COLONEL McCLURE'S VERDICT
I moved quickly towards the bed, and in the dim light of the lamp which
stood near saw that a change had come over my friend's face. A look of
perfect peace and tranquility had taken the place of anguish.
'Tell me,' I cried, 'he isn't dead, is he?'
'He is out of pain, at all events,' and Colonel McClure spoke abruptly.
Unmindful of what they might say, I went close to Edgecumbe, and gazed at
him steadily. As far as I could judge, there was no sign of life.
'Have--have you done anything for him?' I said, turning to the doctors.
But neither of them spoke. They might have been waiting for something.
I noticed that Edgecumbe's hands were lying on the coverlet almost easily
and naturally. Why I should have done it, I cannot tell, but I seized
the lamp and held it close to them. They did not look like the hands of
a dead man. In spite of everything, there was a suggestion of nervous
energy in the long, capable-looking fingers. Then I put down the lamp,
and took one of the hands in mine.
'He is alive,' I said; 'the right hand is warm, and it is not rigid.'
Still the doctors did not speak, but each looked at the other as if
questioningly. They did not appear to resent my action; perhaps they
made allowances for my anxiety; both of them knew how dear he was to me.
Then something struck me. I saw that one of his hands, although both
were browned by exposure and hardened by labour, was different in colour
from the other.
'Have you noticed that?' I said.
'Noticed what?'
'That his left hand is slightly blue. You can see it beneath the tan.'
'By gad, you are right!' It was Colonel McClure who whispered this
excitedly, and I saw that my words had a meaning to him. What was in his
mind I could not tell, but that he was thinking hard I was sure.
'He isn't dead,' I said excitedly; 'I am sure he isn't!' And again I
took his left hand in mine, and lifted it. Then I saw something else.
It was very little, but it meant a great deal to me. I remembered how
that morning Edgecumbe had been using a pair of Indian clubs, and had
rolled up his shirt sleeves. I had remarked to myself at the time the
wonderful ease with which he had swung the clubs, and what perfectly
shaped arms he had. They were large and hard, and firm, without a mark
of any sort. Now, just below the elbow, in the lower part of the arm,
was a blue spot. It was so small that it might have been covered by a
threepenny-piece, and in the dim light of the lamp would not be easily
seen.
'Did you see this? Did you do it?' I almost gasped.
Colonel McClure examined the spot closely, and then nodded to Dr. Merril.
'Did you see this, Merril?' he asked.
'No,' replied Dr. Merril excitedly. 'As you know you--you----!' He
stopped suddenly like one afraid.
Colonel McClure took a powerful glass from his case and examined the spot
closely for some seconds. Then he said to his fellow doctor, evidently
with satisfaction, 'By gad, we've done the right thing!'
'What does it mean?' I asked. 'Tell me.'
'I will tell you in an hour from now,' and I saw a new light in the
colonel's eyes. Then I heard him mutter to himself, 'I was an ass to
have missed that.'
I put my hand upon Edgecumbe's forehead; and I could have sworn that it
was warm and moist. The moisture was different from the clammy sweat
which had poured out on his face when first we had brought him to bed
hours before.
Excitedly I told the doctors of my impression, and then McClure commanded
me to stand aside, as if I were an interloper. Although I believe the
old military doctor was as excited as I, he made no sign, save that his
lips moved as if he were talking to himself.
'Do you know what it means?' I asked, as he left the bed.
'It means that you must get out of this,' he replied gruffly.
'I won't,' I answered, for I had wellnigh lost control over myself.
Something, I could not tell what, made me sure that an important change
was taking place in my friend's condition, and I forgot all about the
etiquette of a sick-room. The experiences through which I had passed, my
long, midnight journey, together with the feverish anxiety under which I
was suffering, made me forget myself.
'I am his only friend,' I went on, 'and I have a right to be here, and I
have a right to know everything. What is it? What have you done?'
Scarcely realizing what I was doing, I went to the window and pulled up
the blinds. Day was breaking, the sky was clear, and the eastern horizon
was tinged with the light of the rising sun. In the light of the
new-born day, the lamp looked sickly and out of place. I remember, too,
that it made a strange impression upon me; it seemed as though light were
fighting with darkness, and that light was being triumphant.
'Don't be an ass, Luscombe,' said the Scotchman; 'I will tell you
everything presently, but can't you see that----'
'I can see that he's going to live,' I interrupted. 'His face is more
natural; it doesn't look so rigid. I believe there is colour coming into
his lips.'
'Find your way into the kitchen, there are some servants there, and bring
some hot water immediately.'
