It was nearly midnight when Dr. Bousquet at last took his departure.
An hour before that time Esther became conscious, but was so utterly
weak he would not allow her to speak or make the smallest effort of any
kind. She made no comment on finding herself back in her old quarters,
and after a short interval drifted back into a natural sleep. The
watchers felt a degree of relief.
"I think I may safely leave her now, monsieur," said the doctor,
drawing on his gloves. "I will come again in the morning about ten
o'clock, and if any complication should arise in the meantime, you will
of course telephone me. She is suffering now from shock, it seems,
combined with the after-effects of morphia. Later when she is less
exhausted she may be intensely nervous. One must see that she is kept
absolutely quiet, with nothing to agitate her. A fresh shock might do
great harm."
Roger glanced at the grey-white face on the pillow. It was thin and
drawn; it was hard to understand how it could have altered so much in
these few days' time. What had happened to her to give her that
pinched look? The shadows under the closed eyes were deep violet.
"Tell me, doctor," he whispered. "Have you been able to come to any
conclusion on the subject of her mental condition?"
He brought out the last words with a painful hesitation.
"I am not an alienist, at least not an expert," replied the little man
cautiously, elevating the reddish tufts of his brows. "Of course I
have a general knowledge. During the short interval when she was
conscious she did not appear to be other than normal, but that, I fear,
is not conclusive evidence. One would have to study her. If, as Dr.
Sartorius suggests, she may be suffering from confusional attacks, she
would part of the time be so completely sane that one would suspect
nothing wrong. Subjects of that kind often live a sort of double life.
They are apt to invent romantic or mysterious histories about
themselves, intrigues in which they figure, often as a persecuted
victim. They make these tales so extremely convincing that they
frequently succeed in imposing their belief on other people."
"You mean there would be nothing about her to make one know she was not
normal mentally?"
"Quite so, unless one happened to possess proof that her stories were
untrue."
Roger's heart sank. Horrible as it was to contemplate the thought of
the crime committed in their midst, it was to him infinitely worse to
think of Esther as mentally unbalanced.
"Have you noticed anything yourself which you would regard as a
suspicious symptom, doctor?" he inquired with difficulty.
"Only her violent antipathy to Dr. Sartorius. I should consider that
rather a bad sign. It is the sort of thing these subjects are prone
to, monsieur," and the little man shook his head disparagingly.
Roger risked one more question, dreading the answer.
"How can we find out about her? You say she will have to be studied?"
"Very probably, monsieur. There are certain tests. I should suggest
that if the young woman is someone in whom you are particularly
interested"--he gave a tactful cough which Roger understood well--"the
best thing you can do is to place her for a few weeks in a quiet
sanatorium. There is one near Grasse; either Dr. Sartorius or I could
arrange it, for you."
"I see, doctor. Well, we will think about it."
He watched the little man depart, grimly resolved never to let Esther
be placed in a sanatorium, no matter what happened. Sartorius himself
had mentioned the quiet place near Grasse. That fact alone was enough
to decide him against it. He was alone now with Esther. A few minutes
before he had persuaded his aunt to go to her room and try to sleep.
She had demurred at first, but he had firmly led her to her door.
"I'll go if you insist," she gave in at last. "But you're so far from
well yourself, it will be a great strain on you to sit up all night."
"Nonsense; this business has made me forget all about myself. If you
insist on sharing watches, I will call you early in the morning."
She nodded reluctantly, then looked at him with a troubled brow.
"Roger, where in heaven's name do you suppose that poor girl has been
these past two days?"
He shook his head slowly.
"If we knew that, Dido, we'd have the key to the whole damned mystery,"
he said.
