Well, Roddy, what youve told me is, of course, most astounding almost incredible. On that night you walked home with Miss Sandys eh? She came here and told me so herself.
She came here! Elma here! cried Roddy, quickly stirring himself from his chair and becoming alert. What did she say?
She heard that you were missing, and she came to tell me of her walk home to the Towers with you.
Yes. And and what did she say about me? the young man asked with quick eagerness.
Nothing. Only she seemed greatly surprised and upset, his father replied. But well
And he hesitated.
Well go on, the young man said.
Well, look here, Roddy, after leaving Miss Sandys, did you meet anyone else a man in the Guildford road?
A man? No. Why? Havent I told you I walked straight home? What are you trying to make out?
You are quite certain that you did not stop and speak with any stranger in the Guildford road?
I am quite certain that I did not. I spoke to nobody till I found the girl dying in Welling Wood.
And well, now let me at once be frank with you, Roddy: have you ever in your life heard the name of Gordon Gray?
Never. Who is he?
No matter. Recollect the name, and if you ever hear it, avoid him avoid him, my boy, as you would Satan himself. And his woman friend Freda Crisp.
Freda Crisp? Oh! I fancy Ive met her been introduced to her somewhere or other about a year ago. In South America, I believe, but I really cant remember. A fine handsome woman, who always dresses beautifully, and who is a topping dancer. Always has lots of men about her. Yes. I have a recollection of her, but I dont just now recall where we met. In travelling I meet so many people, dad, as you know.
Yes, of course, my boy; but if you ever meet her again, remember my words.
That Miss Sandys should come and see you, dad, is peculiar. Why did she come? What interest can she possibly have in me, except well, perhaps it is the wireless. She told me she was very interested in it, and possibly she has heard that Im an experimenter eh?
Probably so, laughed the old clergyman. But hearing you were coming home to-day, she sent me a message to say that she is calling here at five.
Jolly good of her! replied the young man, suddenly raising his head, which seemed to be bursting, Its now nearly four. I think Ill go up and have a lie down till she comes, and so saying he ascended the stairs to his own room.
Just before five oclock Elma Sandys, a dainty figure in furs, was ushered into the study by Mrs Bentley, and was greeted by the rector, who, shaking her hand, said:
Its really awfully kind of you to come and see my poor son, Miss Sandys. Frankly, I hardly know what to make of him. His mind seems entirely upset in some way. He talks wildly, and tells me of some terrible tragedy which occurred in Welling Wood on the night of his disappearance.
Tragedy! What? asked the girl quickly.
He will tell you all about it. The story is a very strange one. I would rather he told you himself.
The girl sank into the wide wicker arm-chair which the old man pulled up to the fire, and then he left to summon his son.
When Roddy entered the room Elma, jumping up, saw instantly that he seemed still half-dazed. She took his hand and instinctively realised that his gaze was fixed and strange. His friend Denton had seen him soon after his return, and declared him to foe suffering from some potent drug which had apparently affected him mentally.
Hulloa, Miss Sandys? exclaimed the young man cheerily. Well! Im in a pretty pickle as you see eh? Whats happened I cant make out. People seem to think Im not quite in my right senses, and then, grinning, he added: Perhaps Im not and perhaps I am.
But, Mr Homfray, Ive been awfully worried about you, the girl said, facing him and gazing again into his pale drawn face. You disappeared, and we had an awful shock, all of us. You left me at the end of the avenue and nobody saw you again!
Well, said the young fellow, with a sorry attempt at laughing, somebody must have seen me, no doubt, or I shouldnt have been found in this precious state. What happened to me I havent the slightest notion. You see, I came up the village and went on through Welling Wood, and well, as I went along I heard a strange cry, and in the darkness found a girl lying, under a tree. I went to her, and as I did so, she cried out to me to save her. The whole affair was unusual, wasnt it? I bent and took her up, and the poor girl sank in my arms.
Sank? Did she die? asked the great financiers daughter.
Yes, she did.
The rector, who stood near his writing-table, exchanged glances with their pretty visitor. They were meaning glances. Old Mr Homfray was somewhat puzzled why the daughter of Purcell Sandys should be so deeply interested in his son. Yet, of course, young people will be ever young people, and deep pockets are of no account where Love is concerned. Love and Lucre have now happily been divorced in our post-war get ahead world.