For the next hour, I scarcely remember anything that happened. I imagine
that I was so excited that my experiences left no definite impress upon
my brain. I have indistinct remembrances of alternating between hope and
despair, between joy and sorrow. I remember, too, that I was called upon
to perform certain actions, but to this day I do not know what they were.
I was more like an automaton than a man.
At the end of the hour, however, Colonel McClure accompanied me into my
bedroom, which, as I have said, adjoined that of Edgecumbe.
'We've done it, my boy,' he said, and I noted the satisfaction in his
voice.
'He will live, then?'
He nodded. 'Barring accidents, he will. But it's a mystery to me.'
'What is a mystery?'
'I hardly like to tell you. But you are no hysterical woman, and you
have a steady head on you. Until an hour and a half ago, I was acting in
the dark, acting blindly. Even now I have no proof of anything. You say
your friend was in India?'
'I have told you all I know,' was my answer.
'I spent twelve years there,' went on the colonel. 'A great part of the
time I was with native regiments, and I have had some peculiar
experiences. India's a strange country, and in many things the people
there can teach us Westerners a lot. Look here, why did you come for me?'
'Instinct,' I replied.
'But instinct has a basis in reason.'
'Has it? I am not enough of a psychologist to answer that question.
Tell me why you are asking me all this.'
'Because I am afraid to tell you what is in my mind. Do you remember
what Merril said?'
'Yes,' I replied; 'he said that according to symptoms my friend had been
poisoned. But he didn't see how it could possibly be, and he said that
the case was completely beyond him.'
'Exactly. When I went into that room, I of course had your words in my
mind. India has a hundred poisons unknown to the West, many of them are
subtle, almost undiscoverable. I called to my mind what I had learned in
India, what I had seen and done there. Frankly, I don't understand your
friend's case. Had it been in India, I should have understood it, and
what was possible, ay, what would have amounted to certainty there, was
utterly impossible in England--at least, so it seemed to me. But I acted
on the assumption that I was in India.'
'You mean that you injected an antidote for a poison that you know of?' I
ventured.
He looked at me steadily for a few seconds, but he did not speak.
'Now look here, Luscombe,' he said, after a long silence, 'I hesitated to
tell you this, because it is a serious business.'
I nodded.
'You see,' he went on, 'we are not in the realm of proof. But as sure as
I am a living man, if your friend was poisoned, some one poisoned him,
unless he had a curious way of trying to commit suicide.'
'He didn't try to commit suicide,' I replied.
'You remember that mark in the arm?'
I nodded.
'In another hour it will be gone. If he had died, it would not be there.
I was a blind fool not to have seen it. I examined his arm just before
we came in here,--the discolourment has nearly passed away. In an hour
there'll be only a little spot about the size of a pin-prick. Do you
feel free to tell me anything of your suspicions? Remember, they can
only be suspicions. There can be no possible proof of anything, and even
although you may have drawn conclusions, which to you are unanswerable,
you might be committing the cruellest crime against another man by
speaking them aloud.'
'Then I'll not tell you my suspicions,' I said. 'I will only recount
certain incidents.'
Then I told him the things I remembered.
Colonel McClure looked very grave.
'No,' he said, at length, 'this is something which we dare not speak of
aloud. I must think this out, my boy, so must you, and when our minds
are settled a bit we can talk again.'
When we returned to Edgecumbe's room, my friend was sleeping almost
naturally, while the relief of every member of the household, who had all
been informed of Edgecumbe's remarkable recovery, can be better imagined
than expressed.
'Have the doctors told you what is the matter with him?' asked Sir Thomas
eagerly.
'No,' I replied; 'perhaps they are not sure themselves.'
'But they must know, man! I gather that they performed a certain
operation, and they wouldn't do that without some definite object.'
'The ways of doctors are very mysterious,' I laughed; 'anyhow, we are
thankful that the danger is over. Merril tells me that Edgecumbe is
sleeping quite naturally, while McClure is quite sure that in a few hours
he will awake almost well.'
'But that seems impossible, man! A few hours ago he despaired of his
life, and now----'
'The great thing is he is better,' I interrupted. I did not want the old
baronet to have the least inkling of my suspicion. After all, I could
prove nothing, and indeed, as McClure had said, it might be a crime to
accuse any man of having anything to do with Edgecumbe's illness.
During the time I had been in the Army, I had heard of cases of men
losing their memory, and of a sudden shock bringing their past back to
them. I wondered if this would be so in Edgecumbe's case. Might not the
crisis through which he had passed, the crisis which had brought him
close to the gates of death, tear aside the veil which hid his past from
him? Might not the next few hours reveal the mystery of his life, and
make all things plain?