Out of what seemed a long dark night, filled with shapeless images,
Esther woke at last. She believed herself in her comfortable bed at
the Villa Firenze, and for a brief moment she wondered at the hardness
of the mattress beneath her. Next she was aware that her head throbbed
dully and that her mouth felt dry and harsh. She swallowed several
times. Was she ill? Had anything happened? Then followed the
discovery that she was fully dressed, even to her coat and shoes. How
could that be? It was vaguely disquieting.
She opened her eyes wider and let them roam slowly around. The light
was failing; it was almost dusk. She saw on one side of her, close, a
bare, blank wall, on the other a wide opening, more than a doorway,
hung at the sides with heavy, dusty curtains of a dingy red material.
The curtains looked familiar. Where had she seen them before? She lay
perfectly motionless, pondering the matter idly, not deeply interested.
All at once it came to her: they were the portières of the doctor's
laboratory; she was in the alcove of the room; this bed that felt so
hard and unyielding was Sartorius's bed....
Instantly memory flooded back upon her in a vast wave. She sat up,
sick with terror, and clapped her hand over her mouth to keep from
screaming aloud. Her hand itself trembled, her whole body shook as
though with ague, but she made no sound. Instead she leaned against
the wall for support and with her heart beating like a trip-hammer
continued to stare about her, listening acutely. All around was dead
stillness; she could hear nothing except the steady drip-drip of water
from a leaky tap. The room was empty but for herself, perhaps there
was no one in the whole house. Beside her was an old bedside table
with two or three dusty paper-bound books on it. Through the curtains
she could just see the end of the long work-table and one of the
cupboards.
The time puzzled her. It had just been getting dark when she last
remembered anything; it was getting dark now. Yet surely she had been
here more than, say, half an hour? She thought of her wrist-watch. It
had stopped, the hands pointing to a quarter to one. That meant it had
run down, for she had wound it at a quarter to one--was it yesterday?
How could she tell? She caught herself yawning heavily, overcome with
fatigue and drowsiness. The one thing she instinctively desired with
her whole being was to lie down again and drift off to sleep.
"Good God, I can't do that!" she muttered, shaking herself. "I've got
to think, to think hard. I've got to find a way out of this!"
There was no doubt in her mind as to why she was here. She was
dangerous to the doctor; she possessed information which would ruin
him. He had overheard her conversation on the telephone; more than
that he had probably received and opened the chemist's report when it
came to the villa. Without doubt he had had something of this sort in
mind when he came and suggested driving her to her pension. He hadn't
meant to let her out of his sight; he had even inquired about what
friends she had to ascertain whether there was much danger of her being
traced. He had meant to get her alone in his car, then stupefy her in
some way and bring her here. Her telephoning to the chemist had
precipitated matters, made him take a desperate chance and act quickly.
At least that was how she construed things. How he had managed to get
her out and into his car was a mystery. She had just sent that message
to Roger, she recalled. Two minutes, one minute's delay, and the bold
plan would have miscarried. Would they miss her at the villa--Miss
Clifford or Roger? With a sinking heart she knew they were not likely
to for some days. She had said good-bye to the former. Roger indeed
might think it a little odd, her sending for him and then going away,
but he would hardly imagine anything seriously wrong. No, there was no
chance at all of her being sought for, at any rate not here. No one
would ever think of looking here.
How had she lost consciousness so completely, so instantaneously? Ah,
of course! That stab in her arm, it had been the wound of a hypodermic
needle, that weapon she now so closely associated with the doctor. Her
arm felt sore to the touch, a spot near the shoulder. She had been
doped, kept stupefied--she had no idea for how long. What a risk the
man had taken! That proved conclusively how much he feared her. She
knew him for a murderer, she alone. His own life was in peril, as well
as all his hopes for reaping the benefit of his crime, as long as she
was free to tell what she knew. There was no one but herself to give
him away, no one else to say how he had cold-bloodedly done away with
one victim and now was laying a trap for another one... for Roger....
Roger! As the thought struck her she almost leapt to her feet in
consternation. He was in danger now; he had no suspicion to protect
him. Unless he held firm against that anti-toxin he was already
doomed. How could she tell if they had already overcome his prejudice?
Perhaps he had by now had the injections, one, two even. If he had,
nothing could save him, she knew that. Her heart grew cold with fear.
