But that habit of hovering was one of the things which Leonidas did not like about young Mr. Dow. He could find no fault with the actual quality of the hovering. It was deft and amiable and ingratiating. Mr. Dow was not a one to push. What troubled Leonidas was so much hovering.
Mr. Dow had been hovering out in the corridor just after the mousy woman fled. He was hovering around before the girl came. Leonidas remembered his passing by the door crack. He turned up for the lipstick hunt. He must have been hovering somewhere in the vicinity if he saw Leonidas leave his drawing room, and he must have been hovering somewhere else to have found Leonidas. He had hovered over and cut short the conductor’s explanations of why the girl and her aunt had left the drawing room.
And the way that young Mr. Dow hovered around him, Leonidas thought, was phenomenal. An old Meredith boy, someone whom Leonidas had known personally, might have taken such an interest. But this Dow, by his own confession, went to Dumbert’s. And the average Dumbert product considered it a sign of weakness to display even the commoner courtesies to anyone connected with Meredith’s.
Then, of course, there was Mr. Dow’s glib prattle, which more than once had been very forced indeed.
But you couldn’t condemn a man for hovering. You couldn’t dismiss Mr. Dow as a base villain, and say that somehow he must be involved in a plot with the mousy woman and the girl, just because he happened to be near the spot.
Only one definite slip had been made, and that was Mr. Dow’s unguarded and inexplicable remark about there being no one to meet Leonidas at the station. That could be charitably termed a casual assumption on the part of Mr. Dow. On the other hand, it could also indicate that Mr. Dow had been engaging himself in energetic research concerning the plans and affairs of Leonidas Witherall.
And then there was the ambulance angle.
Leonidas had barely started to consider what sort of foul play might be indicated by this waiting ambulance, when Clancy walked over to the wheel chair.
“You feel all right, Mr. Witherall?”
Leonidas assured Clancy that he felt fine.
“You look worried, sort of. Say, Mr. Witherall, this young fellow Dow, he says he lives in Dalton, and he’s going along with you. But look, I’d be glad to get someone else, if you’d tell me who to call. Or a nurse. There won’t be a nurse with the ambulance, because he had to call a private one, on account of it having to go out of the city. But if you’d like a nurse, I’ll get one.”
Leonidas promptly seized his opportunity.
”Really, Mr. Clancy, I don’t need a nurse. Or an ambulance. I’ve no intention of going home in any ambulance. I vetoed that idea a long while ago.”
Young Mr. Dow, who had been listening, nodded his head vigorously.
“I agree with you. I don’t think you need an ambulance, either. But the doctor said you ought to be quiet, and a cab will jounce—”
“I got it,” Clancy said. “I got it! Get one of Sammy’s limousines. Over there.” He pointed to the Car Hire sign. “Tell Sammy it’s for me. That all right with you, Mr. Witherall? It’s on the house, anyway. Ask Sammy for Carl, Mr. Dow, and be sure and tell him it’s me that wants him.”
“I think,” Leonidas said, “that a cab will do.”
“Sure, it’ll do, but one of Sammy’s cars’ll be better. We’ll wait here for Dow. You know, Mr. Witherall, I never thought till Dow suggested it that maybe you wouldn’t like going off with a stranger like this. I think, myself, Dow’s a nice fellow and all right. But like he said to me, as far as you know, he might be kidnaping you, or after your money, or something. I just wanted to say, you’ll be okay with one of Sammy’s cars, and Carl. I know ‘em both. Carl’s a fine driver.”
“What on earth,” Leonidas asked, “made Mr. Dow feel that I needed to be reassured about him, I wonder? What reason have I to suspect Mr. Dow of ulterior motives?”
Clancy looked embarrassed.
“Well, like he said, you’re an—er—older man, like —not that plenty of younger men wouldn’t be still out with a bump like yours, Mr. Witherall! Dow just thought, you were upset—uh—he’s waving to us. We’ll go out the other entrance. I’ll push the chair.”
Leonidas was assisted into the black limousine at the curb, and in spite of his protests, Clancy wrapped a robe around his knees.
“There! What about trunks? Oh, they been sent express. How about bags? How many? Twelve pieces, a cane and a camera. Right? Okay, Mr. Witherall. Now, Carl, listen.” Clancy gave the chauffeur a great many instructions, and explained at length that Mr. Witherall was to be driven easy. “And when you get back, let me know how he stood it, Carl.”
Dow chuckled as the limousine rolled away.
“Too bad we didn’t suggest breakfast. Drop a hat, and Clancy’d have hitched on a camp kitchen. I don’t know what impressed Comrade Clancy more, your broad A, or your pince-nez, or the Maharajah. Shakespeare, will you stretch your neck and gaze up at these snow banks? I hope someone’s dug out your new house. If I know the beautiful little city of Dalton, the outlying districts are probably imbedded.”
“Have you lived there long?” Leonidas inquired.
“You haven’t, if you can ask me that,” Dow said. “I’ve lived there all my life. Which reminds me, Mike’s going to call on you—remember I said I had to wake Mike?”
Leonidas nodded.
“Well, it was your old pupil and crack miler, Mike Clayton. He didn’t look you up on the train, because he was tearing off at Back Bay. That’s how I happened to find your unconscious form. I was seeking you out to relay his regards, and I couldn’t find you in your drawing room.
