by Otto Penzler
At daybreak the boat would arrive at Malta. I would go on shore at once, call upon some medical man, and lay the case before him in confidence, in the hope of his having the things I should need in order to examine the contents of the syringe. If I found any organisms, I would take the law into my own hands, and carry the boy back to England by the next boat.
No sleep visited me that night, and I lay tossing to and fro in my bunk longing for daylight. At 6 A.M. I heard the engine-bell ring, and the screw suddenly slow down to half-speed. I leapt up and went on deck. I could see the outline of the rock-bound fortress and the lighthouse of St. Elmo looming more vividly every moment. As soon as we were at anchor and the gangway down, I hailed one of the little green boats and told the men to row me to the shore. I drove at once to the Grand Hotel in the Strada Reale, and asked the Italian guide the address of a medical man. He gave me the address of an English doctor who lived close by, and I went there at once to see him. It was now seven o’clock, and I found him up. I made my apologies for the early hour of my visit, put the whole matter before him, and produced the syringe. For a moment he was inclined to take my story with incredulity, but by degrees he became interested, and ended by inviting me to breakfast with him. After the meal we repaired to his consulting-room to make our investigations. He brought out his microscope, which I saw, to my delight, was of the latest design, and I set to work at once, while he watched me with evident interest. At last the crucial moment came, and I bent over the instrument and adjusted the focus on my preparation. My suspicions were only too well confirmed by which I had extracted what I saw. The substance from the syringe was a mass of micro-organisms, but of what nature I did not know. I had never seen any quite like them before. I drew back.
“I wish you would look at this,” I said. “You tell me you have devoted considerable attention to bacteriology. Please tell me what you see.”
Dr. Benson applied his eye to the instrument, regulating the focus for a few moments in silence, then he raised his head, and looked at me with a curious expression.
“Where did this culture come from?” he asked.
“From London, I presume,” I answered.
“It is extraordinary,” he said, with emphasis, “but there is no doubt whatever that these organisms are the specific germs of the very disease I have studied here so assiduously; they are the micrococci of Mediterranean fever, the minute round or oval bacteria. They are absolutely characteristic.”
I jumped to my feet.
“Is that so?” I cried. The diabolical nature of the plot was only too plain. These germs injected into a patient would produce a fever which only occurs in the Mediterranean. The fact that the boy had been in the Mediterranean even for a short time would be a complete blind as to the way in which they obtained access to the body, as every one would think the disease occurred from natural causes.
“How long is the period of incubation?” I asked.
“About ten days,” replied Dr. Benson.
I extended my hand.
“You have done me an invaluable service,” I said.
“I may possibly be able to do you a still further service,” was his reply. “I have made Mediterranean fever the study of my life, and have, I believe, discovered an antitoxin for it. I have tried my discovery on the patients of the naval hospital with excellent results. The local disturbance is slight, and I have never found bad symptoms follow the treatment. If you will bring the boy to me I will administer the antidote without delay.”
I considered for a moment, then I said: “My position is a terrible one, and I am inclined to accept your proposition. Under the circumstances it is the only chance.”
“It is,” repeated Dr. Benson. “I shall be at your service whenever you need me.”
I bade him good-bye and quickly left the house.
It was now ten o’clock. My first object was to find Dr. Fietta, to speak to him boldly, and take the boy away by main force if necessary. I rushed back to the Grand Hotel, where I learned that a boy and a man, answering to the description of Dr. Fietta and Cecil, had breakfasted there, but had gone out again immediately afterwards. The Hydaspes I knew was to coal, and would not leave Malta before one o’clock. My only chance, therefore, was to catch them as they came on board. Until then I could do nothing. At twelve o’clock I went down to the quay and took a boat to the Hydaspes. Seeing no sign of Fietta and the boy on deck, I made my way at once to Lord Kairn’s cabin. The door was open and the place in confusion—every vestige of baggage had disappeared. Absolutely at a loss to divine the cause of this unexpected discovery, I pressed the electric bell. In a moment a steward appeared.
“Has Lord Kairn left the ship?” I asked, my heart beating fast.
“I believe so, sir,” replied the man. “I had orders to pack the luggage and send it on shore. It went about an hour ago.”
I waited to hear no more. Rushing to my cabin, I began flinging my things pell-mell into my portmanteau. I was full of apprehension at this sudden move of Dr. Fietta’s. Calling a steward who was passing to help me, I got my things on deck, and in a few moments had them in a boat and was making rapidly for the shore. I drove back at once to the Grand Hotel in the Strada Reale.
“Did the gentleman who came here to-day from the Hydaspes, accompanied by a little boy, engage rooms for the night?” I asked of the proprietor in the bureau at the top of the stairs.
“No, sir,” answered the man; “they breakfasted here, but did not return. I think they said they were going to the gardens of San Antonio.”
For a minute or two I paced the hall in uncontrollable excitement. I was completely at a loss what step to take next. Then suddenly an idea struck me. I hurried down the steps and made my way to Cook’s office.
“A gentleman of that description took two tickets for Naples by the Spartivento, a Rupertino boat, two hours ago,” said the clerk, in answer to my inquiries. “She has started by now,” he continued, glancing up at the clock.
