RECORDS FURTHER FACTS
How long I remained there, or what subsequently happened to me, I did
not learn till long afterwards.
I only knew, when I again awoke to consciousness, that it was day, and I
found myself in a narrow bed, with two nurses in blue linen dresses, and
white caps and aprons, standing near me, while two doctors were gazing
into my face with keen, anxious expressions.
At first they would tell me nothing, even though, with a great effort, I
asked what had happened. Bandages were around my throat and across my
left shoulder, and I felt a nausea and a giddiness that I knew arose
from chloroform, and therefore that some operation had been performed. I
slowly struggled back to a knowledge of things about me.
"It's all right, Mr. Vidal," the youngest of the two doctors assured me.
"Try and sleep. Don't worry. Everything is all right."
I felt uncommonly drowsy, and again slept, and not until night had
fallen did I re-open my eyes.
A night-nurse was seated at my bedside, reading by a green-shaded lamp.
The little room was in darkness, and I think I startled her when I
suddenly spoke.
"Where am I, Nurse?" I inquired in a thin, weak voice, and with
difficulty.
"This is the Cottage Hospital at Hounslow," was the reply. "You've been
here two days, but you are much better now. Don't talk, however, for the
doctor has forbidden it."
"But I want to know what has happened," I protested.
"Well, I don't exactly know," the dark-haired young woman answered. "I
only know what I've been told. That is, that a taxi-driver who took you
to some house beyond Spring Grove, grew tired of waiting for you, and on
going to the house found you in one of the rooms, dying."
"Dying!" I gasped. "Ah! yes, I remember," I added, as recollections of
that fateful night arose within my memory.
"Yes. You were suffering from a serious bullet-wound in the throat," she
went on. "The window of the room was smashed, but your friends had all
fled."
"My friends!" I echoed. "Who said they were my friends?"
"The taxi-driver said so, I believe."
"Where is he?"
"He has promised to come to-morrow, to see you."
"But was not a lady found in the same room?" I inquired eagerly, trying
to raise myself. "She had been killed--deliberately struck down!"
"Yes. I've heard that a lady was found there."
"Was she brought here, with me?"
"No" was the nurse's reply. "She was removed, but to what place I've not
heard."
Lola was dead! Ah! The sight of that white, upturned face, so delicate
and sweet, and of that dark, ugly stream of blood across the bosom of
her dress, haunted me. I recollected those hideous moments when, being
on my guard against the assassins, I alas! had no opportunity of lending
her aid.
She was found dead, apparently, and they had removed her body--probably
to the nearest mortuary to await an inquest.
All my thoughts became confused when I realized the tragic truth. The
nurse saw that I was upset and urged to try to sleep again. Indeed she
gave me a draught which the doctor had ordered and, presently, though
much against my inclination, I again dozed off.
It was once more day--a warm, sunny day--when I became thoroughly alive
to things about me. The doctors came and expressed satisfaction at my
improvement, dressed my wound, which I confess was very painful, and
declared that I had had a very narrow escape.
"A quarter of an inch further to the left, Mr. Vidal," one of the
surgeons remarked, "and we couldn't have saved you."
Towards noon the taxi-driver, cap in hand, came up to my bedside to
inquire how I was. His name was Stevens. The nurse would not, however,
allow me to put many questions to him.
"You were such a long time gone, sir, that I thought I'd just come up
and see if you wanted me any more. I had to get over to Acton to the
garage, for I'd had a long day," he told me. "I'd just got to the garden
gate when I heard a pistol shot and, entering the garden, and seeing the
window smashed, I suspected something wrong. I got in at the window and
found the room in darkness. A light was burning in the hall and the door
was open. Quickly I found the electric switch and, turning it, saw you
lying on the floor close beside the body of a young lady."
"Did you see the other men?" I asked eagerly.
"At first sir, I believed it to be a case of murder and suicide,"
answered Stevens, "but a moment later, as I stood in the room horrified
at the discovery, I heard several persons leave the house. I tried to
raise an alarm, but nobody heard me, so they got clean away. I examined
the young lady and yourself, then I rushed out for help. At the bottom
of the road I went towards my cab, but as I did so, I heard the engine
started and the red tail-lamp moved off, away from me. Those fellows
that had run from the house were inside. Yes, sir, them vagabonds had
stolen my cab!"
"What did you do then?" I asked excitedly.
"Why, I yelled after 'em, but nobody heard me, until presently I came
across a copper and told him what was up. We soon got another taxi and
went back to the house, and there we found you both a-lying as I'd left
you."
"Was the lady alive?" I queried huskily.
"Yes. She was a-breathing slightly, and as we thought she was injured
worse than you, the copper took her off at once to the Brentford
Hospital by herself, as there wasn't room for both of you in the cab. On
the way he sent another taxi back for me and I brought you here."
"But is the young lady alive now?" I asked.
"I believe so, but I'm not quite sure. She was last night when I called
at the hospital, but she was dreadful bad, and in great danger, they
told me."
"Ah!" I sighed. "I only hope and pray that she may recover to face and
condemn her brutal enemies."
"Was she a friend of yours, sir?" asked the man with some curiosity.
