The Vanished MessengerOppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips)
General
The Vanished Messenger
Oppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips)
Detective and mystery stories; Fiction
“I’m afraid of the roads, sir,” he replied. “There’s talk about many
bridges down, and trees, and there’s floods out everywhere. There’s
half a foot of water, even, across the village street now. I’m afraid we
shouldn’t get very far.”
“Look here,” Gerald begged eagerly, “let’s make a shot at it. I’ll pay
you double the hire of the car, and I’ll be responsible for any damage.
I want to get out of this beastly place. Let’s get somewhere, at any
rate, towards a civilised country. I’ll see you don’t lose anything.
I’ll give you a five pound note for yourself if we get as far as Holt.”
“I’m on,” the young man agreed shortly. “It’s an open car, you know.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Gerald replied. “I can stick it in front with you,
and we can cover--him up in the tonneau.”
“You’ll wait until the doctor comes back?” the landlord asked.
“And why should they?” his wife interposed sharply. “Them doctors are
all the same. He’ll try and keep the poor gentleman here for the sake
of a few extra guineas, and a miserable place for him to open his
eyes upon, even if the rest of the roof holds, which for my part I’m
beginning to doubt. They’d have to move him from here with the daylight,
anyhow. He can’t lie in the bar parlour all day, can he?”
“It don’t seem right, somehow,” the man complained doggedly. “The
doctor didn’t say anything about having him moved.”
“You get the car,” Gerald ordered the young man. “I’ll take the whole
responsibility.”
The chauffeur silently left the room. Gerald put a couple of sovereigns
upon the mantelpiece.
“My friend is a man of somewhat peculiar temperament,” he said quietly.
“If he finds himself at home in a comfortable room when he comes to his
senses, I am quite sure that he will have a better chance of recovery.
He cannot possibly be made comfortable here, and he will feel the shock
of what has happened all the more if he finds himself still in the
neighbourhood when he opens his eyes. If there is any change in his
condition, we can easily stop somewhere on the way.”
The woman pocketed the two sovereigns.
“That’s common sense, sir,” she agreed heartily, “and I’m sure we are
very much obliged to you. If we had a decent room, and a roof above it,
you’d be heartily welcome, but as it is, this is no place for a sick
man, and those that say different don’t know what they are talking
about. That’s a real careful young man who’s going to take you along in
the motor-car. He’ll get you there safe, if any one will.”
“What I say is,” her husband protested sullenly, “that we ought to wait
for the doctor’s orders. I’m against seeing a poor body like that jolted
across the country in an open motor-car, in his state. I’m not sure that
it’s for his good.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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