Sinking down wearily in the chair beside the bed he painstakingly
attempted to organise a plan of action. It was a difficult business
when he had so little he could definitely go on. His efforts brought
meagre results; moreover he felt confused, curiously fatigued in mind
and body. In the dim light of the shaded lamp the figures on the Toile
de Jouy danced incessantly before his eyes with an eerie effect; he
felt himself enveloped in a phantasmagoria of which it was impossible
to tell substance from shadow. Every few seconds his eyes kept
gravitating back to the pale, fragile face of Esther, which was
troubled even in sleep, the brow furrowed slightly, the muscles about
the mouth twitching from time to time. Whatever the cause of her
present state, he felt gravely apprehensive for her, afraid that she
might be in for a serious nervous illness. Perhaps what she wished to
tell him might be buried in oblivion for months, if indeed it ever came
to light. It even occurred to him that she might wake up completely
ignorant of everything that had preceded her collapse. In that case
what should he do? how should he behave? He knew he could never rid
his mind entirely of the suspicion she had planted there, yet how to
prove it?
The door opened quietly, and Chalmers came in, bringing him a cup of
coffee.
"The doctor's gone to his room, now, sir, otherwise I wouldn't be here.
I've stuck about the hall and stairs the whole time, sir."
"What about her ladyship?"
"She's never tried to leave her room, sir. I've heard her trying to
get on to someone on the telephone, it seems as though she's been at it
for hours, but I fancy she hasn't got through."
"Has she had any chance of speaking with the doctor?"
"She has not, sir, at least not without my knowing, and I daresay she
didn't want to risk that. Aline, though--that's a woman I never could
stick, sir, I don't mind telling you!--Aline has been prowling around
the end of the hall near your room a couple of times. I caught her at
it, and she pretended to be looking out of the window."
"You think she was trying to get into my room?" Roger asked
thoughtfully.
"I'm pretty sure of it, sir."
Roger drank his coffee in silence, mentally reviewing this information.
"There is another little thing I've noticed, sir," Chalmers continued.
"There are a number of keys gone from doors about the house. I've
counted seven missing, and I could take my oath they were in the locks
earlier in the evening. There's never any reason for taking them out."
"Then you think Aline has taken them to see if any of them will open my
door?"
"That's it, sir. I could have told her there's no two keys alike in
this house," he added grimly. "She came to me very friendly like at
about ten o'clock, and tried to pump me to find out what I knew. Had
the nurse come to, and was she able to talk yet? Was it true she had
staggered in so drunk she couldn't see proper, and had fallen in a heap
on the floor? Things like that, sir. Not much change she got out of
me. I shut her up in no time, sir. I knew what she was after."
Hours passed. Roger sat on alone in the half-lighted room, analysing
his impressions and going over in his mind the whole course of his
father's illness, from the moment he had entered the house. To save
his life he could not think of one suspicious circumstance, nothing
that appeared even particularly unusual. Yet, no! What about that
cablegram which was never sent? With a start he recalled it, wondering
how it could have slipped his memory till now. What if Thérèse had had
another and more vital reason than he had thought of for keeping him
away? Was it possible she had been afraid to have him in the house?
It was a fact that he alone knew her relations with Holliday, he alone
had always to an annoying extent seen through her. He recalled with a
feeling akin to nausea her recent attempts to placate him, to turn him
from an enemy into an ally. Had she done that in order to blind him
the more completely to what was going on? The idea suggested a degree
of calculating inhumanity appalling to contemplate. He lived over
again the moment when she had clung to him caressingly and pressed her
perfumed cheek against his breast.... How could he have been such an
utter fool? He set his teeth with a feeling of intolerable disgust....
A smothered scream from the bed caused him to start up.
Esther had suddenly sat up in bed, bolt-upright, her eyes glazed with
terror, one thin hand clapped over her open mouth.
"Esther, my dear! What is it?"
She continued to gaze transfixed in the direction of the door,
unutterable horror written on her face.
"S'sh," she whispered tensely. "S'sh--listen!"
Roger listened, but could hear nothing. The house was absolutely
still. Very gently he took her hand and held it firmly in his. It
trembled like a bird imprisoned.
"Darling--there's nothing to be frightened of. What did you think you
heard?"
She swallowed twice, then spoke, her voice still strangely hoarse.
