The end of that wretched night came at last. When the welcome morning broke I found that a great change had taken place out-of-doors. The fierce snow-storm had been the farewell of the frost. The heavy rain that followed had filled the roads with slushy and rapidly-thawing snow. I managed to some of a breakfast from my host, then, having recompensed him according to my promise, not his deserts, started, as soon as I could, on the bare back of my unfortunate steed, for Midcombe, which place, after my night’s experience, seemed gifted with merits not its own.
I was surprised upon leaving the house to find it was of larger dimensions than, from the little I saw of it during the night, I had imagined. It was altogether a better class of residence than I had supposed. My surly friend accompanied me until he had placed me on the main road, where I could make no possible mistake. He was kind enough to promise to assist any one I might send out in getting the dog-cart once more under way. Then, with a wish on my part that I might never again meet with his like, we parted.
I found my way to Midcombe without much trouble. I took off my things, had a wash, and, like a sensible man for once, went to bed. But I did not forget to send a boy straight off to the nearest telegraph station. My message to Brand was a brief one. It simply said: “Tell your friend I have found his man.” This duty done, I dismissed all as to the[282] result from my mind, and settled down to make up of sleep.
I was surprised at the reply received that same evening from Brand: “We shall be with you as soon as we can get down to-morrow. Meet us at station.” From this it was clear that my friend was wanted particularly—all the better! I turned to the time-table and found that, owing to changes and delays, they could not get to C——, the nearest station to Midcombe, until three o’clock in the afternoon. I inquired about the crippled dog-cart. It had been brought in; so I left strict instructions that a of some sort was to be rigged in time for me to drive over the next day and meet the doctor and his friend.
They came as promised. It was a comfort to see friends of any description, so I gave them a hearty welcome. Carriston took hold of both my hands, and shook them so warmly that I began to feel I had discovered a long-lost father of his in my friend. I had almost forgotten the young fellow’s appearance, or he looked a very different man to-day from the one I had seen when last we met. Then he was a , , romantic, -looking sort of fellow; now he seemed full of energy, , and . Poor old Brand looked as serious as an undertaker engaged in burying his own mother.
Carriston began to question me, but Brand stopped him. “You promised I should make first,” he said. Then he turned to me.
“Look here, Richard,”—when he calls me Richard I know he is fearfully in earnest—“I believe you have brought us down on a fool’s errand; but let us go to some place where we can talk together for a few minutes.”
I lead them across the road to the Railway Inn. We entered a room, and, having for the sake of appearances ordered a little light , told the waiter to shut the door from the outside. Brand settled down with the air of a cross-examining counsel. I expected to see him pull out a New and put me on my oath.
“Now, Richard,” he said, “before we go further I want to know your reasons for thinking this man, about whom you telegraphed, is Carriston’s man, as you call him.”
“Reasons! Why of course he is the man. Carriston gave me his photograph. The is indisputable—leaving the finger-joint out of the question.”
Here Carriston looked at my cross-examiner . The meaning of that look I have never to this hour understood. But I laughed because I knew old Brand had for once made a mistake, and was going to be called to account for it. Carriston was about to speak, but the doctor waved him aside.
“Now, Richard, think very carefully. You speak of the missing finger-joint. We doctors know how many people persuade themselves into all sorts of thing. Tell me, did you notice the likeness before you saw the mutilated finger, or did the fact of the finger’s being mutilated bring the likeness to your mind?”
“Bless the man!” I said; “one would think I had no eyes. I tell you there is no doubt about this man being the original of the photo.”
“Never mind; answer my question.”
“Well, then, I am ashamed to confess it, but I put the photo in my pocket, and forgot all about it until I had recognized the man, and pulled out the likeness to make sure. I didn’t even know there was a printed description at the foot, nor that any member was wanting. Confound it, Brand! I’m not such a duffer as you think.”
Brand did not . He turned to his friend and said gravely, “To me the matter is . Take your own cour............