If Lexy had not caught the unhappy woman, she would have fallen; but
those sturdy young arms held her, and, with Mrs. Royce’s help, they
got her on the bed. White as a ghost, incredibly frail in her black
dress, she lay there, scarcely seeming to breathe.
“It _ain’t_ Mrs. Quelton!” repeated Mrs. Royce, in a whisper.
“I know!” said Lexy softly. “Will you get me water and a towel,
please?”
Mrs. Royce went out of the room, and Lexy knelt down beside the bed.
She did know now—the woman whom they had all called Muriel Quelton was
really Caroline Enderby.
Lexy did not blame herself for not having known before. Looking at
that face now, in its terrible stillness, she could trace the familiar
features easily enough, but how changed! How worn and lined, how
_old_! The brows, the lashes, the soft, disordered hair, were black
now instead of brown; but that merely physical alteration was of no
significance, compared with that other awful change. It was Caroline
Enderby, the gentle and pitifully inexperienced girl of nineteen, but
it was Mrs. Quelton, too, that tragic and somber figure.
Mrs. Royce came back with a basin of water, clean towels, and a
precious bottle of eau de Cologne.
“Poor lamb!” she whispered. “Ain’t she pretty?”
Lexy wet a towel and passed it over that unconscious face again and
again. Mrs. Royce watched, spellbound; for the dark and haggard
stranger was passing away before her very eyes, and some one else was
coming into life—some one quite young and—
The closed lids fluttered, and then opened.
“Lexy!” murmured the metamorphosed one.
“I’m here, Caroline!” said Lexy, with a stifled sob. “Everything’s all
right, dear! Don’t worry—just rest!”
“I can’t, Lexy! I can’t!” she answered, and from her eyes, now closed
again, tears came running slowly down her cheeks.
“Yes, you can!” said Lexy. “We’ll—”
“Supposing I get her some nice hot soup?” whispered Mrs. Royce, and,
at a nod from Lexy, she was off again.
Caroline reached out and caught Lexy’s hand.
“Oh, Lexy, Lexy!” she said. “Can you ever forgive me?”
“No!” her friend replied cheerfully. “Never! But don’t bother now. You
can tell me later, when you feel better.”
“I’ll never, never feel better till I’ve told you! Oh, Lexy, I knew
yesterday, and I didn’t tell you! Oh, Lexy, Lexy, I don’t understand!
I want to tell you! I want you to help me!”
A flush had come into her cheeks. She was growing painfully excited.
She tried to sit up, but Lexy firmly prevented that.
“Lie down, darling!” she said. “We’ll get a doctor.”
“No! No! I’m not ill—not ill, Lexy, only tired. Oh, you don’t know!
You won’t let _him_ come here, Lexy?”
“I promise you he’ll never trouble you again,” replied Lexy quietly.
She saw Captain Grey standing in the doorway, behind the head of the
bed. She glanced at him, and then at Caroline again. Let him stay!
Whatever had happened, he ought to know.
“I don’t understand,” said Caroline, clinging fast to Lexy’s hand. “I
want to tell you—all of it. You know, Lexy, I did a horrible, wretched
thing. I said I’d marry a man. I promised to meet him here in Wyngate,
because it was near to dear Miss Craigie’s. I didn’t tell you, but it
wasn’t because I didn’t trust you, Lexy—truly it wasn’t! It was only
because I knew mother would be so angry with you. I told him I’d take
the train that got here at eleven o’clock that night; but after I’d
left the house, I got frightened. I’d never gone out alone before. I
couldn’t bear it. If I hadn’t promised him, I’d have gone home again.
I _wanted_ to go home. I was sorry I’d promised.”
“Don’t try to go on now, dear!”
“I must! So I took a taxi. I thought I’d get here as soon as the
train, but when it was eleven o’clock we were still miles away. I
thought perhaps Charles wouldn’t wait, and there’d be nobody in
Wyngate, and I didn’t dare go home again; so I kept begging the driver
to go faster. Oh, Lexy, it was all my fault! He did go—terribly fast.
It was wonderful to be alone, and rushing along like that; and then I
think he ran into a telegraph pole, turning a corner. There was a
crash, and I didn’t know anything more for—I don’t know how long it’s
been.”
