Hangs over me night and day like the sword of
Damocles! Until the mystery of Wynne's disappearance is cleared up, I
tell you 'Toinette and I can't marry. She feels the same. And--and--we've
the house all ready, you know, everything fixed and in order, except
_this_. When poor old Collins disappeared, too, I found I'd reached my
limit. So here these detectives are, and, on the whole, jolly decent
chaps I find 'em."
Doctor Bartholomew shrugged his shoulders as if to say, "Have it your own
way, my boy." But what he really _did_ say was:
"What are their names?"
"Young chap's Headland--George or John Headland, I don't remember quite
which. Other one's Lake--Gregory Lake."
"H'm. Good name that, Nigel. Ought to be some brains behind it. But I
never did pin my faith on policemen, you know, boy. Scotland Yard's made
so many mistakes that if it hadn't been for that chap Cleek, they'd have
ruined themselves altogether. Now, he's a man, if you like! Pity you
couldn't get _him_ while you're about it."
The impulse to tell who "George Headland" really was to this firm friend
who had been more than a father to him, even in the old days, and who had
made a point of dropping down upon him, informally, ever since the
trouble over Dacre Wynne's disappearance, took hold of Nigel.
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