"If my husband is really out of his mind, we are ruined from a worldly
point of view."
"I am sorry to hear that," I replied. "Have you no private means?"
"No," she answered. "My husband had his profession, and he was doing
good work as a barrister. But there is no profession in the world which
requires greater brain power than his. We have nothing to live on
except what my husband earns."
"In case Mr. Mainwaring cannot earn money for a time, have you no
relations who will help you?" I asked.
She shook her head.
"We have no relations who will help us," she said. "It is true that my
husband's father is still living--he is an old man, a clergyman. He has
a small parish, and with difficulty makes both ends meet. It would be
impossible to expect assistance from him." She sighed heavily as she
spoke. Then she continued, with a naïveté which touched me: "Even at
this terrible moment I cannot help thinking of the children, and of how
they will suffer if our worst fears are fulfilled."
"Well," I said, in a cheerful tone, "we must hope for the best. The
first thing is to find your husband. After that we must consider what
is best to be done for him."
"Oh, can anything be done?" she asked, in a tone of supplication.
"We will see," I replied.
We arrived at the hotel and made inquiries. The name of Mainwaring was
not in the visitors' book.
"That is nothing," I said, turning to Mrs. Mainwaring; "will you please
describe your husband to the manager?"
She did so, entering into a minute and faithful description.
"A tall gentleman, broadly made, with a slight stoop," repeated the
manager after her "He wears glasses, does he not, madam?"
"Sometimes, not always," she replied.
"Has he a _pince-nez_ which he puts on whenever he wants to ask a
question?" continued the manager.
Mrs. Mainwaring turned crimson.
"Yes, yes," she exclaimed, "then he _is_ here! Dr. Halifax, you are
right."
The manager asked further questions.
"A great many gentlemen wear glasses," he said. "I should like to be
quite certain that madam's husband is really one of the visitors before
I disturb any of them. The hour is late too, close on eleven o'clock,
and a good many of the guests have gone to their rooms. About what age
is the gentleman whom you want to find, madam?"
"He looks nearly forty," she replied at once, "although he is not in
reality nearly so old. His hair is dark and slightly tinged with grey."
The manager called one of the waiters and spoke a few words to him. He
then returned to us.
"I think," he said, "that there is a gentleman here who answers to
madam's description, but I cannot find his name. Through an oversight
it has not been entered in the visitors' book. The hotel is very full
this evening. The gentleman who answers to your description," he
continued, looking at Mrs. Mainwaring, "is occupying No. 39. Do you
think you would know him by his boots?"
"Certainly," she replied.
"Then they are probably at this moment outside his door. I will have
them fetched, and you can look at them. Will you have the goodness to
step inside the office, Mrs. Mainwaring, and you too, please, sir?"
I gave the manager my card, and told him that I was Mrs. Mainwaring's
medical adviser. He motioned us to chairs, and in a short time a waiter
appeared with a pair of boots on a tray.
"I have just taken these from outside the door of No. 39," he said,
holding them up for inspection.
A glance told me that they belonged to a large, but well-shaped foot.
Mrs. Mainwaring rushed forward, gave utterance to a rejoicing cry, and
picked them up.
"These are undoubtedly Edward's boots," she exclaimed. "Yes, he is
here. Thank the merciful God we have found him!"
"The gentleman has been in his room for some little time," exclaimed
a waiter who had now come upon the scene. "Would madam like me to
announce her arrival?"
"No," she said, turning very pale. "I will go to him without being
announced. Will you come with me, Dr. Halifax?"
We went upstairs, and the chambermaid conducted us to the door of No.
39. We knocked. The door was locked from within, but our summons was
immediately answered by the approach of a manly step. The door was
flung open and Mainwaring, with a Baedeker's guide in his hand, stood
before us.
Mrs. Mainwaring rushed to him and impulsively endeavoured to throw her
arms round his neck. He started back in astonishment which was not
feigned.
