Doctor Brudenell realized very often the fact that the life of a London
medical man, however large his practice and solvent his patients, is
not by any means an enviable one. Once upon a time, when a red lamp had
been a novelty, and the power to write "M. D." after his ordinary
signature a delicious dignity, a patient had been to him a prodigy,
something precious for its rarity, even if it called him away from his
dinner or ruthlessly rang him up in the middle of the night. But that
was a long time ago, in the days of his impecunious youth; and now, in
his prosperous middle-age, he would often have willingly bartered a
good many patients for a little more leisure.
This was particularly the case upon a hot, oppressive night a week
later, a night such as London generally experiences in August. It was
Saturday, and certainly it was not pleasant, after a week of fatiguing
work, to be summoned as soon as he had got into his bedroom, at
considerably past eleven o'clock at night, to attend a patient who
resided somewhere in the wilds of Holloway.
However, there was no help for it; and the Doctor, philosophically
resigning himself, and taking care to be sure that his latch-key was in
his pocket, spoke a word to Mrs. Jessop, as a precaution against that
worthy woman's putting up the chain of the hall door before she went to
bed, and let himself out. It was a fine night, hot as it was, with a
large bright moon hardly beginning to wane, and myriads of stars.
Doctor Brudenell, as good and quick a walker now as he had been twenty
years before, thought lightly of the distance between his own house and
that of his patient, and soon reached his destination. It was little
that he could do--in fact, he had been sent for without real need--and
it was not much after twelve o'clock when he reached the railway-arch
which spans the Holloway Road. He stopped for a moment, and looked up,
thinking what a black bar it seemed in the yellow moonlight, and how
oddly quiet the streets were, which all day long were teeming with
noisy life. Most of the shops were closed, and only a few straggling
foot-passengers were to be seen. Only for a moment did he thus glance
about him, taking his hat off to push the damp hair from his forehead,
for his quick walk had made him warm. Then he walked on under the arch,
to stop before it was half traversed, for a hand suddenly placed upon
his shoulders brought him to a halt.
"Your pardon, sir," said a voice in his ear. "You are a doctor, I
believe?"
"I am!" The Doctor tried in the gloom of the arch to make out the face
of the inquirer, but in vain. He could only tell that it was a young
man by his voice and gestures, and he saw that he was considerably
taller than himself.
"Doctor Brudenell, I think?"
"I am Doctor Brudenell. What is wanted?"
"Yourself, sir, if you please. A person--my--brother--is ill--almost
dying, it is feared. Will you accompany me to him? There is no time to
be lost."
"What is the matter with him?" asked the Doctor.
"Sir, you will know when you see him. I"--with a deprecatory shrug of
the shoulders--"can I tell?"
"But is it a fit, a fever, an accident? What is it?" asked Doctor
Brudenell impatiently. "You must know that."
"Sir, it cannot be a fever, since an hour ago he was well. Pray, sir,
will you come? He is very ill. Delay is dangerous."
The man moved on as he spoke, and the Doctor moved with him, for his
arm was still clasped by the stranger's strong supple fingers. But
outside the archway he stopped.
"Stay! Why do you come to me? Have you no regular medical attendant?"
"We have not, sir. As to why I come to you--I have heard of you, that
is all. I reached your house almost as you left it, and have followed
you, and waited. Pray come, sir, I entreat you. There is a carriage
waiting here."
A carriage was standing just outside the arch--an ordinary-looking
close carriage, drawn by a light-colored horse, and driven by a
coachman who was singularly muffled up, considering the heat of the
night. The Doctor mechanically noticed that there were no lamps to the
carriage, as, in obedience to the eager pressure of his companion's
hand, he got in. The other followed, shutting the door smartly behind
him, and the vehicle started instantly.
Doctor Brudenell, leaning back in his corner, looked curiously--as well
as the dimness of the carriage would let him--with the keen eyes of a
man accustomed to weigh and observe, at his companion, who, with his
hands in his pockets and his hat pulled down over his brows, appeared
to be half asleep. He was a very handsome man, that was certain--face
dark and clear cut, complexion swarthy, figure at once lithe and
muscular, and some years under thirty. There was a turn of the throat,
a trick of movement, when he presently changed his position restlessly,
that perplexed the watcher. The Doctor fancied that he must have seen
this man before, but he could not remember where.
