At this moment, the broker entered the office.
With the "Herald" in my hand, I made haste to meet him.
"Brake!" I cried, "Mr. Brake! Thank Heaven, you have come! I have
passed such a night--and look here! Have you seen this abominable
canard? This is what has come of my being locked into your"--
The broker regarded me with a strange look; so strange, that for very
amazement I stood still before it. He did not advance to meet me;
neither his hand nor his eyes gave me the human sign of welcome; he
looked over me, he looked through me, as a man does at one whose
acquaintance he has no desire to recognize.
I thought:--
"Drayton has crammed him. He too believes that I was shut in here to
sleep it off. The story will get out in two hours. I am doomed in
this town henceforth for a drunken doctor. I'd better have been killed
instantly, as this infernal paper says."
But I said,--
"Mr. Brake? You don't recognize me, I think. It is I, Dr. Thorne. I
couldn't get here before two. I went to your house last evening. I
got the impression you were here, so I came after you. I was locked in
here by your confounded watchman. They have this minute let me free.
I am in a great hurry to get home. Nice job this is going to be! Have
you seen _that_?"
I put my shaking finger upon the "Herald's" fiery capitals, and held
the column folded towards him.
"Jason," he said, after an instant's pause, "pick up the 'Herald,' will
you? A gust of wind has blown it from the table. There must be a
draught. Please shut the door."
To say that I know of no earthly language which can express the
sensation that crawled over me as the broker uttered these words is to
say little or nothing about it. I use the expression "crawled" with
some faint effort to define the slowness and the repulsiveness with
which the suspicion of that to which I dared not and did not give a
name, made itself manifest to my mind.
"Excuse me, Brake," I said with some agitation, "you did not hear what
I said. I was locked in. I am in a hurry to get home. Ask Drayton.
Drayton let me in. I must get home at once. I shall sue the 'Herald'
for that outrageous piece of work-- What do you suppose my wife--
Good God! She must have read it by this time! Let me by, Brake!"
"Jason," said the broker, "this is a terrible thing! I feel quite
broken up about it."
"Brake!" I cried, "Henry Brake! Let me pass you! Let me home to my
wife! You're in my way--don't you see? You're standing directly
between me and the door. Let me pass!"
"There's a private dispatch come," said the clerk Badly. "It is for
you, sir. It is from Mrs. Thorne herself."
"Brake!" I pleaded, "Brake, Brake!--Jason!--Mr. Brake! Don't you hear
me?"
"Give me the message, Jason," said Brake, holding out his hand; he
seated himself, as he did so, at the office table, where I had sat the
night out; he looked troubled and pale; he handled the message
reluctantly, as people do in the certainty of bad news.
"In the name of mercy, Henry Brake!" I cried, "what is the meaning of
this? Don't you hear a word I say? Don't you feel me?--There!" I
gripped the broker by the shoulder, and clinched both hands upon him
with all my might. "Don't you _feel_ me? God Almighty! don't you
_see_ me, Brake?"
"When did this dispatch come, Jason?" said the broker. He laid Helen's
message gently down; he had tears in his eyes.
"Henry Brake," I pleaded brokenly, for my heart failed me with a mighty
fear, "answer me, in human pity's name. Are you gone deaf and blind?
Or am I struck dumb? Or am I"--
"It came ten minutes ago, sir," replied Jason. "It is dated, I see, at
midnight. They delivered it as soon as anybody was likely to be
stirring, here; a bit before, too; considering the nature of the
message, I suppose, sir."
"It is a terrible affair!" repeated the broker nervously. "I have
known the doctor a good many years. He had his peculiarities; but he
was a good fellow. Say--Jason!"
"Yes, sir?"
"How does it happen that Mrs. Thorne-- You say this message was dated
at midnight?"
"At midnight, sir. 12.15."
"How is it she didn't _know_ by that time? I pity the fellow who had
to tell her. She's a very attractive woman.... The 'Herald' says--
Where is that paper?"
"The 'Herald' says," answered Jason decorously, "that he was scooped
into the buggy-top, and dragged, and dashed against-- Here it is."
