"We are able to state that Sir Charles and Lady Thorold have decided to
return to their country residence, Houghton Park, in Rutland, which has
been vacant since the mysterious affair when the body of Sir Charles'
butler was discovered in the lake at Houghton, and the chauffeur from
Oakham was shot dead by an unknown assassin. The news is creating
considerable interest throughout the county."
"What an astonishing thing!" I exclaimed. "Really, one may cease being
surprised at anything. I wonder how `the county' will receive them. I
prophecy that the majority of Rutland society will cut them dead, after
what has happened."
"Why should they?" Faulkner asked, in surprise. "There's no reason why
they should," I answered "I only say they will. You don't know Rutland
county people--or you wouldn't ask."
Vera's lunch-party had proved a great success. The four of us had been
in the best of spirits. And yet, once, at least, during the meal,
Paulton's face, dark, threatening, floated into my imagination, and
again I heard that ominous threat he had uttered in Paris that night,
the last words I had heard him speak--
"I shall be even with you soon, in a way you don't expect."
Where was he at this moment? What plot was he hatching? Had he left
Paris? Was he in London? Would he and the Baronne try to get Violet
away from Faulkner by force?
Though now we were all so light-hearted, I could not help thinking of
Paulton and the Baronne, and wondering what their next clever move would
be. It was not to be supposed they would remain dormant. They were
probably lying "doggo," in order to spring with greater force.
During the same week I looked in again at Rodney Street on my policeman,
who expressed himself delighted to see me. Some days had now passed
since I had forced my way into the house in Belgrave Street during the
night. I was wondering what had happened there since; whether lights
had been seen again; whether anybody else had been into the place; or if
the body and the gold had been removed.
When he had pushed forward his most comfortable chair, and I had seated
myself in it, the constable said: "I have some news for you to-day,
sir."
"News?" I exclaimed. "What kind of news?"
"Well, simply this, sir. All them sacks of money has been removed, but
the mummy has been left just where it was. The police have possession
of it now."
"When did they take possession of it?" I asked quickly, starting up.
"Yesterday. Mr. Spink, in whose hands the house is during Sir Charles
Thorold's absence, went there. I see him when he comes out, and I never
in my life see a man look so white and scared. He found the body lying
there, of course, also all the furniture pushed about, and the great
hole cut in the ceiling. When he came out he was as terrible pale, and
shivering with excitement. It was about three in the afternoon. He
called me at once, and I went in with the man on point-duty. Everything
was much as when you and me saw it, sir, only there wasn't no money."
"Then of course Whichelo and Sir Charles have taken it away. I wonder
at their leaving the body, though. Such a give-away, isn't it? Did the
police find out how the men entered and left the house?"
"I found that out, sir--quite by charnce. There's a way into a cellar
we didn't know of, and that cellar leads into the cellar of the house
adjoining, which is empty. That's the way they went in and out. It was
easy to see as how somebody had been to and fro that way."
"Do the police know anything of the money?" I asked. "Didn't they see
any sign of it at all?"
"No, sir. Nor Mr. Spink didn't neither."
"Do they suspect who has been into the house?"
"No, sir, they ain't got no idea. And about the body and how it got
there, they are quite at sea." Sauntering along Victoria Street,
Westminster, half-an-hour later, the thought occurred to me to look in
on my doctor, David Agnew, who was also my old personal friend.
For some days I had not been well. A feeling of lassitude had come over
me, also loss of appetite. Agnew was generally able to prescribe for my
simple ailments.
He was a bright, genial fellow, and merely to meet him seemed to do one
good. None would have taken him for the celebrated bacteriologist he
was, for I--and I think most people--usually picture a bacteriologist as
a cadaverous, ascetic, preternaturally solemn individual, with a bald
head, wrinkled brow, and large, gold-rimmed spectacles. It was Thorold
who had introduced me to Agnew many years before, and many and many a
time had the three of us dined together.
At first I was told that the doctor was "not at home," but upon sending
in my card, I was immediately admitted.
The shock I received upon entering Agnew's consulting-room, I am not
likely to forget. Instead of the hearty greeting I had expected, I was
faced by a man whose staring eyes spoke terror. It was Agnew, but I saw
at once that something terrible must have happened.
He was pacing the room with his handkerchief to his mouth when I
entered. He turned at once, and came over to me.
"Ashton," he said abruptly, taking my hand in both his own, and gripping
it so that I almost cried out, "I have an awful thing to tell you--you
are the one man in whom I can confide in this crisis, and I am truly
glad you've come. I feel I must tell some one. I shall go mad if I
don't."
His expression appalled me.
"What is it? What?" I exclaimed. "For Heaven's sake don't look at me
like this!"
"I must tell you, I must," he gasped. "Our mutual, our dear friend,
Charles Thorold, was in here an hour ago. I had been called out for
five minutes, but he said he would wait. As I had a patient in here,
Gregory, my man, showed Thorold into the room upstairs--my laboratory.
In an open box on the table were several little glass tubes containing
bacilli--different sorts of bacilli that I've been cultivating. It
seems that Charles, with fatal curiosity, picked up one of these tubes
to examine it. The glass of the tube is very thin. One of them broke
in his hand--ah! What catastrophe could be more complete? It's
terrible... horrible!" He stopped abruptly, unable to go on.
"Well? Why so terrible! Tell me!" I exclaimed.
He pulled himself together with an effort.
"That tube contained a cultivation of pneumonic plague," he exclaimed
huskily, "one of the deadliest microbes known. The blood-serum in which
I had grown the germs fell upon his hands. Not suspecting the danger,
he actually wiped it off with his handkerchief! I did not return until
a quarter of an hour afterwards. The evil was then beyond remedy. He
became infected!"
"Phew! What will happen now?"
"Happen? In a few days at most he will be dead! There are no
recoveries from pneumonic plague--that most terrible contagious disease
so well-known in Eastern Siberia and Japan. There is no hope for him.
None. You hear--none!"
"By Gad!" I gasped, horrified. "You can't mean it. Where is Thorold
now?"
"In isolation at St. George's hospital. I sent him there at once. Oh!
Heaven, it is too terrible to think of--and my fault, all my fault for
leaving the tube there!"