"It was the doctor. He was outside there, in the passage. I know he
was there."
"Nonsense, there's no one about, or if there is, it's only Chalmers."
"Listen, though!"
Roger obeyed again, and for several seconds they both held their
breath, straining their ears. At last from outside there came the very
faint creak of a footstep, as though someone who had been standing
still was now moving away. Roger made a movement to jump up, but in a
panic she pulled him back.
"No, no, don't leave me!"
"Certainly not, if you don't want me to. But you're quite safe now;
you have nothing to be afraid of."
She leaned closer to him, trembling.
"No," the hoarse voice whispered, "that's not true. I'm not safe as
long as I'm in the same house with him. He is afraid of me. He wants
to keep me from talking. He will do anything to keep me quiet,
anything. He's only waiting for his chance."
A violent tremor seized her so that her teeth chattered. With his arm
about her Roger forced her gently to lie down, noting with growing
alarm the fixed glitter of her eyes and the moisture standing in beads
upon her forehead, above which her bronze hair ruffled in damp curls.
All at once it had become appallingly easy to believe that she was
suffering from the delusion of persecution, that her brain, somehow
disordered, had fabricated a whole history of terror. Sick at heart he
yet recalled the doctor's counsel against allowing her to excite
herself.
"Esther, dear," he said soothingly. "You must keep quite quiet and
trust to me. Remember your nerves are bound to be upset after all that
morphia you have had. You know that."
He stopped, afraid that he had said the wrong thing, but she only
frowned thoughtfully as though considering his words.
"Morphia," she repeated to herself. "Yes, I suppose that is what it
was. No wonder I feel queer.... And then of course I haven't had
anything to eat for two days and a half--that makes it worse."
"Two days and a half!"
He stared at her aghast. This last speech of hers sounded amazingly
rational. He burned to question her, yet dared not attempt it.
"The doctor said you were to have something if you waked up," he said
quietly, as though there were nothing out of the way. "There's
something here ready in a little saucepan. I've only got to heat it
up. Shall I give it to you?"
She nodded and lay motionless, watching with languid eyes the blue
flame of the spirit-lamp as he made ready a cup of broth, then
submitted with the docility of a child while he put another pillow
under her head and fed her the hot liquid, a spoonful at a time,
slowly, for fear of making her sick. When she had finished she sank
back with closed eyes, and he thought a faint tinge of warmer colour
crept into her cheeks. For what seemed to him a long period there was
complete silence. He gazed at her with searching eyes, tortured by
doubts and questionings. When he had begun to think she had again
fallen asleep, she quietly spoke.
"That was good," she murmured; "I needed that.... It's a long time to
go without food, you get so weak."
He could bear the suspense no longer. So cautiously he said:
"My dear, how was it you didn't have anything to eat for two and a half
days? What do you mean?"
She looked at him for a long puzzled moment, then drew her hand across
her brow.
"Of course," she answered slowly, "you don't know about that. No. How
could you?"
He hoped she was going to continue, but instead she raised herself on
her elbow and whispered, "Tell me this. What have you done about him?"
"You mean the doctor? Nothing. He's in his room now, asleep, I
suppose. It's about three o'clock, you know."
She drew in her breath sharply, her pupils dilating.
"Do you mean you haven't arrested him--after what I told you? Then he
_was_ outside that door! I knew it!"
He caught her hands in a reassuring grasp.
"No, no, my dear, you mustn't be frightened. Don't you understand it's
impossible to arrest the man--without a reason?"
She gave him a piercing look.
"But I _told_ you! Didn't you hear what I said? He's a murderer! He
murdered your father, and he was going to kill you too, if I hadn't
found out and got here in time! Oh, aren't people stupid! I thought
I'd made it all clear!"
She tore her hands from his hold and covered her face for an instant,
crying, "Oh, oh! Why couldn't you have him arrested at once, both of
them for that matter? I can't understand! Why didn't you?"
There was no evading the sharpness of her question. He dropped his
eyes in embarrassment, unable to reply.
