CHAPTER X.

A MIDNIGHT SCUFFLE

For a moment Mr. Benson was paralyzed by the unexpected identity of the intruder. But, his discomfiture was as nothing compared to that of the rat-faced doctor. Mr. Benson was the first to speak:

“Well?” he asked, “It is my turn to-night?”

The doctor moved a step toward the door.

“Come back,” ordered Mr. Benson, “or I’ll shoot you!”

The doctor looked at the quaint little figure opposite him. Mr. Benson stood there, a pointed blue nightcap on his head, one hand hidden in the folds of a voluminous nightshirt. In vain the doctor endeavored to see what the lawyer held in his hand.

“Well?” asked the lawyer again presently. “Are you struck dumb? Or, is it that you object to interruption in your murders?”

The doctor started. “I don’t know what you are talking about,” he said in cracked tones.

“Oh, yes you do,” Mr. Benson replied. “In fact, the thing is becoming quite a habit with you!”

“What do you mean?” Dr. Laidlaw moistened his lips before he could enunciate the words.

“I mean the little hobby of murder you seem to have adopted,” replied Mr. Benson frankly.

“How dare you accuse me of such a thing?” The sorry attempt of the little doctor to appear outraged and indignant was amusing. Mr. Benson laughed aloud. With a frightened glance towards the door Dr. Laidlaw said:

“Hush-sh! For heaven’s sake be quiet--you’ll waken somebody.” Then the lawyer, still watching the other, laughed louder than ever. Suddenly he stopped, and a fierce light appeared in his eye. He took a step towards the doctor, put out a hand, and rang the bell which hung beside the bed. Instantly Dr. Laidlaw sprang into activity. He dashed for the door, when a glass thrown by Mr. Benson from a bedside table caught him squarely behind the ear. He gave a yelp of pain and stumbled. Meanwhile, with his left hand, the lawyer was ringing the electric bell.

“If you don’t come back quietly, I’ll shoot you down,” Mr. Benson threatened. But Dr. Laidlaw picked himself up and fled along the corridor. Mr. Benson, cursing the dilatory habits of the servants, pursued him. The doctor made for the main staircase, then ran along the great corridor on the first floor, which connected the two wings of the Priory. With surprisingly fleet steps, Mr. Benson pursued. The corridor was dark, but the lawyer knew the geography of the house perfectly, and made for the staircase leading to the Prior’s Room, in case his midnight visitor was intending to use the secret corridors.

The old lawyer had just reached the heavy oak door, which gave entrance to the old stone staircase of the Prior’s Tower, when, without a second’s warning, something struck him a murderous blow on the side of the head. Singularly enough, even before the actual contact, for some extraordinary reason, Mr. Benson flinched, and as the blow fell he was already bending before it, attempting to dodge it.

“Take that, you interfering old hound!” snarled Dr. Laidlaw, and aimed another blow in the dark. But the lawyer was not unconscious, though his head was swimming and he felt something warm trickling down the side of his face. As soon as he reached the floor, he at once began to change his position.

Now he felt the doctor’s legs, and, as Laidlaw aimed another blow in the darkness, Mr. Benson closed his arms around the doctor’s legs and gave a push. The next second the little doctor was sprawled on the floor. He struggled like a cornered rat to get free, but the lawyer maintained his grip, the while he shouted lustily for assistance. At last a light appeared in the corridor, and there arrived the footman Thomason carrying a lighted candle and an old shot gun. The latter, open-mouthed, stood some distance off the combatants who were still struggling.

“If you don’t both surrender,” he announced, “I’ll shoot the pair of you.”

“Can’t you see that I am here, fighting a burglar, you great dolt?” Mr. Benson panted. The footman opened his mouth a shade wider, then seemed to grasp the position, and came forward. He took hold of Laidlaw and, despite the doctor’s struggles, pinned his arms to his sides and held them there.

Meanwhile the house was being roused. The butler, escorted by two frightened housemaids and a giggling parlormaid, arrived. Behind him several other servants were approaching, including Roberto, the valet, who kept well to the rear.

Truly the group presented a weird picture. There stood the lawyer, panting and puffing, his cheeks crimson with his recent efforts, his pointed blue nightcap pulled to one side at a rakish angle in the struggle, and his voluminous nightshirt torn. He stood there, a picture of triumphant indignation as he surveyed his adversary. But, as he turned to meet the butler to give instructions, the parlormaid’s giggles were turned to horror. The side of Mr. Benson’s face which, up to now, had been shaded by the wall, was seen to be covered with blood, and his white locks were stained crimson.

“What is the matter, sir?” exclaimed the butler. “Let me attend to you, sir.” The old butler moved forward solicitously. But Mr. Benson warned him off.

“Wait a bit,” he said. “I’ll attend to that in a minute. Meanwhile, have that man taken to the library, tie his hands, and sit by him until I dress. See to that now. H’m!” he exclaimed as he noticed the blood dripping upon his torn nightshirt. “Has the fellow cut me much?”

Dr. Laidlaw, trembling and disheveled, made a move.

“Mr. Benson, you are making a grave mistake,” he said. “I beg you, before you do something you will forever regret--let me go. Let me go at once.”