Still, there was a loophole of hope. He had distinctly assured her he
had made up his mind against the anti-toxin. If only he could be
depended upon to remain obstinate! The danger was that he might at any
moment yield to the persuasions of his aunt. He hated to distress her
needlessly. After all, his resistance was only a caprice; it could not
be depended on as a safeguard. It came to her with dreadful certainty
that there was no one who could warn him but herself--and she was a
prisoner, several miles away. For the moment her own possible fate
scarcely concerned her at all. It was the thought of Roger's position
which drove her nearly frantic, impelled her to rise with tottering,
cautious steps and investigate her prison.
She crept, trembling, to the door and tried the handle. It was locked,
of course; she had known it would be. She clung to the knob and looked
around. The room, built for a studio, had no window, only a sloping
skylight, which was firmly fastened. The atmosphere was close, that of
a room long shut up, flavoured with tobacco-smoke and the clean,
pungent odour of carbolic. Dust lay on the furniture, but here and
there it was disturbed in streaks, showing that someone had been there
recently. She wondered if she was all alone in the house. She
remembered that Jacques was away on holiday. Yet it scarcely seemed
likely that Sartorius would care to risk leaving her completely
unguarded. Again she listened, leaning against the door, conscious of
extreme weakness and trying hard to keep her teeth from chattering. No
sound whatever came from the rooms below; the silence somewhat
reassured her. She resolved at once to see if there was any possible
way of escaping. Yet as she left the door and took a cautious step
towards the centre of the room, perspiration broke out all over her
body and ran in streams down her back, her limbs, her face. She felt
her knees give under her. Whether all this was due to pure weakness or
in part to fright she could not tell, but it occurred to her as
possible that she had been here several days without food and
repeatedly drugged. How she came to be conscious now caused her a
fleeting wonder.
If only there were a telephone in the room--but the one instrument was
on the ground-floor. There seemed no possible means of communication
with the outside world. She could scream, of course, but that would
only serve to alarm anyone who happened to be in the house, or even if
the house was empty she could scarcely hope that her voice would be
heard far below in the street. The one chance that suggested itself to
her was the skylight. It seemed just faintly possible that she might
be able to get through it and somehow down to the ground. It presented
decided elements of danger, undoubtedly, but there was no choice. She
knew too well what it would mean if she stayed here. No, it was the
skylight or nothing; she must think how the attempt could be managed.
Clutching on to the back of a chair for support, she eyed the sloping
glass above her and made certain rough calculations. If she mounted
upon a chair placed on the table she might fairly easily unfasten the
big central group of panes, which was the part that opened outward.
She even thought she could contrive to climb up to the opening and get
outside, but after that came the rub. She would have to slide off the
side of the roof and drop to the ground, and common sense told here
there was not a chance of her reaching the ground without a broken leg
or arm, even if she was not killed outright. The distance was too
great; there was nothing to break her fall. There was no use whatever
in getting outside the house if she was going to be too disabled to go
farther. She must try to find something she could turn into a sort of
rope to cling to. Her eyes sought rapidly about and fell upon the long
red curtains. The stuff seemed thick and strong; she could perhaps
tear them up into strips, knot the lengths together and so make
something that would serve for part of the distance, at any rate. If
it didn't reach to the ground, she must chance it. She would have to
be quick about it, too, for something warned her she was not likely to
be left very long alone. Indeed, she was sure within her that the
doctor had meant for her to remain unconscious, never wake up again.
The idea filled her with a sickening horror, so that she had to set her
teeth hard together to stop their chattering.
Standing upon the chair she began with shaking fingers and as hurriedly
as she could to undo the rusted curtain-hooks from their big wooden
rings. She had managed only the first one when a sound from the street
below made her stop and listen, petrified. A car had stopped. She
waited, breathless, and an instant later heard the loud bang of the
street door. Like a flash she was down again on the floor, and in one
panic-stricken movement had slithered back on the camp-bed and drawn up
the army blanket over her, as it had been when she came to. As far as
she could remember it she arranged herself in her former position, half
turned towards the wall on her right side. Thank Heaven it was darker
now. She recalled with gratitude the fact that there was no electric
fixture in the alcove. If anyone came, she must do her utmost to
appear unconscious, and trust to the sheltering gloom to aid her in the
deception.
She waited and waited. Long minutes went by; it might have been half
an hour, but it was probably not nearly so long. Her body began to be
so cramped she felt she must move or die; moreover, it was some time
before her heart ceased beating so violently as to lift the blanket.
