Strange Instructions
Superintendent Dolan went quietly to the door; by a sort of natural
understanding he had taken possession of affairs in the room. The rest
of us waited. He opened the door a little way; and then with a gesture
of manifest relief threw it wide, and a young man stepped in. A young
man clean-shaven, tall and slight; with an eagle face and bright, quick
eyes that seemed to take in everything around him at a glance. As he
came in, the Superintendent held out his hand; the two men shook hands
warmly.
“I came at once, sir, the moment I got your message. I am glad I still
have your confidence.”
“That you’ll always have,” said the Superintendent heartily. “I have
not forgotten our old Bow Street days, and I never shall!” Then,
without a word of preliminary, he began to tell everything he knew up
to the moment of the newcomer’s entry. Sergeant Daw asked a few
questions—a very few—when it was necessary for his understanding of
circumstances or the relative positions of persons; but as a rule
Dolan, who knew his work thoroughly, forestalled every query, and
explained all necessary matters as he went on. Sergeant Daw threw
occasionally swift glances round him; now at one of us; now at the room
or some part of it; now at the wounded man lying senseless on the sofa.
When the Superintendent had finished, the Sergeant turned to me and
said:
“Perhaps you remember me, sir. I was with you in that Hoxton case.”
“I remember you very well,” I said as I held out my hand. The
Superintendent spoke again:
“You understand, Sergeant Daw, that you are put in full charge of this
case.”
“Under you I hope, sir,” he interrupted. The other shook his head and
smiled as he said:
“It seems to me that this is a case that will take all a man’s time and
his brains. I have other work to do; but I shall be more than
interested, and if I can help in any possible way I shall be glad to do
so!”
“All right, sir,” said the other, accepting his responsibility with a
sort of modified salute; straightway he began his investigation.
First he came over to the Doctor and, having learned his name and
address, asked him to write a full report which he could use, and which
he could refer to headquarters if necessary. Doctor Winchester bowed
gravely as he promised. Then the Sergeant approached me and said sotto
voce:
“I like the look of your doctor. I think we can work together!”
Turning to Miss Trelawny he asked:
“Please let me know what you can of your Father; his ways of life, his
history—in fact of anything of whatsoever kind which interests him, or
in which he may be concerned.” I was about to interrupt to tell him
what she had already said of her ignorance in all matters of her father
and his ways, but her warning hand was raised to me pointedly and she
spoke herself.
“Alas! I know little or nothing. Superintendent Dolan and Mr. Ross
know already all I can say.”
“Well, ma’am, we must be content to do what we can,” said the officer
genially. “I’ll begin by making a minute examination. You say that you
were outside the door when you heard the noise?”
“I was in my room when I heard the queer sound—indeed it must have
been the early part of whatever it was which woke me. I came out of my
room at once. Father’s door was shut, and I could see the whole landing
and the upper slopes of the staircase. No one could have left by the
door unknown to me, if that is what you mean!”
“That is just what I do mean, miss. If every one who knows anything
will tell me as well as that, we shall soon get to the bottom of this.”
He then went over to the bed, looked at it carefully, and asked:
“Has the bed been touched?”
“Not to my knowledge,” said Miss Trelawny, “but I shall ask Mrs.
Grant—the housekeeper,” she added as she rang the bell. Mrs. Grant
answered it in person. “Come in,” said Miss Trelawny. “These gentlemen
want to know, Mrs. Grant, if the bed has been touched.”
“Not by me, ma’am.”
“Then,” said Miss Trelawny, turning to Sergeant Daw, “it cannot have
been touched by any one. Either Mrs. Grant or I myself was here all
the time, and I do not think any of the servants who came when I gave
the alarm were near the bed at all. You see, Father lay here just
under the great safe, and every one crowded round him. We sent them
all away in a very short time.” Daw, with a motion of his hand, asked
us all to stay at the other side of the room whilst with a
magnifying-glass he examined the bed, taking care as he moved each fold
of the bedclothes to replace it in exact position. Then he examined
with his magnifying-glass the floor beside it, taking especial pains
where the blood had trickled over the side of the bed, which was of
heavy red wood handsomely carved. Inch by inch, down on his knees,
carefully avoiding any touch with the stains on the floor, he followed
the blood-marks over to the spot, close under the great safe, where the
body had lain. All around and about this spot he went for a radius of
some yards; but seemingly did not meet with anything to arrest special
attention. Then he examined the front of the safe; round the lock, and
along the bottom and top of the double doors, more especially at the
places of their touching in front.
