“It means that if you continue to make such a row your aunt’s death will probably be at your door,” answered the other.
“I noticed that you were whispering yourself in the hall,” said Drummond. “You’re a liar, and a damned bad liar at that. You aren’t doctors, any of you.”
The men were glancing at one another uneasily, and suddenly the whole beauty of the situation flashed on me. They knew as well as we did that there was a Scotland Yard man outside the house, and the fact was completely tying their hands. Whatever they may have suspected concerning Drummond’s alleged relationship, we were, as he had himself remarked, in the sound strategical position of being the lesser liars of the two. Our opponents could do nothing, and the fact that they were utterly nonplussed showed on their faces. And I waited with interest to see what their next move would be. What answer were they going to make to Drummond’s definite charge that they were none of them doctors?
They were saved the trouble, and in, to me at any rate, the most unexpected way. In my own mind I was firmly convinced by this time that there was no Miss Simpson, and that even if there was she was no sickly invalid ailing in bed. And yet at that moment there came a weak querulous woman’s voice from the landing upstairs.
“Doctor Helias! Doctor Helias, I’ve been woken up again just as I was going off to sleep. Who is it making that terrible noise downstairs?”
The black-haired man swung round on Drummond.
“Now are you satisfied?” he said savagely. “And if my patient has a relapse and dies, by Heavens! I’ll make it hot for you at the inquest.”
He strode to the door, and we heard him speaking from the foot of the stairs.
“It’s the nephew I told you about, Miss Simpson, who called to see you this afternoon. He seems to be afraid you aren’t being properly looked after. Now I must insist on your going back to bed at once.”
He went up the stairs, and I glanced at Drummond. His eyes had narrowed as if he too was puzzled, and he told me afterwards that a woman’s voice was the last thing he expected to hear. But his voice was perfectly casual as he addressed the room at large.
“Dangerous place London must be. Do you—er—doctors always carry revolvers with you?”
“What the devil are you talking about?” snapped the man who had let us in.
Without a word Drummond pointed to one of the suitcases, where the butt of an automatic Colt was plainly visible.
“I suppose when your surgical skill fails you merely shoot your patients,” went on Drummond affably. “Very kind and merciful of you, I call it.”
“Look here,” said the other grimly, “we’ve had about enough of you, young man. You’ve forced your way into this house: you’ve insulted us repeatedly, and I’m thinking it’s about time you went.”
“Are you?” said Drummond. “Then you’d better think all over again.”
“Do you mean to say that now you’ve heard what your aunt has said to Doctor Helias, you still are not satisfied?”
“Never been less so in my life,” he replied genially. “This house reeks of crooks like a seaside boardinghouse of cabbage at lunchtime. And since we’ve wakened poor Auntie up between us, I’m going to see her before I go.”
“By all manner of means,” said Doctor Helias quietly. He was standing in the door, and his voice was genial. “Your aunt would like to see you and your friend. But you must not alarm her or excite her in any way. And incidentally, when your interview is over, I shall await an apology for your grossly insulting remarks.”
He stood aside and I followed Drummond into the passage.
“The first door on the left,” murmured the doctor. “You will find your aunt in bed.”
“For God’s sake, keep your eyes skinned, Stockton,” whispered Drummond as we went up the stairs. “There is some trap here, or I’ll eat my hat.”
But there was no sign of anything out of the ordinary as we entered the room. A shaded lamp was beside the bed, and the invalid was in shadow. But even in the dim light one could see that she was a frail old lady, with the ravages of pain and disease on her face.
“My nephew,” she said in a gentle voice. “My brother Harry’s boy! Well, well—how time does pass. Come here, nephew, and let me see what you’ve grown into.”
With an emaciated hand she held up the electric lamp so that its rays fell on Drummond. And the next instant the lamp had crashed to the floor. I bent quickly and picked it up, and as I did so the light for a moment shone on her face. And I could have sworn that the look in her eyes during that brief instant was one of sheer, stark terror. … So vivid was the impression that I stared at her in amazement. True, the look was gone at once, but I knew I had not been mistaken. The sight of Drummond’s face had terrified the woman in the bed. Why? Crooked or not crooked, it seemed unaccountable.
“I’m so weak,” she said apologetically. “Thank you, sir—thank you.” She was speaking to me, as if she realised that I was staring at her curiously. “It was quite a shock to me to see my nephew grown into such a big man. I should never have known him, but that’s only natural. You must come again when I’m better, nephew, and tell me all about your poor dear father.”
“I certainly will, Aunt Amelia,” said Drummond thoughtfully.
“Harry was always a little wild, but such a dear lovable boy,” went on the old lady. “You’re not very like him, nephew.”
“So I’ve been told,” murmured Drummond, and I saw his mouth beginning to twitch. “I’m much more like my mother. She’d just about have been the same age as you, Auntie, if she’d been alive. You remember