He handed his employer the paper, as I had done, or had thought I did,
with his finger on the folded column. The broker took the paper, and
slowly put on his glasses, and slowly read aloud:--
"'Dr. Thorne was dragged for some little distance, it is thought,
before the horse broke free. He must have hit the lamp-post, or the
pavement. He was found in the top of the buggy, which was a wreck.
The robe was over him, and his face was hidden. His medicine case lay
beneath him; the phials were crushed to splinters. Life was extinct
when he was discovered. His watch had stopped at five minutes past
seven o'clock. It so happened that he was not immediately identified,
though our reporter could not learn the reason of this extraordinary
mischance. By some unpardonable blunder, the body of the distinguished
and favourite physician was taken to the Morgue'"--
"That accounts for it," said Jason.
--"'Was taken to the Morgue,'" read on Mr. Brake with agitated voice.
"'It was not until midnight that the mistake was discovered. A
messenger was dispatched at twenty minutes after twelve o'clock to the
elegant residence of the popular doctor, in Delight Street. The news
was broken to the widow as agreeably as possible. Mrs. Thorne is a
young and very beautiful woman, on whom this shocking blow falls with
uncommon cruelty.
"'The body was carried to Dr. Thorne's house at one o'clock. The time
of the funeral is not yet appointed. The "Herald" will be informed as
soon as a decision is reached.
"'The death of Dr. Thorne is a loss to this community which it is
impossible to,'--hm--m--'his distinguished talents'--hm--m--hm--m."
The broker laid down the paper, and sighed.
"I sent for him yesterday, to consult about his affairs," he observed
gently. "It is a pity for her to lose that Santa Ma. She will need it
now. I'm sorry for her. I don't know how he left her, exactly. He
did a tremendous business, but he spent as he went. He was a good
fellow--I always liked the doctor! Terrible affair! Terrible affair!
Jason! Where is that advertisement of Grope County Iowa Mortgage? You
have filed it in the wrong place! Be more careful in future."
..."_Mr. Brake!_" I tried once more; and my voice was the voice of
mortal anguish to my own appalled and ringing ear.
"Do you not hear? Can you not see? Is there _no one_ in this place
who hears? Or sees me, _either_?"
An early customer had strayed in; Drayton was there; and the watchman
had entered. The men (there were five in all) collected by the
broker's desk, around the morning papers, and spoke to each other with
the familiarity which bad news of any public interest creates. They
conversed in low tones. Their faces wore a shocked expression. They
spoke of me; they asked for more particulars of the tragedy reported by
the morning press; they mentioned my merits and defects, but said more
about merits than defects, in the merciful, foolish way of people who
discuss the newly dead.
"I've known him ten years," said the broker.
"I've had the pleasure of the doctor's acquaintance myself a good
while," said the inspector politely.
"Wasn't he a quick-tempered man?" asked the customer.
"He cured a baby of mine of the croup," said the watchman. "It was
given up for dead. And he only charged me a dollar and a half. He was
very kind to the little chap."
"He set an ankle for me, once, after a football match," suggested the
clerk. "I wouldn't ask to be better treated. He wasn't a bit rough."
..."Gentlemen," I entreated, stretching out my hands toward the group,
"there is some mistake--I must make it understood. I am here. It is
I, Dr. Thorne; Dr. Esmerald Thorne. I am in this office. Gentlemen!
Listen to me! Look at me! Look in this direction! For God's sake,
_try_ to see me--some of you!"...
"He drove too fast a horse," said the customer. "He always has."
"I must answer Mrs. Thorne's message," said the broker sadly, rising
and pushing back the office chair.
...I shrank, and tried no more. I bowed my head, and said no other
word. The truth, incredible and terrible though it were, the truth
which neither flesh nor spirit can escape, had now forced itself upon
my consciousness.
I looked across the broker's office at those five warm human beings as
if I had looked across the width of the breathing world. Naught had I
now to say to them; naught could they communicate to me. Language was
not between us, nor speech, nor any sign. Need of mine could reach
them not, nor any of their kind. For I was in the dead, and they the
living men.
..."Here is your dog, sir," said Jason. "He has followed you in. He
is trying to speak to you, in his way."
The broker stooped and patted the dumb brute affectionately. "I
understand, Lion," he said. "Yes, I understand you."
The dog looked lovingly up into his master's face, and whined for joy.