The man opened his eyes and looked curiously about him.
"Where am I?" he muttered.
Courtlaw, who was sitting by the bedside, bent over him.
"You are in a private room of St. Felix Hospital," he said.
"Hospital? What for? What's the matter with me?"
Courtlaw's voice sank to a whisper. A nurse was at the other end of
the room.
"There was an accident with a pistol in Miss Pellissier's room," he
said.
The light of memory flashed in the man's face. His brows drew a little
nearer together.
"Accident! She shot me," he muttered. "I had found her at last, and
she shot me. Listen, you. Am I going to die?"
"I am afraid that you are in a dangerous state," Courtlaw answered
gravely. "The nurse will fetch the doctor directly. I wanted to speak
to you first."
"Who are you?"
"I am a friend of Miss Pellissier's," Courtlaw answered.
"Which one?"
"The Miss Pellissier in whose rooms you were, and who sings at the
'Unusual,'" Courtlaw answered. "The Miss Pellissier who was at
White's with us."
The man nodded.
"I remember you now," he said. "So it seems that I was wrong. Annabel
was in hiding all the time."
"Annabel Pellissier is married," Courtlaw said quietly.
"She's my wife," the man muttered.
"It is possible," Courtlaw said, "that you too were deceived. Where
were you married?"
"At the English Embassy in Paris. You will find the certificate in my
pocket."
"And who made the arrangements for you, and sent you there?" Courtlaw
asked.
"Hainault, Celeste's friend. He did everything."
"I thought so," Courtlaw said. "You too were deceived. The place to
which you went was not the English Embassy, and the whole performance
was a fraud. I heard rumours of it in Paris, and the place since then
has been closed."
"But Hainault--assured--me--that the marriage was binding."
"So it would have been at the English Embassy," Courtlaw answered,
"but the place to which you went was not the English Embassy. It was
rigged up for the occasion as it has been many a time before."
"But Hainault--was--a pal. I--I don't understand," the man faltered
wearily.
"Hainault was Celeste's friend, and Celeste was Annabel's enemy,"
Courtlaw said. "It was a plot amongst them all to humiliate her."
"Then she has never been my wife."
"Never for a second. She is the wife now of another man."
Hill closed his eyes. For fully five minutes he lay quite motionless.
Then he opened them again suddenly, to find Courtlaw still by his
side.
"It was a bad day for me," he said, speaking slowly and painfully.
"A bad thing for me when that legacy came. I thought I'd see Paris,
do the thing--like a toff. And I heard 'Alcide' sing, and that little
dance she did. I was in the front row, and I fancied she smiled at me.
Lord, what a state I was in! Night after night I sat there, I watched
her come in, I watched her go. She dropped a flower--it's in my
pocket-book now. I couldn't rest or eat or sleep. I made Hainault's
acquaintance, stood him drinks, lent him money. He shook his head all
the time. Annabel Pellissier was not like the others, he said. She
had a few acquaintances, English gentlemen, but she lived with her
sister--was a lady. But one day he came to me. It was Celeste's
idea. I could be presented as Meysey Hill. We were alike. He
was--a millionaire. And I passed myself off as Meysey Hill, and
since--then--I haven't had a minute's peace. God help me."
Courtlaw was alarmed at the man's pallor.
"You mustn't talk any more," he said, "but I want you to listen to me
just for a moment. The doctor will be here to see you in five minutes.
The nurse sent for him as soon as she saw that you were conscious. It
is very possible that he will ask you to tell him before witnesses how
you received your wound."
The man smiled at him.
"You are their friend, then?"
"I am," Courtlaw answered.
"Which one?"
"The one whose life you have been making a burden, who has been all
the time shielding her sister. I would have married her long ago, but
she will not have me."
"Bring her--here," Hill muttered. "I----"
The door opened, and the doctor entered softly. Hill closed his eyes.
Courtlaw stood up.
"He has asked to see some one," he whispered to the doctor. "Is there
any urgency?"
The doctor bent over his patient, who seemed to have fallen asleep.
Presently he turned to Courtlaw.
"I think," he said, "that I would fetch any one whom he has asked to
see. His condition is not unfavourable, but there may be a relapse at
any moment."
So only a few minutes after Ennison's departure, while Anna stood
indeed with her sister's open letter still in her hand, Courtlaw drove
up in hot haste. She opened the door to him herself.
"Will you come round to the hospital?" he asked. "Hill has asked for
you, and they will take his depositions to-night."
She slipped on her cloak and stepped into the hansom with him. They
drove rapidly through the emptying streets.
"Will he die?" she asked.
"Impossible to say," he answered. "We have a private room at St.
Felix. Everything is being done that can be."
"You are sure that he asked for me--not for Annabel?"
"Certain," Courtlaw answered.
"Has he accused any one yet?"
"Not yet," he answered. "I have scarcely left his side."
He was still conscious when they reached the hospital and his state
was much more favourable. The doctor and another man were by his
bedside when they entered the room, and there were writing materials
which had evidently been used close at hand. He recognised Anna, and
at once addressed her.
"Thank you--for coming," he said. "The doctor has asked me to give
them my reasons--for shooting myself. I've told them all that was
necessary, but I--wanted to ask your pardon--for having made myself a
nuisance to you, and for breaking into your rooms--and to thank
you--the doctor says you bound up my wound--or I should have bled to
death."
"I forgive you willingly," Anna said, bending over him. "It has all
been a mistake, hasn't it?"
"No more talking," the doctor interposed.
"I want two words--with Miss Pellissier alone," Hill pleaded.
The doctor frowned.
"Remember," he said, "you are not by any means a dying man now, but
you'll never pull through if you don't husband your strength."
"Two words only," Hill repeated.
They all left the room. Anna leaned over so that he needed only to
whisper.
"Tell your sister she was right to shoot, quite right. I meant
mischief. But tell her this, too. I believed that our marriage was
genuine. I believed that she was my wife, or she would have been safe
from me."
"I will tell her," Anna promised.
"She has nothing to be afraid of," he continued. "I have signed a
statement that I shot myself; bad trade and drink, both true--both
true."
His eyes were closed. Anna left the room on tiptoe. She and Courtlaw
drove homewards together.
_Chapter XXX_