CHAPTER XXVIII
BEYOND SURGERY
Wilfrid had to repeat his command more than once before Beatrice seemed to understand what he was saying. The girl was dazed with the horror of the thing. She stood looking at the white, still figure on the bed, marvelling what was going to happen next. And yet, at the back of her mind there was a glimmering of the truth. This was a vendetta and these relentless foes would never slack their efforts until Samuel Flower had paid the debt to the last penny. Many of these things Beatrice had read about in the pages of fiction. She had forgotten, perhaps, that there are stranger things in every-day life.
As for Wilfrid he was calm enough. His professional instincts came to his aid. Laying his hand gently upon Beatrice's shoulder he led her from the room.
"I want you to be brave and silent," he whispered. "I want you to help me all you can. It is possibly a selfish reflection, but your life is safe. If you would save your uncle, you must do what I tell you."
"I will try," Beatrice murmured. "What do you want me to do? Oh, I remember."
She departed without another word, leaving Wilfrid to do what he could with her uncle. This second attack was much more serious than the first, for Samuel Flower lay to all appearance dead. It was not difficult for Wilfrid to make an examination, for Flower had undressed and gone to bed before the attack. He lay on his back with his arms inert by his side, the deep purple of his cheeks had given way to a ghastly whiteness. Wilfrid could detect not the slightest trace of violence anywhere, nothing but one or two small indentations on the forehead and at the back of the head. Try as he would Wilfrid could make nothing of the case. And if he could trust to his trained knowledge, he felt sure that no explanation would ever come from Flower's lips, for surely the man was dead.
He could hear no murmur from the heart. By laying the glass of his watch on the murdered man's lips he could distinguish no moisture. He could only wait patiently until assistance came, and then tell the story as best he could. With almost a sensation of shame Wilfrid realized that Flower was harmless to do him further injury. He tried to put the matter out of his mind, but it recurred more than once, until he was fain to walk up and down the room in the growing light. He pulled up the blinds by and by and let in the flood of day. Even in the strong light he could detect no motion and no change in that awful figure on the bed. Inured as he was to these kind of tragedies, it was with a thrill of thankfulness that he heard steps coming up the stairs and saw a stranger enter the room. There was no reason for Wilfrid to ask if the new-comer were a doctor, for he carried his profession in every crease of his well-fitting frock-coat, in every line of his well-groomed hair.
"My name is Dr. Shelton," he said. "I am sorry to be so late, but I have only just got back to town. So this is your patient? What do you think he is suffering from? You have made an examination?"
"I haven't the remotest idea," Wilfrid said frankly. "I have never seen a case like it before. Mr. Flower lies there to all appearances dead. He does not breathe. There is not the slightest motion of the heart, and yet, rigor mortis has not set in. I should say it is some brain trouble."
Dr. Shelton stripped off his coat and turned up his shirt sleeves. For a long time he bent over the bed, but at last he stood upright drawing a long breath.
"Most extraordinary," he murmured. "Everything points to severe concussion of the brain, and yet there is not the slightest trace of violence; there is no suggestion of a blow, or fall, or anything of that kind. We must wait till the patient comes to himself as he will before long."
"He is not dead, then?" Wilfrid asked.
"No. It is a case of suspended animation. That the brain is seriously injured the congestion of the eyes proves beyond demonstration. But, surely, you can throw some light on this mystery. How came you to be called in?"
Wilfrid had been dreading the question for some time. He hardly knew how to explain matters to this polished man of the world whose lines had probably always fallen in conventional places.
"Well, it was like this," he began. "I have lately started a practice in Oldborough and Mr. Flower has a country house close by. I was called in to attend him for a trifling injury, and when I got to the house I discovered that Miss Galloway, Mr. Flower's niece, was an old friend; in fact, we had met in London some months ago. Miss Galloway had been under the impression that some one was trying to get into the house, but perhaps I had better tell you at length what really happened."
Wilfrid proceeded with his statement, purposely, however, saying nothing as to the mysteriously-knotted string, or the strange incantations which he had watched on the part of the Malays. These matters seemed to have nothing to do with the case, nor could they influence the opinion of Dr. Shelton. He told his story straightforwardly, how he had got into this house and what sort of reception had met him. Shelton raised his eyebrows incredulously.
