"Well, my dear fellow, I can only say you've been about as near to death
as any man I've ever attended. It was just a case of touch and go with
you. When Seton first called me and I saw you I feared that it was all
up. Your wound is quite a small one, superficial really, and yet your
collapsed condition has been most extraordinary, and there are certain
symptoms so mysterious that they have puzzled both Sir Charles and
myself."
"What did the fellow use?"
"Not an ordinary knife, certainly. It was evidently a long, thin-bladed
dagger--a stiletto, most probably. I found outside the wound upon the
cloth of your overcoat some grease, like animal fat. I am having a
portion of it analysed and do you know what I expect to find in it?"
"No; what?"
"Poison," was his reply. "Sir Charles agrees with me in the theory that
you were struck with one of those small, antique poignards with
perforated blades, used so frequently in Italy in the fifteenth
century."
"In Italy!" I cried, the very name of that country arousing within me
suspicion of an attempt upon me by Dawson or by his close friend, the
Monk of Lucca.
"Yes; Sir Charles, who, as you probably know, possesses a large
collection of ancient arms, tells me that in mediaeval Florence they
used to impregnate animal fat with some very potent poison and then rub
it upon the perforated blade. On striking a victim the act of
withdrawing the blade from the wound left a portion of the envenomed
grease within, which, of course, produced a fatal effect."
"But you surely don't anticipate that I'm poisoned?" I gasped.
"Certainly you are poisoned. Your wound would neither account for your
long insensibility nor for the strange, livid marks upon your body.
Look at the backs of your hands!"
I looked as he directed and was horrified to find upon each small, dark,
copper-coloured marks, which also covered my wrists and arms.
"Don't be too alarmed, Greenwood," the good-humoured doctor laughed,
"you've turned the corner, and you're not going to die yet. You've had
a narrow squeak of it, and certainly the weapon with which you were
struck was as deadly as any that could be devised, but, fortunately, you
had a thick overcoat on, besides other heavy clothing, vests and things,
all of which removed the greater part of the venomous substance before
it could enter the flesh. And a lucky thing it was for you, I can tell
you. Had you been attacked like this in summer, you'd have stood no
chance."
"But who did it?" I exclaimed, bewildered, my eyes riveted upon those
ugly marks upon my skin, the evidence that some deadly poison was at
work within my system.
"Somebody who owed you a very first-class grudge, I should fancy,"
laughed the surgeon, who had been my friend for many years and who used
sometimes to come out hunting with the Fitzwilliams. "But cheer up, old
chap, you'll have to live on milk and beef-tea for a day or two, have
jour wound dressed and keep very quiet, and you'll soon be bobbing about
again."
"That's all very well," I replied, impatiently, "but I've got a host of
things to do, some private matters to attend to."
"Then you'll have to let them slide for a day or two, that's very
certain."
"Yes," urged Reggie, "you must really keep quiet, Gilbert. I'm only
thankful that it isn't so serious as we at first expected. When the
cabman brought you home and Glave tore out for Walker, I really thought
you'd die before he arrived. I couldn't feel any palpitation of your
heart, and you were cold as ice."
"I wonder who was the brute who struck me!" I cried. "Great Jacob! if
I'd have caught the fellow, I'd have wrung his precious neck there and
then."
"What's the use of worrying, so long as you get better quickly?" Reggie
asked philosophically.
But I was silent, reflecting that in the belief of Sir Charles Hoare an
old Florentine poison dagger had been used. The very fact caused me to
suspect that the dastardly attack had been made upon me by my enemies.
We, of course, told Walker nothing of our curious quest, for the present
regarding the affair as strictly confidential. Therefore he treated my
injury lightly, declaring that I should quickly recover by the exercise
of a little patience.
After he had left, shortly before midday, Reggie sat at my bedside and
gravely discussed the situation. The two most pressing points at that
moment were first to discover the whereabouts of my well-beloved, and
secondly to go out to Italy and investigate the Cardinal's secret.
