A change seemed to have come over Doctor Chartley. A short time before
he was calm and placid, his movements were slow, and a pleasant
stereotyped professional smile made his handsome face beam. But now all
was changed; the smile had gone, and, as he had passed to and fro, the
light from the gas bracket displayed a countenance puckered with curious
lines and frowns, while the variations of shadow caused by his
constantly-changing position seemed to have altered him into another
man.
He went back into the consulting-room, and looked at his patient, to
find him breathing more easily and plunged into a deep sleep; and as he
bent over him his hand stole toward the prostrate man's breast.
He snatched it away angrily, and returned to the surgery, to resume his
hurried walk, muttering to himself, his thoughts finding utterance in
sound, till he started and looked about him, as if in dread of being
overheard.
Stealing back to the consulting-room, he went to the closet, and took
out the bottle which contained the result of his studies, and looked at
it with a sigh. Then he raised the retort and its stand from the shelf,
shook his head, and replaced it.
"And if I only had money," he thought, "I could carry out my experiments
at my ease, and succeed. This miserable poverty would be no more; my
children would be happy; and I should win a name which would become
immortal."
He shook his head, his brow grew darker, and a terrible temptation
attacked him.
"No one saw him come here. It is his fancy that he has been followed.
One life. What is one life in this vast world? One life. Why, my
discovery perfected would be the saving of the lives of thousands,
hundreds of thousands, of generations of human beings in this teeming
earth. Suppose he slept and waked no more? Ah!"
The doctor stood gazing down at the sleeping man.
"Such temptations come to all," he said softly; "and I have seen so many
die that the passing away of one--well, what is it but the deep long
sleep into which I could make him glide without pain?
"Ah, and afterwards? Poor lad! He came to me for sanctuary, and I had
betrayed my trust. How could I look in the face of my son again--in the
eye of my girl? Those clear eyes would read my secret, and I should be
as one accurst."
He bent down over the sleeping man again, and in spite of himself his
hand stole gently towards his heart, trembling.
"They are worth thousands," he said, "and they lie there as if of the
value of a few pence. He came to me for refuge. Well, he shall not
find that I have failed."
There was no tremor in his hand now as he re-arranged the cover over
Mark Heath's breast, to stand afterwards calmly watching his guest; and
then to go out into the surgery, turn down the gas, and slowly pace the
floor, thinking deeply.
Every inch of the surgery was so familiar that the darkness was the same
to him as the light, and the bitter coldness of the place seemed to
refresh him.
At the end of a few minutes he stood perfectly still, thinking; and then
going to one of the shelves, he ran his hand softly along the top row of
small bottles, took one, and turned down the gas.
As he entered the consulting-room again, he glanced at the label, nodded
his head in a satisfied manner, and after a glance at his patient he
seemed to make up his mind what to do.
"Perhaps I shall sleep," he thought, "and if I do he may wake. It will
be a simple way."
He smiled as he took the glass into which he had previously poured the
brandy, and poured in a little more, to which he added sugar, and
half-filled the glass with hot water from the kettle.
"He will be sure to drink that," he said, as he replaced the glass
within easy reach of the sofa; and then removing the stopper from the
blue bottle he held, replaced it partly in the neck, rested it upon the
edge of the steaming glass, and began to count the drops which fell.
One--two--three.
Each drop at an interval after the one which had preceded it, while with
his left hand he steadied the tumbler.
As the third drop fell into the glass there was a strange noise
outside--a dull scuffling of feet, mutterings of voices, and then a low
imperious tapping on the panel of the door.
At the first sound the doctor turned his head sharply and gazed in the
direction of the door, while the rest of his body seemed to have become
fixed in a cataleptic state, save that his eyes dilated and his jaw
dropped.
And meanwhile, slowly and steadily, drip--drip--drip--drip, the globules
of fluid fell from the tip of the blue bottle into the steaming glass at
last in quite a stream.
A strange dread had overcome the doctor. His patient's words about his
diamonds had proved to be true; were the rest, then, true--that he had
been pursued by men whose aim it was to plunder, perhaps murder him, and
they had really traced him down here?
"Bah! am I turning childish?" said the doctor, starting up, and letting
the stopper fall back into its place in the bottle, just as his patient
moaned slightly, turned impatiently in his sleep, and the ulster glided
to the floor.
The doctor stooped quickly, raised it, and threw it over his patient,
and, as he bent over him, listened intently to the repetition of the
tapping.
"It might be," he said softly. "Pish! absurd! The wanderings of a
diseased mind."
Catching up the bottle from where he had placed it on the table, he
walked quickly towards the door, paused, returned, and stooped as if to
pick up the poker. Then smiled at his folly.