Next he went to the windows, which were fastened down with the hasps.
“Were the shutters closed?” he asked Miss Trelawny in a casual way as
though he expected the negative answer, which came.
All this time Doctor Winchester was attending to his patient; now
dressing the wounds in the wrist or making minute examination all over
the head and throat, and over the heart. More than once he put his
nose to the mouth of the senseless man and sniffed. Each time he did
so he finished up by unconsciously looking round the room, as though in
search of something.
Then we heard the deep strong voice of the Detective:
“So far as I can see, the object was to bring that key to the lock of
the safe. There seems to be some secret in the mechanism that I am
unable to guess at, though I served a year in Chubb’s before I joined
the police. It is a combination lock of seven letters; but there seems
to be a way of locking even the combination. It is one of Chatwood’s;
I shall call at their place and find out something about it.” Then
turning to the Doctor, as though his own work were for the present
done, he said:
“Have you anything you can tell me at once, Doctor, which will not
interfere with your full report? If there is any doubt I can wait, but
the sooner I know something definite the better.” Doctor Winchester
answered at once:
“For my own part I see no reason in waiting. I shall make a full
report of course. But in the meantime I shall tell you all I
know—which is after all not very much, and all I think—which is less
definite. There is no wound on the head which could account for the
state of stupor in which the patient continues. I must, therefore,
take it that either he has been drugged or is under some hypnotic
influence. So far as I can judge, he has not been drugged—at least by
means of any drug of whose qualities I am aware. Of course, there is
ordinarily in this room so much of a mummy smell that it is difficult
to be certain about anything having a delicate aroma. I dare say that
you have noticed the peculiar Egyptian scents, bitumen, nard, aromatic
gums and spices, and so forth. It is quite possible that somewhere in
this room, amongst the curios and hidden by stronger scents, is some
substance or liquid which may have the effect we see. It is possible
that the patient has taken some drug, and that he may in some sleeping
phase have injured himself. I do not think this is likely; and
circumstances, other than those which I have myself been investigating,
may prove that this surmise is not correct. But in the meantime it is
possible; and must, till it be disproved, be kept within our purview.”
Here Sergeant Daw interrupted:
“That may be, but if so, we should be able to find the instrument with
which the wrist was injured. There would be marks of blood somewhere.”
“Exactly so!” said the Doctor, fixing his glasses as though preparing
for an argument. “But if it be that the patient has used some strange
drug, it may be one that does not take effect at once. As we are as
yet ignorant of its potentialities—if, indeed, the whole surmise is
correct at all—we must be prepared at all points.”
Here Miss Trelawny joined in the conversation:
“That would be quite right, so far as the action of the drug was
concerned; but according to the second part of your surmise the wound
may have been self-inflicted, and this after the drug had taken effect.”
“True!” said the Detective and the Doctor simultaneously. She went on:
“As however, Doctor, your guess does not exhaust the possibilities, we
must bear in mind that some other variant of the same root-idea may be
correct. I take it, therefore, that our first search, to be made on
this assumption, must be for the weapon with which the injury was done
to my Father’s wrist.”
“Perhaps he put the weapon in the safe before he became quite
unconscious,” said I, giving voice foolishly to a half-formed thought.
“That could not be,” said the Doctor quickly. “At least I think it
could hardly be,” he added cautiously, with a brief bow to me. “You
see, the left hand is covered with blood; but there is no blood mark
whatever on the safe.”
“Quite right!” I said, and there was a long pause.
The first to break the silence was the Doctor.
“We shall want a nurse here as soon as possible; and I know the very
one to suit. I shall go at once to get her if I can. I must ask that
till I return some of you will remain constantly with the patient. It
may be necessary to remove him to another room later on; but in the
meantime he is best left here. Miss Trelawny, may I take it that
either you or Mrs. Grant will remain here—not merely in the room, but
close to the patient and watchful of him—till I return?”