At last when she thought she could bear no more the footsteps of two
persons mounted the steps to the laboratory. The key grated in the
lock of the door. With an inward desperate prayer she closed her eyes
and relaxed the muscles of her face, just as the door swung open and
the light flashed in her face from the larger part of the room. It was
only a dim light in here, though. She knew that the lamp, a
high-powered one with a green shade, shed its rays straight down on the
work-table.
Heavy steps at once crossed the floor and paused beside her. She heard
the doctor's breathing as he bent over her, she smelled the tobacco
odour of his clothing, and felt her cheek burn as though seared beneath
his scrutiny. Presently he spoke, in her ear, it seemed.
"I suppose you gave her the injection at the time I told you to?"
"Oh, God, yes; I gave it to her all right!"
Esther experienced a sharp shock. The second voice was that of Captain
Holliday. How on earth did he come into this? Or had he been in it
from the first? Somehow from his tone of frightened tension she
thought he had not, yet she could not imagine what he was doing here
now. Instinctively she knew that the doctor was still studying her
closely, and she felt that if he kept it up much longer she would give
herself away. Already she feared that in some way she had betrayed her
astonishment of a moment ago. Had he noticed anything? She was
ignorant of how to simulate a drugged sleep; she might be doing it all
wrong.
Suddenly, without the least warning, she felt a cruel pinch on her
shoulder. The doctor, to satisfy himself, had resorted to this crude
but effectual method of finding out if she was quite unconscious or
not. At least it might easily have proved effectual, only Providence
intervened. She never knew how it was she did not shriek aloud, but
instead managed to remain perfectly quiescent, unresisting. A second
later she had her reward. She heard the huge man move away, his step
creaking across the bare boards out into the main room. She breathed
again, and listened.
For about two minutes there was silence, then Holliday spoke, bursting
out with a sort of defiance that had terror in it, she thought.
"See here, Sartorius, I'm going to clear out. I've had enough. I
didn't know what I was letting myself in for the other day, or I
wouldn't have helped you out."
"_You'll stay here._"
This bald statement, uttered with peculiar emphasis, caused a shudder
to run through Esther. There was something ominous in it, crushing.
The young man may have thought so too, to judge by the nervous,
uncertain fashion in which he strove to combat the command.
"The hell I shall! Who'll keep me if I want to go?"
There was no response, and after a second Holliday continued
argumentatively:
"You know I've had nothing to do with this business--nothing! It's
true I told Thérèse, long ago, the things that people said about you in
Algeria. I never knew if they were true or not; I didn't want to know.
It was nothing to me how you got money to live on. You saved my life,
that was enough for me. Good God, the past few days must prove I'm not
ungrateful! Still, there's a limit to everything, and this thing's too
damned risky for me; I don't want anything to do with it."
"Listen to me."
The doctor's voice was level, his words dropping like a heavy weight
across the young man's nervous protest.
"Well, I'm listening."
"You appear to have got the idea that you are sacrificing yourself for
me. That is not quite true. By doing as I tell you and remaining here
you are saving yourself."
"How do you make that out?"
"It is perfectly simple. You realise of course that that woman in
there is the only person who has the knowledge necessary to bring a
charge; no one else has even a slight suspicion. Therefore it is
hardly worth while to emphasise the reasons for keeping watch over her
closely until such time as I am able to dispose of her satisfactorily.
These things take time and thought. One can't rush into them without
running risks."
A shiver shook Esther from head to foot. She knew now, if she had had
any doubts before, what was going to happen to her. The cold-blooded
statement had an effect on Holliday also, for his voice sounded
high-pitched and oddly rough as he replied:
"I suppose one has to admit all that, but why in hell's name have I got
to be her jailor? If she's unconscious, why can't she be left alone?"
"Simply because I refuse to take the risk. There is no knowing what
might happen; one can't be sure of anything."
There followed the scratch of a match and the smell of cigarette smoke;
then, as if reading his friend's thoughts, Sartorius continued:
"And in case you have any secret intention of giving me the slip, just
bear this in mind: If the detention of this girl ever comes out, the
fat will be in the fire, for you just as much as for me. Dead or
alive, it will make little difference; you are bound to be implicated.
How good a chance do you think you'd have of proving your innocence?
You'd be held as an accessory both before and after the act, if you
were lucky enough to escape a more serious charge. You are in it now;
it's to your own interest to help me by staying in it."
"Good God!" groaned the young man, as though caught in a trap.
"I thought you'd see my point. You know me. You I never exaggerate."
