First Person Paramount

by Ambrose Pratt

  IV

  THE OPERATION

  Tuesday arrived before I knew quite what to do. On that particularmorning the postman handed me, amongst a sheaf of bills and circulars,a letter sealed with a peculiar signet, addressed like the others to mymaster. As it wanted an hour to Sir William's waking time, I had plentyof leisure to investigate its contents. It puzzles me how any peoplecan be foolish enough to imagine that a mere dab of wax, howevercunningly impressed, can confer security upon their correspondence. Intwo minutes the seal was lying safe and uninjured upon my pantry table,and the detached envelope rested confidingly across the mouth of a bowlof boiling water. The letter ran as follows: "My dear Dagmar,--Whoeverthe rascal really is who imposed upon Cavanagh and myself on a recentmemorable evening, he lied in declaring himself an emissary of thepolice. I have just succeeded in establishing this fact, and take theearliest opportunity of reassuring you, while allowing detailedexplanations to await until we meet. I have no longer any doubt butthat our adversary is a blackmailer, and I feel sure that before longone or other of us will be approached. I sincerely trust that thefellow will turn out, as you suspected, to be your scapegrace nephew.In that case you, of course, must deal with him, but in any other eventI am convinced that our best course will be to prosecute. This willnotify you that I intend to propose such a resolution at our nextconclave.--Yours sincerely, Charles Venner.

  "P.S.--If you can, see Cavanagh to-day. I have been weak enough topermit him to witness the operation. It is possible that you maydissuade him.--C.V."

  I carefully resealed the letter, and pressed the envelope with a heatedflat-iron in order to remove all traces of my manipulations. All thetime I was in a whirl of thought. For three days I had been wonderinghow I might get a footing inside the hospital and witness the operationwhich Mr. Cavanagh had extorted a privilege to see. After reading SirCharles Venner's letter I was more anxious than ever to do so, but themore determined I became the less hopeful seemed my prospects. If Mr.Cavanagh had been a bigger man I believe I should have resorted to somedesperate expedient to get him out of the way, so that I might take hisplace. Unhappily for me, however, he lacked full two inches of mystature, and I dared not attempt to impersonate him under the brilliantlight which must necessarily pervade a surgeon's operating-room. Isolved the problem that was troubling me, while preparing my master'sbreakfast, and when I proceeded to his room and handed him his letters,I knew exactly what to do. Sir William Dagmar had a scapegracenephew--well, his scapegraceship should be my scapegoat. It is truethat part of Dr. Venner's letter put the idea into my mind. I do notpretend to pose as a superhumanly clever person, but I am not withouttalent, and my genius is in my power to twist every accident to my ownadvantage.

  It was my master's custom to dispose of his correspondence while Iprepared his bath after awaking him. As I re-entered his bed-chamber toannounce his bath ready, I found him standing before the fireplace inhis dressing-gown, watching the transmutation of Sir Charles Venner'smissive into ashes in the grate.

  "Your pardon, sir," I murmured softly. "About a fortnight ago youcommanded me to immediately inform you if any stranger should ventureto question me concerning your affairs."

  He swung round on the instant and faced me, his lids narrowed over hiseyes, and his lips compressed in a hard straight line.

  "Well!" he grated. "Well!"

  "This morning, sir, about two hours ago, a man came here and asked tosee you----"

  "His name?" he interrupted harshly.

  "He would not give his name, sir, and for that reason I took theliberty of refusing to admit him."

  "You did well, Brown. What had he to say?"

  "He left a message for you, sir. He asked me to tell you that Mr.Sefton Dagmar wished you to meet him alone on the railway station atNewhaven, at nine o'clock to-night precisely." Butts had told me thatSefton Dagmar lived at Newhaven. One of my greatest natural endowmentsis an almost perfect memory.

  My master's eyes glistened and his cheeks flushed. "Oh, indeed!" hemuttered. "Anything else, Brown?"

  "Y--yes, sir!" I lowered my eyes and tried to look abashed."I--I--scarcely like to tell you, sir," I stammered; "the messengerwas--most--im--most impertinent, sir."

  "Never mind, Brown; tell me exactly what he said."

  "He declared, sir, that if you did not keep the appointment, you'd haveleisure to repent your foolishness in gaol!"

  "What!" he thundered, and threatened me with his clenched hands. Hisface went purple, then pale as death, but his eyes glowed like coals.

  "I'm sure I beg your pardon, sir," I muttered, stepping back quicklyand affecting to be terrified. "You--you made me tell you, sir."

