The maid started and hesitated, looking to the chauffeur.
"This is Mr. Matthias," that one explained. "Mr. Marbridge sent for
him."
"Oh, yes--excuse me, sir. This way, if you please."
Opening a door on the right, the woman permitted Matthias to pass
through, then closed it.
He found himself in a dining-room of moderate proportions and handsomely
furnished. Little of it was visible, however, outside the radius of
illumination cast by an electric dome which, depending from the middle
of the ceiling, focussed its rays upon a small round dining-table of
mahogany. This table was quite bare save for a massive decanter of
cut-glass standing at the edge of a puddle of spilt liquor: as if an
uncertain hand had attempted to pour a drink. Near it lay a broken
goblet.
On the farther side of the table a woman with young and slender figure
stood in a pose of arrested action, holding a goblet half-full of brandy
and water. Her features were but indistinctly suggested in the penumbra
of the dome, but beneath this her bare arms and shoulders, rising out of
an elaborate evening gown, shone with a soft warm lustre. Matthias
remembered that gown: Joan Thursday had worn it in the last act of "Mrs.
Mixer." But she neither moved nor spoke, and for the time being he paid
her no further heed, giving his attention entirely to Marbridge.
Sitting low in a deeply upholstered wing-chair--out of place in the
dining-room and evidently dragged in for the emergency--Marbridge
breathed heavily, chin on his chest, his coarse mouth ajar, his face
ghastly with a stricken pallor. His feet sprawled uncouthly. The dress
coat and waistcoat he had worn lay in a heap on the floor, near the
chair, and both shirt and undershirt had been ripped and cut away from
his right shoulder, exposing his swarthy and hairy bosom and a sort of
temporary bandage which, like his linen, was darkly stained. Closed when
Matthias entered, his eyes opened almost instantly and fixed upon the
man a heavy and lacklustre stare which at first failed to indicate
recognition.
Matthias heard himself crying out in a voice of horror: "Good God,
Marbridge! How did this happen?"
The man stirred, granted with pain, and made a deprecatory gesture with
his left hand.
"Needn't yell," he said thickly: "I've been shot ... done for...."
His gaze shifted heavily to the woman. With effort he enunciated one
word more: "Drink...."
As though by that monosyllable freed from an enchaining spell, Joan
started, moved quickly to his side and held the goblet to his lips.
He drank noisily, gulping and slobbering; overflowing at either corner
of his mouth, the liquor dripped twin streams upon his naked bosom.
Mechanically Matthias put his hat down on the table.
He experienced an incredulous sensation, as though he were struggling to
cast off the terror and oppression of some particularly vivid and
coherent nightmare.
From the farther room that noise persisted of monotonous and awful
laughter.
Marbridge ceased to swallow and grunted. Joan removed the glass and drew
away without looking at Matthias. At a cost of considerable will-power,
apparently, the wounded man collected himself and levelled at Matthias
his louring, but now less dull, regard.
"Oh, it's you, is it?" he said ungraciously. "Well, you'll do at a
pinch.... I wanted Arlington ... but you if he couldn't be found."
"Well," said Matthias stupidly, "I'm here.... The doctor's seen you, I
suppose?"
"Yes--did what he could for me--no use wasting effort--it's my cue to
exit."
"Oh, come! It's not as bad as that!"
"The hell it ain't. The doctor knows--I know. Not that it matters. It
was coming to me and I got it."
"Where's the doctor?" Matthias insisted. "Why isn't he attending you
now?"
"He's in the other room ... trying to silence that crazy woman.... She
plugged me and ... went into hysterics...."
"Who?"
"Nella Cardrow.... Had the devil of a time with her before doctor
came ... trying to keep her from rushing out and giving herself
up ... all this in the papers.... But all right now: we'll hush it up."
"Then that's what you want of me?"
"Wait," Marbridge grunted. "Where's that girl?"
Joan moved back to his side. "What can I do?" she said; and these were
all the words Matthias heard her utter from first to last of that
business.