But tell me, Mr Homfray, what was she like? Who could she be to be in Welling Wood at that hour?
Ah! I dont know, was the young fellows half-dazed reply. I only know what happened to me, how I dashed away to reach home and raise the alarm, and suddenly saw what appeared to be a ball of fire before me. Then I knew no more till I found myself in hospital at Pangbourne. A man, they say, found me lying near the towing-path by the Thames. I was in the long grass left there to die, Doctor Maynard believes.
But you must have been in somebodys hands for days, his father remarked.
Yes, said the young man, I know. Though I can recollect nothing at all distinctly. Some incidents seem to be coming back to me. I have just a faint idea of two persons a man and a woman. They were well-dressed and lived in a big old house. And and they made me do something. Ah! I I cant recall it, only only I know that the suggestion horrified me! And he gave vent to a strange cry and his eyes glared with terror at the recollection. Ah! the the brutes they forced me to to do something to
To do what? asked the girl, taking his hand softly and looking into his pale, drawn face.
It is all a strange misty kind of recollection, he declared, staring stonily in front of him. I can see them yes! I can see both of them the woman she yes! she held my hand while she guided my hand when I did it!
Did what? asked Elma in a slow, calm voice, as though trying to soothe him.
I I I cant recollect! Only only he died!
Died! Who died? gasped the old rector, who at the mention of the man and the woman at once wondered again whether Gordon Gray and Freda Crisp were in any way implicated. You surely did not commit murder!
The young man seated in his chair sat for a few seconds, silent and staring.
Murder! I yes, I saw him! I would recognise him. Murder, perhaps oh, perhaps I I killed him! That woman made me do it!
The rector and the pretty daughter of Purcell Sandys exchanged glances. Roddy was no doubt still under the influence of some terrible, baneful drug. Was his mind wandering, or was there some grain of truth in those misty, horrifying recollections?
Im thirsty, he said a moment later; very thirsty.
His father went out at once to obtain a glass of water, whereupon Elma, advancing closely to the young man, drew from her little bag a photograph.
Im thirsty, he said a moment later; very thirsty.
His father went out at once to obtain a glass of water, whereupon Elma, advancing closely to the young man, drew from her little bag a photograph.
Hush! Mr Homfray! Dont say a word. But look at this! Do you recognise it? she whispered in breathless anxiety.
He glanced at it as she held it before his bewildered eyes.
Why yes! he gasped, staring at her in blank amazement. Thats thats the girl I found in Welling Wood!
Chapter Seven
The Girl Named Edna
Hush! cried Elma. Say nothing at present. And next instant the old rector re-entered with a glass of water which his son drank with avidity.
Then he sat staring straight into the fire without uttering a word.
Is your head better? asked the girl a moment later; and she slipped the photograph back into her bag.
Yes, just a little better. But it still aches horribly, Roddy replied. Im anxious to get to that spot in the wood.
To-morrow, his father promised. Its already dark now. And to-morrow you will be much better.
And Ill come with you, Miss Sandys volunteered. The whole affair is certainly most mysterious.
Yes. Neither Denton nor the doctor at Pangbourne can make out the nature of the drug that was given to me. It seems to have upset the balance of my brain altogether. But I recollect that house the man and the woman and and how she compelled me to do her bidding to
To what? asked the girl.
The young mining engineer drew a long breath and shook his head despairingly.
I hardly know. Things seem to be going round. When I try to recall it I become bewildered.
Then dont try to remember, urged his father in a sympathetic voice. Remain quiet, my boy, and you will be better to-morrow.
The young fellow looked straight at the sweet-faced girl standing beside his chair. He longed to ask her how she became possessed of that photograph to ask the dead girls name. But she had imposed silence upon him.
We will go together to the spot to-morrow, Miss Sandys, he said. People think Im telling a fairy story about the girl. But I assure you Im not. I held her in my arms and stroked her hair from her face. I remember every incident of that tragic discovery.
Very well, said the girl. Ill be here at ten oclock, and we will go together. Now remain quiet and rest, she urged with an air of solicitude. Dont worry about anything about anything whatever, she added with emphasis. We shall clear up this mystery and bring your enemies to book without a doubt.