  With a great and manifest effort my master recovered his composure. Heeven contrived to smile. "I--I--you must forgive me, Brown," hemuttered. "I--I could not for a moment conceive that--that my nephewwould dare to send me such a message. Mr. Sefton Dagmar is my nephew,Brown, and I am sorry to say that----"

  I raised my hand and quickly interrupted him. "Please, don't say anymore, sir," I cried in tones of deep respect. "I am your servant, sir,and I hope I know my place. When you know me better, sir, you will findthat I am not one of the prying sort, who is always trying to hear morethan he should. It's likely that in your anger now you'd be telling mesomething that you'd afterwards regret, and if you'll forgive me forspeaking plainly, sir, I like you too much, and I'm too happy in yourservice to want to risk losing your confidence and my place together!Such a thing has happened to me before, sir, and without my seekingeither."

  Sir William Dagmar was the most surprised looking man in the world atthat moment. He seemed to have forgotten everything, but the enigmabefore him, and he stared at me as if he wished to read into my soul.

  "Have you no curiosity?" he demanded at last.

  "None that I can't control, sir," I replied respectfully.

  "Well, I'll be damned!" he muttered. "You are either a superlativelyfinished hypocrite or a philosopher of sorts. Which is it, Brown?"

  I looked into his eyes and sighed. "It's as you please, sir, and Iwon't pretend not to understand you," I answered mournfully. "But if Idid act the hypocrite a bit in anticipating the occasion to speak as Idid just now, where's the harm, sir? You are a rich gentleman, SirWilliam, and you have no idea of what a cursed thing it is for a poorfellow like me to go about looking for employment, and eating up mylittle bit of savings, sir. Last time I was out of a place it cost mesix pounds for board, not to speak of the agent's fee; and I have beenhoping that I was settled here for life, sir."

  "You may yet be, if you choose, Brown. I am perfectly satisfied withyou; and, upon my soul, I believe you are reliable."

  "Just so, sir; but you won't continue to believe that long if you trustme with more than a servant should be trusted. It's not in humannature, sir!"

  "You mule!" he cried with a gesture of impatience. "But have your way,have your way! Now return to the subject. What more have you to tellme?"

  "Very little, sir, except that the man tried to pump me, but I gave himnot a whit of satisfaction. Oh, I beg pardon, sir. The postman came upwhile he was talking. I'd have shut the door on him before, only I sawthe postman coming."

  "Yes, yes."

  "Well, sir, the man saw that letter, and he offered me five pounds forit--cash down, sir."

  "Ah! What reply did you give him?"

  "I shut the door in his face, sir."

  My master nodded. "What sort of a man did he appear to you, Brown. Notexactly a gentleman, I suppose?"

  "No, indeed, sir. A low creature and poorly dressed. I was ashamed forthe postman to catch us talking, sir."

  "Would you recognize him again?"

  "Among a thousand; he had a scar across his left cheek and half hisleft ear gone, sir."

  My master nodded, and, turning, walked thoughtfully into the adjoiningbath-room. We did not converse upon the matter again, but all that daythe poison I had instilled into his mind was working, working. Iperceived its effects when he returned to
the house somewhat late inthe afternoon, doubtless after having paid a visit to Mr. Cavanagh, forhe did not go abroad during the forenoon. He looked worried anddistrait as I admitted him, and passing me without a word, he wentstraight up to his bedroom. Ten minutes later his bell rang. I hurriedup to find him standing in the hall, clad for the street, a heavyfur-lined overcoat across his arm and a bag in one hand.

  "I'll not be home until to-morrow morning," he said curtly, "so youneed not wait up for me, Brown; but, please, on no account leave thehouse."

  "Very good, sir."

  "Above all, admit no caller. You understand?"

  "Yes, sir. Shall I call a cab for you, sir?"