"Oh!" she burst out as though the truth had suddenly dawned on her,
"now I know, I see it all! You thought I didn't know what I was
saying. You thought I was raving. The doctor made you believe it. He
would; he's always prepared for any emergency, even though he never
dreamed I should get away!"
"Get away? What do you mean by that, Esther?"
Instead of replying, she lifted his right hand and examined it with
feverish interest.
"Are you absolutely sure he didn't touch this place in any way? You
didn't let him put anything on it?"
"No, no--nothing at all."
She sank back, exhausted.
"Thank God! I began to be afraid I didn't save you after all," she
breathed, and laughed a little hysterically. "Oh, Roger, I shall dream
for years of that terrible time I had trying to reach you! I honestly
thought I should die on the way."
"Esther," he said, forcing himself to speak calmly, "where were you
during those two days and nights? What do you mean by a terrible time
trying to reach me?"
Her face contracted with a spasm of pain, as though the memory were
unbearable. He pressed her hand, quick to spare her, and afraid, too,
that he might do her an injury.
"It doesn't in the least matter; don't tell me now."
She lay silent another moment, then answered slowly:
"No ... I will tell you. It won't hurt me now. You see, I have been
kept a prisoner ... unconscious ... in the doctor's laboratory, you
know, at the top of his house ... in the Route de Grasse."
"A prisoner----!"
For the life of him he could not repress the utter incredulity he felt
at this astounding statement.
"I don't think you believe me," she said, smiling the ghost of a smile.
"I know it sounds impossible, but it's true. He never meant for me to
leave there alive. He was going to do away with me so as to leave no
trace."
Suddenly he knew that she was speaking the truth.
"Esther--do you know what you're saying?"
Cold horror gripped him. It seemed unthinkable that this tender young
creature so close to him had lately passed through the hell she
described. In a daze he listened to the dry, hoarse voice as it
continued:
"Oh, I know all right. He kept me stupefied. I never knew how I got
there; I didn't even know I was there ... it was only through an
accident that I came to at all, otherwise... Such a silly accident!
All because Captain Holliday didn't give me the injection properly."
"_Holliday?_"
He wondered if he had heard aright. She did not answer, going off, at
first softly, then with increasing vehemence into convulsions of
laughter that shook her from head to foot. He clasped her close in his
arms and held her to him, smoothing her rough curls and whispering:
"Steady on, Esther dear! It's all over now. You're safe with me; I
sha'n't let anything happen to you!"
She subsided at last, the tears spilling over her lashes and down her
cheeks unheeded. He wiped them away, realising how spent she was with
the effort of relating, even so briefly, her terrible experience.
"Rest now, darling. You must keep absolutely quiet. I don't want to
hear any more now, except... Esther, I wonder if I dare ask you one
thing. Don't speak if you don't feel like it. But ... you realise we
can't make a definite charge of any kind until we know what we're
about. You understand that, I know. Tell me, dear, are there any
proofs of this horrible story? I mean proofs of the plot you spoke of
to murder my father, and also of your being sequestered in the
laboratory."
He saw her eyes narrow with thought. She lay very still, as though to
focus all her strength to give him a connected answer.
"I understand, of course, there must be more than my word, for he'll do
his utmost to discredit me. Listen: If the police or someone will go
to the Route de Grasse before the doctor can get there, they'll find a
good deal of evidence. Of course he'll get there as soon as he
can--I'm surprised he hasn't gone already--and he'll do his best to
cover up the signs. He can't mend that skylight in a hurry, though,"
she added thoughtfully.
"Esther, how does Holliday come into this? Was he in the plot?"
"No, not at all--not actively, that is. He was dragged into it at the
last simply to stand guard over me and see I didn't get away. Even he
had to see that it was absolutely necessary to dispose of me," she
finished coolly. "It would have ruined everything if they hadn't."
"Good God..."
