"I have already made some inquiries at Keswick, Mr. Melrose, where I was
this morning. He was staying, it appears, with some friends at the
Victoria Hotel--a Mr. and Mrs. Ransom, Americans. The hotel people
thought that he had been to meet them at Liverpool, had taken them
through the Lakes, and had then seen them off for the south. He himself
was on his way to Scotland to fish. He had sent his luggage to Pengarth
by rail, and chose to bicycle, himself, through the Vale of St. John,
because the weather was so fine. He intended to catch a night train on
the main line."
"Just as I supposed! Idle scapegrace!--with nothing in the world to do
but to get himself and other people into trouble!"
"You saw the card that I left for you on the hall table? But there is
something else that we found upon him in undressing him which I should
greatly prefer, if I might, to hand over to your care. You, I have no
doubt, understand such things. They seem to be valuable, and neither
the nurses nor I at all wish to have charge of them. There is a
ring"--Undershaw searched his pockets--"and this case."
He held out two small objects. Melrose--still breathing quick with
anger--took them unwillingly. With the instinctive gesture of the
collector, however, he put up his eyeglass to look at the ring. Undershaw
saw him start.
"Good heavens!"
The voice was that of another man. He looked frowning at Undershaw.
"Where did you get this?"
"He wore it on his left hand.
Pages:
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108