“Go?” thundered Mr. Benson. “Go?” He stepped towards the doctor. “Yes, I’ll let you go, you murdering little ruffian--to the scaffold! That’s where I’ll let you go--and soon.”

“I implore you----” but the lawyer roughly interrupted the next attempt of the doctor to plead.

“Silence!” he ordered. “You add insolence to your felony. Do you seriously suppose that, when I only forestalled your two attempts to murder me in cold blood to-night, I am to be appealed to in any way--except beg the county authorities to supply an extra quantity of quicklime to assist nature to get rid of your loathsome little body!”

The doctor turned paler than ever and his teeth rattled. But he made another attempt.

“For the sake--for the sake of the trusts you hold most sacred!” he entreated, with an earnestness that was convincing. And the lawyer knew perfectly well what he was driving at.

“I shall hear all you have to say when I come down to the library,” he said, “before I send for the police.”

“You mustn’t do that! You mustn’t do that!” Frantically, the little doctor called after the retreating form of the lawyer; for already Mr. Benson had begun to walk along the corridor with the butler. Mr. Benson paid no heed to him. The butler and a maid bathed the lawyer’s head, which had been struck by a hand bag the doctor carried. One of the fasteners had cut the temple. The wound was not deep, however, and Mr. Benson’s stoicism was a wonder to behold.

As soon as he was bandaged, Mr. Benson went to his room after giving instructions that, if they were not awakened already, the ladies were not to be disturbed.

Arrived there, he rang up the White Hart Inn, and, after some delay, got through to the landlord. The latter was annoyed at being called from his bed at such an hour. But Mr. Benson soon put an end to his expostulations.

“What the devil are things coming to,” he asked, “that a village pothouse keeper dares to address me in this manner? Do you realize that you are addressing Mr. Christopher Benson, my man?”

“Oh, I beg your pardon--a hundred pardons, Mr. Benson. I wouldn’t have spoken like that if I’d known it was you. You see these here motorists----” The landlord’s apologies and explanations were cut short.

“I know only too well you wouldn’t. But never mind all that now. Listen to me. You’ve got a young man staying there called Wilfred Barlow--doctor--haven’t you? Yes! Quite so! Well, now get him to the ’phone, and get him quick. I want to get my trousers on--I’m shivering here.”

With astonishing alacrity the landlord awakened Wilfred, who at once came to the telephone.

“That you, Barlow?” Mr. Benson asked, and, having got Wilfred’s assurance, continued: “Get dressed and come here as quickly as you can. I’ve got that little devil, Laidlaw--he came to murder me. Jolly nearly did too. Come quickly now.”

With an exclamation of surprise, Wilfred Barlow rushed off to dress. Mr. Benson put on some garments and a dressing-gown; then he poured himself out a stiff whisky-and-soda and waited the arrival of Wilfred Barlow, the while he examined his room for any traces of his nocturnal visitor.

“Now we really are beginning to move,” said the lawyer to himself. “This is eminently satisfactory. I’ve got him delivered into my very hands. To-night I’ll force the whole story from him on pain of charging him with attempted murder. Then Barlow, of course, will have to reveal all that he knows, and the girl, Kilby, will be corroborative evidence. Let me see now, if statements are filed to-morrow and the police accept the new---- H’m--Yes--I think we’ll have Frank off without a trial yet.”

His pleasant ruminations were cut short by the arrival of Dr. Barlow, whom the lawyer had instructed the butler to show to his room at once.

He told Wilfred exactly what had happened and the young doctor listened with amazement, horror, and admiration. Amazement, at the temerity of the sinister figure of Dr. Laidlaw daring to enter the lawyer’s very room; horror, at his manifest attempt at murder; and frank admiration, for the wonderful old man who could show fight, and run through the corridors and grapple with his man, although well-nigh four score years had passed over his head. He begged to be allowed to redress the wound, which he deftly did.

“I must say, sir, that I admire you tremendously,” Wilfred complimented the old man.

Mr. Benson looked up in frank surprise. “Whatever for--having saved my own life?” he asked.

“No--not exactly,” replied Wilfred, “but for the wonderful courage you showed. Your age----”

“Tut-tut-tut! my lad! Do you imply that you thought me decrepit? In senile decay or something? No, no”--he waved a protesting hand; for, Wilfred was about to interrupt. “I know what all you young pups of the present generation think about old stagers like myself. You think a breath of wind will blow us off the earth, and that we’re merely cumbering the ground. Let me tell you this, my lad! The present generation doesn’t know the first things about breeding the men turned out in my day. You live in luxury--we faced the snow and the tempest in open dogcarts, rode to hounds---- Oh, why talk about it? Sufficient to say, my lad, that I’m nearly eighty, but I’m not going to consider retirement from the direction of my firm for another forty years! Understand that!”

The lawyer looked at his companion with such a fierce light in his eyes that Wilfred was for a moment intimidated; then he smiled. He was a very fine old chap, this lawyer, Wilfred thought, and if he did boast a little he had earned the right to do so.