"But is it essential to get rid of the girl entirely?" Holliday asked
in a jerky fashion. "Isn't there any other means of keeping her quiet?"
"Oh, yes, but nothing that can really be depended on. I could, of
course, by means of a simple operation, destroy certain areas in the
brain which would deprive her of memory and speech, but these faculties
sometimes have a tiresome tendency to restore themselves or to delegate
their functions to other areas. No, there is only one safe plan, and
even that wants thinking out. There must be no trace left."
"God!" exploded Holliday weakly, yet with a kind of loathing. "Why
don't I go straight to the police and give the whole show away? I've
half a mind to."
"Oh, no, I think you won't do that. There is too good a reason for not
giving the show away, as you call it."
"What reason do you mean?"
"If you did go to the police you would deprive yourself of a large
fortune. By sitting tight and saying nothing you will quite soon be
able to marry Lady Clifford. In the circumstances, you will hardly
persist in attaching a purely fictitious value to two insignificant
lives."
"Two!" gasped the younger man in a whisper. "Then you really mean to
go on with Clifford?"
"I have no choice in the matter; it has become imperative to remove
him. Since his father appointed him trustee of the estate, Lady
Clifford is powerless to draw any large sums of money without his
knowledge and consent. Consequently she would not be able to
remunerate me for my services to her with regard to her husband."
"You mean it would rouse his suspicions if she kept paying out money to
you?"
"Exactly. Of course to take on another case was more than I bargained
for, but the thing was practically forced on me. It was Lady Clifford
herself who began it without consulting me. She had kept back some of
the typhoid culture, having sworn to me that she had thrown it all
away. She started putting it into his bottled mineral water--she would
keep the water a day or two in her own dressing-room, then carry it
into his room and exchange it for the bottle that was there already. A
fool's game--at any moment she might have been caught at it. However,
there you are, she took the risk, then came to me and told me what she
had done and why."
"I see. Then you only have to leave Clifford alone and let the disease
take its course, I suppose?"
"Not at all. Typhoid artificially given seldom is severe enough to
kill, particularly in the case of a young and vigorous subject. No, we
should have to find some excuse for administering the pure toxin. It
would do the trick at once, and without the least fear of detection.
However, that is my difficulty; the man refuses utterly to submit to
any sort of injection. Idiotic prejudices!"
Esther's heart gave a leap. Roger was still safe; he had not given in.
She was so relieved that for the moment she almost forgot her own
situation. The doctor continued thoughtfully:
"He is not sufficiently ill to be given anything without his consent,
and as things are I daren't press him too much; he might think it
peculiar.... No, it is no good; there has got to be some other way,
something altogether different. Quickly too. To postpone it now would
be the greatest risk of all.... It would have been very natural to
have two members of a family fall ill with the same disease, but it
can't be helped now. I happen to have some stuff here which will
accomplish my purpose just as satisfactorily. That's why I came back
this afternoon; I don't want to waste any time."
Esther's brief elation vanished like a bubble into the air. Some fresh
horror was afoot. What was this man plotting now? She held her breath
and listened painfully. She heard the doors of the oak armoire creak
on their hinges as they swung open, then came the click of a glass jar.
Holliday spoke, a tinge of fascinated curiosity in his tone.
"What sort of stuff do you mean? Not any kind of poison?"
"Good Lord, no! That would be asking for trouble. This must be a
natural death; there's no good attempting anything else. Here's the
thing I propose to use."
"What is it? It looks harmless."
"Simply tetanus."
She thought that her heart entirely stopped beating. Tetanus! Gripped
by a sickening fear she forced herself to lie quite still, while waves
of horror passed over. She heard as in a dream the stifled ejaculation
of the young man.
"Tetanus ... why, God in heaven, that's lock-jaw!"
"Quite. The anti-toxin for it has been discovered, as a matter of
fact. I have discovered it. However, that is not known to the public
yet; it was very recent."
There was the sound of a long-drawn, shuddering gasp.
"But how do you mean to ... won't it be dangerous?" Holliday faltered.
"As it happens it is quite simple--a piece of luck. In fact that is
why I thought of tetanus. It seems Clifford has been going about for
nearly a week with an open cut on his thumb. Half the time there's no
bandage on it, although I've warned him more than once of the risk of
infection. This morning his aunt persuaded him to let me disinfect it
properly and bandage it. So that is what I am going to do when I get
back this evening."
There was a choking sound, as if Holliday were in danger of being sick.
A chair scraped on the floor; there was the clink of glass.