“Soup!” whispered Mrs. Royce, but Caroline was too intent upon her
confession to stop.
Lexy took the broth and set it on the table.
“I don’t know how long it was,” Caroline went on. “It must have been
days, or perhaps weeks. Sometimes I seemed to knew, in a sort of
dream. Oh, it was horrible! Oh, Lexy, I can’t explain! I didn’t really
know anything, only that sometimes my mind seemed to be struggling—”
“Take some of this soup,” said Lexy. “You’ve _got_ to, Caroline, or I
won’t listen.”
Obediently Caroline allowed herself to be fed. She took fully half of
that excellent soup, and it did her good.
“Yesterday,” she said, “I did know. I couldn’t sleep all night. I felt
so ill, I thought I was going to die; and all the time it was coming
back to me. I couldn’t think why I was there in that place. I was
frightened—worse than frightened. The nurse kept calling me ‘Mrs.
Quelton,’ and I told her I wasn’t Mrs. Quelton—I was Caroline Enderby.
She must have told him. He came, he kept looking at me, and saying,
‘You are Muriel Quelton, I tell you!’ Then he sent the nurse away, and
he said: ‘If you insist that you are Caroline Enderby, you’re mad, and
I’ll send you to an asylum.’ I was—oh, Lexy, I’m not brave!—I was
afraid of him. When you came that morning, I didn’t dare to tell you.
I hoped you’d find the handkerchief, and know; and then—”
Suddenly she turned and buried her face in the pillow.
“Then I didn’t want you to know!” she sobbed. “Captain Grey—he sat
there with me. Lexy! Lexy! I didn’t know there was any one like him in
the world! I wanted to stay, then. I thought, if you found out, I’d
have to go away—to go home again, or to marry Charles. I’d promised to
marry him, Lexy, but I can’t! Not now!”
“Hush, darling!” said Lexy hastily.
This was something Captain Grey had no right to hear, but he did hear
it. He was still standing outside the door, motionless.
“He was so kind!” Caroline went on. “And his face—”
“Never mind that!” Lexy interrupted sternly. “Tell me how you got
away.”
“When _he_ came back, he found George there—I had to call him George.”
“Yes, I see. Never mind!”
“George went away, and then—he told me. He said his wife had died a
few months ago, and that in her will she’d left some jewel—a ruby—”
“An emerald,” corrected Lexy.
“Yes—it was an emerald. She’d left it to her brother, and he—Dr.
Quelton—had taken it long ago, and sold it, to get money for his
horrible drugs. She never knew that, and he didn’t tell her lawyer
that she’d died. I don’t know how he managed, or what he did, but
nobody knew. Then there came a letter from her brother, to say that he
was coming; and the doctor said—I’ll never forget it:
“‘Consequently, Muriel Quelton had to be here, and she was; and she’ll
remain here until her purpose is served!’
“He told me what had happened. He said that as soon as he knew Captain
Grey was coming, he began to look for some one to take his poor wife’s
place. The captain hadn’t seen his sister since she was a baby, you
know, and all he knew was that she was tall and dark. Dr. Quelton said
he had arranged for some one to come from a hospital; and then he
found me. He drove by just a little while after the accident, and he
found the poor driver dead and me unconscious. He found a letter to
mother in my purse, and he mailed it afterward. Then he heard another
car coming along the road, and he started the engine and sent the
taxi—with the dead driver in his seat—crashing down the hill, to run
into the other car. He wanted the driver’s death to look like an
accident. He didn’t care if the other man were killed. He’s—he’s not
human, Lexy! He told me he had never in his life cared for any one
except his wife. He told me what a beautiful, wonderful woman she
was—and yet he had stolen her emerald when she was dying. Love! He
couldn’t love any one!”
But Lexy remembered her last glimpse of Dr. Quelton, lying dead across
the coffin of the woman he had robbed. Who would ever know, who was to
judge now, what might have been in his warped and utterly solitary
heart?
