Again we all four went to the door of the room of mystery, and Hoefer,
still grunting in dissatisfaction, declared his intention to re-enter
the place. Seen from the hall there was certainly nothing about the
apartment to excite suspicion. It was bright and comfortable, with
handsome substantial furniture, sage-green hangings, and a thick Turkey
carpet into which one's feet sank noiselessly.
"It is a risk!" exclaimed her ladyship, when Hoefer made the
announcement. "Death lurks in that place. Let us close and lock it."
"Ach! no, madame," he responded. "It is no risk now that we have the
prophylactic." And, turning to me, he handed me a little of the last
injection which he had given to Beryl, together with the phial of ether
and the syringe.
"Use this, if necessary," he said, briefly, and then leaving us, he
crossed the threshold and examined every nook of the room.
The window was still open, but he closed and fastened it. Upon a little
writing-table in the corner lay the soiled sheet of note-paper that
Beryl had obtained on her first visit to the library, thus proving the
truth of her story. The door swung to, as before, and after about five
minutes he again emerged.
Scarcely had he crossed the threshold when he gave vent to a loud cry.
"Gott!" he gasped. "The injection--quick!"
He had again been seized. The unseen hand of Death was upon him.
Truly, it was an uncanny mystery.
Without a second's delay I filled the syringe, rubbed the flesh with
ether, and then ran the needle beneath the skin. The effect was almost
instantaneous. The sudden paralysis was arrested, and the muscles
reanimated in a manner most marvellous. One fact was, therefore, plain:
Hoefer had discovered the proper treatment, even if the cause of the
extraordinary seizure remained unknown.
He stood for a few moments motionless, but at length declaring himself
better, said--
"The thing is an absolute enigma; I can discern no cause whatever for
it. There would seem to be some hidden influence at work, but of its
nature we can discover absolutely nothing. The attack does not occur
until one emerges here into the hall."
"Can it be out here?" I suggested, whereat both my companions turned
pale with fright.
Certainly the situation was as weird and uncanny as any in which I have
ever found myself. An unseen influence is always mysterious, and this
chill touch of the hand of death that we had all experienced was
actually appalling.
We held council, and decided that the room should be closed and locked
to prevent any of the servants entering there. Our conversation had
undoubtedly been overheard by them, and Hoefer was anxious that the
place should remain undisturbed so that he might make further
investigations, which he promised to do on the following day.
Then we entered the dining-room together, partook of some wine which her
ladyship offered us, and left the house in company--not, however, before
I had promised to call again on the morrow and visit my patient.
"Now, Hoefer, what is your candid opinion?" I asked my companion as we
stood on the kerb, opposite the Marble Arch, awaiting the belated
omnibus to take him back to Bloomsbury.
"I don't like it, my dear frient," he answered dubiously; "I don't like
it." And, shaking my hand, he entered the last Holborn 'bus without
further word.
On foot I returned to Bayswater utterly confounded by the curious events
of the evening. By Hoefer's serious expression and preoccupied manner,
I saw that the influence within or without that room of mystery was to
him utterly bewildering. He had spent his life in the study of
micro-organisms, and knew more of staphylococci, streptococci, and
pneumococci than any other living man, while as a toxicologist he was
acknowledged, even by his clever compatriots in Germany, as the greatest
of them all. He had searched out many of the secrets of Nature, and I
had myself at times witnessed certain, of his experiments, which were
little short of marvellous. It was, therefore, gratifying that I had
enlisted his aid in solving this most difficult problem.
Yet, as I lay awake that night, reflecting deeply upon the curious
situation, I could not arrest my thoughts from turning back to the
tragedy at Whitton and the omission of those two names from the list of
visitors furnished to the police. That her ladyship was a bosom friend
of Mrs Chetwode's was quite plain, and that she was present, together
with Beryl, earlier in the day, I had myself seen. Somehow, I could not
get rid of the conviction that Sir Henry's wife, the woman who had taken
this secret journey from Atworth to London to have a clandestine
interview with some person whom she declined to name, knew the truth
regarding the Colonel's death.