"May I ask?" he said, looking at me, his eyes darkening with anger, "to
what I am indebted for this--this most extraordinary intrusion?"
"Don't you know me, Edward?" sobbed the poor girl. "I am your wife."
"You must be mad," he said. He looked at her with a blank stare of
undisguised astonishment and even disgust. "I have not the pleasure of
this lady's acquaintance," he said, addressing me in an icy tone.
[Illustration: "DON'T YOU KNOW ME, EDWARD?"]
"You don't know me?" she panted. "Oh, surely that must be impossible. I
am your wife, Edward. Look at me again, and you will remember me. I am
Nancy's mother--pretty Nancy, with her curling hair; you know how fond
you are of Nancy. Don't you remember Nancy, and Bob, and baby?--I am
their mother. Dear, dear Edward, look at me again and you will know me.
Look at me hard--I am your wife--your own most loving wife."
Notwithstanding her agitation, Mrs. Mainwaring had been quiet and
self-restrained up to this moment. The intensity of her passion now
seemed to transform her. She flung aside her travelling hat and jacket.
She was desperate, and despair gave to her sudden beauty.
In all my experience of the sad things of life, I seldom saw more
terrible pathos than that which now shone out of the eyes and trembled
round the lips of this poor young woman. She was so absorbed in trying
to get her husband to recognise her that she forgot my presence and
that of the amazed chambermaid who, devoured with curiosity, lingered
near.
"Edward," she said again, going up to her husband, "it is impossible
that you can have forgotten me. I am your wife. I have been your wife
for six years."
"Good Lord, madam!" he exclaimed, bursting into a terrible laugh. "If
you were my wife six years ago, I must have married you when I was a
boy. I had not left school six years ago. I am only twenty-three at the
present moment. Do you mean to maintain that I married you when I was a
lad of seventeen?"
"Edward, dear Edward, don't you know me?" she kept on pleading.
Tears streamed down her cheeks. She dropped suddenly on her knees,
and taking one of her husband's hands tried to raise it to her lips.
Her manner, her words, her attitude, pathetic to us who stood by as
witnesses, had a most irritating effect upon Mainwaring.
"Get up" he said. "This is all a plant. But however long you choose to
carry this game on, you won't get anything out of me. I must ask you,
madam, to leave my room immediately. I do not even know your name. I
never saw you before. Will you, sir," he added, turning fiercely to me,
"have the goodness to remove this lady immediately from my bedroom?"
Mrs. Mainwaring staggered to her feet. The cold sarcasm of the words of
denial stung her to the quick. She approached the door, but before she
could reach it she turned faint and would have fallen had I not caught
her and placed her in a chair.
"This is all some diabolical scheme to ruin a respectable man," said
Mainwaring. "Will you favour me with your name, sir?" he added, turning
to me.
"Halifax," I answered. "I am a doctor. I attended you as a consulting
physician in your late severe illness."
"Heavens, what next?" he exclaimed. "I never had a day of serious
illness in my life."
"I think, Mrs. Mainwaring, we had better leave him for the present," I
said. "I will speak to the manager----"
Before I could add another word Mainwaring interrupted me hotly.
"Let it be clearly understood," he said, "that I forbid that woman to
be called by my name. I will see this matter through myself. I have
known of such things before. This is a scheme to ruin the character of
an honourable man. But I shall take immediate care to nip it in the
bud. Is that a chambermaid in the passage? Come here, please. Have the
goodness to ask the manager to come to this room immediately. Do not
go, madam, nor you either, sir, until I speak to the manager."
Mainwaring flung the Baedeker which he had been studying on a table.
We heard some doors opened and some feet hurrying in our direction.
Doubtless the chambermaid who had disappeared on Mainwaring's errand
had already spread the news of our extraordinary story. When I heard
people approaching I took the liberty to close the door of the room.
"What are you doing that for, sir?" exclaimed Mainwaring, whose face
was now almost purple with excitement.