"So you think this is a case of burglary?" he asked. "Mr. Flower has something in the house which these villains were after. You say you saw them in this room when you entered by the balcony?"
"I did," Wilfrid replied. He was feeling on safer ground now. "I suppose my presence frightened them and, you see, I had other things to think of. It is very singular that these fellows did Mr. Flower no violence."
"No violence whatever," Shelton said emphatically. "They hadn't gone as far as that, though their intentions might have been murderous. It seems to me, Dr. Mercer, that this is a case as much for the police as for the medical man. At any rate, I frankly own that I am as puzzled as yourself. It will be a great favour to me if you will remain here while I go to Harley Street, as I should like another opinion besides my own. If you stay in the house it will be sufficient. It will be some time before Mr. Flower regains consciousness."
Wilfrid expressed his willingness to do whatever was necessary and Dr. Shelton bustled away. The servants were moving about the house now. Wilfrid heard the clock strike the hour of eight, then; presently, an appetizing odour of cooking stole over the room. It was nearly an hour later before Beatrice came and asked the latest news. There was no change, for Flower lay as he had done three hours before.
"I have told the servants nothing," Beatrice whispered. "They have merely been informed that my uncle has had a slight seizure and that the house must be kept very quiet. But won't you come downstairs and have breakfast? It is ready in the dining-room. And if you could manage to stay here till Dr. Shelton returns – "
Wilfrid explained that he had already promised to do so. Despite the thrilling adventure of the night before, he was hungry and did ample justice to his meal. At the same time he could not forget his own affairs. It might be a security to feel that Flower lay upstairs beyond the reach of mischief, but Flower was not alone in this business. Beyond doubt the man Cotter had received his instructions. Beyond doubt the law was already in motion which was to deprive Wilfrid of his good name and his means of living. It was hard he should have to stay there doing nothing and keep watch and ward over a man who was intending to ruin him through another; but of this he could say nothing to Beatrice.
She sat at the foot of the table playing with a cup of tea and some toast; recent events had shaken her terribly. For some time she kept silent.
"I must speak to you, Wilfrid," she said presently. "I want to know if you have found out anything. I want to know if you have discovered anything that has been hidden from me. Tell me truthfully, is this the first attack of the kind which has been made upon my uncle? Didn't a very similar thing happen the night you were at Maldon Grange?"
"I am sorry you asked me that," Wilfrid said quietly, "because I cannot look you in the face and tell you a lie. Of course I can't say yet whether I was successful last night, but under Providence I most assuredly saved Samuel Flower's life on the occasion you speak of. Please don't ask me more. Try to be brave and patient, and all will be well."
Beatrice said no more, but it was evident she was putting a great strain upon her curiosity.
CHAPTER XXIX
A MESSAGE
The morning dragged slowly and Wilfrid began to think that Shelton had forgotten about his patient. It was maddening to wander about the house wasting precious time, when perhaps the blow had already fallen at Oldborough. More than once Wilfrid was tempted to make his way to the City where he could discuss his affairs with Russell and Uzali.
And what had happened to the latter? How was he getting on after his cruel treatment of the previous evening? And what was Russell doing all this time? Wilfrid was debating the matter seriously when, about midday, a motor car drove up and Dr. Shelton, accompanied by a colleague, got out. Shelton raised his brows interrogatively at Wilfrid, who shook his head.
"No change," the latter murmured. "He is just as you left him, hovering between life and death. I don't wish to be inconvenient but I shall be very glad if you will release me as soon as possible. I have urgent business in the City which is going to rack and ruin without me."
"Give us half an hour," Shelton said. "We are going to try an experiment – a desperate one I admit – but there seems nothing else to do in the circumstances. But, if you can get back by two o'clock to keep an eye upon things till the nurse I have written for arrives, I shall be greatly obliged."
Wilfrid yielded with as good grace as possible. He began to feel reckless and desperate. He paced up and down outside the house smoking one cigarette after another until Shelton appeared again.
"I don't think we need detain you any longer," the latter said. "Our operation has been partially successful and I am leaving Mr. Flower with my colleague at present. There has been serious brain trouble, and I very much doubt if my patient will ever be the same again. If you can manage to return by two o'clock for an hour, I think I shall then be able to dispense with your services."