"Is it far?" he asked suddenly. It must be, he thought. They had been
in the carriage at least a quarter of an hour; the horse had been going
at a swift trot, and now there was no sign of slackening speed.
The young man started, and opened his eyes.
"It is not now, sir. We shall soon be there--in time, I hope."
He stamped twice upon the floor of the carriage impatiently, as though
in anxiety; but the sound seemed to act as a signal, for the driver
instantly whipped up the horse, and the speed was increased--almost
doubled. The curtains of the windows were down, and the Doctor drew one
of them aside and peered out. They were in a street he did not know,
badly paved, badly lighted, squalid, flanked by rows of high mean
houses, half of which seemed empty, for hardly a light shone from their
windows. He looked round.
"Where are we?"
"We are close there, sir."
"But what street is this? I don't know it in the least."
"Sir, I do not know it; but I know that in a moment we shall be there."
The Doctor sank back into his corner again resignedly. He was fatigued,
sleepy, put out. Just then he most heartily wished that this young man
had found some one else to attend to the wants of his brother. He must
be crazy--to have gone all that distance after a doctor, and then to
follow and accost one in the street! It was as queer a thing in its way
as his twenty years in the profession had brought to his knowledge.
Thinking over this his eyelids drooped; he no longer saw the dim figure
of his companion and was startled when presently the carriage stopped
with a jerk. In a moment the young man had opened the door, sprung out,
and was saying:
"We are here. Alight, sir, if you please."
Doctor Brudenell, confused and sleepy still, did so, looking about him.
He was in a narrow paved court, entirely unlighted, closed in at the
lower end by what seemed to be a huge deserted stack of warehouses and
fenced upon the farther side by the blank walls and regular rows of
narrow windows of what had evidently been a manufactory; but the
windows were broken; a door hung swinging upon its hinges; it was
evident that this place was unused and deserted too. Upon the side
where he stood were a couple of old houses, bare and desolate, with
broken windows, broken railings--dark, silent--the most dismal houses
the Doctor had ever seen.
At the door of the first of these, where a faint light was visible in
one of the lower windows as the carriage stopped, the young man tapped
cautiously with his hand three times. In another moment the door was
softly opened, the figure of the opener being lost in the gloom within.
On the broken door-step the Doctor hesitated; he was not a timid man,
but this all seemed very strange. However, he obeyed the pressure of
the hand laid upon his arm, and entered; glancing behind him as he did
so, he saw that the carriage had disappeared.
The door was gently closed; and he stood in absolute darkness,
hesitating, wondering. He fancied he heard cautious feet stealing
across the bare floor of the hall; but not another sound broke the
oppressive brooding silence of the close, musty-smelling old house. In
another moment he would have spoken, have demanded the meaning of all
this, when a faint gleam of light appeared at the end of the hall, and
from the lower stairs a man's hand and arm became visible, holding a
lamp. A hand was laid upon his arm at the same moment, and the voice of
his summoner spoke quietly in his ear:
"Your patient is ready, sir. Come, if you please."
The speaker went toward the stairs, and the light was withdrawn. The
Doctor followed him for a few paces, then stopped abruptly.
"Down-stairs!" he said incredulously.
"Sir, he was too bad to be moved."
"I see. Go before, if you please."
The light glimmered faintly at the foot of the staircase again, and the
Doctor followed his conductor down, noting that the steps were dirty
and bare, that the stone passage-way at the bottom was also dirty and
bare, that, for all the indications that there were to the contrary,
this was an absolutely unfurnished house. As he reached the last stair
he looked keenly at the man who held the lamp--a middle-aged man,
loose-jointed and loosely dressed, with iron-gray hair and a scar upon
his cheek. He spoke with a slightly foreign accent, and, with a bow,
moved aside from the doorway in which he stood.
"You are welcome, sir; I thank you. Enter, if you please."
Doctor Brudenell did so, then started and stopped involuntarily. A sick
man, a man on the point of dying--were they mad enough to keep him in a
room such as this? A room? A sty, rather! The door was stone, with a
few sacks spread upon it; the windows were secured by crazy shutters,
the only table was formed by boards laid upon two old barrels, and the
two or three chairs were broken. The only other piece of furniture or
semblance of furniture was an old couch, the horse-hair covering
tattered, straggling pieces of the stuffing hanging down. Lying upon it
was the figure of a man, with some roughly-applied bandages about his
head and face.