"Pray don't speak so loud," I replied, putting as much force and
command into my voice as I possibly could. "I presume you do not wish
the servants of the hotel to become acquainted with your private
affairs."
He glanced at me savagely, but did not say anything further. A moment
later the manager's knock was heard. I opened the door to him. He came
in, looking anxious and disturbed, and asked why he had been sent for.
Mainwaring began to speak in an excited voice.
"I have sent for you," he said, "to ask you to see that this man and
woman leave the hotel immediately. They have forced their way into my
room and have endeavoured to perpetrate a most disgraceful hoax upon
me. This lady, whom I never saw before, has had the audacity to claim
me as her husband. I wish you to understand clearly that both these
people are impostors. They must leave this hotel immediately if you
wish it to retain its character for respectability."
The manager looked puzzled, as well he might. Mainwaring, although he
showed symptoms of strong excitement, must have appeared perfectly sane
to an ordinary observer. Poor Mrs. Mainwaring, white and trembling,
stood up and looked at me to defend her.
"This is a very extraordinary story," I said to the manager. "I will
give you my version of it in another room."
"Come," I said, turning to Mrs. Mainwaring. She put her hand into mine
and I led her into the passage.
The instant we left the room Mainwaring shut and locked the door.
"That unfortunate gentleman is insane," I said to the manager of the
hotel. "He must be watched, and on no account allowed to leave his
bedroom without being followed."
"That is all very well, sir," replied the man, "but I must have very
good evidence of the truth of your statements before I can allow any
pressure to be put on the gentleman who occupies No. 39. This is a very
queer story, and Mr. Mainwaring showed no signs of insanity before you
came. But, insane or not, it isn't to be supposed that he wouldn't know
his own wife."
"Take us into a private room and let me explain matters to you," I said.
The man did so.
"On your peril," I continued, "I must request you to set someone to
watch that door. I am a medical man, and you cannot trifle with my
requests with impunity. That gentleman is in a dangerous state, and he
must be closely watched."
"Very well, sir," replied the manager, in a more civil tone, "I'll tell
the night porter to keep an eye on the door."
He left us for a moment, but quickly returned.
"Now, sir," he said. "I hope you'll have the goodness to explain
matters a little, for, to say the least, it's a queer story."
[Illustration: "IT'S A QUEER STORY."]
"It is," I replied, "a very tragic one--the only explanation possible
is that the unfortunate gentleman whom we have just left has become
insane. I am a medical man. You can see my name in the 'Medical
Directory' if you look for it. I am well known in the profession. The
gentleman in No. 39 has just recovered from a severe attack of typhoid
fever. Until this morning he was apparently on the road to recovery. A
fortnight ago he went with his wife to Cambridge to pay a short visit.
They left their children at Croydon. Yesterday morning Mrs. Mainwaring
heard of the illness of her eldest child and went to Croydon to see
her, leaving her husband behind her at Cambridge. When she returned to
Cambridge this morning he had vanished, leaving no trace behind him. We
conjectured that he had come to Dover, and followed him here."
"I remember the gentleman now quite well," said the manager. "He came
here quite early to-day and asked for a good bedroom, which he said
he might want for a night or even two, as he was obliged to stay here
until a friend joined him."
"Did he happen to tell you the name of the friend?" I inquired.
"Yes, sir, I remember the name quite well. Mr. Mainwaring said that Mr.
Leigh might arrive at any moment, and that when he did he was to be
shown immediately to his room."
When the manager mentioned Leigh's name Mrs. Mainwaring broke the
silence which she had maintained until now.
"Walter Leigh is dead," she exclaimed.
"Good Lord, dead!" cried the manager. "Was it sudden, madam? Does
the--does Mr. Mainwaring know?"
"Walter Leigh is dead," she continued. "He has been dead for many
years. But ten years ago my husband stayed at this hotel and waited for
Walter Leigh to join him. He had to wait here for twenty-four hours. At
the end of that time Mr. Leigh arrived, and they took the next boat to
Calais."