“To Naples?” I cried. A sickening fear seized me. The very name of the hated place struck me like a poisoned weapon.
“Is it too late to catch her?” I cried.
“Yes, sir, she has gone.”
“Then what is the quickest route by which I can reach Naples?”
“You can go by the Gingra, a P. & O. boat, tonight to Brindisi, and then overland. That is the quickest way now.”
I at once took my passage and left the office. There was not the least doubt what had occurred. Dr. Fietta had missed his syringe, and in consequence had immediately altered his plans. He was now taking the lad to the very fountain-head of the Brotherhood, where other means if necessary would be employed to put an end to his life.
It was nine o’clock in the evening, three days later, when, from the window of the railway carriage, I caught my first glimpse of the glow on the summit of Vesuvius. During the journey I had decided on my line of action. Leaving my luggage in the cloak-room I entered a carriage and began to visit hotel after hotel. For a long time I had no success. It was past eleven o’clock that night when, weary and heart-sick, I drew up at the Hotel Londres. I went to the concierge with my usual question, expecting the invariable reply, but a glow of relief swept over me when the man said:
“Dr. Fietta is out, sir, but the young man is in. He is in bed—will you call tomorrow? What name shall I say?”
“I shall stay here,” I answered; “let me have a room at once, and have my bag taken to it. What is the number of Lord Kairn’s room?”
“Number forty-six. But he will be asleep, sir; you cannot see him now.”
I made no answer, but going quickly upstairs, I found the boy’s room. I knocked; there was no reply, I turned the handle and entered. All was dark. Striking a match I looked round. In a white bed at the farther end lay the child. I went up and bent softly over him. He was lying with one hand beneath his cheek. He looked worn and tired, and now and then moaned as if in trouble. When I touched him lightly on the shoulder he starte
d up and opened his eyes. A dazed expression of surprise swept over his face; then with an eager cry he stretched out both his hands and clasped one of mine.
“I am so glad to see you,” he said. “Dr. Fietta told me you were angry—that I had offended you. I very nearly cried when I missed you that morning at Malta, and Dr. Fietta said I should never see you anymore. I don’t like him—I am afraid of him. Have you come to take me home?” As he spoke he glanced eagerly round in the direction of the door, clutching my hand still tighter as he did so.
“Yes, I shall take you home, Cecil. I have come for the purpose,” I answered; “but are you quite well?”
“That’s just it; I am not. I have awful dreams at night. Oh, I am so glad you have come back and you are not angry. Did you say you were really going to take me home?”
“Tomorrow, if you like.”
“Please do. I am—stoop down, I want to whisper to you—I am dreadfully afraid of Dr. Fietta.”
“What is your reason?” I asked.
“There is no reason,” answered the child, “but somehow I dread him. I have done so ever since you left us at Malta. Once I woke in the middle of the night and he was bending over me—he had such a queer look on his face, and he used that syringe again. He was putting something into my arm—he told me it was morphia. I did not want him to do it, for I thought you would rather he didn’t. I wish mother had sent me away with you. I am afraid of him; yes, I am afraid of him.”
“Now that I have come, everything will be right,” I said.
“And you will take me home tomorrow?”
“Certainly.”
“But I should like to see Vesuvius first. Now that we are here it seems a pity that I should not see it. Can you take me to Vesuvius tomorrow morning, and home in the evening, and will you explain to Dr. Fietta?”
“I will explain everything. Now go to sleep. I am in the house, and you have nothing whatever to fear.”
“I am very glad you have come,” he said wearily. He flung himself back on his pillow; the exhausted look was very manifest on his small, childish face. I left the room, shutting the door softly.
To say that my blood boiled can express but little the emotions which ran through my frame—the child was in the hands of a monster. He was in the very clutch of the Brotherhood, whose intention was to destroy his life. I thought for a moment. There was nothing now for it but to see Fietta, tell him that I had discovered his machinations, claim the boy, and take him away by force. I knew that I was treading on dangerous ground. At any moment my own life might be the forfeit for my supposed treachery to the cause whose vows I had so madly taken. Still, if I saved the boy nothing else really mattered.
I went downstairs into the great central hall, interviewed the concierge, who told me that Fietta had returned, asked for the number of his private sitting-room, and, going there, opened the door without knocking. At a writing-table at the farther end sat the doctor. He turned as I entered, and, recognising me, started up with a sudden exclamation. I noticed that his face changed colour, and that his beady eyes flashed all ugly fire. Then, recovering himself, he advanced quietly towards me.
“This is another of your unexpected surprises, Mr. Head,” he said with politeness. “You have not, then, gone on to Cairo? You change your plans rapidly.”
“Not more so than you do, Dr. Fietta,” I replied, watching him as I spoke.
“I was obliged to change my mind,” he answered. “I heard in Malta that cholera had broken out in Cairo. I could not therefore take my patient there. May I inquire why I have the honour of this visit? You will excuse my saying so, but this action of yours forces me to suspect that you are following me. Have you a reason?”
