Grace Duvall arrived at the house of the American Minister at about
half-past five, and luckily found him at home. From the maid at the
hotel she had learned that his name was Phelps, Austin Phelps, and she
at once recognized it as that of a lawyer prominent in business and
social circles in New York. That he should know her, at least by name,
was not at all surprising--her aunt, prior to her marriage to Count
d'Este, had been much courted on account of both her beauty and her
wealth. She waited in the handsome drawing-room to which she had been
conducted, nervously wondering what the nature of her reception would
be. The card she had given to the servant was one of her own--in fact,
she remembered with a smile that her marriage to Richard Duvall but a
few hours before had so filled her mind and heart that she had
completely forgotten to have any cards prepared setting forth her new
estate. It was as Grace Ellicott that the Minister would know her,
however, and her business in Brussels made it desirable that she should
pose as a single woman. It was not at all difficult, she thought to
herself, under the circumstances.
Mr. Phelps, the Minister, proved to be a rubicund, rather portly
gentleman, with white side whiskers and an air of urbane courtesy that
set her at her ease at once. She told him who she was, hopefully, and
was delighted to find that he placed her at once.
"Margaret Ellicott's niece," he said with a pleasant smile, offering his
hand. "My dear girl, I'm delighted to meet you. I knew your aunt well,
years ago, when you were going about in short dresses. I lost sight of
her, after she married D'Este, and went to Paris to live. It was only
the other day that I learned of her death. She was a fine woman. Mrs.
Phelps and myself were both very fond of her. Won't you take a seat and
tell me what you are doing in Brussels?"
Grace sat down, and at once plunged into her story. "I have suffered a
great deal, lately, Mr. Phelps," she began, "from nervousness. I've been
living in Paris, you know, and many things have happened to upset me.
You have heard, of course, of the Count d'Este's treatment of me, and of
his arrest and conviction?"
"Yes." He nodded gravely. "I do not wonder that you feel upset."
"Of late I have suffered a great deal from attacks of sleep walking. I
get up at night and wander about, without knowing what I am doing. One
night, I went out on the balcony and nearly walked off into the street."
She lied bravely, hoping that her story would appear plausible.
"Too bad," Mr. Phelps remarked, evidently somewhat surprised that she
should confide such matters to him. "You are under treatment, of
course."
"No--that is, not at present. No one in Paris has been able to do me any
good. I have heard so much of Dr. Hartmann and his marvelous success
with all sorts of mental and nervous troubles that I have decided to
consult him. That is why I came to Brussels."
"I see. Well--he's a splendid man. You couldn't do better. I know him
very well, and like him immensely. A thorough scientist. Have you seen
him, yet?"
"No. I--I understood that he does not care to take patients without
references as to their standing, financial and otherwise."
"My dear girl, you would have no trouble. Of course he is overrun with
patients--and as his sanatorium is a small one, he is obliged to charge
large fees and take only the best and wealthiest class. He is an
investigator, rather than a practitioner, and for that reason is obliged
to guard his time."
"Then may I ask that you will give me a letter to him?" Grace said,
hesitatingly.
"Certainly. I'll do it gladly. When do you intend to call on him?"
"I thought of going at once."
"Then I'll do better than give you a letter. I'll call him up by
telephone and make an appointment for you. Say in half an hour. It will
take you about twenty minutes to drive to his place. Will that be
convenient?"
"Perfectly, Mr. Phelps, and thank you very much."
"Nonsense, my dear girl. Only too happy to do it for you. You must come
and meet Mrs. Phelps, later on, and dine with us. Just at present she is
out, taking tea with some friends. I want you to know her." He rose and
started toward the door. "Excuse me for a few moments, while I telephone
the doctor."
Grace, left alone, could not help regretting the deceit she had been
obliged to practise upon her aunt's old friend, but there seemed to be
no help for it. She only hoped that nothing would occur, subsequently,
to involve the latter in any disagreeable explanations.
Mr. Phelps returned to the drawing-room in a few moments, his face
weathed in smiles of satisfaction. "You're lucky," he said. "Dr.