"Have you the books of the hotel of ten years back?" I asked.
"Certainly, sir."
"Would you mind looking them up? It is important for all our sakes to
substantiate the truth of this lady's words. Have you any idea, Mrs.
Mainwaring, about what month your husband and Mr. Leigh went to the
Continent?"
"Just after their degree examination," she replied. "They took their
degrees together--that would be about this time of year."
"June ten years back," commented the manager. He seemed much impressed
now, and his manner showed me how greatly he was interested.
"I will go downstairs immediately and examine the books," he said.
He returned in about ten minutes with a bewildered face.
"You are right, madam," he exclaimed; "but the good Lord only knows
what it all means. I hunted up the visitors' book of ten years back,
and there were the two names entered in the book as plain as you
please: Edward Mainwaring, Walter Leigh. Mr. Leigh occupied No. 25 and
Mr. Mainwaring the room next to it, No. 26. Now, what does all this
mean?"
"That Mr. Mainwaring has forgotten ten years of his life," I answered,
promptly. "He must be carefully watched during the night. Can you give
Mrs. Mainwaring a bedroom? I shall also sleep at the hotel."
The manager was now only too anxious to attend to our requirements.
Mrs. Mainwaring was conducted to a room on the next floor and I
occupied the bedroom next Mainwaring's, which happened to be empty.
Nothing occurred during the night, which was spent by me in anxious and
wakeful conjecture.
At an early hour the next morning I joined Mrs. Mainwaring. One glance
at her face showed me through what terrible suffering she had been
passing. I told her without preamble what I considered the best and
only thing to do.
"I have thought carefully over your husband's case," I said. "There
is to my mind not the least doubt what has occurred. For some
extraordinary reason Mr. Mainwaring has forgotten ten years of his
life. His memory doubtless carries him accurately up to the date of
his Cambridge degree. He remembers going to Dover, and is now under
the impression that he is waiting for his friend, Mr. Leigh, to join
him at this hotel. Whether he will ever recover the ten years which
he has lost is impossible at the present moment to say. What I should
advise now is this: Let someone whom Mr. Mainwaring knew intimately
ten years ago come and see him, and tell him as simply and as forcibly
as possible what has occurred. He may or may not believe this person's
statement. I am inclined to hope, however, that he will bring his
common-sense to bear on the matter, and will not doubt what he is told;
but of course I may be wrong. Anyhow, this, in my opinion, is the only
thing to try. Has your husband any intimate friend whom he knew well
ten years back?"
"There is his father," she replied at once.
"Good. He could not possibly see a person more likely to influence him.
I think you said that his father was a clergyman--better and better--he
is probably an excellent man, in whose word his son would place
unbounded confidence. Does he live far away?"
"It so happens," she answered, a faint smile filling her eyes, "that my
father-in-law's rectory is not far from here. His parish is close to
Canterbury."
"Give me the address, and I will telegraph immediately," I said.
She supplied me with it, and I quickly prepared a telegram, which was
to bring the elder Mainwaring to his son's assistance. I was writing my
telegram in the hall of the hotel when Mainwaring came downstairs. He
looked full at his wife and me, but did not vouchsafe us the smallest
sign of recognition. He entered the coffee-room, and I saw him sit down
at a small table and order breakfast.
I whispered to the wife to take no notice. The poor woman's eyes were
full of tears and she was trembling excessively, but she had the
courage to do what I told her.
She and I entered the coffee-room a few moments later. We had breakfast
together. Mrs. Mainwaring sat with her back to her husband, but I
faced him and watched him anxiously while I ate. He had called for
a daily paper and began to read it. I watched his face and saw that
the contents of the paper puzzled him a good deal. He passed his hand
across his forehead, took off his _pince-nez_ and rubbed it, finally
flung the paper on the ground and strode out of the room.
