He was alone in the hallway, for Doctor
Bartholomew's fat figure was waddling in Merriton's wake.
He put up his fist and shook it in their direction.
"Pity it ain't your body, young upstart that you are!" he muttered
beneath his breath, and turned toward the morning room.
Meanwhile Merriton had reached the solemn little party and was walking
back beside Cleek, his face chalky, the pupils of his eyes a trifle
dilated with excitement.
"Found 'em? Found 'em _both_, you say, Mr. Headland?" he kept on
repeating over and over again, as they mounted the steps together. "Good
God! What a strange--what a peculiar thing! I'll swear there was no sight
nor sign of them when I've tramped over the Fens dozens of times. I don't
know what to make of it, I don't indeed!"
"Oh, we'll make something of it all right," returned Cleek, with a sharp
look at him, for there was one thing he wanted to find out, and he meant
to do that as soon as possible. "Two and two, you know, put together
properly, always make four. It's only the fools of the world that add
wrong.
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