"You allude now to the difficulty of the position," I said. "At the
present moment I cannot account for Randall's death. A man in perfect
health is not often attacked with such violent vertigo as to cause him
to lose the power of keeping himself upright." Then I paused--I was
thinking deeply. "Undoubtedly there have been such cases," I said, "but
they are rare."
I remembered, as I spoke, Randall's change of colour and the sudden
pressure of his hand to his head that morning at breakfast.
"You have seen a good deal of the poor fellow," I said. "Did he ever
at any time complain of peculiar symptoms to you? Did you ever notice
anything about him which would lead you not to suppose him in perfect
health?"
"Never," she said at once, emphatically. "He always seemed to me to be
the perfect embodiment of the rudest health and strength."
"The death is very mysterious," I said; "and while I personally believe
poor Carleton's story, I fear matters will go hard with him."
I was about to leave the room, as I did not imagine Miss Farnham could
have anything further to say to me, when she exclaimed, impulsively,
her eyes filled with the most terrible anguish, her face turning white
as death: "If, indeed, this thing is true, and if Ronald Carleton has
to suffer in consequence of Mr. Randall's death, I shall put an end to
my own life."
"Nonsense!" I said, sharply. "You must not speak in that wild way. You
know you don't mean a word that you say."
"You mistake me," she replied. "I exaggerate nothing. I state a simple
fact when I tell you that if Ronald Carleton suffers for this, my
remorse will be greater than I can bear. I have behaved badly to him."
"Yes, God knows you have!" I interrupted. I felt angry with her, and
did not want to spare her at that moment. "You have behaved badly to
as honest and true-hearted a man as ever breathed. When will beautiful
women like you learn that men's hearts are not mere balls to be kicked
here and there?"
"Oh, yes, you are right to abuse me," she said. "Go on, go on. I am so
unhappy that nothing you can say will add to my pain. My cup of misery
is full. I have ruined the man I love."
"The man you love?" I queried, looking at her in astonishment. "Nay,
you must not be too hard on yourself. You surely are not accountable
for Randall's tragic end. If Carleton's story is true, he died from
sudden vertigo. You were kind to him while he lived--you have nothing
to reproach yourself with on that score."
"Yes, I have," she answered, with sudden passion. "I deceived him. I
made him think that I loved him; in reality, he was nothing to me. It
is Ronald Carleton whom I love."
"Then, in the name of the Evil One----" I began.
"Yes, you may well quote the Evil One," she retorted. "I think he has
been about the house all day. I think he entered into me this morning
when poor Ronald spoke to me. The Evil One held me back then from
telling him what I really thought. I gave him to understand that I--I
hated him, and all the time I loved him--I loved him then--I love him
now--I shall love him for ever! The dead man is nothing to me: less
than nothing!"
[Illustration: "SHE FLUNG HERSELF ON HER KNEES AT MY FEET."]
She began to walk up and down the room: fever spots burnt on her
cheeks; her eyes looked wild; she clenched her right hand.
"What can I do for you?" I asked, after a pause. "You have been good
enough to confide in me: you must have done so for a reason."
She stopped her restless walk and came close to me.
"I have heard of you before, Dr. Halifax," she said. "This is not the
first time you have been asked to help people in trouble. I want you to
help me--will you help me?"
"With all my power, if I can."
"You can. Find out what killed Mr. Randall. Save Ronald Carleton."
"I wish I could," I said, reflectively.
"Oh, it won't be difficult," she replied.