At this moment a waiter brought me a telegram. I opened it. It was
not in reply to the one I had sent to Mainwaring's father, but was
from a patient in town. Its character was so urgent and unexpected
that I was forced to attend to it at once. It was necessary for me
to catch the next train to London. I told Mrs. Mainwaring what had
occurred, expressed great regret at being forced to leave her under
such trying circumstances, assured her that I did not anticipate any
fresh development of Mainwaring's illness, begged of her to keep out
of his way as much as possible, and to wait as patiently as she could
for her father-in-law's arrival. I then gave some hasty directions to
the manager of the hotel and left for London. I promised to return to
Dover, if possible, that evening.
My patient in town, however, was far too ill to make it advisable
for me to leave him. I could not go to Dover again that day. In
the evening I received a telegram from Mrs. Mainwaring to say that
her father-in-law had arrived, that her husband had received him
with affection, but that otherwise his condition remained absolutely
unaltered.
[Illustration: "THE CONTENTS OF THE PAPER PUZZLED HIM."]
I wired back naming an early hour on the following day for my visit to
Dover, and then tried to put these anxious circumstances out of my head.
I had just breakfasted on the following day and was preparing to start
on my journey, when my servant brought me a card. I took it up and read
the name with amazement: Edward Mainwaring.
"Where is the gentleman?" I asked of the servant.
"I have shown him into the consulting room, sir."
"Did not you say that I was just going out?"
"Yes," replied the man, "but he said he was sure when you saw his card
that you would see him at once."
"What aged person is he?" I asked.
"Middle-aged, I should say, sir. He is a tall gentleman, with a slight
stoop. When he looked at me he put on his _pince-nez_."
A startled exclamation passed my lips. What strange new development of
Mainwaring's disease had brought him to seek advice voluntarily from me?
I rose at once and went to the consulting-room. My patient was standing
by one of the windows, but when he heard my step he turned and walked
towards me.
"I have come, Dr. Halifax," he said, "to apologize for my rude
behaviour towards you last night. Under the strange circumstances, I
hope you will forgive me."
"I forgive you a thousand times," I replied in a hearty voice. "I
cannot tell you with what inexpressible relief I see that you have
already recovered your memory. Pray accept my warmest congratulations."
"Congratulations!" repeated the poor fellow, with a grim smile, "for
what? I have not recovered my memory. At the present moment I am an
instance of the man who lives by faith."
"What can you mean?" I said, much puzzled in my turn by his words.
"What I say," he replied. "I live by faith. My father, whom I have
always revered and loved as the best of men, has made a strange
statement to me--his statement confirms the story you and--" here
he hesitated slightly--"and the lady you brought with you the other
evening told me. I believe my father--therefore I believe you. This is
a very strong act of faith. Were I asked to describe what I alone know
about myself, I should say that I am at the present moment twenty-three
years of age, that I have just finished a successful academic career at
Trinity College, Cambridge; I mean to become a barrister and am about
to read for the law, but before entering on a somewhat severe course
of study I propose to go abroad with my special friend, Walter Leigh.
This is exactly how matters appear to me at the present moment. With
regard to my past, I can give you chapter and verse for almost every
event which has occurred to me since I was a young child. My boyhood,
my school days, in especial my recent life at Cambridge, are accurately
remembered by me to the smallest detail. That, as far as I can tell, is
my history. I am a young man with bright prospects just beginning life.
I am told, however, by one whose word I cannot doubt, that I have a
further history of grave importance. I am married--I have a wife and
three children. I have a house at Croydon, where I have lived for over
six years. I am a common-law barrister, and am rising in my profession.
I have just recovered from a severe attack of typhoid fever, during
which time you visited me twice in consultation with another doctor.
My father tells me of all these things, and because he is my father I
believe him; but, as a matter of fact, I remember nothing whatever of
this important period of my existence. That poor girl whom I treated
so harshly in your presence is in reality my wife. My father says so,
and I believe his word, but I have not the most remote remembrance of
ever seeing my wife before. When did I woo her? When did I marry her?
