THE FACE IN THE ORCHID-HOUSE
Dr. Cairn walked to the window, with its old-fashioned leaded panes. A
lamp stood by the bedside, and he had tilted the shade so that it
shone upon the pale face of the patient--Myra Duquesne.
Two days had wrought a dreadful change in her. She lay with closed
eyes, and sunken face upon which ominous shadows played. Her
respiration was imperceptible. The reputation of Dr. Bruce Cairn was a
well deserved one, but this case puzzled him. He knew that Myra
Duquesne was dying before his eyes; he could still see the agonised
face of his son, Robert, who at that moment was waiting, filled with
intolerable suspense, downstairs in Mr. Saunderson's study; but,
withal, he was helpless. He looked out from the rose-entwined casement
across the shrubbery, to where the moonlight glittered among the
trees.
Those were the orchid-houses; and with his back to the bed, Dr. Cairn
stood for long, thoughtfully watching the distant gleams of reflected
light. Craig Fenton and Sir Elwin Groves, with whom he had been
consulting, were but just gone. The nature of Myra Duquesne's illness
had utterly puzzled them, and they had left, mystified.
Downstairs, Robert Cairn was pacing the study, wondering if his reason
would survive this final blow which threatened. He knew, and his
father knew, that a sinister something underlay this strange
illness--an illness which had commenced on the day that Antony Ferrara
had last visited the house.
The evening was insufferably hot; not a breeze stirred in the leaves;
and despite open windows, the air of the room was heavy and lifeless.
A faint perfume, having a sort of sweetness, but which yet was
unutterably revolting, made itself perceptible to the nostrils.
Apparently it had pervaded the house by slow degrees. The occupants
were so used to it that they did not notice it at all.
Dr. Cairn had busied himself that evening in the sick-room, burning
some pungent preparation, to the amazement of the nurse and of the
consultants. Now the biting fumes of his pastilles had all been wafted
out of the window and the faint sweet smell was as noticeable as ever.
Not a sound broke the silence of the house; and when the nurse quietly
opened the door and entered, Dr. Cairn was still standing staring
thoughtfully out of the window in the direction of the orchid-houses.
He turned, and walking back to the bedside, bent over the patient.
Her face was like a white mask; she was quite unconscious; and so far
as he could see showed no change either for better or worse. But her
pulse was slightly more feeble and the doctor suppressed a groan of
despair; for this mysterious progressive weakness could only have one
end. All his experience told him that unless something could be
done--and every expedient thus far attempted had proved futile--Myra
Duquesne would die about dawn.
He turned on his heel, and strode from the room, whispering a few
words of instruction to the nurse. Descending the stairs, he passed
the closed study door, not daring to think of his son who waited
within, and entered the dining-room. A single lamp burnt there, and
the gaunt figure of Mr. Saunderson was outlined dimly where he sat in
the window seat. Crombie, the gardener, stood by the table.
"Now, Crombie," said Dr. Cairn, quietly, closing the door behind him,
"what is this story about the orchid-houses, and why did you not
mention it before?"
The man stared persistently into the shadows of the room, avoiding Dr.
Cairn's glance.
"Since he has had the courage to own up," interrupted Mr. Saunderson,
"I have overlooked the matter: but he was afraid to speak before,
because he had no business to be in the orchid-houses." His voice
grew suddenly fierce--"He knows it well enough!"
"I know, sir, that you don't want me to interfere with the orchids,"
replied the man, "but I only ventured in because I thought I saw a
light moving there--"
"Rubbish!" snapped Mr. Saunderson.
"Pardon me, Saunderson," said Dr. Cairn, "but a matter of more
importance than the welfare of all the orchids in the world is under
consideration now."
Saunderson coughed dryly.
"You are right, Cairn," he said. "I shouldn't have lost my temper for
such a trifle, at a time like this. Tell your own tale, Crombie; I
won't interrupt."