She bowed in reply, and took a seat beside the sofa. The Doctor gave
her some directions as to what she should do in case her father should
become conscious before his return.
The next to move was Superintendent Dolan, who came close to Sergeant
Daw as he said:
“I had better return now to the station—unless, of course, you should
wish me to remain for a while.”
He answered, “Is Johnny Wright still in your division?”
“Yes! Would you like him to be with you?” The other nodded reply.
“Then I will send him on to you as soon as can be arranged. He shall
then stay with you as long as you wish. I will tell him that he is to
take his instructions entirely from you.”
The Sergeant accompanied him to the door, saying as he went:
“Thank you, sir; you are always thoughtful for men who are working with
you. It is a pleasure to me to be with you again. I shall go back to
Scotland Yard and report to my chief. Then I shall call at Chatwood’s;
and I shall return here as soon as possible. I suppose I may take it,
miss, that I may put up here for a day or two, if required. It may be
some help, or possibly some comfort to you, if I am about, until we
unravel this mystery.”
“I shall be very grateful to you.” He looked keenly at her for a few
seconds before he spoke again.
“Before I go have I permission to look about your Father’s table and
desk? There might be something which would give us a clue—or a lead
at all events.” Her answer was so unequivocal as almost to surprise
him.
“You have the fullest possible permission to do anything which may help
us in this dreadful trouble—to discover what it is that is wrong with
my Father, or which may shield him in the future!”
He began at once a systematic search of the dressing-table, and after
that of the writing-table in the room. In one of the drawers he found
a letter sealed; this he brought at once across the room and handed to
Miss Trelawny.
“A letter—directed to me—and in my Father’s hand!” she said as she
eagerly opened it. I watched her face as she began to read; but seeing
at once that Sergeant Daw kept his keen eyes on her face, unflinchingly
watching every flitting expression, I kept my eyes henceforth fixed on
his. When Miss Trelawny had read her letter through, I had in my mind
a conviction, which, however, I kept locked in my own heart. Amongst
the suspicions in the mind of the Detective was one, rather perhaps
potential than definite, of Miss Trelawny herself.
For several minutes Miss Trelawny held the letter in her hand with her
eyes downcast, thinking. Then she read it carefully again; this time
the varying expressions were intensified, and I thought I could easily
follow them. When she had finished the second reading, she paused
again. Then, though with some reluctance, she handed the letter to the
Detective. He read it eagerly but with unchanging face; read it a
second time, and then handed it back with a bow. She paused a little
again, and then handed it to me. As she did so she raised her eyes to
mine for a single moment appealingly; a swift blush spread over her
pale cheeks and forehead.
With mingled feelings I took it, but, all said, I was glad. She did
not show any perturbation in giving the letter to the Detective—she
might not have shown any to anyone else. But to me.... I feared to
follow the thought further; but read on, conscious that the eyes of
both Miss Trelawny and the Detective were fixed on me.
“MY DEAR DAUGHTER, I want you to take this letter as an
instruction—absolute and imperative, and admitting of no deviation
whatever—in case anything untoward or unexpected by you or by others
should happen to me. If I should be suddenly and mysteriously stricken
down—either by sickness, accident or attack—you must follow these
directions implicitly. If I am not already in my bedroom when you are
made cognisant of my state, I am to be brought there as quickly as
possible. Even should I be dead, my body is to be brought there.
Thenceforth, until I am either conscious and able to give instructions
on my own account, or buried, I am never to be left alone—not for a
single instant. From nightfall to sunrise at least two persons must
remain in the room. It will be well that a trained nurse be in the
room from time to time, and will note any symptoms, either permanent or
changing, which may strike her. My solicitors, Marvin & Jewkes, of 27B
Lincoln’s Inn, have full instructions in case of my death; and Mr.
Marvin has himself undertaken to see personally my wishes carried out.
I should advise you, my dear Daughter, seeing that you have no relative
to apply to, to get some friend whom you can trust to either remain
within the house where instant communication can be made, or to come
nightly to aid in the watching, or to be within call. Such friend may
be either male or female; but, whichever it may be, there should be
added one other watcher or attendant at hand of the opposite sex.
