On my orders, the unconscious form of Abraham Kirkaldy had already been carried into the house and placed on a sofa in a sitting room next to the library. A local physician well known to the Altamonts had been called in, and I was quickly relieved of any further responsibility for the patient. I am sure that the local police would have preferred that I remain in the house along with the other witnesses, but Merivale quietly overruled them. He had a carriage outside, he said, and offered to drive me to the station.
Armstrong immediately spoke up and volunteered to convey me there more speedily, in his motorcar.
I thought that the young American had some particular reason for wanting to speak to me in private, or at least without the inevitable interruptions to which our conversation would be subject in the house, and so I accepted his offer. but just as we were about to leave, Inspector Merivale suddenly announced his intention of accompanying us.
It was perhaps six o’clock in the morning when the forty-horsepower engine of Armstrong’s Mercedes allowed itself to be cranked to life and the three of us departed from the sleepless Altamont household. Few people in the other houses we passed appeared to be stirring, though the summer sun had risen more than an hour earlier.
Armstrong’s motive for creating an opportunity of serious, uninterrupted conversation with me–I thought he rather welcomed a chance at the inspector also–was soon apparent. While driving, the young man strove earnestly to impress us both with the importance of an unremitting effort, made by all concerned, to find his living bride-to-be.
Armstrong was unshaven and looked haggard, as I daresay we all did following our sleepless night. but the young man was also intensely animated, and his whole bearing and attitude testified to his high elation.
Despite his weariness, the gaze he turned on me was luminous and triumphant. “She’s alive, Dr. Watson–you saw her!”
His enthusiasm aroused in me only a mixture of darker emotions. “Is she?” I replied. “I can swear only that I saw someone enter the library while we sat round the table. It was a woman, I believe. A vague shape moving in almost total darkness.”
My answer failed to dampen Armstrong’s cheeriness. “but you didn’t get as close to her as I did. And you had never met Louisa before last night. It was she, I have no doubt of that!”
In fact, it seemed to me that during the confusion on the terrace, I might have, for a moment, approached the apparition almost as closely as had Armstrong. And I was only too certain of what I had seen, in the way of a mouth stained with human gore–and of what I had not seen in the reflecting glass. but there was nothing to be gained by arguing the point with Armstrong.
The young man’s state of exaltation persisted. He continued to murmur joyous variations on his central theme: that his beloved Louisa was still alive.
But from time to time, his overpowering joy in the survival of his beloved alternated with fresh concern about the dangers which she might even now be facing.
“There are the two mediums–Inspector, you must have the truth out of them!”
My medical experience told me that Abraham Kirkaldy was dying, and would almost certainly never be fit to answer questions, even though the Altamonts were determined to provide him with the best care possible. but Sarah Kirkaldy was still on the scene and capable of speech, though presently in a state of shock; and Armstrong expressed his determination to have the full truth from her as soon as possible.
Merivale, looking at the young man with curiosity, assured him grimly that Sarah had already been seriously questioned, that a police matron had been summoned to stay with her, and that further intensive interrogation was planned. Also the background of both Kirkaldys would be thoroughly checked out.
I was firmly convinced that Armstrong’s current views regarding his beloved were mistaken, and I was determined not to encourage them.
“I think,” I said, “that the investigation from now on must certainly follow a different course.”
“You bet it will!” And Armstrong had nothing more meaningful to say until we were inside the station waiting for the train.
We had reached the station in ample time, there being no sign as yet of the early train. At that hour we had the platform to ourselves. For a minute or two we stood waiting, I with my bag beside me, when Armstrong suddenly burst out again, as if with the enthusiasm of some fresh discovery: “She’s alive, Watson! Do you realize that?”
Still I could not even pretend to share the young man’s passion. In his innocence he meant, of course, that Louisa Altamont was still alive in the normal breathing sense–and I had seen convincing evidence that that could not be so. Again I muttered something noncommittal.
Armstrong sobered, seeing my doubts; but he had misinterpreted them. He added: “Not that she is safe, of course. Yes, I quite see that. They–whoever they are–have kidnapped her. Yes, I think there can be no other explanation. So my darling is still in deadly danger, and therefore I say we must move quickly.”
“Kidnapped!”
He blinked at me, and then at the inspector. “Yes. Surely you see it now? behind it all must be an attempt to get at Louisa’s parents, to extort money from them–that must be it. You heard the words she was compelled to say, about seeking the return of some stolen treasure?”
“I daresay we all heard something of the kind.” And I exchanged looks with Merivale, who had been listening to us intently and who, from his helpless expression,