He passed softly out of the door, and closed it after him, to go to the
shelves in the dark, where he made a clicking noise among the bottles,
as he reached up; for there in the darkness the feeling once more
assailed him that his patient might be right, while for the third time,
more plainly heard now, there came a sharp tapping.
The doctor crossed to the gas bracket, turned it up, and as its light
filled the surgery, he walked boldly to the lobby-door, opened it, and
the dull red glare from the fanlight over the outer door shone upon his
handsome placid face.
The next moment he had opened the outer door, and was gazing at a group
of three men.
Mark Heath's announcement flashed through his brain once more, and then
gave place to the ideas furnished by his visitors.
"Thought you were a-bed. Couldn't find the bell. This cursed fog, sir.
Our friend here knocked down by a cab, and we saw your red light as we
were trying to get him to our hotel."
"Tut, tut, tut!" ejaculated the doctor. "Bring him in, gentlemen."
He glanced at his visitors. Saw that they were well-dressed men in
ulsters and low-crowned hats, and that the speaker was a well-built
fellow with a closely-cut beard; while another was a rather
Mephistophelean-looking man, with cheeks closely shaven, and upper lip
bearing a bristly moustache.
Between them they supported a slight, young-looking companion, who was
moaning slightly, but evidently making an effort to be firm.
"Mind, Harry--Rogers," he said, in a high-pitched voice, "it's as if
something red-hot was running through my chest! Ah-h-h!"
"Support him, gentlemen," said the doctor. "Mind he doesn't faint.
Here, quick! Here!"
He spoke in sharp, decided tones, as he directed and helped them to lay
the injured man upon the settee, where he subsided with a querulous cry,
grinding his teeth the while, and compressing his lips.
"Kindly shut both doors," said the doctor; and the man who had first
spoken, and who looked very pale, obeyed.
"So cursedly unlucky!" he said excitedly. "I never saw such a fog.
They've no business to allow men to drive fast on a night like this."
"Don't talk, old chap. Not serious, I hope, doctor?" said the
Mephistophelean man. "Cab seemed to come out of the fog, and he was
knocked down. I got an ugly blow on the shoulder."
"Get me some brandy," said the injured man faintly. "My chest's
crushed."
"No, no, not so bad as that," said the doctor kindly. "You shall have a
stimulus soon. Now, then, suppose we see what the damage is. A broken
rib, I expect, and that will only mean a little pain. Now, then."
His busy fingers were rapidly and tenderly unbuttoning the injured man's
coat, while a gasping moan came from his lips.
"Hurts me horribly--to breathe, doctor."
There was a gasping sound, and the Mephistophelean man reeled, tried to
save himself, and fell against the consulting-room door, which somehow
flew open, revealing the sleeping figure of Mark Heath on the couch.
"My dear sir--faint?"
"I beg your pardon, doctor," said the sinister-looking man. "Sick as a
great girl. I can bear pain, but to see him like that turned me over.
No, no, see to him; I'm better now."
The doctor continued his task, while the door swung to once more.
"Still feel faint?" said the doctor, without looking up.
"Oh, no; it's all gone now. I really am ashamed."
"Nothing to be ashamed of, my dear sir. It is a man's nature. Now I
shall be obliged to ask one of you to lend me a little assistance here."
The bearded man stood ready, and exchanged a glance with his
Mephistophelean companion, who was behind the doctor now.
"Ah!"
Dr Chartley uttered a quick ejaculation, for, as he bent over his
patient, the man behind struck him a heavy blow with a short thick
life-preserver, and, quick almost as lightning, delivered another
crashing stroke on the back of the head.
Without so much as a groan, merely a catching at the air, the doctor
fell forward upon his supposed patient, and then rolled with a dull
heavy sound upon the carpet, to lie motionless--to all appearance dead.
"Yah! what a butcher you are, Rogers!" said the sham patient, in a
querulous high-pitched tone.
"Hold your row! Quick! Listen at that door."
The sham patient sprang to the door at the end of the passage, opened it
softly, and stood listening.
"All right," he whispered, "still as death."
"Curse you! hold your row about death," whispered the other as the door
was closed. "Lock it."
"I was going to," said the younger man, turning the key softly. "Is he
there, Harry?"
"Yes; all right," came in a whisper from the bearded man, who had softly
opened the consulting-room door and peered in at the sleeping figure
upon the couch. "Quick! come on."
The man addressed as Rogers had stooped down and then gone on one knee,
thrusting the life-preserver into his pocket while he examined the
doctor, and not noticing that it slipped out onto the skirt of his coat,
and rolled aside as he finished his examination, and satisfied himself
that there was nothing to be apprehended there.
He started up, and followed his companion on tiptoe, and the next minute
they were gazing down at the man they had tracked from the
diamond-fields and run to earth at last.
"Hah!" exclaimed the Mephistopheles of the party; "that's right. Give
him one if he moves."