Hartmann tells me that he can accommodate you at once, as he discharged
one of his patients, cured, only this morning. If you propose to remain
at his house for treatment, which would be the only satisfactory way, I
would suggest that you drive around by way of your hotel and arrange to
have your baggage sent at once. I have written the address, and a few
words to the doctor, on this card. Any of the cab drivers will know it,
of course. Dr. Hartmann is one of the most prominent men in Brussels. I
wish you good luck in your stay at his place, and whenever you are in
the city, come in and have luncheon. Mrs. Phelps will be delighted." He
led the way to the door, and ushered the girl into her cab. "Glad I was
able to be of service to you," he said, as she drove off.
"Good-evening."
When Grace entered the office of Dr. Hartmann, she was quite conscious
of the fact that it would not be necessary for her to pretend to be
nervous. In fact she felt herself turning hot and cold with fear, and
wondered whether she would have the courage to play the part which had
been so unexpectedly thrust upon her.
The place itself was pleasant and attractive enough in appearance. It
consisted of a large stone building, with a mansard roof, set back some
hundred or more yards from the street, and surrounded by a small park,
filled with trees and shrubbery. A well-kept gravel driveway led from
the gate to the main entrance, which opened into a large hall. She
observed as she came in, a sort of parlor, or reception-room, to the
right, handsomely furnished in rather an old-fashioned style, with a
large marble mantel and fireplace at one end of it. In the latter a
blaze of cannel coal lit up the room with a pleasant radiance. It was
not yet dark without, and the lights in the reception room were unlit,
although a lamp was burning in the hall.
The maid who admitted her, a pleasant-faced German woman of middle age,
conducted her into the reception-room, and taking her card, disappeared
down the hall. In a few moments she returned, and nodding to Grace,
opened a door at the left of the hall and bade her enter.
She found herself in the doctor's office, a large room, furnished in
leather. A table in the center contained a lamp, and many magazines and
papers. There was no one in the room when she entered, but before she
had time to select a chair, a door at the rear of the room opened, and
Dr. Hartmann came in.
He was a man of powerful build, and gave one the impression of great
size, although not in reality above medium height. His shoulders,
however, were very broad and thick, his neck short and powerful, his
head large, with heavy iron-gray hair. A short beard of the same color
covered the lower part of his face, while through a pair of gold-rimmed
spectacles his eyes shone with piercing brightness. Grace thought, as he
came toward her, that she had seldom seen a more striking-looking man.
"Be seated, miss," he said, addressing her in English, though with a
decided accent. "You are Miss Grace Ellicott, I believe." He glanced at
the card which he held in his hand.
"Yes," said Grace, nervously taking a seat.
"Mr. Phelps tells me you suffer from somnambulism," the doctor went on.
"How long have you observed the symptoms?"
"About six months," answered Grace, steadily.
"Are the occurrences frequent?"
"Yes. Almost every night."
"Had you experienced any great shock, about the time these
manifestations began?"
"Yes. My aunt, whom I loved very dearly, had died."
"Oh! And when you walk in your sleep, do you seem to see her?"
Grace reflected over this question for several moments. Then she
recollected that persons given to somnambulism never remember their
experiences. "No. I have no recollection of what occurs."
The doctor's face was lit with a satisfied smile. He came over to Grace,
drew apart the lids of one of her eyes and gazed into it, looked at her
hands critically, felt her pulse for a moment, then asked suddenly,
"Have you ever been placed under the influence of hypnosis?"
She trembled. If this man were to hypnotize her, as she was perfectly
certain that he could, he might force her to tell him everything, and
thereby endanger the success of the whole plan. "No," she replied,
firmly. "I should not care for it."
"It is a method of treatment, miss, which I use a great deal."
"I hope it will not be necessary, doctor, to use it upon me. I have
always had a horror of being hypnotized. Please do not attempt it."
"Very well, miss," the doctor laughed. "It may not be necessary. Before
we go further with your case, I shall want to observe it carefully for a
few days. You understand my terms, of course." The doctor named a large
sum. "So much each week, and an additional charge for my services,
depending upon the nature of the case."
Grace nodded, although the amount was sufficiently large to stagger her.
