DOCTOR BEAUREGARD.
"Glass? My dear madam, pardon my remissness; he is dead.
Rosa brought me the news before we sat down to table."
I opened my eyes. In the words, as I came back to consciousness, I
found nothing remarkable, nor for a few seconds did it surprise me
that the dark gallery had changed into a panelled, lighted room, with
candles shining on a long, white table, and on flowers and crystal
decanters, and dishes heaped with fruit. The candles were shaded,
and from the sofa where I lay I saw across the cloth the faces of
Miss Belcher and Captain Branscome intent on the Doctor.
He was leaning forward from the head of the table and speaking to
Plinny, who sat with her back to me, darkly silhouetted against the
light. Mr. Rogers, on Plinny's left, had turned his chair sideways
and was listening too; and at the lower end of the board a tall
epergue of silver partially hid the form of Mr. Goodfellow.
"Yes, indeed, I ought to have told you," went on the Doctor's voice.
"But really no recovery could be expected. The man's heart was
utterly diseased."
His gaze, travelling past Plinny, wandered as if casually towards me,
where I lay in the penumbra. I felt it coming, and closed my eyes;
and on the instant my brain cleared.
Yes; Glass was dead, of course, poisoned by this man as ruthlessly as
these my friends would be poisoned if I cried out no warning. . . .
Or perhaps it had happened already.
I opened my eyes again, cautiously, little by little. The Doctor was
filling Plinny's glass. Having filled it, he pushed the decanters
towards Mr. Rogers, and turned to say a word to Miss Belcher, on his
right. No; there was time. _It_ had not happened--yet.
I wanted to start up and scream aloud. But some power, stronger than
my will, held me down against the sofa-cushion. I had lost all grip
of myself--of my voice and limbs alike. I could neither stir nor
speak, but lay watching with half-closed eyes, while the room swam
and in my ears I heard a thin voice buzzing: "Tell your friends-the
ice--_he_ never touches the ice. But it will not save them. He will
find some other way."
The door opened, and its opening broke the spell. On the threshold
stood the tall negress with a tray of coffee-cups, and on the tray a
salver with a number of little glasses and a glass bowl--a bowl of
ice. Her master pushed back the decanters to make room for the tray
before him. She set it down, and the little glasses jingled softly.
"Upon my word, sir," said Miss Belcher, "what wonder upon wonders is
this? Ice? And in Mortallone?"
"It is Rosa's little surprise, madame, and she will be gratified by
your--"
He pushed back his chair and, leaving the sentence unfinished, rose
swiftly and came to me as I staggered up from the sofa. A cry worked
in my throat, but before I could utter it his two hands were on my
shoulders, and he had appealed to the company with a triumphant
little laugh.
"Did I not tell you the child would come to himself all right? A
simple sedative--after the fright he had. He's trembling now, poor
boy. No, ma'am"--he turned to Plinny, who had risen, and was coming
forward solicitously; "let him sit upright for a moment, while he
comes to his bearings. Or, better still, when you have finished your
coffee--if Miss Belcher will be kind enough to pour it out for me--
we will take him out into the fresh air. Yes, yes, and the sooner
the better, for I see that Mr. Rogers is fidgeting to be out and
assure himself that the treasure has not taken wings."
He forced me gently back to my seat, and walked to the table.
"What were we saying? Ah, yes--to be sure--about the ice."
He lifted his coffee-cup with a steady hand, and, his eyes travelling
over it, fixed themselves on me, as though to make sure I was
recovering. "The ice is a surprise of Rosa's, and I assure you she
is proud of it. But (you may go, Rosa) I advise you to content
yourselves with wondering; for the water on these hills, strange to
say, is not healthy."
They voted the Doctor's advice to be good, and, having finished their
coffee, wandered out into the fresh air. Plinny took my arm, and,
leading me to the verandah, found me a comfortable seat, where I
could recline and compose myself, for I was trembling yet.
"They have stacked the treasure there beyond the last window," Plinny
informed me, nodding towards the end of the verandah, where Captain
Branscome, Mr. Rogers, and Mr. Goodfellow were already gathered and
busy in conversation. "In bulk it is less than we expected, but in
value (the Doctor says) it goes beyond everything. Three
hundredweight, they say, and in pure gems! He is to choose his
share, by-and-by; and then we have to contrive how to take it down to
the ship."
"Miss Plinlimmon," said the Captain, coming towards us, "you promised
me a word yesterday. I should wish to claim it now--that is, if
Harry can spare you."
I observed that his voice shook a little, but this I set down to
excitement.
"Did I? Yes, I remember."
Miss Plinlimmon's voice, too, was tremulous. She hesitated, and her
eyes in the dim light seemed to seek mine.
I assured her that I was recovering fast, here in the fresh air, and
that it would be a kindness, indeed, to leave me alone. She bent
quickly and kissed me. I wondered why, as she stepped past the
Captain and he followed her down the verandah steps.