The days passed, long, weary, gloomy days of early spring, during which
I tossed in bed impatient and helpless. I longed to be up and active,
but Walker forbade it. He brought me books and papers instead, and
enjoined quiet and perfect rest. Although Reggie and I still had our
little hunting box down at Helpstone we had not, since Blair's death,
been down there. Besides, the season in the lace trade was an unusually
busy one, and Reggie now seemed tied to his counting-house more than
ever.
So I was left alone the greater part of the day with Glave to attend to
my wants, and with one or two male friends who now and then looked in to
smoke and chat.
Thus passed the month of March, my progress being much slower than
Walker had at first anticipated. On analysis a very dangerous irritant
poison had been discovered mixed with the grease, and it appeared that I
had absorbed more of it into my system than was at first believed--hence
my tardy recovery.
Mrs. Percival, who at our urgent request still remained at Grosvenor
Square, visited me sometimes, bringing me fruit and flowers from the
hothouses at Mayvill, but she had nothing to report concerning Mabel.
The latter had disappeared as completely as though the earth had opened
and swallowed her. She was anxious to leave Blair's house now that it
was occupied by the usurpers, but we had cajoled her into remaining in
order to keep some check upon the movements of the man Dawson and his
daughter. Ford had been so exasperated at the man's manner that, on the
fifth day of the new _regime_, he had remonstrated, whereupon Dawson had
calmly placed a year's wages in banknotes in an envelope, and at once
dispensed with his further services, as, of course, he had intended to
do all along.
The confidential secretary was, however, assisting us, and at that
moment was making every inquiry possible to ascertain the whereabouts of
his young mistress.
"The house is absolutely topsy-turvy," declared Mrs. Percival one day,
as she sat with me. "The servants are in revolt, and poor Noble, the
housekeeper, is having a most terrible time. Carter and eight of the
other servants gave notice yesterday. This person Dawson represents the
very acme of bad manners and bad breeding, yet I overheard him remarking
to his daughter two days ago that he actually contemplated putting up
for the Reform and entering Parliament! Ah! what would poor Mabel say,
if she knew? The girl, Dolly, as he calls her, the common little wench,
has established herself in Mabel's boudoir, and is about to have it
re-decorated in daffodil yellow, to suit her complexion, I believe,
while as for finances, it seems, from what Mr. Leighton says, that poor
Mr. Blair's fortune must go entirely through the fellow's hands."
"It's a shame--an abominable shame!" I cried angrily. "We know that
the man is an adventurer, and yet we are utterly powerless," I added
bitterly.
"Poor Mabel!" sighed the widow, who was really much devoted to her. "Do
you know, Mr. Greenwood," she said, with a sudden air of confidence, "I
have thought more than once since her father's death that she is in
possession of the truth of the strange connexion between her father and
this unscrupulous man who has been given such power over her and hers.
Indeed, she has confessed to me as much. And I believe that, if she
would but tell us the truth, we might be able to get rid of this
terrible incubus. Why doesn't she do it--to save herself?"
"Because she is now in fear of him," I answered in a hard, despairing
voice. "She holds some secret of which she lives in terror. That, I
believe, accounts for the sudden manner in which she has left her own
roof and disappeared. She has left the fellow in undisputed possession
of everything."
I had not forgotten Dawson's arrogance and self-confidence on the night
he had first called upon us.
"But now, Mr. Greenwood, will you please excuse me for what I am going
to say?" asked Mrs. Percival, settling her skirts after a brief pause
and looking straight into my face. "Perhaps I have no right to enter
into your more private matters in this manner, but I trust you will
forgive me when you reflect that I am only speaking on the poor girl's
behalf."
"Well!" I inquired, somewhat surprised at her sudden change of manner.
Usually she was haughty and frigid in the extreme, a scathing critic who
had the names of everybody's cousins aunts and nephews at her fingers'
ends.
"The fact is this," she went on. "You might, I feel confident, induce
her to tell us the truth. You are the only person who possesses any
influence with her now that her father is dead, and--permit me to say
so--I have reason for knowing that she entertains a very strong regard
for you."
