DR. PETERSSEN EXPLAINS HIMSELF.
"What have you done?" exclaimed Leonard, starting to his feet in
irrepressible excitement, but cooling immediately as Dr. Peterssen
turned to him with a smile on his lips. It was seldom, indeed, that
Leonard was taken off his guard, but the suddenness of this foul deed
startled him. When engaged in a scheme of villainy he was in the habit
of being more deliberate.
"Be more careful with your pronouns," said Dr. Peterssen, inclining
toward the abyss, and putting his hand to his ear. "You mean what have
_we_ done?"
"I did not stir."
"You lie," said Dr. Peterssen, with a brutal laugh. "With my own eyes
I saw you hurl your step-brother over the precipice. In the attempt to
save himself he caught hold of my poor patient, but he was just one
little minute too late. Instead of saving himself he destroyed his
companion, and thus at one fell swoop I was robbed of three hundred a
year. I, with a record at least as spotless as your own--we are a fine
pair of white doves, you and I--am ready to take my Bible oath to this
version of the catastrophe; and I'll bet you a hundred to one, my
buck, that I swear you down in any court of justice you can name. A
likely thing, isn't it, that I should wish to get rid of my poor
patient, when by doing so I lose a sure income? You, on the contrary,
have everything to gain by your step-brother's death. Dying
unmarried--you understand?"
"Yes."
"You have only to be firm with Emilia and the point is carried. After
what she has gone through, and plunged into despair as she will be,
she can be made to believe anything, especially when she learns that
you are prepared to behave generously to her. To resume, Gerald, dying
unmarried, you come into all the property. Therefore his death is a
distinctly desirable event in your eyes. Do not, therefore, my dear
comrade, in this little affair, attempt to shirk your share of the
responsibility, or I will throw it all upon your shoulders, and send
you to the gallows. Mr. Leonard Paget, I should be inclined to call
you a fool if I did not know you better. What is done cannot be
undone, nor, with all your cant, would you wish it undone."
"But," said Leonard, inwardly acknowledging the weight of his
companion's arguments, "we are in danger."
"We are in none. Your step-brother Gerald, ardently desiring to gather
with his own hands some edelweiss for his lady love, is informed by my
unfortunate patient that he knows where the flower is to be found.
Unwilling that they shall go alone, we express our intention to
accompany them. Off we start with merry hearts. But we have not gone
far before the young gentlemen beg to be allowed to enjoy their
excursion without our society, and we, two fond and indulgent
guardians, yield to their implorings, and leave them to themselves.
Lured by the balmy weather, we stroll up the mountains, scarcely
noting in which direction we are wandering. We stop and dilate upon
the sublime beauty of the scenery, our souls exalted by the thoughts
it inspires, when our ecstatic musings are rudely interrupted by
screams of anguish. We hasten to the spot from which they proceed, and
see--nothing. But our ears, ever open to the calls of humanity, cannot
have deceived us. No, that is impossible. So we hunt and look about,
calling out all the while to the poor souls who may be in peril to
give us some indication how we can assist them. At length our
attention is attracted by signs of a disturbance at the edge of this
precipice, and kneeling"--he suited the action to the word, and
Leonard knelt by his side--"we observe marks in the soil which
engender the suspicion that a human creature has fallen over. We call
out loudly, and are answered by a groan and scarcely distinguishable
but undeniably pathetic appeals for help."
"I do not hear them," interrupted Leonard.
"Then you ought to. Are you quite devoid of imagination? Our hearts
are rent by these appeals. We are not practised mountaineers, and are
unable to render assistance. Therefore we hasten to the nearest
village, and return with men and ropes to the rescue. But by that time
it is too late."
"By that time," said Leonard, in a questioning tone, "they are dead?"
"By that time," repeated Dr. Peterssen, "they are dead. And"--with a
steady look at Leonard--"of this fact we must convince ourselves
before the introduction of other characters into the melancholy
scene."
"How is that to be done?"
Dr. Peterssen rose to his feet, and cast sharp glances around.
"We are quite alone, I think."
"Not a person is in sight," said Leonard, watching his ruthless
companion with curious eyes.
"Be silent a minute or two."
They stood perfectly still, all their senses on the alert.
"There is no doubt," said Dr. Peterssen, "that we are the only
witnesses of the unhappy occurrence, and, thus far, safe. Now to make
sure."
He divested himself of coat and waistcoat, and unwound a rope which he
had adjusted round his waist.
"It is not very thick," he said, "nor very long, but it will help to
steady us. See, I wind and fasten it about this slim trunk which
providence has grown here to further our ends. Try it; you will find
it quite secure."
"Yes, it can hardly get loosened of itself."
"The descent, as you will observe, is not very difficult after all.
All that is required is steadiness and confidence. About 30 feet
down--I reckon it is not more than that--you see a broad plateau of
rock upon which half a dozen men can stand easily."
"But neither Gerald nor your patient is there."