Strange as it all was, the sight of this man, the cause of his being
there, restored to the Doctor his professional coolness and
self-possession. He was a medical man--this was his patient. He
advanced, and with rapid deft fingers removed the bandages, laying bare
a face so horribly disfigured that, practiced as he was, he felt his
own turn pale. He spoke quickly and aloud, knowing that the sick man
was insensible, and looking at the other two.
"What's this? What has happened to this man? He is burnt!"
"As you say, sir." The gray-haired man, still holding the lamp, bowed.
"Most horribly burnt--and with chemicals. Is it not so?"
"It is, sir."
"There has been an explosion. He was trying to do something with
them--probably combine them--he made a mistake in his method or
calculations, and they exploded," said the Doctor rapidly.
"Again you are right, sir." The two men exchanged swift glances of
mingled admiration and contempt--admiration of the Doctor's quickness
and lucidity, contempt of him for being there. He did not see them; he
was continuing his examination of the insensible man. The injuries to
the head and face were the worst, but the throat, chest, and arms were
also burned severely. Doctor Brudenell rose from the knee upon which he
had sunk down to pursue his examination.
"You should have told me what the case was," he said sternly, looking
at the young man. "You bring me here in ignorance, and I am absolutely
helpless. I have no materials for treating injuries such as these. I
require lint, oil, bandages."
"They are here," said the gray-haired man quietly; and as his
companion, in obedience to a motion of his hand, left the room, he
looked at the Doctor, and asked anxiously, "Sir, can you save his life?"
"I don't know--it depends upon his constitution--of which I know
nothing--and the care that is bestowed upon him. But"--with a glance
round the wretched apartment--"he will not live if he stays here."
"He will not stay here."
The Doctor said no more, for the young man came back with bandages,
lint, and oil. All three had evidently been purchased in anticipation
of their being wanted. The Doctor applied them as well as he could, by
the dim light of the lamp. The patient moved and moaned, but he did not
open his eyes or show any signs of consciousness; the other two did not
speak once. His task concluded, the Doctor turned to them abruptly.
"He had better be moved at once; he cannot pass the night here--indeed,
he should have been got up-stairs at the first. If there is any
assistance that you can call it will be as well. He is utterly
helpless. He must be carried."
"Good!" said the elder man quietly, and with the suspicion of a mocking
smile at the corners of his mouth. "Explain, sir, if you please.
Carried where?"
"Up-stairs, of course!"
"Up-stairs!" Both men laughed, but only the elder echoed the word.
"Impossible, sir!" he said coolly.
"But I tell you he must be moved!" exclaimed the Doctor impatiently.
"You have risked his life already by your delay."
"Reassure yourself, sir," said the other, in the same tone as before.
"He shall be moved--I have said it!"
"Then where, if not up-stairs?"
"Out of the house."
"Out of the house--in this condition? You must be out of your mind! It
will kill him!"
Doctor Brudenell was excited. He rebelled against this treatment of his
patient--as his patient. As merely a man he would not have cared.
"Kill him--so be it!"
The speaker shrugged his shoulders, with a smile that expanded the scar
on his cheek, and the Doctor involuntarily moderated his tone. He
instinctively recognized that he had spoken too bluntly, too hastily to
this man, who looked impenetrable.
"You must really understand," he urged, "the great risk of what you are
about to do. This man's condition is dangerous now; the shock to the
system may be so great that even with the best of care he will not
recover. By doing what you propose you seriously jeopardize what chance
he has of life. When do you intend to move him?"
"Sir, at once!"
"What--now--in the middle of the night?"
"Exactly, sir."
"Preposterous!" the Doctor cried excitedly. "It shall not be done!"
"Indeed. And who, sir, will prevent it?"
"If necessary, I will."
The man put down the lamp upon the boards that served as a table, put
his hands to his sides, and laughed. Not loudly or heartily, but with
intense mocking enjoyment, as at something too grotesquely absurd for
speech. Then suddenly, exerting a surprising amount of strength for so
old a man, he put his two hands upon the shoulders of the
slightly-built Doctor, and, holding him so, stood looking down at him
tauntingly, laughing still.