"It was last night then," continued the man. "I was standing at the
door of my cottage smoking a pipe before turning in, when I saw a
faint light moving over by the orchid-houses--"
"Reflection of the moon," muttered Saunderson. "I am sorry. Go on,
Crombie!"
"I knew that some of the orchids were very valuable, and I thought
there would not be time to call you; also I did not want to worry you,
knowing you had worry enough already. So I knocked out my pipe and put
it in my pocket, and went through the shrubbery. I saw the light
again--it seemed to be moving from the first house into the second. I
couldn't see what it was."
"Was it like a candle, or a pocket-lamp?" jerked Dr. Cairn.
"Nothing like that, sir; a softer light, more like a glow-worm; but
much brighter. I went around and tried the door, and it was locked.
Then I remembered the door at the other end, and I cut round by the
path between the houses and the wall, so that I had no chance to see
the light again, until I got to the other door. I found this unlocked.
There was a close kind of smell in there, sir, and the air was very
hot--"
"Naturally, it was hot," interrupted Saunderson.
"I mean much hotter than it should have been. It was like an oven, and
the smell was stifling--"
"What smell?" asked Dr. Cairn. "Can you describe it?"
"Excuse me, sir, but I seem to notice it here in this room to-night,
and I think I noticed it about the place before--never so strong as in
the orchid-houses."
"Go on!" said Dr. Cairn.
"I went through the first house, and saw nothing. The shadow of the
wall prevented the moonlight from shining in there. But just as I was
about to enter the middle house, I thought I saw--a face."
"What do you mean you _thought_ you saw?" snapped Mr. Saunderson.
"I mean, sir, that it was so horrible and so strange that I could not
believe it was real--which is one of the reasons why I did not speak
before. It reminded me of the face of a gentleman I have seen
here--Mr. Ferrara--"
Dr. Cairn stifled an exclamation.
"But in other ways it was quite unlike the gentleman. In some ways it
was more like the face of a woman--a very bad woman. It had a sort of
bluish light on it, but where it could have come from, I don't know.
It seemed to be smiling, and two bright eyes looked straight out at
me."
Crombie stopped, raising his hand to his head confusedly.
"I could see nothing but just this face--low down as if the person it
belonged to was crouching on the floor; and there was a tall plant of
some kind just beside it--"
"Well," said Dr. Cairn, "go on! What did you do?"
"I turned to run!" confessed the man. "If you had seen that horrible
face, you would understand how frightened I was. Then when I got to
the door, I looked back."
"I hope you had closed the door behind you," snapped Saunderson.
"Never mind that, never mind that!" interrupted Dr. Cairn.
"I had closed the door behind me--yes, sir--but just as I was going to
open it again, I took a quick glance back, and the face had gone! I
came out, and I was walking over the lawn, wondering whether I should
tell you, when it occurred to me that I hadn't noticed whether the
key had been left in or not."
"Did you go back to see?" asked Dr. Cairn.
"I didn't want to," admitted Crombie, "but I did--and--"
"Well?"
"The door was locked, sir!"
"So you concluded that your imagination had been playing you tricks,"
said Saunderson grimly. "In my opinion you were right."
Dr. Cairn dropped into an armchair.
"All right, Crombie; that will do."
Crombie, with a mumbled "Good-night, gentlemen," turned and left the
room.
"Why are you worrying about this matter," inquired Saunderson, when
the door had closed, "at a time like the present?"
"Never mind," replied Dr. Cairn wearily. "I must return to Half-Moon
Street, now, but I shall be back within an hour."
With no other word to Saunderson, he stood up and walked out to the
hall. He rapped at the study door, and it was instantly opened by
Robert Cairn. No spoken word was necessary; the burning question could
be read in his too-bright eyes. Dr. Cairn laid his hand upon his son's
shoulder.
"I won't excite false hopes, Rob," he said huskily. "I am going back
to the house, and I want you to come with me."
Robert Cairn turned his head aside, groaning aloud, but his father
grasped him by the arm, and together they left that house of shadows,
entered the car which waited at the gate, and without exchanging a
word _en route_, came to Half-Moon Street.