Heritage
would never suffer from hallucinations again.
"I fancy everything is ready now," Bell said, at length. "After dinner
to-night and this thing will be done. Then the story will be told--"
"Mr. Reginald Henson to see you, sir."
A servant looked in with this information and a card on a tray. There was
a slight commotion outside, the vision of a partially-wrecked bicycle on
the path, and a dusty figure in the hall with his head in his hand.
"The gentleman has met with an accident, sir," the parlourmaid said.
Henson seemed to be knocked about a great deal. He was riding down the
terrace, he said, when suddenly he ran over a dog, and--
"What sort of a dog?" Bell snapped out. "What colour and size?"
Henson was utterly taken aback by the suddenness of the question. He
gasped and stammered. He could not have told Bell more plainly that the
"accident" was an artistic fake.
"You must stay here till you feel all right again," David suggested.
"Stay here for the night," Bell growled, _sotto voce._ "Stay here till
to-morrow morning and hear something from Van Sneck's lips that will
finish his interesting career for some time.
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