"They have rolled over it, and we must ascertain their position, if it
is possible to do so. Descend."
"Descend!" cried Leonard, retreating.
"Descend," repeated Dr. Peterssen, calmly. "I will follow you."
"But why do you not go first?"
"Because, cherished idol of my soul, I do not trust you. You above and
I below, you might easily finish me off, and have the game entirely in
your own hands. You are quite safe with me, dear friend. It is to my
advantage to keep you alive; I intend to get money out of you in the
future. It would be to your advantage if I were in the same plight as
our friends below, for then you would save the money you will have to
pay me. Even as a lad I was distinguished for frankness. Descend."
He was master of the situation, and Leonard was compelled to submit.
Steadying himself by the rope he descended, and reached the plateau.
Dr. Peterssen climbed down after him with the agility of a cat.
"I see them," he said, "though not very distinctly. They seem to be
lying side by side. Luckily it will not be at all difficult to get to
them. Between being hurled down these rocks unaware and descending
them voluntarily there is a great difference. We will go together.
Careful, Leonard, careful; I must not have my milch cow injured."
They reached the spot where the bodies lay. The violence with which
they had been dashed over the precipice had told its tale. Of the two
Dr. Peterssen's patient was the more injured. In his descent his
features had been so dreadfully cut and lacerated that they were
scarcely distinguishable.
"My poor ward is done for," said Dr. Peterssen, adding, with eyes
sanctimoniously raised to heaven, "he is now in a better world."
"And Gerald?" whispered Leonard.
It was some time before Dr. Peterssen replied, and when he spoke there
was a strange note in his voice.
"Gerald lives."
"Then what has been done," cried Leonard, in a tone of mingled despair
and fury, "has been done in vain!"
"Easy to finish the job," remarked Dr. Peterssen.
But, hardened as he was, Leonard shrank from the ruthless suggestion.
Had he been alone he might have nerved himself to the desperate
expedient, but in the presence of a witness----
"Are you certain be lives?"
"Quite certain," said Dr. Peterssen. "His head is badly cut, and there
is no saying in what condition he will be when he opens his eyes. He
has a long illness before him, which may terminate fatally."
"But, before the end he may be able to assure Emilia that they are
legally married. Before the end he may make his will!"
"He may. It would be bad for both of us"
"Is there no road but one out of it?"
"I have a strong gift of invention," said Dr. Peterssen. "There is
another road, a hazardous one, the risk and trouble of which will be
mine; but I don't mind, so long as I am properly paid for it, and you
will be rich enough to arrange that to my satisfaction."
"Speak plainly, in the devil's name."
"In the name of that august myth I will endeavor to do so. What
hazards and what personal inconvenience will not such a sacred
friendship as ours incur for a quid pro quo! The two men lying
helpless before us, one dead and one living, are about the same
height. Perhaps you have observed that?"
"I have not."
"I have. And not only about the same height but about the same build.
The color of their hair is not dissimilar, and it really seems to have
been ordained by fate that neither of them should wear mustache or
beardeek."
"For the life of me I can't see your drift."
"The quality of your mental powers is not generally opaque, but you are
remarkably dense at this moment. Dressed in each other's clothes, who is
to distinguish them? Thus attired, my poor patient, whose features are
battered beyond recognition, is carried back to the village as your
luckless brother Gerald. As Gerald he is buried; the tombstone you
lovingly erect over his remains proclaims it. Thus attired, he is
carried back to the village as my patient, and I attend on him; no one
else sets an eye upon him, though that risk might be run with safety.
To-morrow comes a summons from his father, which I invent, to take him
back to England. It grieves me to leave you in your grief, to leave the
bereaved Emilia in her sorrow--but what can I do? Duty is my watchword,
and I set it before me unflinchingly, and perform it. Without delay I
return home, bearing my patient with me. Do you see the drift of my
plan now?"
"I do," replied Leonard, setting his teeth close. "But will you be
able to carry it out?"
"To the bitter end--till Gerald is dead."
They exchanged glances; the compact was made.
"If he should recover consciousness while we are changing their
clothes!" whispered Leonard.
"Accept my professional word. The injuries he has received are so
severe that he will not recover his senses until he is on the road to
England. Not even then, perhaps. Trust me to manage him. I am
responsible to no one, and there are potent drugs which I can use to
any end I wish. As a matter of fact my poor patient's father is
thousands of miles away, and will learn just as much as it pleases me
to impart, and at the time I choose to impart it. What kind of friend
am I?"
"The best of friends. Let us set to work."
Dr. Peterssen laughed internally; in this villanous scheme he saw what
was hidden from Leonard.
An hour afterward they stood again on the edge of the precipice, and
the rope they had used was once more concealed round Dr. Peterssen's
body. He had forced down Gerald's throat ah opiate which insured
insensibility for many hours to come. Leonard hoped that his
step-brother would die under its influence, but Dr. Peterssen did not
share the hope. He wanted Gerald to live--at least for the present.