"I shall gladly pay what you ask," she said, "if you can only cure me."
She rose as the doctor stepped to the side of the room and pressed an
electric button.
"You can go to your room at once, Miss Ellicott," the doctor went on.
"One of the maids will conduct you. Your meals will be served there, or
you can eat in the large dining-room, as you prefer. There are only
twenty other patients. Some of them you might find very agreeable. Make
yourself thoroughly at home. There are many excellent books in the
library, and you will perhaps wish to walk in the grounds, or visit your
friends in the city. The nature of your case is such that no particular
regimen, no rules of health are necessary. Remember, however, that we
close the gates of the park at sundown. I will see you again, this
evening, and bring you some medicine. It is merely a sedative, to quiet
your nerves. It is not possible to do much for complaints such as yours,
by means of drugs." He turned, as a quiet, pleasant-faced woman opened
the door. "Anna," he said to her in German, "conduct Miss Ellicott to
her room, and make her comfortable."
Not wishing to endure the ordeal of dining with strangers, Grace decided
to have her dinner served in her room. She found it excellent, and very
well cooked. After dinner she sat in an easy chair by the large electric
lamp and read a book she had brought with her.
At ten o'clock Dr. Hartmann came in, and asked her a few more questions,
gave the nurse a small bottle containing a dark brown liquid and
instructed her as to administering it, then said good-night and went
out. Grace threw down her book, and announced that she was ready to
retire. The maid assisted her to undress, gave her a few drops of the
medicine in a small glass of sherry, put out the light, and departed,
informing Grace that she would be in the hall, within call, if the
latter wished anything.
In spite of the medicine which she had taken, Grace was far too nervous
and excited to fall asleep. She realized the daring nature of the game
she had been called upon to play, and for a moment her spirits sank and
she felt a sense of fear. Thoughts of Richard, however, soon restored
her courage. She would face any danger to serve him. How different from
what she had imagined, was this, her first night of married life!
Instead of lying in Richard's arms, on board the steamer bound for
America, here she was, a patient in a sanatorium in Brussels. The thing
seemed unreal--impossible.
After a while, the noises of the house ceased one by one. As midnight
struck, all was dark and silent. Only the faint sound of the wind among
the trees in the park came to her ears. She wondered whether it was
necessary for her to pretend to walk in her sleep this night--in order
that the doctor might feel that her case was a real one. She rose
softly, undecided, and going to the window, looked out.
The room in which she then was, occupied a position at the rear of the
building, and in one of its two wings. From the center of the main
building she observed a covered passageway, or bridge, extending out for
perhaps a hundred feet and terminating in a sort of square tower. In one
of the rooms in the tower, on a level with herself, she saw lights, and
the figure of a man moving about.
The place attracted her attention. She wondered what its use could be.
Then an inspiration struck her. The covered bridge ran from the main
hall not thirty feet from her own door. She determined to cross it,
pretending to be walking in her sleep, and find out what she could
regarding the brick tower. When the time came, she knew that all the
information she could possess about the house and its occupants would be
necessary to the success of her plans.
She threw about her a dressing-gown, and quietly opened her door. The
maid was nowhere to be seen, but doubtless she would shortly return. The
chair upon which she had been sitting, at the point where the side and
main halls met, stood directly beneath the electric light. No doubt,
Grace thought, she had been called away for a few moments by one of the
other patients on the floor.
Now was her chance. She stepped noiselessly down the cross hall, her
eyes wide open and hands clenched at her sides. At the junction of the
two halls she turned to the right, toward a door which, she judged, gave
entrance to the covered way. She found this unlocked, opened it, entered
the passageway and closed the door behind her. Then she began to walk
slowly along the bridge.
It was a narrow structure, not exceeding five feet in width, with top
and sides of corrugated metal, and a floor of wooden planks. At the far
end of it she perceived a glass door, behind which shone a brilliant
light.
She approached the door cautiously, keeping up all the while the
pretense of walking in her sleep. This was not easy--she did not know
just how persons who were somnambulists acted, but she had read
descriptions of such cases, and had once seen a play in which one of the
characters was a sleep walker. She tried to give her eyes a vacant,
unseeing expression, and fearlessly approached the door.
