes. Afterwards he had let himself out and driven away. When I looked for the note for me there was none, but the writing materials had been used, and a sheet of notepaper was gone. I happened to remember that there was only one out. The whole thing seemed to me so singular that I ordered the dogcart out again and drove straight over here.”

“For which,” Wolfenden remarked, “we ought to feel remarkably grateful. So far the thing is plain enough! But what on earth did that man, whoever he was, expect to find in my father’s study that he should make an elaborate attempt like this to enter it? He was no common thief!”

Dr. Whitlett shook his head. He had no elucidation to offer. The thing was absolutely mysterious.

“Your father himself,” he said slowly, “sets a very high value upon the result of his researches!”

“And on the other hand,” Wolfenden retorted promptly, “you, and my mother, Mr. Blatherwick, and even the girl who has been copying for him, have each assured me that his work is rubbish! You four comprise all who have seen any part of it, and I understand that you have come to the conclusion that, if not insane, he is at least suffering from some sort of mania. Now, how are we to reconcile this with the fact of an attempted robbery this evening, and the further fact that a heavy bribe has been secretly offered to Blatherwick to copy only a few pages of his later manuscripts?”

Dr. Whitlett started.

“Indeed!” he exclaimed. “When did you hear of this?”

“Only this afternoon,” Wolfenden answered. “Blatherwick brought me the letter himself. What I cannot understand is, how these documents could ever become a marketable commodity. Yet we may look upon it now as an absolute fact, that there are persons—and no ordinary thieves either!—conspiring to obtain possession of them.”

“Wolfenden!”

The two men started round. The Countess was standing in the doorway. She was pale as death, and her eyes were full of fear.

“Who was that man?” she cried. “What has happened?”

“He was an impostor, I am afraid,” Wolfenden answered. “The letter from Dr. Whitlett was forged. He has bolted.”

She looked towards the doctor.

“Thank God that you are here!” she cried. “I am frightened! There are some papers and models missing, and the admiral has found it out! I am afraid he is going to have a fit. Please come into the library. He must not be left alone!”

They both followed her down the passage and through the half-opened door. In the centre of the room Lord Deringham was standing, his pale cheeks scarlet with passion, his fists convulsively clenched. He turned sharply round to face them, and his eyes flashed with anger.

“Nothing shall make me believe that this room has not been entered, and my papers tampered with!” he stormed out. “Where is that reptile Blatherwick? I left my morning’s work and two models on the desk there, less than half an hour ago; both the models are gone and one of the sheets! Either Blatherwick has stolen them, or the room has been entered during my absence! Where is that hound?”

“He is in his room,” Lady Deringham answered. “He ran past me on the stairs trembling all over, and he has locked himself in and piled up the furniture against the door. You have frightened him to death!”

“It is scarcely possible——” Dr. Whitlett began.

“Don’t lie, sir!” the admiral thundered out. “You are a pack of fools and old women! You are as ignorant as rabbits! You know no more than the kitchenmaids what has been growing and growing within these walls. I tell you that my work of the last few years, placed in certain hands, would alter the whole face of Europe—aye, of Christendom! There are men in this country to-day whose object is to rob me, and you, my own household, seem to be crying them welcome, bidding them come and help themselves, as though the labour of my life was worth no more than so many sheets of waste paper. You have let a stranger into this room to-day, and if he had not been disturbed, God knows what he might not have carried away with him!”

“We have been very foolish,” Lady Deringham said pleadingly. “We will set a watch now day and night. We will run no more risks! I swear it! You can believe me, Horace!”

“Aye, but tell me the truth now,” he cried. “Some one has been in this room and escaped through the window. I learnt as much as that from that blithering idiot, Blatherwick. I want to know who he was?”

She glanced towards the doctor. He nodded his head slightly. Then she went up to her husband and laid her hand upon his shoulders.

“Horace, you are right,” she said. “It is no use trying to keep it from you. A man did impose upon us with a forged letter. He could not have been here more than five minutes, though. We found him out almost at once. It shall never happen again!”

The wisdom of telling him was at once apparent. His face positively shone with triumph! He became quite calm, and the fierce glare, which had alarmed them all so much, died out of his eyes. The confession was a triumph for him. He was gratified.

“I knew it,” he declared, with positive good humour. “I have warned you of this all the time. Now perhaps you will believe me! Thank God that it was not Duchesne himself. I should not be surprised, though, if it were not one of his emissaries! If Duchesne comes,” he muttered to himself, his face growing a shade paler, “God help us!”

“We will be more careful now,” Lady Deringham said. “No one shall ever take us by surprise again. We will have special watchmen, and bars on all the windows.”

“From this moment,” the admiral said slowly, “I shall never leave this room until my work is ended, and handed over to Lord S——’s care. If I am robbed England is in danger! There must be no risks. I will have a sofa-bedstead down, and please understand that all my meals must be served here! Heggs and Morton must take it in turns to sleep in the room, and there must be a watchman outside. Now