“Now then,” said Mr. Benson, “We’ll go downstairs and see that little vagabond. I’m looking forward to this interview, I must say; come along, come along.”

The lawyer led the way to the library and opened the door. There, standing in the centre of the room, was the butler, and Thomason was just entering through the French windows from the lawn. But of Dr. Laidlaw there was not a sign.

“Where’s that little murderer?” asked Mr. Benson with a quick glance at the butler.

“I’ve just released him,” announced the butler. “I was instructed----”

“What?” yelled Mr. Benson in tones which made the butler tremble. “Have some comprehension of what you are saying, man. Where is that little murderer?”

“I can assure you, sir,” replied the trembling butler, “that what I have said is true. I have released him on the instructions of her ladyship. She said he must be----”

“What the devil has her ladyship to do with it? What did her ladyship know of the man’s presence,” stormed the lawyer. “I told you distinctly to tie his hands and keep him here until I came. Why can’t you do as you’re told? What have you to say?”

Wilfred Barlow was amazed at the startling situation, now developed.

“Her ladyship heard the commotion,” the butler explained, “and sent down for particulars. Miss Kilby came down, sir, and I gave the requisite information, sir, after telling Miss Kilby that it was your wish that her ladyship was not to be disturbed.” Mr. Benson nodded. “Then, sir, her ladyship sent word down that, if it was Dr. Laidlaw, he was to be immediately released without question, and would you be good enough to go to her boudoir where she would explain it properly to you, sir.”

“Explain it properly to me!” muttered Mr. Benson to himself as he walked up and down the room in thought; then, as the footman and the butler still remained there, he turned fiercely upon them:

“Well, do you propose standing there forever gloating upon your stupidity?” he asked. The butler shuffled uncomfortably, pain expressed in every line of his face.

“Get out!” ordered Mr. Benson. “Get out, before you make me quite sick!”

Then he turned to Wilfred Barlow.

“You appreciate what’s happened, of course?” Wilfred nodded. “Do you appreciate this?” pursued Mr. Benson, “that the murderer of Sir John Evenden has been released to-night from this room by the orders of a stupid woman who is afraid to expose the hound?”

“I am inclined to agree with you, at least that Dr. Laidlaw knows as much about the murder as anyone else. But although I simply cannot tell you the whole story, as I made perfectly clear to you before; yet, believe me, there is some one else besides Dr. Laidlaw concerned.”

“Who?” asked the lawyer.

“Another person. You simply mustn’t press me, Mr. Benson,” Wilfred replied.

“Mustn’t press fiddlesticks,” contemptuously scoffed Mr. Benson. Then, with determination on his face, he turned to Wilfred and said:

“Now, look here, young man. We’ve just seen an exhibition of interference of women in affairs they ought to keep clear of and leave to men. That little doctor--the murdering little knave!--came here to-night with the express purpose and full intention of murdering me, because he saw the net closing round him. How did he know that I suspected him? Well, there are several reasons. Never mind--although I’ll give them to you presently if you like. Now, Lady Evenden is terrified of that little scamp for reasons that are unworthy of serious attention. What?” The lawyer interrupted himself as Wilfred appeared on the point of breaking in.

“I was going to ask--are you sure she has no serious need to be afraid?”

“Absolutely,” replied the old man definitely. “The point of contact between them concerns a thing that happened years and years ago, which occasioned a little local scandal. It was in no sense a matter for which Lady Evenden was responsible, and I don’t think Laidlaw was either. Indeed, at the time, he behaved with exemplary discretion I should think; but I am afraid he has used his knowledge of the matter to blackmail Lady Evenden. Possibly he has twisted the implications or what not, but never mind that. The point I want to bring home to you to-night, my lad, is this:

“Women are not fit to handle certain things, and this is one of them. They love intrigue and mystery. They love the sense of power they wield by holding and keeping secrets, and sometimes, and probably primarily, by the delightful thought of the mischief they could make if they divulged their secrets.

“You have seen to-night a woman release a murderer, a murderer who murdered the man for whom her only and greatly loved son is to stand his trial. Now then, come on, my lad.” The lawyer leaned eagerly over the great library table, and his old hand pointed challengingly at Wilfred.

“What have you to say to that? Isn’t it damnable? What?” Wilfred could only nod his agreement.

“Well, now, you are a sensible young fellow. Tell me, are you going to be tied by the apron strings of that little companion? Are you going to keep from me the secret that will help me to release Frank?”

“You absolutely misread the position,” Wilfred said, equally earnestly. “Jill--Miss Kilby--is not putting pressure on me to keep something from you. On the other hand, it was her desire to acquaint you immediately with her discovery, and it was I who said that at the moment it would be ruinous--absolutely ruinous--to give you information which, if it is to be given, should be given by another person.”

“Meaning?” asked the lawyer.

“That I will not say.” For two full minutes the two men gazed at each other--neither budging an inch in his determination. Finally the lawyer stood up and leaned over Wilfred.

“At least tell me this,” he said. “Was there a woman in the Prior’s Room, or Prior’s Tower, on the night of Jack’s murder, besides Dr. Laidlaw?”

Wilfred looked at him in silence for a while, then he said slowly:

“There were three women there!”