What was her name before she took mine? I remember nothing. All is an
absolute and complete blank. In short, ten years, the most important
ten years of a man's life, have been wiped out of mine. Am I insane?"
"Not in the ordinary sense," I replied; "but there is no doubt that
something has gone wrong with a certain portion of your brain."
Mainwaring sank into a chair while I was speaking; now he sprang up and
walked across the room.
"Merciful heavens!" he exclaimed, turning abruptly and facing me.
"Then it is true. What reason is left to me almost reels before the
astounding fact. It is absolutely true that my youth is over. As far as
I am aware I never spent it. I never used it, but it is gone. I have a
wife whom I do not love. I have children whom I care nothing whatever
about. I have a profession about which I know nothing. I cannot give
legal advice. I cannot accept briefs.
[Illustration: "MAINWARING SANK INTO A CHAIR."]
"My father tells me that I am a married man and a barrister. You
tell me the same. I am bound to believe you both. I do believe you.
All that you say is doubtless true. I am surely in the most horrible
position that man ever found himself in. I am a husband, a father, a
professional man. I do not remember my wife. I should not recognise
my own children; and what is perhaps worst of all, from a practical
point of view, I have completely lost all knowledge of my profession--I
cannot therefore earn a single penny for the support of my family. I
have come here to-day, Dr. Halifax, to ask you if anything can be done
_to give me back my ten years_! Can you do anything for my relief? I am
willing to undergo any risk. I am willing to submit to any suffering
which can give me back the time that has slipped into oblivion."
"I must think carefully over your case," I said. "I need not say that
it is of the deepest interest. I cannot tell you how glad I am that
you have come to me as you have done. If you had chosen to doubt your
father's word, it would have been absolutely impossible for me to have
helped you. As it is----"
"I live by faith, as I said just now," repeated Mainwaring. "What is
your thought with regard to my condition?"
"Your condition is strange indeed," I replied. "I cannot explain it
better than by comparing the brain to the cylinder of a phonograph. The
nerve cells, which can be counted by thousands of millions, represent
the cylinder. When certain sensations are conveyed to these cells they
are imprinted on them like the impressions made by the needle on the
cylinder of the phonograph. Even years afterwards the same series of
events or sounds are thus reproduced. _You have lost your cylinder
for ten years._ What I have to do is to try by some means to give it
back to you again. But before I say anything further, let me ask you
a question or two. You say you feel like a young man of twenty-three
about to enjoy a well-earned holiday. This is equivalent to announcing
the fact that you feel in perfect health."
"I certainly feel perfectly well in body," replied Mainwaring. "My mind
is naturally much disturbed and upset, but I have neither ache nor
pain, except----" Here he paused.
"The word 'except' points to some slight discomfort, surely?" I
replied, with eagerness. "Pray tell me exactly what you feel. Any clue,
however slight, is most important."
"I have a certain numbness of my right fore-arm and hand, but this
is really not worth mentioning. I am absolutely strong and well. I
_feel_ twenty-three." He sighed heavily as he spoke, and sinking into
a chair, looked fixedly at me. "What do you consider the cause of my
extraordinary condition?" he asked, abruptly.
"The cause," I replied, "is either the plugging of an artery or the
rupture of a small vessel in your brain. Thanks to the valuable
researches of eminent men who have made the localization of cerebral
functions the work of their lives, I am able to tell pretty readily in
what portion of your brain the mischief lies."
"How?" asked Mainwaring, starting forward in his chair and gazing at me
with eyes of devouring interest.
"You yourself have given me the clue," I answered, with a smile. "You
tell me you have a distinct feeling of numbness in your right fore-arm
and hand. We know that some of the highest cerebral centres are closely
connected with the centres of the nerves of that limb. I can picture to
myself--though, of course, I may be wrong--the exact spot where this
lesion has taken place. It is certainly most important that something
definite should be done to restore your memory and all it entails."
"Then you will do that something?" exclaimed Mainwaring. "You cannot
hesitate. You will not lose a moment in giving me the relief which I
earnestly crave for."
