Neither did I until now, declared the stout Miss Boydon. He only became conscious this morning and now he tells us a rambling and altogether incoherent story. Personally I think hes slightly demented. Thats what the doctor thought when he saw him at noon. Hes waiting to see his condition to-night.
Well, the description is exactly like him, declared the sergeant, re-reading it. When he was brought into the station the other night I took him to be intoxicated. Then when Doctor Maynard saw him, he ordered him here.
The doctor thinks he is suffering from drugs, said the matron. He has been unconscious ever since he was brought here, nearly a week ago, and now he certainly has not regained his senses. He talks wildly about a girl who was murdered in a wood and died in his arms. Apparently he is suffering from delusions.
In any case, miss, I think I ought to telegraph to Guildford that a young man answering the description is here, dont you think so?
I should not be in too great a hurry if I were you, Edwards, was the reply. Wait until Doctor Maynard has seen him again. We shall probably know more to-night. Ive ordered nurse to keep him quite quiet and listen to his stories as though she believes every word.
The young man is missing from a place called Little Farncombe, in Surrey, said the sergeant. I wonder how he came to be lying on the tow-path at the foot of Whitchurch Bridge? He must have been there all night, for one of the men working on the Thames Conservancy dredger found him when on his way to work at six oclock on Tuesday morning.
All clues to his identity have been removed, remarked the matron. His name has been cut out of his shirt collar and underclothing, and the laundry marks removed all deliberately done as if to efface his identity. Possibly he intended to commit suicide, and thats why he was on the river bank.
But the doctor, when he saw him at the police station, gave his opinion that the man was drugged, the police sergeant said. I dont think he had any intention of suicide.
Well, in any case, let us wait till this evening. I will telephone to you after the doctor has seen him, the matron promised. And with that the sergeant left.
At six oclock Doctor Maynard, a quiet elderly man who had practised in Pangbourne and district for fifteen years, called again and saw Roddy lying in the narrow little bed.
His face was pale and drawn, and his eyes sunken and weary:
Well, doctor, he exclaimed cheerily, I feel a lot better than I did this morning. Im able to think now and to remember. But oh! my head!
Thats good, declared the white-haired medical man. Now what is your name, and how did you come here? he asked, the stout matron standing, watchful, beside him.
My name is Roderick Homfray, and Im the son of the Reverend Norton Homfray, rector of Little Farncombe, in Surrey, the patient replied frankly. What brought me here I dont know. What day is it to-day?
The fourteenth of December.
The fourteenth of December! Well, the last I remember is on the night of the third a Sunday night. And I shant forget it either, I assure you! I was on my way home soon after half-past nine at night, and in Welling Wood, close by the Rectory paddock, I found a girl lying on the ground. She could just speak. She appealed to me to save her. Then she died. I rose and dashed across the wood to my fathers house to raise the alarm, but I had hardly gone a hundred yards when straight in front of me something exploded. I saw what seemed to be a ball of red fire, but after that I know nothing nothing until I came to my senses this morning and found myself here! Where Ive been in the meantime, doctor, I have no idea.
Doctor Maynard, still under the impression that the story of the murdered girl was a delusion, sympathised with the patient and suggested sleep.
Ill come to see you to-morrow, he added. Youre quite all right, so dont worry. I will see that a telegram is sent to-night to your father. Hell be here to-morrow, no doubt.
At ten oclock the following morning the rector stood at the bedside of his son and listened to the amazing story of the discovery in Welling Wood and the red ball of fire which Roddy subsequently saw before him.
Perhaps I was struck by lightning! Roddy added. But if that were so I should surely have remained in the wood. No doubt I was struck down maliciously. But why? And why should I have been taken away unconscious and kept so for several days, and then conveyed to the river bank here at Whitchurch?
I dont know, my son, replied his father quietly, though he stood staggered at the amazing story.
Then he added:
The police searched Welling Wood and all the neighbouring copses three days after you had disappeared, but found no trace of you.
But surely they found the poor girl, father? cried Roddy, raising himself upon his arm.
No, my boy, nobody was found, he replied. Thats strange! exclaimed the young man. Then she must have been taken away with me! But by whom? What devils work was there in progress that night, father?
Ah! my boy. That I cannot tell!
But I mean to ascertain! cried the young man fiercely. That girl appealed to me to save her, and she died in my arms. Where is she? And why should I be attacked and drugged so that I nearly became insane? Why? Perhaps it was because I had accidentally discovered the crime!
Chapter Five
Through the Ether
Hush! You infernal idiot! What did I tell you? What the deuce are you doing? cried the man, tearing the telephone from the womans hand and throwing over a switch upon the roll-top desk at which she was seated.
The low hum of an electric generator ceased and the current was cut off.
You fool! cried the short, middle-aged, clean-shaven man in a dinner-jacket, and with a cigar stuck in the corner of his mouth.
Will you never learn common sense, Freda, after all Ive told you! Its fortunate I came in at this moment! Do you want to be jugged? It seems so!
Freda Crisp, in a gorgeous Paquin evening gown, turned deliberately in her chair and, coldly surveying the man who had just entered, said:
Well, my dear Gordon, and whats upset your digestion to-night? Things said over this wireless telephone broadcasted over five hundred miles of space from your cosy rooms here can be said without anybody being the wiser as to who uttered them. I look upon this wireless box of tricks as a priceless joke. You turn over a switch, and into thousands of ears you speak all over the kingdom, and across into Holland and France and even Scandinavia. The great Marconi is, youll admit, dear old thing, a wonderful nut!
Bah! Youre not serious, Freda! You laugh at perils. And a peril now faces us.
Ah! My dear Gordon, this is the first time Ive ever heard such an admission from you you, of all men! Peril? Its in the dictionary, but not in your vocabulary or mine, my dear boy. Ive faced danger, and so have you nasty troublous moments with detectives hanging around but weve generally been able to wriggle out by the back door, or the window, or
Or else bluff it out, Freda! interrupted Gray. Yes, youre right! But to deliberately ask after the health of Roderick Homfray over the wireless telephone well, its simply courting trouble.
Why?
Well, dont you know that theres an apparatus invented by two clever Italians, Bellini and Tosi, which is called a direction-finder? asked her rather good-looking companion, as he removed his cigar from his lips. That apparatus is in use all over the country. Thats how they find aircraft lost in fogs and thats how they could find to a yard exactly the position of this secret set of ours from which you spoke those silly jeering words. Gad! youre a fool, Freda! Shut up and dont meddle with this wireless transmitter in future! Remember, Ive got no official licence. This room, and he swept his hand around the small apartment filled with a marvellous collection of wireless apparatus is our secret. If the authorities discovered it well, it would, no doubt, be the end for both of us the Old Bailey and well, just jug for both of us. I know something about wireless, and as you know it bears us in good stead. Weve profited thousands on the stunt you and I, Freda and