H. Bedford-Jones

“ Curiosity had won the battle, for the caretaker craned forward to stare at the white form of Enid, and looked up again in awe. Quentin watched the little old man with wild incoherence in his brain.
"She ain't—ain't dead, sir? Who's this here man?"
Of a sudden a desperate plan flashed on the surgeon. Thinking over his first meeting with the old caretaker, he could not remember having given the fellow his name; and, as coherence came to him, he swiftly weighed the chances. When Mathews came all would be well—if Enid's story was true! ”

“ There came a glare as the old caretaker turned on the house lights, and Quentin plunged forward to his knees over Osgood's body. The whole scheme had come to him now; it would hold things off until the morning, at least; and, while it would eventually cause a worse muddle than ever, it promised to save Enid Elsmere—which was the main thing just at present.
Swiftly going through the detective's clothes, Quentin found a number of cheap printed cards and letters, which he transferred to his own pockets. ”

“ I have promised you my aid, and even if you have lied to me, even if you were a thief, I would be only too glad to lend you my assistance. All that I ask of you is to tell me the truth. If your story was the true one, I apologize, for I really want to aid you. ”