"You will--you will prevent! Monsieur the Doctor, you are a hero. You
are alone, you don't know where, with you don't know whom; it is one
o'clock in the morning, no one in your household knows where to find
you, and yet you will prevent! You stand in a house where your body
might remain undiscovered for years; but still you defy, you threaten!
By Heaven, my noble physician, you are brave!"
He loosened his hold and leaned against the improvised table, laughing
still in the same suppressed manner, and glancing at the young man, who
replied to this dreadful mirth with a sarcastic smile.
George Brudenell, almost staggering as the strong hands released him,
was stupefied for the moment. He was no coward, but he suddenly
realized the utter helplessness of his position. Where was he? He did
not know. Who were these men, who met alone in this deserted house at
midnight? He did not know. He was a weaker man than either; and how
many more of them might there not be hidden within hearing distance
now? If they chose to do him violence--to murder him, in short--he
would be totally incapable of offering any adequate resistance. He was
trapped, and he felt it; for the moment the knowledge appalled him, but
he strove to regain both his wits an courage.
"You have the advantage, sir," he said, addressing the elder man; "and
you use your superiority of numbers well. As for this man, you take the
responsibility if you move him. It is none of mine! I have done what I
can, and all I can. Show me to the door."
"A moment, sir, if you please!" The younger man looked at the elder
with a glance of remonstrance, as though he thought his companion in
his last speech and action had gone too far. "You are forgetting an
important item, sir--your fee."
"I want no fee, and will take none! Show me to the door, I say!"
He turned toward the doorway. By himself he would have stumbled up the
stairs down which he had been enticed; but the elder man seized him by
the shoulder. He spoke now in a tone almost as courteous as that which
he had just used had been insulting.
"Your pardon! A moment, sir, if you please. You were called here----"
"Trapped here!" interposed the Doctor angrily.
"Well, well"--the other spoke blandly, soothingly, as though to a
restive child--"trapped here, if you will. A word--what does it matter?
Permit me to finish. There are two things to do, sir, and you have done
but one."
"I will do nothing more!"
George Brudenell was thoroughly master of himself again now, and he
flung off the hand upon his shoulder. The young man moved and stood
between him and the door, and the elder resumed coolly:
"A difficult thing, since it has something like death to answer
for"--with a glance at the senseless disfigured form upon the couch;
"but an easy thing--a mere bagatelle to a man such as you--a skillful
chemist, a practiced handler of chemicals. Monsieur, you will do what
yonder bungler failed to do--you will, if you please, combine these
chemicals."
"I will not!" The Doctor's temper was roused; the thought that he had
been so tricked made him forget the danger he was in. He spoke without
any signs of fear now, and faced the pair. Comprehension he had not,
but suspicion he had, and he spoke it out hardily. "I will not!" he
repeated. "Whatever villainy it is that you perpetrate here, I will
have no hand in it. To whatever atrocious use it is that you design to
put the things you speak of, I say that I am glad that they have turned
upon one scoundrel at least. It is useless to put these chemicals
before me--I swear that I will not touch them! I would sooner cut off
my right hand!"
"_Ma foi_, monsieur"--again the elder man smiled!--"you are likely, if
you remain obstinate, to lose more than that! Come--consider,
sir,--reflect. You are helpless, and we are impatient; your summer
nights are short, and we have much to do. Come, then--speak!"
"Ah," cried the younger man suddenly, but in the suppressed tones which
both seemed to use habitually--"Hush!"
Doctor Brudenell had heard nothing--could hear nothing, although he
listened eagerly; but it seemed that the sound, whatever it might have
been, had alarmed the two men. It was evidently repeated, for the lamp
was put out instantly, and he felt himself forcibly thrust into what
seemed to be a cupboard and heard the key turned in the lock.