"Here, pull yourself together; this will fix you. Sit there.... I did
not know you were so sensitive."
A gulp, followed by another shuddering sound. Then, weakly, with a
sort of loathing, "I don't know. I never liked the fellow ... but
this... Besides, it's damned risky; you can't pretend it isn't."
"Why? Think of it calmly. Who can prove how he got the infection?
It's a thing that can never be proved, one way or the other. Everyone
knows he's laid himself open to it, that I have warned him.... No, no.
You will see. As for any other feeling you may have, you must settle
with your own squeamishness; that is no concern of mine."
There was a short pause, while upon her hard couch Esther set her teeth
together and clenched her hands with all her remaining strength. She
wondered if she was going to faint. She felt she must listen, listen,
not miss one word. Like something in a nightmare the cold, phlegmatic
voice continued slowly:
"I look upon things as they are, simply, without prejudice. With all
life, human or otherwise, one creature preys upon another. One has to
decide, Am I worth the sacrifice of another human being? I do not know
that I should consider you worth it, my good friend, to be quite frank,
but in my own case I venture to think that I am. Having made my mind
clear on this point, I go ahead, merely observing certain precautions
which will be necessary as long as the exceptional individual is so far
in advance of the mass. I do not hesitate to declare that the work I
can do for science is worth many hundreds--or shall I say
thousands?--of Cliffords, young and old. To think for one moment of
putting my labours for the next twenty years in the balance against a
couple of cotton-manufacturers is ludicrous, that is all."
"Ha, ha, ha, ha! Yes, if you look at it that way, I suppose it's a
devil of a joke!"
Holliday was becoming hysterical.
"Also one must not lose sight of the fact that when the young one is
out of the way, you and I will both benefit considerably more than we
first expected. Lady Clifford will inherit three to four times as
much. I look forward to being quite unhampered; I shall be able to
devote myself to research for the rest of my life."
Somewhere far below a clock struck a single mellow clang. It was the
same clock that had ticked so loudly that day when Esther first came to
the house. She could see it now, its wide white face crossed by its
thin hands of decorated bronze.
"Six-thirty. I must be off to catch Clifford when he gets home. The
imbecile has been out and about the town for two days with a
temperature of over a hundred and one--searching everywhere for this
girl. I believe he was going to the police to-day. That is another
reason for not losing time. There is little likelihood of anyone's
coming here, but one never knows."
In the midst of her almost paralysing fear a thrill shot through Esther
when she heard that Roger was concerned over her disappearance. Then
it had mattered to him when she didn't telephone! She also knew now
how long she had been here. If only these two would go, would leave
her alone, she might possibly be able to carry out her plan of escape;
she would risk it, anyway, desperate though it seemed. Once she got
clear of the house she could find a telephone and ring Roger up. That
would be sufficient. If only they would go! Why were they still
lingering here?
At last the floor creaked with the heavy tread. A wild hope rose in
her breast. A second later and it perished miserably, as she heard the
doctor say:
"I'll just give her another shot before I leave. Then she'll be safe
for some time. Where is the syringe?"
"Here, on the table."
A silence, then Sartorius's voice, reflectively:
"Humph, you didn't give her quite all of it, did you? There's a bit
left."
That, perhaps, explained her being conscious now. What an irony! To
think that Holliday's inexpertness should have brought about the agony
of the past half-hour! But for him she would have remained in peaceful
oblivion, out of which she would have passed imperceptibly to her final
sleep. These terrible moments were her last glimpses of life. In a
few seconds would come utter blankness again; her last chance would be
gone for saving Roger and herself. Should she make a struggle for it
and die fighting? Or was it better to continue her supine pretence and
quietly allow the needle to reduce her once more to a merciful torpor?
"Hand me that tumbler, will you?"
Water splashed from the tap into the basin. She could have burst out
laughing at the precise habits of the man which remained with him now
when they mattered not at all. She could almost see him wash the
needle, could follow every movement up to the setting down of the glass
beside her on the little _table de nuit_.
It was coming, now, the stab that marked the end of conscious life, the
ruin of her one hope of rescuing the man she loved from a horrible
death. It was all over now.... She felt the doctor's breath stir her
hair, she smelled again the hot odour of strong tobacco, was conscious
of the wave of animal heat emanating from his body as he bent over her.
Now ... her lovely chestnut-coloured blouse must be peppered with
holes. What a pity! ... not that it mattered now--how absurd to think
of that! ...