  "No." He pointed to the door, I opened it, and he went out. A cab waswaiting for him beside the pavement. The clock struck five as I shutthe door. At six o'clock I entered my little stronghold in BrutonStreet. At eight I descended the stairs, in all things my master'sdouble. In all things I declare advisedly, for warned by experience Iwore upon the thumb of my left hand just such a little finger-stall ofviolet velvet as Sir William Dagmar used in order to conceal hisdeformity whenever he went abroad. This was secured around my wristwith an elastic band, and I took the precaution to stiffen its interiorwith a thin ferrule, so that no involuntary working of the thumb jointmight betray me. For precaution's sake I carried a revolver, masteringby an effort of will my natural repugnance for such gruesomeimplements. I proceeded to the Heath by three different hansoms, and afourth conveyed me to my point of destination, a secluded little treesheltered spot at an angle of a lane about a hundred yards from thegate of the Kingsmere Hospital for Consumptives. There I alighted, andbidding the driver to await me, I hurried towards the hospital. Thegate upon the occasion of my first visit stood open; now it was shut,but latched, not locked. I passed through and sought the house. It wasmy opinion, from what I had observed, that all welcome visitors to thatbuilding possessed master keys to the front door, and were accustomedto enter unceremoniously. Unwilling to attract unnecessary attention tomyself, since I had no latch-key, I decided upon a rear attack. Itherefore passed down the side of the house and, flanking the sheds,approached the kitchen door. It was shut, the window blinds wereclosely drawn, but a light gleamed through the crevices. I rappedgently on the panels once, twice, thrice, at short intervals. Upon thethird summons I heard the sound of cautiously drawn bolts, and the dooropened about four inches on a chain. A wrinkled grey-bearded facepeered out at me. "_Qui va la?_ Who is dare?" demanded a cracked voice,its foreign accent in the English fairly rasping the evidentlyunfamiliar words.

  "It is I, my friend, Sir William Dagmar," I replied very softly inFrench.

  The old man immediately released the chain and threw the door wide.

  "Enter, Monsieur," he said politely.

  I did not require a second invitation, but before attending to me theold man refastened the door. He then turned and looked at meinquiringly. His expression was a curious combination of cunning andintelligence. I saw at once that he was astonished at the manner of mycoming, and that he considered that he was entitled to an explanation."I wish to see Mademoiselle Le Mar, privately and quickly," I mutteredin his ear.

  "But, Monsieur," he began.

  I took a sovereign from my pocket and allowed him to perceive it. Hestopped dead in his speech and a greedy look came into his eyes.

  "Contrive to let her know that I am here," I said quietly.

  He nodded and hobbled out of the kitchen, making so little noise,however, in his exit that I guessed he wore rubber-soled boots. Minewere shod with felt. My object in sending for Marion Le Mar was toobtain a guide over the house, a very important desideratum, since Ihad never been inside its walls until that moment. I was kept waitingabout ten minutes, when the old fellow suddenly reappeared.

  "Monsieur! She comes," he muttered, and stretched out a skinny paw forthe money.

  I let it drop into his hand, and turned at a sound to behold standingin the open doorway the woman I had seen in my master's company lastSunday on the Heath. I had thought her beautiful on that occasion,although her head and all the upper portion of her face were hiddenwith a veil. Now I caught my breath, and for an instant dreamed Ilooked upon a spirit from some other world. Her forehead was broad andlow; her head, exquisitely shaped, was covered with a glory of gleaminggold which admirably contrasted with the dark and level pencilling ofher brows, and the russet flashing of her wonderful red-brown eyes. Theone weak spot in my composition is that I am the slave of female beautywherever found, and yet until that moment I had been wise enough toworship the sex collectively. But standing in the doorway I recognizedmy fate, and I bowed my head before her.

  She advanced and offered me her hand. Only then I perceived that shewore a uniform, a nurse's uniform; but that stiff apparel which makesmost women appear unlovely could not deny the expression of her charms.

  "Monsieur," she whispered, "you sent for me."

  "Yes, my child," I answered in still lower tones. I pressed her hand,then let it fall, though I grieved to release it. "Where is Cavanagh?"

  "Upstairs in the operating room with Dr. Fulton. I must be quick, forthey are almost ready to begin. Sir Charles has just arrived."

  "Ah! so Cavanagh still persists. I had hoped to find it otherwise."

  "Alas! Monsieur. I have begged him to go, but he had determined to seeall."

  "In that case, for your sake, my child, I shall bear him company."

  "What--you!"

  "Yes, Marion! You have work to do, and he may need my care!"

  She gazed at me a moment with a look of passionate gratitude, then of asudden, stooping low, she caught and kissed my hand. It tingled fordays afterwards.

  "Heaven bless you, Monsieur!" she cried, her whole face radiant. "Come,then, and we shall go to them. Sir Charles will be enchanted, for hehates that George should be present, since we have no one to spare whomight attend him if the poor boy should feel ill or swoon. If thatshould happen, Monsieur, you will take him away at once; is it not so?"

  "Immediately, my child."