This to his bearded companion, who had drawn a life-preserver similar to
that his companion had used, as he bent over the sleeping man.
"He has had a dose," was whispered back. "You can smell his breath."
"Brandy. All right!" cried the youngest of the three, catching up the
decanter, smelling it, tasting it with a loud smack of the lips, and
pouring out a goodly portion in the empty glass, he handed it to his
first companion. "Here, Harry."
"Sure it's all right?" was whispered back.
"Swear it. Now, Rogers."
"Here's mine," said the man, with a grin. "Hot with. Quick, lads!"
"Don't touch that," was on the younger man's lips; but his companion
raised the glass with a laugh, and as he followed his example by putting
the decanter to his mouth, the doctor's assailant literally poured the
contents of the tumbler down his throat, and then stood still, put the
glass back on the table, gasping and staring straight before him.
His companions were not heeding him, for each drank eagerly of the
brandy, and were setting down the decanter and glass, when the younger
man spoke:
"Why, Rogers, old chap!"
The man addressed turned his wild staring eyes at him for a moment, as
if to answer, and then walked blindly between the sofa and the table, as
if to go straight to the wall, reeled and fell, catching at the cloth,
which he dragged aside, nearly causing the lamp to go crashing on the
floor.
For a few moments the others stood aghast, staring at their prostrate
companion, who writhed slightly for a brief period, uttering a curious
sound, and then lay upon his back, stretched out motionless.
The younger man was the first to recover himself.
"Help!" he gasped, in a hoarse whisper.
"Hush!" cried his companion; "are you mad?"
He raised his life-preserver threateningly, and the other gazed at him
with ghastly face and staring eyes.
"What shall we do?" he whispered.
"Keep your head, and don't be a fool," was the reply.
As the bearded man spoke he went down on one knee, thrust his hand into
his comrade's breast, and then rose quickly.
"What is it, Harry--poison?"
"Yes, grim death, lad."
"Then, we've got it, too."
"No--all right. The fool! Smell that glass."
He took up and held the tumbler to his nose, and then passed it to his
companion, who smelt it, and put it down with a shudder.
"Come on," he panted; "let's get away."
"Without the diamonds--now?"
"I'm no use," groaned the younger man.
"Hold up, curse you! It's fortune of war. One man down. Prize-money
to divide between two instead of three."
"Hah!" ejaculated the other, upon whom his comrade's words acted like
magic. "I'm all sight, now. Quick! let's have 'em!"
The elder man had already thrust his hand into Mark's breast.
"Well?"
"All right."
"Are they there?"
"Yes; safe enough."
"Get 'em out, then, and let's go. Curse it! Look at old Roger's eyes."
There was a dull heavy sound of a door banged, and the two men started
up in an agony of dread that the spoil for which they had toiled so
patiently and long, never getting it within their clutch till now, was
about to be snatched away.
It was a door that had been banged, and in their ignorance of the
configuration of the place they did not realise that it was in the next
house.
"Keep your head," said the elder man.
"Right. I'm cool enough," was the reply. "Quick! get 'em out, and
let's go!"
"It would take half an hour to get at them. He has a belt buckled round
his waist under everything, and there'll be stones sewn into his clothes
all over."
"Curse it all!"
"Hush! Quick! Take hold of that ulster, and there's his hat."
"What are you going to do?"
"We've got him. He's drugged, and we can do what we like."
"What! bring him away?"
"Yes. Quick! take hold of that arm!"
"But if he wakes?"
"Send him to sleep, as we did the doctor. Now, held your row, do as I
do, and keep your head."
The younger man obeyed, and catching Mark Heath's arm, as his companion
had done on the other side, they placed his hat upon his head, and in a
half-conscious way he made an effort to walk, so that they had no
difficulty in getting him into the surgery.
"Now, then, button-up. I'll hold him," said the elder man.
"But when we get him in the street?" whispered the other.
"Well--what? He's drunk. We'll get him in a cab. No one will
interfere. Leave it to me, and back me up. Quick! shut that door; and
then turn on the light."
The orders were obeyed; and as soon as they stood in the darkness the
lobby-door was opened, where the red light gave them sufficient
illumination to finish their proceedings.
Another minute, and, their victim's arm well gripped on either side, the
elder man said hoarsely, "Ready?"
"Yes; but are you sure that he had the stuff on him?"
"Trust me for that. Now, be cool, and the diamonds are ours. Off!"
The outer door was opened, and with very little difficulty Mark Heath
was half-lifted, half-led outside, in an inert, helpless condition, his
brain steeped in sleep, and his mind a blank. Then the two men stood in
the snow, listening for a sound within the house.
It was the elder who spoke then:
"Get your arm well under him. Hold hard! Shut the door. Mind he don't
slip down. It's dark as pitch. Now, then, come on."
At that moment John Whyley turned on his lamp.