The dark anxious hours of that dismal autumn morning went slowly by.
Doctor Petherbridge arrived in hot haste from Northampton, and had a
long and earnest consultation with Redwood. Both men were greatly
puzzled. I met them after a long and eager wait, when they emerged in
silence from the sick-room.
"We are doing all we can, Mr Kemball," declared Petherbridge. "The
young lady is, I regret to say, in a most precarious condition--in fact,
in a state of collapse."
I begged him to remain, and he did so. For several hours they were
constantly at her bedside, while Mrs Howard, anxious and solicitous for
the welfare of her young mistress, expressed surprise that Mr Shaw did
not return.
My own suspicion was that he had already fled, yet it proved ungrounded,
for at half-past two he arrived in eager haste, in a hired carriage, his
car having broken down. Both doctors came forward and explained that
the condition of Miss Asta had in no way improved. She was suffering
from some obscure malady which they had diagnosed as affecting both
heart and brain.
"Poor girl! Poor girl!" he cried, tears welling in his eyes. "Do your
best for her, I pray of you both," he added. "She's all the world to
me. Can't we summon a specialist?"
"Sir George Mortimer, in Cavendish Square, might see her," remarked the
doctor from Northampton.
"Let's wire to him at once," urged Shaw, eagerly. "I accept your
diagnosis entirely, yet I would like to have a specialist's opinion."
Both medical men acquiesced, and a telegram was dispatched to the great
specialist on brain trouble.
As Redwood, seated at the library table, wrote the telegram, his
close-set eyes met mine. The glance we exchanged was significant.
"How did you know of this terrible affair, Kemball?" asked Shaw,
abruptly, a little time afterwards.
"I came over to invite you both to dine next Wednesday," I said, of
course concealing the secret message I had received from the woman I had
grown to love.
In response, he gave a grunt of dissatisfaction, and walked down the
hall in hasty impatience. Was his impatience an eagerness to hear of
the poor girl's end?
Surely that could not be, for was he not utterly devoted to her! And
yet her seizure and her symptoms were exactly similar to those of poor
Guy Nicholson!
The whole day I remained there, watching closely Shaw's demeanour and
his movements.
Once, when he found me alone looking forth from the window of the
morning-room, he came up beside me, and, looking at me with those small
quick eyes of his, said--
"This is a terrible blow for me, Kemball. I have been quite frank with
you, therefore be frank with me. I've not been blind. I've noticed
that you've been in love with the poor child, and--well, to tell the
truth, I secretly hoped that one day you would propose marriage to her.
My own position is, as you know, one of hourly insecurity, and my
keenest wish was to see her happily settled before--before the crisis."
"You guessed the truth," was my reply. "I do love her--I love her more
than I can tell."
He sighed deeply, a sigh that echoed through the big silent room.
"Well," he said, "our grief must be mutual, I fear. Petherbridge has
just told me that they do not believe she can live another hour."
Hardly had those words left his mouth when Mrs Howard ushered in a
tall, thin, white-haired man, the eminent specialist, Sir George
Mortimer.
Without delay he was taken to the poor girl's room, and then a long
period of anxious waiting, while the trio of medical men remained with
the door closed.
I suppose it must have been about an hour afterwards when, on passing
along the carpeted corridor near Shaw's room, next that of Asta, I saw
that the door was shut, but as I passed I heard him utter that peculiar
whistle, yet so very low that it was only just audible. Twice I heard
it, and halting, found myself involuntarily copying him. He was
whistling so softly that it could scarcely be overheard beyond the walls
of his own room.
What was the meaning of that sound? Probably it only escaped his lips
when deep in thought. Some men invariably whistle softly or hum tunes
while dressing. Yet in any case it was curious that he should do this
while Asta lay dying.
All was chaos and disorder in that usually calm, well-ordered household.
Just about seven o'clock Redwood came to me and called me to one of the
upstairs rooms, where the great specialist awaited me alone.
"I believe that a friend of yours, a Mr Nicholson, died a little time
ago in somewhat similar circumstances to the present case," said Sir
George, standing upon the hearthrug with his arms folded. "Now, as far
as I can make out, the young lady's illness is due to brain trouble,
brought on perhaps by fright. I have seen several similar cases in my
experience--and I have treated them."
"But Miss Seymour--will she live?" I asked in frantic anxiety.
"Ah! That I cannot foretell," he replied calmly, in his soft-spoken
voice. "I have administered two injections, and I'm glad to tell you
that she is infinitely better. Indeed, I expect her very soon to regain
consciousness, and we may hope for a turn."
"Thank God!--thank God!" I cried, with over burdened heart. "She is
very dear to me, Sir George," I added with emotion, "and I thank you
deeply for your efforts to save her."
"I understand--I quite understand, my dear sir," he said with
professional calmness. "Yet, from what my two colleagues have told me,
I can't help thinking that there is--well, a little mystery somewhere,
eh?"
"A little mystery?" I echoed. "Ah, Sir George, there is a very great
mystery, one which I intend at all hazards to investigate--now that Asta
has fallen a victim."
But as I spoke the door was unceremoniously pushed open, and Shaw, who
had put on a dark blue suit, and who looked unusually pale and haggard,
entered, and inquired for the latest bulletin of the patient.