  It seemed that there no longer existed any reason why we shouldconverse in whispers, and we did not. Indeed, my beautiful conductressfilled the journey with gay chatter and musical ripples of laughter.Evidently, thought I, she must love Cavanagh already to distraction,when the small courtesy I have proposed can inspire her with such happyspirits. Absurd as it may appear, I began to feel jealous of Cavanaghalready, although Marion had never seen me in my proper person, and wasno doubt unaware of my existence. She led me down a spacious hallcarpeted with oil cloth, and up a staircase that was not carpeted atall, to the floor above. We passed down a corridor and stopped at thethird closed door, from beneath which exuded a long narrow bar ofbrilliant white light. Her manner while ascending the stairs hadgradually calmed, but she was still excited, and she opened the doorwith a burst of informing words pouring from her lips. Never shall Iforget that moment. I glanced in with a face that I flatter myself wasexpressionless to the perfection of indifference, and I took care tomake my lip curl in Sir William Dagmar's characteristic aspect ofquerulous cynicism. But in truth my every sense was awake andpoignantly acquisitive. The apartment was large, full thirty feetsquare. It contained two operating benches placed within easy distance.The upper slab of one was absent; upon the other lay a squat, bulkyfigure, strapped into position and covered with a sheet. Above eachtable depended from the ceiling a perfect swarm of incandescent lamps,each furnished with a powerful reflector which caught and cast the raysof light upon the bench beneath. Tables stood about the walls of theroom, at regular intervals, covered with all manner of basins,batteries, knives, forceps, scissors, and other surgical instruments.There was no other furniture except a solitary chair perched near thedoor, upon which Mr. Cavanagh was seated. Sir Charles Venner and Dr.Fulton, clad in clean white aprons and overalls, with their sleevesrolled up and secured with bands above their bare elbows, stood besideone of the tables steeping some ugly looking knives in a basin ofsteaming fluid. At
the end of the occupied operating bench stood twofull blood African negroes. Their appearance was not remarkable, and inthe glance I flashed upon them I could discover no point in which theydiffered from any other negroes I had seen, except that like thesurgeons they were both attired in white. Mr. Cavanagh got to his feetas we entered. His countenance was pale and tense. I perceived that hewas nervous, but he had evidently wound himself up to the highest pitchof determination of which his nature was capable, and I thought itprobable, whatever the others expected, that he would comport himselflike a man. Marion addressed her announcement to the surgeons, but hereyes were bent upon her lover, and to him in truth she spoke. Shelauded what she called my devotion to the skies, and to my surprise theothers appeared to accept me at her valuation.

  Sir Charles Venner nodded commendingly. Dr. Fulton said, "It isconfoundedly good of you, Dagmar," and Mr. Cavanagh gave me a look ofearnest gratitude.

  I dismissed the subject with a shoulder shrug, and asked Dr. Fulton toassign me a position. He directed me to stand near Cavanagh until allwas ready. I obeyed, and for a space of some minutes I watched Marion,who flitted about the place arranging certain instruments upon theseveral tables, and wringing dripping sponges dry with antiseptictowels.

  When Sir Charles had completed his preparations, he turned to thenearest negro. "Beudant," he said, "you may light the asbestos." Hespoke in French.

  The fellow bowed and hurried to the fireplace. I saw a great flamerise, which flushed the negro's glistening forehead with a crimson glow.

  "Jussieu," said Sir Charles, "it is time!"

  The second negro bowed and glided from the room, followed by Dr.Fulton. Sir Charles dipped his hands into a basin of fluid offered himby Marion, and wiped his fingers with a towel. Two minutes later a belltinkled, "Beudant," said the surgeon.

  The negro bowed again like a slave to a lamp, and noiselessly departed.Very soon I heard the dull tramp of slippered feet on the corridorwithout. The door opened, and the negroes re-entered the room bearingbetween them a long slab, on which rested the inert figure of a youngman. He seemed about twenty-two years of age. His face was extremelypale. His eyes were closed and his mouth was propped wide open with acurious spring wedge. He was nude to the waist, but thence downwardswrapped in an eiderdown shawl. His chest was narrow and his bodyhideously emaciated. As his chest moved up and down under his deeplaboured breathing the ribs projected horribly, leaving dark hollowsbetween. He was strapped securely to the slab and in such a thoroughfashion that he could scarcely have moved a muscle howsoever much hehad been minded. But he was evidently unconscious, doubtless in ananaesthetised sleep. This curious procession was followed by Dr. Fultonand a tall elderly gentleman similarly apparelled to the surgeons. Ihad never set eyes on him before. He had an eager, enthusiastic face.His nose was very long; he had high cheek-bones and prominent grey eyesfull of a strange fanatical light. I put him down at one glance as adevotee of science. Afterwards I discovered that his name was Vernet,that he was a Frenchman, and resident house-surgeon to the hospital,which in fact he owned.