“He told me,” Caroline went on, “that he had never felt any great
interest in me. A mediocre mind, he said I had. He told me he had
never so much as touched my finger tips. He sat there, talking so
calmly! He said he had kept me under the influence of some drug that
made my mind suggestible—I think that’s the word. He meant that
whoever took that drug would believe anything, accept anything. He had
told me I was Muriel Quelton, and I believed I was. Then he told me to
dye my hair, and to make up my face with things he gave me. He told me
I was ill and tired and growing old, and I felt so. Lexy, he said that
even without that, without making the least change in my appearance,
no one would have known me, because my _mind_ was changed. He said
there was no disguise in the world like that. Was it true, Lexy? Was I
old, and—and horrible to every one?”
“No,” Lexy briefly replied.
“Then he went on. He said he had no more of the drug left, and that
he’d have to dispose of me. ‘You know you’re very ill,’ he said. ‘The
nurse and that young fool of a doctor agree with me. I think you’re
likely to grow worse—very much worse—to-night. You’re very likely to
die.’ Oh, Lexy! What could I do but agree? I was shut up—so weak and
ill— I knew he could so easily give me something to kill me! He said
that if I would make a will and sign it as he told me, he would let me
go and be—be myself again. I couldn’t help it! And his wife was dead.
It couldn’t do her any harm if I signed her name. He wrote it, and I
traced it on another sheet of paper. I had to, Lexy! I knew it was
wrong, but what else could I possibly do?”
“Never mind, Caroline!” said Lexy. “It didn’t do any harm, dear. And
then did he let you go?”
An odd smile came over Caroline’s face.
“Not exactly,” she said. “After I’d signed the will, leaving him the
emerald, he sent away the nurse. Then he came out on the balcony, sat
down, and began to talk to me. He was so pleasant and kindly! He made
plans for my getting away unnoticed, and brought me some sandwiches
and a cup of tea. He said I would have to eat a little, or I wouldn’t
have strength enough to go. It was getting dark then, and he couldn’t
see my face. I pretended to believe him, but I knew all the time. He
kept urging me to hurry up, and to eat the sandwiches and drink the
tea. I _knew_! I had made the will, and now, of course, I had to die.
I tried to think of a way out; and at last, when he saw that I didn’t
eat or drink, he spoke out plainly. He said that he had sent the
servants away for the afternoon, and that we were alone in the house.
He got up; he stood there and looked down at me.
“‘That tea is an easy way out—quite painless and easy,’ he said; ‘but
if you won’t take it, there’s another way—not so easy!’
“He had some sort of hypodermic needle; but just then some one began
pounding on the door downstairs, and he had to go. He locked the door
after him, and he knew I was too weak to move. I tried. I got off the
couch, but I fell on the floor beside it; and then Charles came—”
“Charles?”
“He climbed up over the balcony. It was too dark to see him, but I
heard his voice, whispering, ‘Where are you?’ He found me, lifted me
up, and helped me over to the railing. Then we heard Dr. Quelton
coming back. There was another man, down in the garden, with a taxi.
Charles called out to him, and he stood below there. I heard Dr.
Quelton unlock the door, and I was so frightened that I felt strong
enough to do anything to get away. Charles helped me over, and the
other man caught me. Then I heard Charles shout, ‘Quick! Get her
away!’ The other man pushed me into the taxi and started off across
the lawn. I fainted, and I didn’t know anything more until I opened my
eyes here.”
“But where _is_ he?” cried Lexy. “What happened to him?”
“I don’t know.”
“And you don’t seem to care, either!” said Lexy hotly. “He saved your
life, and now—”
She thought of that bloody hand print, and the grass beaten down. The
young man who had no caution, no regard for the proprieties, had done
the direct and simple thing which appealed to his audacious mind.
Perhaps he had been killed in doing it. He would know how to face
death in the same straightforward way.
Lexy would be as straightforward as he. She would find him, and she
wouldn’t try to think how much she cared about finding him.
She rose.
“I’ll get Mrs. Royce to stay with you, Caroline,” she said.
“But where are you going, Lexy?”
“I’m going to find Charles.”
In the doorway she encountered Captain Grey.
“Do you think she could stand seeing me?” he asked anxiously. “I mean
do you—”
But Lexy didn’t even answer.