"Yes, a great friend," was my reply.
"But who tried to kill you, sir?" Stevens asked. "Those blokes as
escaped seemed to be a pretty desperate lot. My cab ain't been found
yet," he added.
"They were her enemies as well as mine," I replied vaguely, for I had no
intention of telling him the whole story, though I thanked him sincerely
for his prompt help. Had it not been for him I fear that Lola and myself
would never have lived through the night. Jeanjean would have taken good
care that the lips of both of us were closed for ever.
"Well, sir, you've had a pretty narrow shave of it," Stevens declared.
"There's something very queer about that house, it seems. People say
that though the place, as was to be let furnished, had nobody a-living
in it, strange lights have been seen a-moving about it, and in the
windows now and again and always very late at night."
"Will you do a favour for me, Stevens?" I asked.
"Certainly, sir."
Then I gave him instructions first to go to the hospital where Lola was
lying, to inquire how she was. Then he was to go on to my flat in
Carlos Place, tell Rayner all that had occurred, and order him to come
to me at once.
Just then the nurse kindly, but very firmly intervened, and the
taxi-driver rose from the chair at my bedside and left.
For some hours I dozed. Then woke to find the faithful Rayner standing
by me, much concerned.
"I've had an awful fright, sir," he said. "When you didn't come home for
forty-eight hours, I went to Vine Street Police Station and reported
that you were missing. Inspector Palmer, of the C.I. Department, knows
you well, sir, and he quickly stirred himself. But I heard nothing till
that taxi-driver came and told me you were here. He explained how you'd
been shot at a house in Spring Grove, Isleworth. I hope you're all right
again, sir?"
"Yes, Rayner, so far," I answered rather feebly. "I've a bit of pain in
my throat, but they've bandaged me up all right, and I'll soon be about
again. That fellow you knew as Dr. Arendt, in Cromer, plugged me."
"What! The man Jeanjean!"
"The same," I said. "Gregory was there, too. I tracked them into their
den, and this is what I got for my trouble," I added grimly.
"Well, sir, I'm no end glad you escaped. They're a desperate crowd and
you might very easily have gone under. Can I do anything?"
"Yes. Take a message for me to the Brentford Hospital, to Mademoiselle
Sorel."
"The lady the taxi-man told me about?" Rayner asked.
"Yes. An attempt was made upon her life," I replied. "Go there, take
some nice flowers, and send up a message from me expressing a hope that
she's better, and say that I will see her as soon as ever I'm able."
"Very well, sir. I'll be off at once," he replied.
But for some time longer he sat with me, while I gave him instructions
regarding various matters. Then he left, promising me to quickly return
and bring me news of Lola.
He was absent about a couple of hours, and on re-entering told me that
he had seen the Sister in charge, who had given Lola my flowers and my
message and had received one in return from her. This was that she felt
much better, and that until we met and consulted it would be best to
take no action against the assassins.
That same evening, with the doctor's sanction, a tall, clean-shaven man
in grey tweeds approached my bed and, seating himself, announced that
his name was Warton, and that he was an Inspector of the Criminal
Investigation Department.
He brought out a business-like book and pencil and in a rather abrupt
manner commenced to interrogate me regarding the events of that night
when I so narrowly escaped being murdered.
From his methods I judged that he had risen from a constable. He was
bluff and to the point. He told me he was attached to the Brentford
Station, and I set him down as a man of similar mental calibre to
Frayne.
No good could accrue at that moment from any full explanation, so, after
listening to him for some little time, I pretended to be very unwell and
only answered his questions with plain "yes" or "no."
It was not likely that I would tell all I knew to this local detective.
Had Henri Jonet been present it would have been a different matter, but
I saw at a glance that Warton was a very ordinary type of
police-officer.
He asked me what took me to the house in Spring Grove on that fateful
night. To this I merely replied with the one word--
"Curiosity."
Then he asked--
"Did you know the lady who was found stabbed a few feet from you?"
"Yes. I had met her," was my reply.
"Do you know the circumstances in which she was struck down?"
"I was not present then, therefore I could know nothing," was my evasive
response.
"But the men in the house were friends of yours, were they not?" he
asked.
"No. They were not," was my prompt reply.
"Then, who were they?" he asked, scribbling down my answers with his
stumpy pencil.
"I--I don't feel well enough to be questioned like this," I complained
to the Sister, who was standing by. "I've committed no crime, and I
object to the police making a cross-examination as though I were a
criminal. I appeal to you, Sister."
The middle-aged woman in her cool linen uniform, with a silver medal
upon her breast, looked hard at me for a moment. Then, realizing the
situation, she turned to the detective, and said--
"You must come to-morrow. The patient still suffers much from shock, and
I cannot allow him to be questioned further. He is too weak."
"Very well, Sister," replied Warton, as he closed his pocket-book. "I'll
come to-morrow. But a strange mystery envelopes that house in Spring
Grove, Mr. Vidal," he added, turning back to me. "You'll be surprised
when you go there and see for yourself."
"Perhaps Mr. Vidal may be well enough to do so in a few days," said the
Sister. "We shall see."
And with that the police-officer was forced to depart.