  He was the last to enter, and he closed and locked the door behind him.The negroes advanced to the bench, and having deposited the slab withits senseless burden, they moved over to the other operating table.Already the room had become oppressively hot, and I noticed beads ofperspiration stand out on Sir Charles Venner's forehead as he bent toexamine his patient with a stethoscope. Dr. Fulton beckoned Cavanaghand myself to approach, and by signs he directed us to stand at thefeet of the young man upon whom Sir Charles was about to operate. Wewere thus quite out of the way of those who had work to do, but wecould see everything, and I desired no better vantage post. Dr. Fultonstood behind the patient's head at the other end of the slab, holdingin one hand a large rubber face mask, in the other a large stopperedphial, connected by a tube with the mask. Sir Charles Venner stoodbeside the patient between the two operating benches; and beside himwas Dr. Vernet. Marion faced them from across the patient's body. Sheheld in one hand a sponge, in the other a basin.

  Sir Charles Venner lost no time in proceeding to business, nor did hegive us the least warning of his intention. Casting his stethoscopeaside, he seized a small thin-bladed knife and applied its edge with afree sweeping stroke, as an accomplished artist might draw a freehandwith a pencil, diagonally across the patient's third and fourth ribs,within an inch of the breast bone. A thin streak of blood followed thecut as quickly as thunder follows lightning. Marion instantly appliedher sponge to the wound, and the red line disappeared. The surgeon,without pausing, made another swift incision at right angles to thefirst along the third rib, and followed this with a third, parallel tothe first, some six inches apart. Marion pursued his cuts with hersponge, dipping it each time into her basin, which doubtless containedsome powerful astringent drug, for the wounds once touched ceased tobleed. Sir Charles Venner made some further rapid cuts, and withinimitable dexterity he presently raised the flap of flesh and muscleso detached by his knife from the patient's ribs, back across thechest, and secured it there with a dart attached by a string to abandage passed about the subject's loins. With the speed of magic heapplied half a dozen tiny silver spring clips to the dripping flesh, inorder to secure the ruptured blood vessels. Dr. Vernet then handed hima tiny razor bladed saw, with which, to my horror, he immediatelyattacked the bared heaving ribs. The ghastly sight sickened me so muchthat I closed my eyes, and for some minutes I fought like a tiger withthe weakness that threatened to undo me. The world was rocking,rocking, ay, and beginning to swing. I should in the end probably havefainted, but that my companion, Mr. Cavanagh, observing my condition ofa sudden pressed his handkerchief to my nostrils. I inhaled anintoxicating, subtle, but most powerful reviving essence. Afterwards Ilearned that Marion had supplied him with several capsules of nitrateof amyl, of which he had himself already consumed more than one. I feltthe blood rush to my head and swell out my cheeks and scalp and skin.The effect was magical. My weakness passed like a black dream, and withrestored courage I opened my eyes. There was now a gaping cavity in thepatient's breast, through which I could see at work the mysteriousmachinery of life. The inner flap of the exposed lung had been upliftedand secured aside with a ligature. Below panted and pulsed a crimsonand purple-coloured shapeless thing. It fascinated and at the same timeterrified me. With a frightful effort I tore my eyes away and looked atSir Charles. He was screwing a sharp-edged, curved hollow tube to theend of a long and curiously fashioned syringe. This syringe wasfurnished here and there with golden taps and tubes and tiny forcepumps. One tube stretched beyond the operator and ran to the otheroperating table. I followed it with my eyes and saw that it terminatedin a long, thick, hollow needle which reposed in the hands of the negroBeudant. The other negro, Jussieu, knife in hand, bent over an objectlying on the slab before him--the squat, bulky figure which had excitedmy curiosity upon my entering the chamber, and which then had beencovered with a sheet. But the sheet had now vanished, and before andexposed to my view lay an enormous ape, a chimpanzee I fancy, which wasstrapped to the bench exactly in the same fashion and attitude as SirCharles Venner's patient. The ape's huge hairy breast was disfiguredwith a square, bloody opening, but I saw that he was alive, for hebreathed. The negro Jussieu had evidently performed an operation on allfours with that executed by Sir Charles Venner! The idea almost stunnedme. Jussieu was then a great surgeon, although a negro. Next instant Iconsidered the ape, and a panic horror almost overwhelmed me. GeorgeCavanagh was again my saviour. There came a sound of rushing waters tomy ears, and the room began to whirl and sway. On the very threshold ofoblivion once again the thin and penetrating flavour of the nitrate ofamyl restored to me my faculties. I buried my teeth in my lower lip andcursed myself for a pitiful poltroon. I looked up to meet Marion'seyes. She smiled at me so tender an encouragement that I turned coldwith shame; that she, a delicate woman, could bear unmoved a sight thatstole my manhood, fired my heart with more of rage than wonder, thoughI wondered too. I fiercely resolved not to be weak
again.