It stood slightly ajar, and through the glass panels she saw at once
that the room was Dr. Hartmann's laboratory. She arrived at this
conclusion from the various medical appliances which stood about the
room, the uses of which she did not know. Her inspection of the room,
however, was but momentary, for two figures, brightly illuminated by an
overhanging cluster of electric lights, at once attracted her attention.
One of these was Dr. Hartmann. He sat at a large, flat-topped desk, his
profile toward the door, examining with great care a mass of papers
which lay on the desk before him. His forehead was wrinkled with
thought, and an expression of anger dominated his face.
At the other side of the desk sat a tall spare man, with a
military-looking carriage, and a fierce blond mustache, which he was
gnawing uneasily. The two figures sat silent for several moments, no
word passing between them, while Grace watched intently. Presently she
heard the doctor speak. "It took you two years, it seems, to find out
that Monsieur de Grissac uses snuff."
The other nodded. "One year and ten months, to be exact."
"And now," the doctor went on, angrily, "you trust everything to a
stranger."
"It is better so, is it not? The affair is dangerous. Neither you, nor
I, can afford to be mixed up in it."
Doctor Hartmann brought his fist down upon the desk with a bang. "_Gott
in Himmel!_" he roared. "We must take some risks, my friend. I tell you
I must have De Grissac's snuff box without further delay. If that does
not solve the problem, we are at the end of our rope."
"It will solve it," the other man replied imperturbably. "I have
positive assurances to that effect. Furthermore, I have every reason to
believe that we shall hear from London before the end of the week."
"Have you received any word?" the doctor inquired eagerly.
"Yes. The attempt was to be made either to-day or to-morrow. Our man
will report to you at once. He knows nothing of the matter, of course.
He will deliver the box to you, and receive the money."
"Who is the fellow?"
"I do not know his name. I have not seen him, myself. Gratz arranged
everything in London. I considered it very important that nothing should
occur which would connect us with the matter in any way. Monsieur de
Grissac will discover his loss very quickly and will use every effort to
prevent the box from falling into our hands. Gratz and the others would
invite suspicion at once. The fellow they have chosen to handle the
matter is unknown to the French police. He will attract no attention.
The plan appears to be perfect."
The doctor nodded slowly, chewing on his cigar. "I hope you are right,
Mayer," he said, and looked at his watch.
As he finished speaking, Grace heard someone approaching her from
behind, but she paid no attention. In a moment the attendant touched her
lightly on the arm. She turned, gazing at the woman with staring,
unseeing eyes. The latter looked at her keenly, then began to lead her
along the bridge toward the main building.
When they reached her bedroom, the nurse turned on the lights suddenly,
glancing at Grace's face as she did so. The girl did not dare even to
blink her eyes. "Sit down," the woman commanded, sharply. Grace sank
upon the edge of the bed. "Take off your shoes," the nurse went on, in a
stern voice. The girl had slipped on a pair of bedroom slippers--she
proceeded to remove them mechanically, fumbling with them as though
trying to unfasten the laces of a pair of shoes. "Now your dress," the
nurse ordered. Grace began awkwardly to remove the dressing-gown she had
thrown about her. When the woman told her sharply to get into bed, she
did so without a word, apparently quite unconscious of what she was
doing. It was a splendid piece of acting, and she did it so well that if
the nurse had any doubts as to the reality of her somnambulistic
condition they were at once dispelled. As soon as the girl placed her
head upon the pillows, she pretended to be sound asleep, her eyes
closed, her breathing regular and slow. After a time, the attendant put
out the light and left the room.
The girl lay still for hours, wondering what there was in the strange
conversation she had overheard that could help Richard in his efforts to
recover the stolen snuff box. That it had been stolen she knew; that it
had not yet been delivered to Dr. Hartmann she also knew. Perhaps
Richard might have succeeded in recovering it before now; if not, the
messenger bringing it to the doctor's office would undoubtedly arrive
the next day. She determined to rise early, in order that she might, if
possible, send word of what she had heard to Brussels by means of the
young man who drove the delivery wagon.