"I should like to consult Dr. Oliphant, the great brain specialist," I
replied.
Mainwaring sprang again to his feet.
"No," he said, "that I cannot permit. He may say nothing can be done,
and then you may have scruples with regard to the right of exposing
my life to a certain risk. I will permit no consultation. If you know
what is the matter with me, you can give me relief without seeking
for further assistance. Do you think I value life under existing
circumstances? Not that!" He flipped some imaginary substance away from
him as he spoke with his finger and thumb. "I put myself absolutely
into your hands, Dr. Halifax," he said, making an effort to restrain
himself. "You say that an artery is plugged in my brain, or that there
is the rupture of a small blood-vessel. You can surely do something to
remove the obstruction?"
"Yes," I said, "I can perform a certain operation, which I will shortly
explain to you. I know you are a brave man; I do not, therefore,
hesitate to tell you that the operation is of a very serious nature,
also that there is a possibility of my being wrong with regard to the
localization of the injury."
"There is also a possibility of your being right," retorted Mainwaring.
"I will accept the risk. I wish the operation to be performed."
"I should certainly like to consult Dr. Oliphant," I repeated.
"You cannot do so against my express wish. I insist on the operation
being performed, even at the risk of life--can I say more?"
"You certainly cannot," I answered. I looked fixedly at him. He was a
fine fellow. Intelligence, resolve, endurance, were manifest in his
expressive eyes and strong, masculine features.
"I am inclined to believe that I shall be successful," I said, rising
and speaking with enthusiasm. "I will agree to do what you wish, and we
will leave the results in the Highest Hands. The operation is doubtless
a very grave one, but you are a man temperate in all things. You have
also abundantly proved that you have a good constitution. With extreme
care your life may not be even endangered. In that case you will be,
at _the worst_, only as you are now. At the best you will be yourself
once again. If what I think is the case, I can, by the operation which
I propose, remove the obstruction which now cuts off from a portion of
your brain the necessary life blood which alone can assure its working.
In short, I can restore your brain to its normal state. I propose to
open the cranial cavity at the exact spot where I think the mischief
is."
"Good," replied Mainwaring; "I leave myself in your hands. How soon can
you put me right?"
"I must see your wife and your father."
"Will you return with me now to Dover?"
"No," I answered. "You are so far yourself that you do not need me to
accompany you. Take the next train to Dover. Tell your father and wife
what you have resolved to do. I will take lodgings for you in a quiet
street near this, and will perform the operation to-morrow."
A moment or two later Mainwaring left me.
The die was practically now cast. I was going to experiment, and in
a daring manner. It was possible that the result might lead to fatal
consequences. I knew this possibility; nevertheless, I scarcely
feared that it would arise. I had explained everything clearly to
Mainwaring--he was willing to accept the risk. If his wife and father
were also willing, I would perform the operation on the following day.
That afternoon I took comfortable rooms for my patient in a street
adjoining that in which I lived. I also engaged an excellent surgical
nurse, in whom I could place perfect confidence. There was then nothing
more to do except to await the arrival of the Mainwarings.
Mrs. Mainwaring and her father-in-law arrived at the rooms which I had
taken for them, late that evening. They sent me a message at once to
say they would be glad to see me, and I hurried to pay them a visit.
Mrs. Mainwaring looked pale--her face was haggard--her eyes disturbed
and restless. She came impulsively to meet me, and clasped one of my
hands in both of hers.
[Illustration: "SHE CLASPED ONE OF MY HANDS IN BOTH OF HERS."]
"Edward has told me what you propose to do," she exclaimed, "and I am
willing--I am abundantly willing that he should run this great risk."
Her words almost surprised me. I looked from her to her father-in-law,
who now held out his hand.
"I have often heard of you, Dr. Halifax," he said, with a courteous,
old-fashioned gesture. "I think you know some special friends of mine.
I may say that I place absolute confidence in your skill, and am
willing to put my son's life in your hands."