  Until that moment the silence had been absolute, but of a sudden SirCharles spoke. "Wait for the systole, Vernet!"

  I glanced down and saw Dr. Vernet insert his right hand into the holein the patient's breast. He was armed with a large, cup-shaped clasp.He fumbled for a moment, and then, nodding his head, he withdrew hishand.

  Sir Charles threw Cavanagh a quick scornful glance. "Attend, if youwish to understand," he commanded. "I'll try to be explicit!"

  I looked for the first time at Cavanagh. He held a kerchief tightly tohis face, but his eyes, which I alone could see, were simply lurid.

  "Go on!" he muttered in a muffled voice.

  Sir Charles inserted the edged tube attached to the syringe with bothhands into the patient's breast.

  "This is the right ventricle," he began, speaking in quick, disjointedsentences. "Its function is to force the venous blood through thepulmonary veins to the right auricle; thence to be distributed over thebody. I am now--about to--insert--a needle into the right ventriclethrough the pericardium and walls. How is the pulse, Fulton?"

  "Right, sir."

  "Are you ready, Beudant, Jussieu?"

  "At the word, sir," replied the negroes.

  "Good!" exclaimed Sir Charles. "I am too!" He withdrew one hand fromthe ghastly cavity and seized the syringe pump, which he began tocompress. "I am now forcing into our subject's right ventricle thesolution of my invention, which is destined to slay the tuberclebacilli. In two seconds the lungs will be suffused with the fluid, andin two minutes we shall have worked the miracle of absolutelydestroying every bacillus contained therein. But we shall also havekilled the patient's blood. See, it is already decomposing. Mark howwhite the lung grows. To work, Jussieu!" he cried. "To work!"

  "Ready, sir!" cried back the negro. I could not see what he did, but Isaw the tube connecting Sir Charles Venner's patient with the oppositetable suddenly rigidify as though a rod had been slipped down itshollow interior.

  "We are now correcting the solution's destructive action on oursubject's blood by forcing into his heart a fresh supply of livingarterial blood taken from the left auricle of the ape lying yonder,"explained Sir Charles. "Vernet is meanwhile extracting our subject'sown decomposed and now useless blood, which is really blood no longer,from the greater artery in his right leg. You see, Cavanagh, we haveestablished a perfect system of drainage. We are supplying good bloodand removing bad."

  "My God!" cried Cavanagh. "It is white!"

  His exclamation referred to Dr. Vernet's work. The French surgeon hadmade a deep incision in the patient's right thigh, from which gushed asteady fountain of yellow fluid.

  "Shout when it colours, Vernet!" commanded Sir Charles.

  I looked on, speechless with amazement, I had no longer the leastinclination to faint. Indeed, my whole soul was so steeped in wonder,that I forgot I lived. I was merely a rapt acquisitive spirit beinginitiated into the fundamental mysteries of nature by a great, indeed,a giant intellect. Sir Charles Venner appeared to me then somethinglike a god. His left hand was plunged into the patient's breast,perhaps grasping the heart, that seat of life. His right compressed andcontrolled the movements of the syringe. His face gleamed like marblein the brilliant white light of the reflectors. It was pale, composed,expressionless, yet full of watchful intelligence and power. He stoodupon his feet as steady as a rock. Every moment he uttered some sharp,pregnant direction to one or other of his assistants, which was at onceimplicitly obeyed. "No greater man has ever lived!" thought I then, andI have not altered my opinion since.

  In about three minutes, though the period seemed longer to myelectrified imagination, I saw a red light flash into the milkyfountain that flowed under Dr. Vernet's guidance.

  "Enough!" he cried.

  "Good!" exclaimed Sir Charles.

  The fountain stopped flowing on instant, for Dr. Vernet had squeezedthe artery between a pair of forceps, and with deft fingers he began tobind it with a ligature of golden wire. I glanced from him to SirCharles. He was now bending closely above the cavity in the subject'sbreast; the syringe had disappeared. He seemed to be sewing somethingin the hollow, but I could distinguish nothing for blood. Marion'ssponge plied backwards and forwards with the regularity of a machine.

  "What are you doing now?" cried a voice beside me, so harsh andstrained that I hardly recognized it.

