I think it's time you went to bed.
You look about played out.
You haven't been sleeping much of late?"
"No, I can't say that I have."
"I ought to have come down at once," said Terry, "but I'm always so blamed afraid of hurting people's feelings."
I stared slightly.
I had never considered that one of Terry's weak points, but as he seemed to be quite in earnest, I let the remark pass.
"Do you think I could knock up one of the stable-men to drive me to the village?
I know it's pretty late but I've got to send a couple of telegrams."
"Telegrams?" I demanded. "Where to?"
Terry laughed.
"Well, I must send a word to the Post-Dispatch to the effect that the Luray mystery grows more mysterious every hour.
That the police have been wasting their energies on the wrong scent, but that the Post-Dispatch's special correspondent has arrived on the scene, and that we may accordingly look for a speedy solution."
"What is the second one?" I asked.
"To your friend, the police commissioner of Seattle."
"You don't think that Jeff—?"
"My dear fellow, I don't think, unless I have facts to think about.—Don't look so nervous; I'm not accusing him of anything.
I merely want more details than you got; I'm a newspaper man, remember, and I like local color even in telegrams.
And now, go to bed; and for heaven's sake, go to sleep.
The case is in the hands of the Post-Dispatch's young man, and you needn't worry any more."
CHAPTER XIX TERRY FINDS THE BONDS
I was wakened the next morning by Terry clumping into my room dressed in riding breeches and boots freshly spattered with mud.
They were Radnor's clothes—Terry had taken me at my word and was thoroughly at home.
"Hello, old man!" he said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "Been asleep, haven't you?
Sorry to wake you, but we've got a day's work ahead.
Hope you don't mind my borrowing Radnor's togs.
Didn't come down prepared for riding.
Solomon gave 'em to me—seemed to think that Radnor wouldn't need 'em any more.
Oh, Solomon and I are great friends!" he added with a laugh, as he suddenly appeared to remember the object of his visit and commenced a search through his pockets.
I sat up in bed and watched him impatiently.
It was evident that he had some news, and equally evident that he was going to be as leisurely as possible about imparting it.
"This is a pretty country," he remarked as he finished with his coat pockets and commenced on the waistcoat. "It would be almost worth living in if many little affairs like this occurred to keep things going."
"Really, Terry," I said, "when you refer to my uncle's murder as a 'little affair' I think you're going too far!"
"Oh, I beg your pardon," he returned good-naturedly, "I guess I am incorrigible.
I didn't know Colonel Gaylord personally, you see, and I'm so used to murders that I've come to think it's the only natural way of dying.
Anyhow," he added, as he finally produced a yellow envelope, "I've got something here that will interest you.
It explains why our young friend Radnor didn't want to talk."
He tossed the envelope on the bed and I eagerly tore out the telegram.
It was from the police commissioner in Seattle and it ran:
"Jefferson Gaylord returned Seattle May fifth after absence six weeks.
Said to have visited old home Virginia.
Had been wanted by police.
Suspected implication in case obtaining money false pretences.
Mistaken charge.
Case dismissed."
"What does it mean?" I asked.
"It means," said Terry, "that we've spotted ghost number one.
It was clear from the first that Radnor was trying to shield someone, even at the expense of his own reputation.
Leaving women out of the case, that pointed pretty straight toward his elder brother.
Part of your theory was correct, the only trouble being that you carried it too far.