I wished to be left alone. I was puzzled, and what puzzled me
was that neither Miss Belcher nor Dr. Beauregard had left the
dining-room. In fact, as I passed out through the window, happening
to turn my head, I had caught sight of his face, and it had signalled
to her to stay. I knew not why he should intend harm to Miss Belcher
rather than to any other of our party. But I distrusted the man; and
Plinny had scarcely left me before, having made sure that Mr. Rogers
and Mr. Goodfellow were within easy call, I rose up softly, crept to
the dining-room window, and, dropping upon hands and knees close by
the wall, peered into the room.
The Doctor and Miss Belcher had reseated themselves, He had poured
himself out another glass of wine and was holding it up to the light
with a steady hand, while she watched him, her elbows on the table
and her firm jaw resting on her clasped fingers. Her face, though it
showed no sign of fear, was pallid.
"Yes," he was saying slowly; "it is too late at this hour to be
discussing what the priests would call the sin of it. You would
never convince me; and if you convinced me, I am too old--and too
weary--for what the priests call repentance. I am Martin--the same
man that outwitted Melhuish and his crew--the same that played Harry
with this Glass, and the man Coffin, and a drunken old ruffian they
brought with them from Whydah! The fools! to think to frighten _me_,
that had started by laying out a whole ship's crew! And now you come
along; and I hold you all in the hollow of my palm. But I open my
hand--so--and let you go."
"Why?"
"Why? I have told you. I am tired."
"That is not all the truth," answered Miss Belcher, eyeing him
steadily.
"No; it is not all the truth. No one tells all the truth in this
world. But I am glad you challenge me, for you shall have a little
more of the truth. I let you go because you were simpletons, and I
had not dealt with simpletons before."
"Is _that_ the truth?" she persisted.
He laughed and sipped his wine.
"No; I let you go because I saw in you--I who have killed many for
wealth and more for the mere pleasure of power--something which told
me that, after all, I had missed the secret. From an outcast child
in Havana I had made myself the sole king of this treasure of
Mortallone. I went back and made slaves of men and women who had
tossed that child their coppers in contemptuous pity. I brought them
here, to Mortallone, to play with them; and as soon as they tired me,
they--went. It was power I wanted; power I achieved; and in power,
as I thought, lay the secret. The tools in this world say that a
poisoner is always a coward: it is one of the phrases with which
fools cheat themselves. For long I was sure of myself; and then,
when the thought began to haunt me that, after all, I had missed the
secret, I sought out the man who, in Europe, had made himself more
powerful than kings; and I found that _he_ had missed the secret too.
Then I guessed that the secret is beyond a man's power to achieve,
unless it be innate in him; that the gods themselves cannot help a
man born in bastardy, as I was, or born with a vulgar soul, as was
Napoleon. One chance of redemption he has--to mate with a woman who
has, and has known from birth, the secret which he has missed.
I guessed it--I that had wasted my days with singing-women, such as
poor 'Metta! Then I met you, and I knew. Yes, madam, you--you,
whose life to-night I had almost taken with a touch--taught me that I
had left women out of account. Ah, madam, if the world were twenty
years younger! . . . Will you do me the honour to touch glasses and
drink with me?"
"Not on any account," said Miss Belcher, rising. "Not to put too
fine a point upon it, you make me feel thoroughly sick; but"--she
hesitated on the threshold of the window"--the worst of it is, I
think I understand you a little."
I drew back into the shadow. Her stiff skirt almost struck me on the
cheek as she passed, and, crossing the verandah, leant with both
hands on the rail, while her face went up to the sky and the newly
risen moon.
A voice spoke to her from the moonlit terrace below.
"Hallo!" she answered. "Is that Captain Branscome?"
"It is, ma'am: _and_ Miss Plinlimmon--Amelia--as she allows me to
call her."
Miss Belcher cut him short with a laugh. It rang out frank and free
enough, and only I, crouching by the wall, understood the hysterical
springs of it.
"You two geese!" she exclaimed, and ran down the steps to them.
"Was that Lydia?" demanded Mr. Rogers, a moment later, as he came
along the verandah.
"It was," I answered.
"I don't understand these people," grumbled Mr. Rogers, pausing and
scratching his head. "There was to have been a meeting outside here,
directly after supper, to divide off Doctor Beauregard's share; but
confound it if every one don't seem to be playing hide-and-seek!
Where's the Doctor?"
"In the dining-room," said I, nodding towards the window. . . .
He stepped towards it. At that moment I heard a dull thud within the
room, and Mr. Rogers, his foot already on the threshold, drew back
with a cry. I ran to his elbow.
On the floor, stretched at her master's feet, lay the negress Rosa.
Dr. Beauregard stood by the corner of the table, and poured himself a
small glassful of curacoa. While we gazed at him he reached out a
hand to the icebowl, selected a small piece, and dropped it
delicately into the glass. I heard it tingle against the rim.
"Your good health, sirs!" said Dr. Beauregard.
He sat back rigid in his chair.
THE END.
End of Project Gutenberg's Poison Island, by Arthur Thomas Quiller-Couch (Q)