  "Sewing up the punctured ventricle," replied Sir Charles with a sort ofchuckle. "Some of your friends would be a bit surprised, eh, Cavanagh,if you told them that you saw a doctor patch a man's heart with threadand needle, as a sempstress might a rent gown!"

  Cavanagh uttered a hollow groan, and I turned just in time to catchhim. He had swooned! I carried him to the other end of the room, whereI laid him down upon the floor and hurriedly unfastened his collar andcravat. I was hot with rage, for I wished to witness the end of theoperation; but I dared not leave him because of Marion. Even as I kneltto chafe his wrists, I heard Sir Charles address her sharply: "Nowthen, Marion, attend to me. The young fool is all right. Dagmar willlook after him."

  I managed to awaken Cavanagh at last with a capsule I found clutched inhis hand, but several precious minutes had been wasted, and we returnedto the table only in time to see Sir Charles sewing up with golden wirethe flap of muscle which had been the door of his more important work.

  The operation was over. The negroes were already starting to remove thecarcase of the dead ape, whose life blood had been stolen to try andprolong the existence of its fellow creature, man! The other surgeonswere grouped about the still living subject, but Sir Charles Venner wasno longer in command. Dr. Fulton now held supreme authority. Heoccupied Venner's former post, and with one hand he fingered thesubject's now unfastened wrists, while in the other he grasped a smallhypodermic syringe. For some moments a deathly hush obtained, that wasbut intensified by the slow and stertorous breathing of the patient onthe slab.

  Dr. Fulton's expression was strained and passionately anxious. Itformed a curious contrast to Sir Charles Venner's stolid immobility.The others watched him, not the patient. That is to say, all butMarion. She had slipped an arm about George Cavanagh, and she wastenderly supporting him, oblivious of everything else.

  "Well?" asked Sir Charles at last.

  I gasped with relief to hear his voice.

  "Weaker; curse it!" replied Dr. Fulton.

  "Inject?"

  "No; last of all. The battery, quick, the glass stool!"

  Sir Charles and Dr. Vernet darted off. Sir Charles returned with aglass bench, which he placed upon the floor at Fulton's feet, and uponwhich Fulton immediately stepped. Dr. Vernet stopped beside a distanttable and began to pull out something that looked like a cylinder fromthe side of a huge wooden box. We heard the rapidly intermittentclicking sound of the working battery at once.

  "Stop!" shouted Fulton.

  I saw the patient's legs twitch and draw up half way to his stomach,and his arms spasmodically jerk.

  This was repeated a dozen times in as many seconds, but gradually themotions ceased.

  "Awaken him!" commanded Dr. Fulton.

  Sir Charles applied a small phial to the patient's nostrils. After awhile the poor fellow turned his head aside as though unconsciouslytrying to escape a torture. But the phial followed him remorselessly,and presently he moaned. Sir Charles at once removed the spring wedgefrom his mouth. His teeth clicked, shut, and he uttered a heartrendinggurgling groan.

  "More battery!" shouted Fulton. "Softly, softly!"

  The patient's muscles jerked again, but less violently than before. Hetossed and turned his head, trying vainly to escape the phial; thus fora moment, then of a sudden his eyes opened and he gazed about him.

  "Stop battery!" cried Dr. Fulton. "Marion, come here!"

  The girl left her lover and hurried forward. She stooped over thepatient and looked into his eyes. "Ah, my poor fellow!" she murmuredsoothingly in English, "you are awake at last, I see. It is all overnow--all over--nothing more to fear now. Soon you will be
well andstrong. Stronger than you have ever been in your life before--for youare cured."

  He looked up at her with a dull, vacant stare, then uttered a littlegasp of pain, for Dr. Fulton had plunged the hypodermic needle in hisarm.

  The injection's effect was miraculous. Within three minutes his faceflushed crimson, his dull eyes brightened, and he actually attempted tosit up. Marion, however, gently pressed him back, but she allowed hishead to rest upon her arm.

  "I--I--feel fine!" he gasped.

  "Hush!" said Marion; "you must not talk. You must be very good and keepstill, for that is the only way you can get better."

  Sir Charles Venner pressed a glass into her hand.

  "Try and drink this," she proceeded. "It is not medicine, only a littlebrandy and water. Ah! that's right. You'll do splendidly now. There, myboy, shut your eyes, and try to sleep. You'll soon sleep, and you'llwake well and strong."

  The poor lad obeyed her, and he seemed to sleep immediately, butMarion's prophecy was not fulfilled. He never opened his eyes again.

  For a long hour we watched him, the hearts of us all racked withanxiety. Every few minutes Dr. Fulton injected some drug into his arm,and by degrees the full force of the battery was applied. But all invain.