He stood with his hands behind him, and a look of furtive vigilance crept into his small eyes.
“This is my reason,” I replied. I boldly drew the hypodermic syringe from my pocket as I spoke.
With an inconceivably rapid movement he hurried past me, locked the door, and placed the key in his pocket. As he turned towards me again I saw the glint of a long, bright stiletto which he had drawn and was holding in his right hand, which he kept behind him.
“I see you are armed,” I said quietly, “but do not be too hasty. I have a few words to say to you.” As I spoke I looked him full in the face, then I dropped my voice.
“I am one of the Brotherhood of the Seven Kings!”
When I uttered these magical words he started back and looked at me with dilated eyes.
“Your proofs instantly, or you are a dead man,” he cried hoarsely. Beads of sweat gleamed upon his forehead.
“Put that weapon on the table, give me your right hand, and you shall have the proofs you need,” I answered.
He hesitated, then changed the stiletto to his left hand, and gave me his right. I grasped it in the peculiar manner which I had never forgotten, and bent my head close to his. The next moment I had uttered the password of the Brotherhood.
“La Regina,” I whispered.
“E la regina,” he replied, flinging the stiletto on the carpet.
“Ah!” he continued, with an expression of the strongest relief, while he wiped the moisture from his forehead. “This is too wonderful. And now tell me, my friend, what your mission is? I knew you had stolen my syringe, but why did you do it? Why did you not reveal yourself to me before? You are, of course, under the Queen’s orders?”
“I am,” I answered, “and her orders to me now are to take Lord Kairn home to England overland tomorrow morning.”
“Very well. Everything is finished—he will die in one month.”
“From Mediterranean fever? But it is not necessarily fatal,” I continued.
“That is true. It is not always fatal acquired in the ordinary way, but by our methods it is so.”
“Then you have administered more of the micro-organisms since Malta?”
“Yes; I had another syringe in my case, and now nothing can save him. The fever will commence in six days from now.”
He paused for a moment or two.
“It is very odd,” he went on, “that I should have had no communication. I cannot understand it.” A sudden flash of suspicion shot across his dark face. My heart sank as I saw it. It passed, however, the next instant; the man’s words were courteous and quiet.
“I of course accede to your proposition,” he said: “everything is quite safe. This that I have done can never by any possibility be discovered. Madame is invincible. Have you yet seen Lord Kairn?”
“Yes, and I have told him to be prepared to accompany me home tomorrow.”
“Very well.”
Dr. Fietta walked across the room, unlocked the door and threw it open.
“Your plans will suit me admirably,” he continued. “I shall stay on here for a few days more, as I have some private business to transact. Tonight I shall sleep in peace. Your shadow has been haunting me for the last three days.”
I went from Fietta’s room to the boy’s. He was wide awake and started up when he saw me.
“I have arranged everything, Cecil,” I said, “and you are my charge now. I mean to take you to my room to sleep.”
“Oh,” he answered, “I am glad. Perhaps I shall sleep better in your room. I am not afraid of you—I love you.” His eyes, bright with affection, looked into mine. I lifted him into my arms, wrapped his dressing-gown over his shoulders, and conveyed him through the folding-doors, down the corridor, into the room I had secured for myself. There were two beds in the room, and I placed him in one.
“I am so happy,” he said, “I love you so much. Will you take me to Vesuvius in the morning, and then home in the evening?”
“I will see about that. Now go to sleep,” I answered.
He closed his eyes with a sigh of pleasure. In ten minutes he was sound asleep. I was standing by him when there came a knock at the door. I went to open it. A waiter stood without. He held a salver in his hand. It contained a letter, also a sheet of paper and an envelope stamped w
ith the name of the hotel.
“From the doctor, to be delivered to the signor immediately,” was the laconic remark.
Still standing in the doorway, I took the letter from the tray, opened it, and read the following words:
“You have removed the boy and that action arouses my mistrust. I doubt your having received any Communication from Madame. If you wish me to believe that you are a bona fide member of the Brotherhood, return the boy to his own sleeping-room, immediately.”
I took a pencil out of my pocket and hastily wrote a few words on the sheet of paper, which had been sent for this purpose.
“I retain the boy. You are welcome to draw your own conclusions.”
Folding up the paper I slipped it into the envelope, and wetting the gum with my tongue, fastened it together, and handed it to the waiter who withdrew. I re-entered my room and locked the door. To keep the boy was imperative, but there was little doubt that Fietta would now telegraph to Mme. Koluchy (the telegraphic office being open day and night) and find out the trick I was playing upon him. I considered whether I might not remove the boy there and then to another hotel, but decided that such a step would be useless. Once the emissaries of the Brotherhood were put upon my track the case for the child and myself would be all but hopeless.
There was likely to be little sleep for me that night. I paced up and down my lofty room. My thoughts were keen and busy. After a time, however, a strange confusion seized me. One moment I thought of the child, the next of Mme. Koluchy, and then again I found myself pondering some abstruse and comparatively unimportant point in science, which I was perfecting at home. I shook myself free of these thoughts, to walk about again, to pause by the bedside of the child, to listen to his quiet breathing.