And with that Roddy Homfray had to be satisfied, for a few moments later she buttoned up her warm fur coat and left, while old Mrs Bentley went upstairs and prepared his bed.
His friend Denton called again after he had retired, and found him much better.
Youre pulling round all right, Roddy, he laughed. Youll be your old self again in a day or two. But what really happened to you seems a complete enigma. You evidently fell into very bad hands for they gave you a number of injections as your arm shows. But what they administered I cant make out. They evidently gave you something which acted on your brain and muddled it, while at the same time you were capable of physical action, walking, and perhaps talking quite rationally.
Then Roddy told his chum the doctor of the weird but misty recollections which from time to time arose within him of having been compelled to act as the handsome woman had directed. Exactly what he did he could not recall except that he felt certain that while beneath the womans influence he had committed some great and terrible crime.
Bah! my dear Roddy? laughed Denton as he sat beside the others bed. Your nerves are all wrong and awry. After those mysterious doses youve had no wonder youre upset, and your imagination has grown so vivid.
I tell you it isnt imagination! cried Roddy in quick protest. I know that the whole thing sounds utterly improbable, but well, perhaps to-morrow perhaps to-morrow I can give you some proof.
Of what!
Of the identity of the girl I found dying in Welling Wood.
Hubert Denton smiled incredulously, and patting his friend upon the shoulder, said:
All right, my dear fellow. Go to sleep. A good rest will do you a lot of good. Ill see you in the morning.
The doctor left and Roddy Homfray, tired and exhausted after an exciting day, dropped off to sleep a sleep full of strange, fantastic dreams in which the sweet calm face of Elma Sandys appeared ever and anon.
Next morning at about nine oclock, when Roddy awakened to find the weather bright and crisp, he called his father, and said:
I dont want Inspector Freeman to know about what Ive told you about the girl in Welling Wood.
Certainly not, replied the quiet old rector reassuringly. That is your own affair. They found nothing when they searched the wood for you.
Perhaps they didnt look in the right spot, remarked his son. Elma will be here at ten, and well go together alone you dont mind, father?
Not in the least, my boy, laughed the old man. Miss Sandys seems deeply distressed concerning you.
Does she? asked Roddy, with wide-open eyes. Do you really think she is? Or is it the mystery of the affair which appeals to her. Mystery always appeals to women in a greater sense than to men. Every mystery case in the newspapers is read by ten women to one man, they say.
Perhaps. But I think Miss Sandys evinces a real interest in you, Roddy, because you are ill and the victim of mysterious circumstances, he said.
Over the old mans mind rested the shadow of that unscrupulous pair, Gray and the woman Crisp. Had they done some of their devils work upon his beloved son? He had forgiven them their threats and their intentions, but he remained calm to wait, to investigate, and to point the finger of denunciation against them if their villainy were proved.
At ten oclock Elma Sandys arrived upon her motorcycle, which she constantly used for short distances when alone. Though in the garage her father had two big cars, and she had her own smart little two-seater in which she frequently ran up to London and back, yet she enjoyed her cycle, which she used with a fearlessness begotten of her practice during the war when she had acted as a driver in the Air Force at Oxford one of the youngest who had taken service, be it said.
As soon as she arrived she helped Roddy into his coat, and both went down the Rectory garden, climbed the fence, walked across the paddock, and at last entered the wood with its brown frosted bracken and thick evergreen undergrowth. Through the half-bare branches, for the weather had been mild, the blue sky shone, though the wintry sun was not yet up, and as Roddy led the way carefully towards the footpath, he warned his pretty companion to have a care as there were a number of highly dangerous but concealed holes from which gravel had been dug fifty years or so ago, the gulfs being now covered with the undergrowth.
Scarcely had he spoken ere she stumbled and narrowly escaped being precipitated into a hole in which water showed deep below through the tangled briars.
Soon they reached the footpath along which he had gone in the darkness on that fatal Sunday night. He paused to take his bearings. He recognised the thick, stout trunk of a high Scotch fir, the only one in the wood. His flash-lamp had shone upon it, he remembered, just at the moment when he had heard the womans cries.