Charles'butler was discovered in the lake at Houghton, and the chauffeur fromOakham was shot dead by an unknown assassin. The news is creatingconsiderable interest throughout the county."
"What an astonishing thing!" I exclaimed. "Really, one may cease beingsurprised at anything. I wonder how `the county' will receive them. Iprophecy that the majority of Rutland society will cut them dead, afterwhat has happened."
"Why should they?" Faulkner asked, in surprise. "There's no reason whythey should," I answered "I only say they will. You don't know Rutlandcounty people--or you wouldn't ask."
Vera's lunch-party had proved a great success. The four of us had beenin the best of spirits. And yet, once, at least, during the meal,Paulton's face, dark, threatening, floated into my imagination, andagain I heard that ominous threat he had uttered in Paris that night,the last words I had heard him speak--
"I shall be even with you soon, in a way you don't expect."
Where was he at this moment? What plot was he hatching? Had he leftParis? Was he in London? Would he and the Baronne try to get Violetaway from Faulkner by force?
Though now we were all so light-hearted, I could not help thinking ofPaulton and the Baronne, and wondering what their next clever move wouldbe. It was not to be supposed they would remain dormant. They wereprobably lying "doggo," in order to spring with greater force.
During the same week I looked in again at Rodney Street on my policeman,who expressed himself delighted to see me. Some days had now passedsince I had forced my way into the house in Belgrave Street during thenight. I was wondering what had happened there since; whether lightshad been seen again; whether anybody else had been into the place; or ifthe body and the gold had been removed.
When he had pushed forward his most comfortable chair, and I had seatedmyself in it, the constable said: "I have some news for you to-day,sir."
"News?" I exclaimed. "What kind of news?"
"Well, simply this, sir. All them sacks of money has been removed, butthe mummy has been left just where it was. The police have possessionof it now."
"When did they take possession of it?" I asked quickly, starting up.
"Yesterday. Mr. Spink, in whose hands the house is during Sir CharlesThorold's absence, went there. I see him when he comes out, and I neverin my life see a man look so white and scared. He found the body lyingthere, of course, also all the furniture pushed about, and the greathole cut in the ceiling. When he came out he was as terrible pale, andshivering with excitement. It was about three in the afternoon. Hecalled me at once, and I went in with the man on point-duty. Everythingwas much as when you and me saw it, sir, only there wasn't no money."
"Then of course Whichelo and Sir Charles have taken it away. I wonderat their leaving the body, though. Such a give-away, isn't it? Did thepolice find out how the men entered and left the house?"
"I found that out, sir--quite by charnce. There's a way into a cellarwe didn't know of, and that cellar leads into the cellar of the houseadjoining, which is empty. That's the way they went in and out. It waseasy to see as how somebody had been to and fro that way."
"Do the police know anything of the money?" I asked. "Didn't they seeany sign of it at all?"
"No, sir. Nor Mr. Spink didn't neither."
"Do they suspect who has been into the house?"
"No, sir, they ain't got no idea. And about the body and how it gotthere, they are quite at sea." Sauntering along Victoria Street,Westminster, half-an-hour later, the thought occurred to me to look inon my doctor, David Agnew, who was also my old personal friend.
For some days I had not been well. A feeling of lassitude had come overme, also loss of appetite. Agnew was generally able to prescribe for mysimple ailments.
He was a bright, genial fellow, and merely to meet him seemed to do onegood. None would have taken him for the celebrated bacteriologist hewas, for I--and I think most people--usually picture a bacteriologist asa cadaverous, ascetic, preternaturally solemn individual, with a baldhead, wrinkled brow, and large, gold-rimmed spectacles. It was Thoroldwho had introduced me to Agnew many years before, and many and many atime had the three of us dined together.
At first I was told that the doctor was "not at home," but upon sendingin my card, I was immediately admitted.
The shock I received upon entering Agnew's consulting-room, I am notlikely to forget. Instead of the hearty greeting I had expected, I wasfaced by a man whose staring eyes spoke terror. It was Agnew, but I sawat once that something terrible must have happened.
He was pacing the room with his handkerchief to his mouth when Ientered. He turned at once, and came over to me.
"Ashton," he said abruptly, taking my hand in both his own, and grippingit so that I almost cried out, "I have an awful thing to tell you--youare the one man in whom I can confide in this crisis, and I am trulyglad you've come. I feel I must tell some one. I shall go mad if Idon't."
His expression appalled me.
"What is it? What?" I exclaimed. "For Heaven's sake don't look at melike this!"
"I must tell you, I must," he gasped. "Our mutual, our dear friend,Charles Thorold, was in here an hour ago. I had been called out forfive minutes, but he said he would wait. As I had a patient in here,Gregory, my man, showed Thorold into the room upstairs--my laboratory.In an open box on the table were several little glass tubes containingbacilli--different sorts of bacilli that I've been cultivating. Itseems that Charles, with fatal curiosity, picked up one of these tubesto examine it. The glass of the tube is very thin. One of them brokein his hand--ah! What catastrophe could be more complete? It'sterrible... horrible!" He stopped abruptly, unable to go on.
"Well? Why so terrible! Tell me!" I exclaimed.
He pulled himself together with an effort.
"That tube contained a cultivation of pneumonic plague," he exclaimedhuskily, "one of the deadliest microbes known. The blood-serum in whichI had grown the germs fell upon his hands. Not suspecting the danger,he actually wiped it off with his handkerchief! I did not return untila quarter of an hour afterwards. The evil was then beyond remedy. Hebecame infected!"
"Phew! What will happen now?"
"Happen? In a few days at most he will be dead! There are norecoveries from pneumonic plague--that most terrible contagious diseaseso well-known in Eastern Siberia and Japan. There is no hope for him.None. You hear--none!"
"By Gad!" I gasped, horrified. "You can't mean it. Where is Thoroldnow?"
"In isolation at St. George's hospital. I sent him there at once. Oh!Heaven, it is too terrible to think of--and my fault, all my fault forleaving the tube there!"
I tried to calm him, but he was quite beside himself.
I halted, astounded at the gravity of the situation.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.
TOWARDS THE TRUTH.
Though I hated to cause pain to Vera, I realised that I must immediatelytell her. The thought of breaking the terrible news to her upset me,yet the thing had to be faced.
Never shall I forget those awful moments. I had tried to break the newsgently, but how can such tragic news be broken "gently"? Thatconventional word is surely a mockery when used in such a connexion.
She was devoted to her parents. What seemed to trouble her now morethan anything else, was the fact that we did not know her mother'swhereabouts, and so could not inform her of the frightful _contretemps_.
"Try not to worry, dearest," I said, placing my hand tenderly upon hershoulder, and kissing her upon the lips in an endeavour to soothe her."We are bound very soon to find out where she is."
"Yes," she retorted bitterly, "and by that time--by that time poorfather may be dead!"
She was silent for a few moments, then she said--
"The only thought that comforts me, dear, a little, is that, if heshould die, the living lie will die with him. He is so good, so kind,so self-sacrificing, that I think he would be quite ready to die if hethought his death would relieve us
of the fearful tension of these lasthorrible years. My dear, dear father! Ah, how stormy has his lifebeen! Does he know what you have just told me--I mean, that he cannotlive?"
"No," I replied.
She began to weep bitterly again, and I did my best to calm her, andkissed her again. I told her he did not know the danger, which was thetruth. Agnew had only told him the germs would probably make him veryill for awhile.
The house-physician at the hospital had not broken the actual truth tohim--the truth that, infected with such deadly germs he was doomed todeath. Perhaps I ought not to have told Vera the whole ghastly truth.Yet, upon carefully considering the
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