Criminals -- Fiction; Detective and mystery stories; Fu Manchu, Doctor (Fictitious character) -- Fiction
Pausing again, he cleared his throat, and went on:
"It was a bright night, and there was no one there--not a soul. But
somewhere down the lane, as I looked out into the porch, I heard most
awful groans! They got fainter and fainter. Then--I could have sworn
I heard SOMEONE LAUGHING! My nerves cracked up at that; and I shut the
door again."
The narration of his weird experience revived something of the natural
fear which it had occasioned. He raised his glass, with unsteady hand,
and drained it.
Smith struck a match and relighted his pipe. He began to pace the room
again. His eyes were literally on fire.
"Would it be possible to get Mrs. Weymouth out of the house before
to-night? Remove her to your place, for instance?" he asked abruptly.
Weymouth looked up in surprise.
"She seems to be in a very low state," he replied. He glanced at me.
"Perhaps Dr. Petrie would give us an opinion?"
"I will come and see her," I said. "But what is your idea, Smith?"
"I want to hear that knocking!" he rapped. "But in what I may see fit
to do I must not be handicapped by the presence of a sick woman."
"Her condition at any rate will admit of our administering an opiate,"
I suggested. "That would meet the situation?"
"Good!" cried Smith. He was intensely excited now. "I rely upon you
to arrange something, Petrie. Mr. Weymouth"--he turned to our
visitor--"I shall be with you this evening not later than twelve
o'clock."
Weymouth appeared to be greatly relieved. I asked him to wait whilst I
prepared a draught for the patient. When he was gone:
"What do you think this knocking means, Smith?" I asked.
He tapped out his pipe on the side of the grate and began with nervous
energy to refill it again from the dilapidated pouch.
"I dare not tell you what I hope, Petrie," he replied--"nor what I
fear."
CHAPTER XXIX
DUSK was falling when we made our way in the direction of Maple
Cottage. Nayland Smith appeared to be keenly interested in the
character of the district. A high and ancient wall bordered the road
along which we walked for a considerable distance. Later it gave place
to a rickety fence.
My friend peered through a gap in the latter.
"There is quite an extensive estate here," he said, "not yet cut up by
the builder. It is well wooded on one side, and there appears to be a
pool lower down."
The road was a quiet one, and we plainly heard the tread--quite
unmistakable--of an approaching policeman. Smith continued to peer
through the hole in the fence, until the officer drew up level with us.
Then:
"Does this piece of ground extend down to the village, constable?" he
inquired.
Quite willing for a chat, the man stopped, and stood with his thumbs
thrust in his belt.
"Yes, sir. They tell me three new roads will be made through it
between here and the hill."
"It must be a happy hunting ground for tramps?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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