Understand, that it is of the very essence of my wish that there should
be, awake and exercising themselves to my purposes, both masculine and
feminine intelligences. Once more, my dear Margaret, let me impress on
you the need for observation and just reasoning to conclusions,
howsoever strange. If I am taken ill or injured, this will be no
ordinary occasion; and I wish to warn you, so that your guarding may be
complete.
“Nothing in my room—I speak of the curios—must be removed or
displaced in any way, or for any cause whatever. I have a special
reason and a special purpose in the placing of each; so that any moving
of them would thwart my plans.
“Should you want money or counsel in anything, Mr. Marvin will carry
out your wishes; to the which he has my full instructions.”
“ABEL TRELAWNY.”
I read the letter a second time before speaking, for I feared to betray
myself. The choice of a friend might be a momentous occasion for me.
I had already ground for hope, that she had asked me to help her in the
first throe of her trouble; but love makes its own doubtings, and I
feared. My thoughts seemed to whirl with lightning rapidity, and in a
few seconds a whole process of reasoning became formulated. I must not
volunteer to be the friend that the father advised his daughter to have
to aid her in her vigil; and yet that one glance had a lesson which I
must not ignore. Also, did not she, when she wanted help, send to
me—to me a stranger, except for one meeting at a dance and one brief
afternoon of companionship on the river? Would it not humiliate her to
make her ask me twice? Humiliate her! No! that pain I could at all
events save her; it is not humiliation to refuse. So, as I handed her
back the letter, I said:
“I know you will forgive me, Miss Trelawny, if I presume too much; but
if you will permit me to aid in the watching I shall be proud. Though
the occasion is a sad one, I shall be so far happy to be allowed the
privilege.”
Despite her manifest and painful effort at self-control, the red tide
swept her face and neck. Even her eyes seemed suffused, and in stern
contrast with her pale cheeks when the tide had rolled back. She
answered in a low voice:
“I shall be very grateful for your help!” Then in an afterthought she
added:
“But you must not let me be selfish in my need! I know you have many
duties to engage you; and though I shall value your help highly—most
highly—it would not be fair to monopolise your time.”
“As to that,” I answered at once, “my time is yours. I can for today
easily arrange my work so that I can come here in the afternoon and
stay till morning. After that, if the occasion still demands it, I can
so arrange my work that I shall have more time still at my disposal.”
She was much moved. I could see the tears gather in her eyes, and she
turned away her head. The Detective spoke:
“I am glad you will be here, Mr. Ross. I shall be in the house myself,
as Miss Trelawny will allow me, if my people in Scotland Yard will
permit. That letter seems to put a different complexion on everything;
though the mystery remains greater than ever. If you can wait here an
hour or two I shall go to headquarters, and then to the safe-makers.
After that I shall return; and you can go away easier in your mind, for
I shall be here.”
When he had gone, we two, Miss Trelawny and I, remained in silence. At
last she raised her eyes and looked at me for a moment; after that I
would not have exchanged places with a king. For a while she busied
herself round the extemporised bedside of her father. Then, asking me
to be sure not to take my eyes off him till she returned, she hurried
out.
In a few minutes she came back with Mrs. Grant and two maids and a
couple of men, who bore the entire frame and furniture of a light iron
bed. This they proceeded to put together and to make. When the work
was completed, and the servants had withdrawn, she said to me:
“It will be well to be all ready when the Doctor returns. He will
surely want to have Father put to bed; and a proper bed will be better
for him than the sofa.” She then got a chair close beside her father,
and sat down watching him.
I went about the room, taking accurate note of all I saw. And truly
there were enough things in the room to evoke the curiosity of any
man—even though the attendant circumstances were less strange. The
whole place, excepting those articles of furniture necessary to a
well-furnished bedroom, was filled with magnificent curios, chiefly
Egyptian. As the room was of immense size there was opportunity for the
placing of a large number of them, even if, as with these, they were of
huge proportions.
Whilst I was still investigating the room there came the sound of
wheels on the gravel outside the house. There was a ring at the hall
door, and a few minutes later, after a preliminary tap at the door and
an answering “Come in!” Doctor Winchester entered, followed by a young
woman in the dark dress of a nurse.
“I have been fortunate!” he said as he came in. “I found her at once
and free. Miss Trelawny, this is Nurse Kennedy!”