"I'm glad to tell you, Mr Shaw, that she will probably recover,"
replied the eminent man. "In an hour we trust to have her conscious
again, and then she will, I hope, tell us what happened--what she
indicated when, in her fright, she made mention of this mysterious
hand."
The hand! I recollected those written words of Melvill Arnold.
"She was delirious, I suppose, poor girl!" Shaw said. "But this is
real good news that she is getting better! You are quite sure that she
will not be taken from us?"
"I hope not. I have treated similar cases."
"Ah! then there is nothing abnormal in this?" he cried eagerly.
"I cannot exactly say that, Mr Shaw. When the poor young lady recovers
she will be able to tell us what really occurred to cause her mysterious
seizure," Sir George replied gravely.
"Yes," said Shaw. "I hope she will be able to clear up the mystery.
You think in an hour or so she will be conscious again?"
"I sincerely hope so."
And then both men left the room together. Towards nine o'clock the
crafty-faced butler came to inform me that Captain Cardew wished to see
me, and, a few seconds later, I grasped hands with Guy Nicholson's
friend.
The dining-room was empty, for, though the table had been laid, nobody
had thought of dinner. Contrary to expectations, alas! Asta had not
recovered consciousness. Only ten minutes before I had seen Redwood,
who admitted that she had taken a slight turn for the worse, and that
their anxiety had been considerably increased thereby.
I had then sought Shaw, but could not find him. He had gone over to the
garage for a moment, Mrs Howard told me.
As soon as I got Cardew alone, however, I told him as briefly as I could
what had occurred.
"Then Miss Seymour's case and Guy's are practically identical!" he
cried, staring at me.
"Yes. And I want you to stay here with me and investigate," I said.
Then I related how, on the door of her room being burst in, she had,
before losing consciousness, made reference to some mysterious hand.
"That's distinctly curious," Cardew declared. "I wonder what she could
have meant?"
"Ah! that remains to us to discover. Will you assist me?"
"Of course," cried the Captain enthusiastically. "Only I hope the poor
young lady will recover. Surely the doctors ought to be able to
diagnose something!"
"They can't say anything definite. It's for you and me to furnish
proofs."
"What do you suspect, Kemball?" he asked, looking straight into my face.
"Wait and see," I replied. "At eleven o'clock, if Asta is not then
conscious, we will go and investigate the room in which she was lying
when seized."
We ate some cold meat and drank a glass of claret, for I had touched
nothing that day, while he had had a long journey from Aldershot. Then
again we sought news of my beloved.
Her precarious condition had not altered, and she remained still
unconscious. Afterwards I was told by Mrs Howard that Shaw was in the
library, writing. He was greatly upset at the girl's continued
unconsciousness, and had expressed a desire not to be disturbed. As I
passed the door I heard him speaking over the telephone to some one.
All I heard was the number--the number of the woman Olliffe! I tried to
gather what he said, but was unable. He was purposely speaking in a low
voice--so as not to be overheard.
When the long old grandfather's clock in the hall had chimed eleven, I
ascended the wide staircase with Cardew, and with an electric torch
which I had several hours ago found in the library, we gained the
landing.
Redwood brushed past in haste, and in reply to my question gave but
little hope of my poor love's recovery. "Mortimer is about to make a
last effort with another injection," he said. "But I fear, Mr Kemball,
that we must now abandon all hope."
My heart stood still. His words fell upon me as though he had struck me
a blow.
"No hope?" I managed to gasp.
"No, none, Mr Kemball," replied the doctor, and he hurried away to
fetch something from the servants' quarters.
I made no further remark. Mere words failed me. If Asta were lost to
me, then it was my duty to avenge her death. Therefore I drew Cardew
into the dark bedroom in which the dying girl had witnessed the hideous
apparition of the hand, and then, with difficulty--for one hinge was
broken--I closed the door.
Afterwards, I switched on the electric light and we made a minute and
careful examination of the apartment. But we discovered nothing.
Before entering there I noticed that the door of Shaw's room adjoining
was closed, for he was still downstairs writing.
Presently, when we had satisfied ourselves that in the room was nothing
suspicious, I pointed out to my friend that if we remained quietly in
the darkness, without speaking, no one would suspect us of being there.
"Now," I added, "I'm going to lie on that bed while you sit in yonder
armchair in the corner; you take the torch, and at sign of the slightest
movement flash on a light at anything you may see. Don't hesitate,
for--well, perhaps my life may be in danger, like Guy's. Who knows?"
I had taken from the corner Asta's small ash walking-stick which she
sometimes used when tramping about the country, and with this in my hand
I lay down upon the pillow, fully dressed as I was.
Then Cardew, breathless with excitement, switched off the electric
light, plunging the room in darkness.
Gradually, when our eyes became used to it, we could distinguish a faint
grey light from the window, but it was not sufficient for me to
distinguish my friend, seated as he was in the corner with light and
weapon ready.
An hour passed, but nothing happened. We were waiting there, every
nerve strained to the utmost tension, but in vain.
At last a sudden suggestion crossed my mind, and leaving Cardew in the
room, with his torch ready, I went next door into Shaw's room, which was
still dark, and, having closed the door, imitated that peculiar whistle
of his. Three or four times I whistled, surprised that I could imitate
him so exactly. Then I waited, listening intently.