  "He is dead!" said Dr. Fulton at last, stepping dejectedly from theglass stool. "Turn off the battery, Vernet, please."

  "Our nineteenth failure!" observed Sir Charles Venner, folding his armsand looking down at the corpse with a face of stone. "And they have alldied of shock. Nothing else."

  Mr. Cavanagh started forward. "How can you be sure of that?" hedemanded. "How do you know that your accursed solution did not poisonhim?" The young man's face was the hue of ivory, but his big eyes wereablaze with passion.

  Sir Charles Venner gave a wintry smile. "We have proved it beyonddoubt," he replied. "We have tested the blood a hundred times."

  "Bah!" retorted Cavanagh with a savage sneer. "A fig for your tests.But even if they are reliable, how do you know that he did not bleed todeath from the wound you made in his heart?"

  "Test again, autopsy. Would you care to see? Look here!" He caught up aknife and approached the corpse. "I'm willing, Cavanagh, to bet you athousand pounds that not one drop of blood has passed my puncture inthe ventricle!"

  "Done!"

  "Venner," cried Dr. Fulton, "Venner, you are betting on a certainty."

  "Then I'll pay the stake I win to any charity you like to name." SirCharles Venner bent over the body, but even as he poised the knife tocut, Mr. Cavanagh cried out in strangled tones: "Stop! I--I withdraw."

  Venner looked up with a cold sneering laugh. "Then pay!" said he.

  "No--no! I--I--can't afford it." Mr. Cavanagh put his right hand intohis breast pocket. His countenance was perfectly livid. He stepped backa pace and looked at Marion.

  "George!" she cried, "what ails you, dear?" She was trembling like aleaf in the wind.

  "Life!" he answered, and uttered a laugh that still echoes in my ears.

  Next instant he produced a revolver and before our eyes put the muzzleto his mouth. There followed a click, a sharp report, and he fell atour feet a corpse.

  There are periods of crisis in human happenings when a cycle of yearsmay be compressed into a few minutes of ordinary time, and such aperiod was that which succeeded the tragedy I have described. I felt mysoul grow cold and hard and more old than all my previous life had madeit. I stood like a frozen image gazing at the artist's clay, waiting inan agony of expectation for Marion to scream. But she made no cry, andafter a long, most dreadful pause, something impelled me to look ather. She was swaying to a fall and already insensible. I took her in myarms and bore her senseless body from the awful room. At the door,however, I was obliged to halt, for the threshold was occupied with thetwo negroes and the wrinkled old woman I had seen in the kitchen thefirst night I had visited the hospital. They were transfixed withhorror, and I had to force a passage for my burden. In doing so,involuntarily I turned. Dr. Fulton was kneeling beside Mr. Cavanaghexamining his wound. Sir Charles Venner stood at a little distancepuffing calmly at a cigarette. I shuddered and passed on. Where I wouldhave gone, Providence alone knows. But the old woman followed me,crying out in a cracked voice in French: "But, M'sieur, why not comethis way, to Mademoiselle's own room."

  She led me to a prettily furnished little chamber at the very end ofthe corridor. I laid Marion very gently down upon the bed, and turnedto the old woman, who was already fussing at my side with salts and salvolatile.

  "Don't touch her!" I commanded sternly. "Let her sleep as long as Godwills. She will awake too soon in any case to the misery this night hasbrought her."

  "As Monsieur pleases!" replied the beldame, and with a look of ghoulishdelight she hurried off, doubtless to gloat over the corpses in theoperating room.

  Left alone, I leaned over the unconscious girl, and softly pressed mylips upon her beautiful, but clay cold brow. An angel could not havebeen the worse for that caress, for in my heart there was no thoughtsave of pitiful and tender reverence.

  A moment later I was traversing the passage, on my way to thestaircase. Someone called to me as I passed the chamber of death, but Ipaid no heed, and I descended the steps as quickly as I could. The halldoor stood before me. The latch yielded to my touch. Issuing forth Ibanged it shut, and ran out into the night as though I were pursuedwith furies. On alighting from my cab at the Marble Arch I glanced atmy watch. To my astonishment it pointed barely to midnight. I thoughtit must have stopped, but the public-houses were still open.

  A second cab took me to Bruton Street, whence having changed my attire,I drove to my master's house. As I entered I noted upon the floor at myfeet a paste-board visiting card, which had evidently been slippedbeneath the door by a disappointed caller. I picked it up and held itto the light, uttering, as I read, a long, low whistle of surprise. Itwas inscribed with three printed words: "Mr. Sefton Dagmar."