"Now about the proofs. I believe Lady Clifford has been giving you
typhoid culture in your mineral water. I heard the doctor say so. I
don't know that we can prove that, or that she gave it to your father
in his milk, either; that's all done with. But there's one thing we
can prove. There's a little chemist named Cailler--I can tell you
where the shop is--who has an analysis of a hypodermic needle the
doctor used on your father. It was what caused that sudden relapse.
The needle had pure toxin of typhoid in it. I know, because I took it
to the chemist myself."
"_You_ did?"
"Certainly. It was too late to save your poor father--nothing could
have saved him--but I was afraid they were trying to get you as well,
and I had to be sure before I dared say anything. I didn't get the
report till after the funeral, when I heard it over the telephone.
Then I sent you that message by Chalmers."
"I see! Then what happened? I was only three minutes getting
downstairs, but you were nowhere to be seen."
"Of course, that was because the doctor was waiting behind the door to
grab me. He stuck that awful needle of his in my arm, and after that I
can't tell you anything. I didn't know any more until two days later,
when I found myself lying on a bed in the laboratory."
A slight fit of trembling overtook her again. He took her two limp
hands in his and kissed them, moved by a new and overpowering emotion.
With startling vividness he realised the whole stupendous thing, what
she had done, what she had risked and suffered. Even that stupid
incident of what the servant-girl had told about seeing her with
Holliday in his car became clear as day. Of course--and he had
suspected her of a flirtation!
"Esther, my own Esther--you splendid, marvellous girl! To think that I
never knew, that you might have died, and I should never have known
what became of you! Do you know what I was thinking? I spent two days
searching for you in every hotel and pension in Cannes..."
"I know," she said softly, her eyes suddenly misty.
"I can't take it in yet, Esther; it's too overwhelming."
He buried his head in the covers beside her. She put her hand upon his
hair and caressed it with a clinging touch that sent a thrill through
him. Like this they remained for long minutes, and the communion was
to him the sweetest he had ever known. Strange that this complete
ecstasy should come to him at the very moment when he was shocked to
the depths of his being by the disclosure of the vile crime perpetrated
in their midst.
After a little while Esther drifted off to sleep once more, leaving him
to face again the problem of those two murderers, as he now knew them
to be, still at large and still under the roof with him. What was to
be done? Would they make any attempt to escape, or would they brazen
it out till the last? He had a strong suspicion that they would both
adopt this latter course. He foresaw a long and difficult trail, a
defence skilfully engineered by Sartorius, whose reputation would stand
him in good stead. In his imagination he pictured a French jury swayed
by the beauty and emotional appeal of Thérèse. Why, they might easily
win; it was perfectly possible. He had an Englishman's contempt for
French jurisdiction. As for the doctor, he felt sure that that man
would employ every diabolical means in his power to discredit Esther's
statement, to blacken her character; he would impute false motives to
her or make a convincing case against her sanity, perhaps both. The
very notion made him boil with rage. The cold-blooded infamy of the
plot to do away with his father was as nothing compared with the wanton
brutality of the attempt on Esther's life. To think of this fresh and
lovely body, so near to him now that he could feel the throbbing of her
heart, dismembered, defiled in the work of annihilation, filled him
with unspeakable horror. He had to take a firm grip on himself to keep
from forcing his way into the neighbouring room and wreaking personal
vengeance on the author of so bestial an outrage. The man's stolid
calm, which had appeared a proof of innocence, now made him seem a
monster of insensibility. Sartorius was not human; he was the python
of Esther's dream, slow-blooded, impersonal, relentless....
The clock struck four. Some time after this he must have lost
consciousness, for gradually his waking thoughts blurred imperceptibly
into unreal, his head resting heavily on the bed beside the sleeping
girl. He was roused by a touch on his shoulder and a voice saying
tensely in his ear:
"Mr. Roger! Mr. Roger, sir!"
Dizzily he raised his head, blinking in the grey daylight that filled
the room. Then he struggled to his feet, stiff and cramped.
"Yes, Chalmers, what is it?"
"Her ladyship, sir--she's not in her room. She's not in the house.
She's gone, sir!"