For a few moments George Brudenell was dazed again--stupefied. He was
so utterly amazed that he could hardly believe that it was not all a
dream. Was this the latter half of the nineteenth century....was he in
the heart of London? Then suddenly he realized his position, tried to
suppress his very breathing and the beating of his heart, for there was
a sound of footsteps upon the creaking stairs, some one else entered
the room, there was the scratching of a match, and a pale thread of
light crept under the door of his prison, showing that the lamp had
been relighted. He listened intently, jealously, straining every nerve
to hear and to understand. Voices whispered; he could distinguish the
tones of the two men, but not their words, the muffled muttering was
too low; then there came a cry, followed by a rapid movement toward the
door which shut him from these strange whisperers--more, a hand was
even laid upon the lock and the key was partly turned. Then there came
a scuffle, almost a struggle, a sound of something being dragged along
the bare boards, and the voice of the elder man muttering fiercely,
threateningly. The Doctor, as the footsteps retreated and the savage,
repressed sounds died away into a distant murmur, leaned against the
damp wall of his prison, and fought with a fresh perplexity. The
new-comer into that gloomy house of wickedness and mystery was a woman!
He had heard the sweep of heavy skirts as his door was approached, and
that one shrill, hardly-stifled cry had surely been in a woman's voice!
Then the pale thread of light was withdrawn, the sound of footsteps
moved toward the door, and a horrible fear assailed him. Was he to be
left there to break his way out into light or to die in darkness? The
notion was horrible; his self-control failed him; and with his clenched
hands he hammered upon the panels of the door, calling out loudly that
he would not be left there, trapped like a rat, and appealing to them
to let him out.
There was a pause, more hurried, unintelligible whispering, then
footsteps drew near the door, and outside a voice spoke--the elder
man's.
"Be silent, and no harm will be done you. Be patient, sir, and you
shall be released."
"When?" demanded Doctor Brudenell.
"When we have done what we have to do. Until then, silence!"
Again the footsteps and the light withdrew, and the Doctor was left in
absolute silence and complete darkness, to fight as well as he could
with his sense of utter helplessness and the violent beating of his
heart. The struggle lasted only for a short time as he found out
afterward, but in the passing it seemed an age. Then the pale gleam of
light crept again beneath the door, and there came the sound of
footsteps; the two men had returned. He could hear that they were
raising a heavy body with painful difficulty, for there were low moans
and one deep groan--they were moving the almost dying man.
Another and longer interval of profound darkness, of brooding silence
followed, until the footsteps again returned, the door was thrown open,
and he stepped out, dazed by the light, feeble as it was. The lamp was
held by the man with the scar on his cheek, the couch upon which the
wounded man had lain was empty; a faint trace of light shone through
the chinks of the crazy shutters--it was almost morning.
"You are free, sir," said his captor calmly and in a tone of perfect
indifference, cutting short the useless words of wrath and indignation
which fell from the Doctor's lips. "Go, and hasten, if you please; the
night is nearly over! The carriage in which you came waits."
"I shall not use it; I will go alone, and on foot." He stepped toward
the door, anxious just then for nothing except to get free of the
detested house, but, as before, the man's hand was brought down upon
his shoulder.
"Your pardon, sir--you will go as you came, and with the same
companion. You need not fear--no harm of any kind will be done you. I
have pledged my word that you shall depart as you came, and I will keep
it. Good! Depart then, if you please."
Realizing the utter futility of lingering or speaking, Doctor Brudenell
was prudent. He obeyed without remonstrance or delay. He mounted the
stairs, crossed the bare hall, and left the house. In a moment his arm
was seized by the younger man, he was hustled into the carriage which
had brought him, and driven off at a pace so swift that he had the
sense at once to abandon the design of leaping out which he had hastily
formed. But that would have been impossible had the vehicle moved
slowly, for the eyes of his companion were keenly on the alert, as he
could not fail to see. Not a word upon either side had been spoken
when, some half an hour later, the carriage suddenly stopped, he was
thrust out as strongly and roughly as he had been hustled in; and, as
he stood, dazed by the events of this extraordinary night and the rush
of fresh sweet air, the coachman drove rapidly away.
George Brudenell looked about him like one bereft of reason. He had no
idea of the route by which he had been driven, and it was only after
looking for some time at the houses about him that he discovered where
he was, for he felt as perplexed and confused as though he had been
voyaging through the air in a balloon. Slowly he recognized his
surroundings--he was close upon the confines of Victoria Park. Not a
sound broke the silence, not a form was visible, the dawn was
brightening rosily in the east. He drew out his watch; it was just
three o'clock on Sunday morning.