Annie Haynes Premium Collection – 8 Murder Mysteries in One Volume. Annie Haynes

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СКАЧАТЬ a few minutes, Sir Arthur.”

      Sir Arthur tossed aside his palette impatiently.

      “Show him into the small library and say that I will be with him directly, James.”

      “Yes, Sir Arthur.”

      The young man rumpled up his fair hair with a sigh of despair as he stood up and surveyed his morning’s work. His great canvas was pretty well covered—the accessories, the towers of Camelot, Arthur and Guinevere, and the knights and ladies of their court were all completed, even the costume of the “lily-maid” as she lay in her golden barge. But Elaine’s face remained a blank—Arthur’s most strenuous efforts had failed to transfer to canvas the lovely features that, once seen, had made so strong an impression upon his imagination, and anything else would, he felt sure, only fall short of his ideal.

      With an impatient shrug he told himself that he was a failure from an artistic point of view, and the next moment dwelt with a ray of hope on the possibilities of obtaining future sittings.

      Before he left the room he glanced carelessly at the sketches lying on a stool beside him; all of them had the same fair, clear-cut features, the same large deep-blue eyes, but none of them, as it seemed to him, did anything like justice to the flawless perfection of the face that for one minute had lain on his breast. He glanced irresolutely at the fireplace, half inclined to burn them all, and then, changing his mind, threw them upon a small table already littered with half-dried tubes of paint and with brushes and tins of turpentine.

      There was a step outside and Dr. Grieve’s voice hailed him through the open door.

      “Good morning, Sir Arthur. I am glad to tell you that the patient is doing better this morning—decidedly better.”

      Sir Arthur’s face lighted up. For the week that had elapsed since he was called in, Dr. Grieve had insisted upon keeping his patient in bed. The young man began to hope that the improvement he spoke of might be the beginning of better things and to dream of the sittings for the Elaine for which he was longing.

      “I am very glad to hear it,” he said heartily. “The memory, doctor, how is that?”

      The doctor’s suave countenance became momentarily overclouded and he shook his head.

      “No better, Sir Arthur, I grieve to say; I can see no improvement there at all. There is nothing for that but to trust to time. You have heard nothing as to her friends yet, I presume?”

      “Nothing at all,” Sir Arthur replied gloomily. “I really hardly know what to do about it, doctor. One naturally hesitates about calling the police to our aid, but so far the guarded advertisements that we have caused to be inserted have met with no response, and we have relied upon her memory’s returning before long. I presume you think it is sure to do so eventually?”

      The doctor spread out his hands.

      “My dear Sir Arthur, this is just one of those cases in which it is impossible to predict the future with any degree of certainty. You see, we are working in the dark, as it were. If we had any idea of the nature of the predisposing cause, so to speak, the matter would be so much simpler. If some overwhelming shock, for instance, had set up the cerebral excitement which is undoubtedly present, then possibly another shock might bring about a reaction. In any other event one can but hope that with returning bodily health the memory may strengthen.”

      Sir Arthur did not reply immediately; his face, as he turned to accompany the doctor down the corridor, was grave and preoccupied.

      The doctor went on:

      “This continued absence of Nurse Marston worries her, no doubt. Lady Laura tells me that she is continually inquiring whether the nurse has returned. I can’t make that affair out myself at all, Sir Arthur. It is as great a mystery as that other one—how on earth this poor young lady, in the state she was, came into your park. I can’t see daylight in either matter at all.”

      “Nor I,” Sir Arthur acknowledged as he paused at the foot of the stairs. “My mother may have told you that we have sent for Superintendent Stokes this morning. I hear great things of his ability and possibly he may be able to suggest something in the matter of Nurse Marston.”

      “No, Lady Laura didn’t mention it,” the doctor replied, drawing on his gloves. “But I think you are right, Sir Arthur. I quite think you are right. If only for her mother’s sake, one would wish to elucidate the mystery that hangs over her departure and discover her present whereabouts.”

      “Naturally,” Sir Arthur assented. “Will you come and help to interview Stokes, if your time is not too valuable this morning? He is in the small library now.”

      Dr. Grieve’s eyes sparkled. An arrant old gossip, he asked nothing better than to make a third at the interview. Nevertheless, for professional reasons he thought it best to dissemble a little. Drawing out his old-fashioned repeater, he sounded it.

      “Ah! I have no appointment this morning until noon; that gives me an hour to place at your disposal, Sir Arthur, I am sure that any advice or assistance I can give is at your service.”

      Sir Arthur led the way to the small library, Superintendent Stokes was standing near the window. He was a big, burly man, who had been only recently appointed to the Lockford constabulary, but he came with a great reputation from his preceding post, and was reported to owe his rapid rise from the ranks entirely to his cleverness in solving difficult cases, though, looking at his self-satisfied countenance, Sir Arthur was inclined to fancy that his abilities must have been considerably over-rated.

      A keener observer, however, might have noted that the small, deeply-set eyes had a trick of glancing at most things, that the full-lipped mouth was not without a certain measure of shrewdness.

      He saluted as Sir Arthur entered.

      “Good morning, Sir Arthur.”

      “Good morning, Stokes,” the young man returned genially. “I suppose you have been over the house? I told Jenkins to show you round. Sit down.”

      “Thank you, Sir Arthur, thank you,” the superintendent replied as he took the chair the baronet indicated. “Yes, I have just looked about me a bit.”

      “What do you make of things?”

      Superintendent Stokes glanced idly through the window.

      “It is early to form a definite opinion, Sir Arthur. The only point I am clear about is that some one who was in your house that night, either guest or servant, knows where Nurse Marston is to be found, or how she left the house.”

      “You think so?” Arthur’s tone betrayed some surprise. “The servants have all denied it most positively. As for guests, they are out of the question, certainly.”

      “Certainly, Sir Arthur.”

      To Dr. Grieve, looking from one to the other of the speakers, the superintendent’s tone hardly suggested complete acquiescence with this view. He waited, eagerly on the alert for any suspicion of scandal.

      Superintendent Stokes stroked his clean-shaven chin and looked at the fireplace.

      “As for the servants denying it, Sir Arthur—well, if they had their reasons no doubt they could keep their own counsel. There is one other possibility, however. Could she have slipped out when your guests СКАЧАТЬ