"Yes," I remarked, unable to restrain a sigh, "we are friends--good
friends."
"More," declared Mrs. Percival, "Mabel loves you."
"Loves me!" I cried, starting up and supporting myself upon one elbow.
"No, I think you must be mistaken. She regards me more as a brother
than a lover, and she has, I think, learnt ever since the first day we
met in such romantic conditions, to regard me in the light of a
protector.
"No," I added, shaking my head, "there are certain barriers that must
prevent her loving me--the difference of our ages, of position and all
that."
"Ah! There you are entirely mistaken," said the widow, quite frankly.
"I happen to know that the very reason why her father left his secret to
you was in order that you might profit by its knowledge as he had done,
and because he foresaw the direction of Mabel's affections."
"How do you know this, Mrs. Percival?" I demanded, half inclined to
doubt her.
"Because Mr. Blair, before making his will, took me into his confidence
and asked me frankly whether his daughter had ever mentioned you in such
a manner as to cause me to suspect. I told him the truth of course,
just as I have now told you. Mabel loves you--loves you very dearly."
"Then for the legacy left me by poor Blair, I am, in a great measure,
indebted to you?" I remarked, adding a word of thanks and pondering
deeply over the revelation she had just made.
"I only did what was my duty to you both," was her response. "She loves
you, as I say, and therefore, by a little persuasion you could, I feel
convinced, induce her to tell us the truth concerning this man Dawson.
She has fled, it is true, but more in fear of what you may think of her
when her secret is out, than of the man himself. Recollect," she added,
"Mabel is passionately fond of you, she has confessed it to me many
times, but for some extraordinary reason which remains a mystery, she is
endeavouring to repress her affection. She fears, I think, that on your
part there is only friendship--that you are too confirmed a bachelor to
regard her with any thoughts of affection."
"Oh, Mrs. Percival!" I cried, with a sudden outpouring, "I tell you, I
confess to you that I have loved Mabel all along--I love her now,
fondly, passionately, with all that fierce ardour that comes to a man
only once in his lifetime. She has misjudged me. It is I who have been
foolishly at fault, for I have been blind, I have never read her heart's
secret."
"Then she must know this at once," was the elderly woman's sympathetic
answer. "We must discover her, at all costs, and tell her. There must
be a reunion, and she on her part, must confess to you. I know too well
how deeply she loves you," she added, "I know how she admires you and
how, in the secrecy of her room, she has time after time wept long and
bitterly because she believed you were cold and blind to the burning
passion of her true pure heart."
But how? The whereabouts of my well-beloved were unknown. She had
disappeared completely, in order, it seemed, to escape some terrible
revelation which she knew must be made sooner or later.
In the days that followed, while I lay still weak and helpless, both
Ford and Reggie were active in their inquiries, but all in vain. I
called in the solicitor, Leighton, in consultation, but he could devise
no plan other than to advertise, yet to do so was, we agreed, scarcely
fair to her.
Curiously enough the dark-faced young woman, Dorothy Dawson, otherwise
Dolly, also betrayed the keenest anxiety for Mabel's welfare. Her
mother was Italian, and she spoke English with a slight accent, having
always, she said, lived in Italy. Indeed, she called upon me once to
express her regret at my illness, and I found that she really improved
on acquaintance. Her apparent coarseness was only on account of her
mixed nationality, and although she was a shrewd young person possessed
of all the subtle Italian cunning, Reggie, I think, found her a bright
and amusing companion.
All my thoughts were, however, of my sweet lost love, and of that
common, arrogant fellow who, by his threats and taunts, held her so
irresistibly and secretly in his power.
Why had she fled in terror from me, and why had such a dastardly and
ingenious attempt been made to kill me?
I had solved the secret of the cipher only to be plunged still deeper
into the mazes of doubt, despair and mystery, for what the closed book
of the future held for me, was as you will see, truly startling and
bewildering.
The truth when revealed was hard, solid fact, and yet so strange and
amazing was it that it staggered all belief.