Wilfrid waited to hear no more. He had already laid his plans. In the first place, he would call upon Fowler & Co., who had written regarding the bill, which threatened destruction to his home and future. He might perhaps obtain some information from them, though time was growing short and there remained barely a day and a half in which to satisfy these blood-suckers and breathe freely once more. A reference to the Post Office Directory gave Wilfrid the information he was in need of, and a hansom conveyed him to London Wall where the offices of Fowler & Co. were situated. The place was dingy, the office small and dirty. For a moment Wilfrid hesitated whether to go in or not, when he suddenly paused and looked into a shop-window as if fearful of being seen, for on the steps of the office stood Cotter in close conversation with a small, slight man, whose keen dark eyes bespoke a foreign origin. It was plain enough to Wilfrid now. Cotter had come down on business connected with the very security which was likely to be Wilfrid's ruin. The two men parted by and by and Wilfrid crossed the road, his mind fully made up what to do.
A shabby-looking clerk in the outer office announced the fact that Mr. Fowler was not engaged. Without waiting for any reply Wilfrid crossed to the inner office and opened the door. Surely enough, seated at a desk, was the little man with whom Cotter had been talking so earnestly a few minutes before.
"My name is Dr. Mercer," Wilfrid said bluntly. "You are Mr. Fowler, I understand. I came to see you in regard to a security which I gave to a firm called Darton & Co. for one hundred and seventy-five pounds. This security will fall due to-morrow and I am anxious to get it renewed."
The man shrugged his shoulders and took up his pen.
"My dear sir, I am very busy this morning," he said. "If you cannot meet the security, why, there is an end of it. I am sorry, but business is business, and of course you know the consequences if the bill is not taken up to-morrow."
"I am aware of that," Wilfrid said impatiently. "But what I want to know is, where do you come in? What connexion have you with Darton & Co.? And why should they turn over my liability to you? These are simple questions."
They were simple but Mr. Fowler had some difficulty in answering them. He changed colour slightly and his dingy hands fingered a bell on the table before him.
"Oh, you needn't be afraid," Wilfrid said contemptuously. "I am not going to do you any harm, but I came here for certain information and I mean to have it. Is my credit so good that you could afford to speculate in a bill of mine? But perhaps I had better come to the point. Where is the security?"
Mr. Fowler laughed somewhat unpleasantly. He was more at his ease. He pointed over his shoulder to a safe in the wall.
"The security is all right, sir," he said. "The point is, do you want to take it up? If you have the money with you the thing could be arranged quite amicably."
There was a sneer underlying these words which brought the blood into Wilfrid's face. The man was laughing at him. Here was a chance to test the truth of what Fowler was saying. Wilfrid took a bulky packet of letters from his pocket and laid them on the table before him.
"I didn't come here to offer you a cheque," he said, "because it occurred to me you might refuse it. But I suppose you have no objection to banknotes."
Fowler was taken aback. The grin died away from his cunning features.
"Oh, certainly," he muttered, "certainly."
"Then produce the security and let us have done with it."
Fowler arose reluctantly to his feet and rummaged among a mass of papers in the safe. But the security was not forthcoming, which was exactly what Wilfrid had foreseen. With some show of disappointment Fowler returned to his desk muttering that he had left the security at home. Wilfrid gravely restored the bundle of papers to his pocket. He was not displeased at having forced the money-lender to show his hand. His suspicions had become certainties. Cotter had come down on purpose to take the security away. He rose carelessly from his seat.
"Very well," he said, "it doesn't in the least matter, but you must understand I can't call again. You know my address in Oldborough. I shall be there to-morrow morning, and if you send a representative to meet me I shall be prepared to pay you off. I don't think I need detain you longer."
With a curt nod Wilfrid left the office and made his way to Uzali's flat. He was informed that the Malay was in bed, but had left instructions that if Dr. Mercer called he was to be shown up at once. He found Uzali propped up by the bedclothes and looking not much the worse for his adventure.
"Oh, I shall be right enough to-morrow," he said cheerfully. "It is very unfortunate that I should have got into trouble last night. I daresay you wonder what it is all about?"
"My dear sir, I am consumed with curiosity," Wilfrid said. "And when you have told me all your adventures I will tell you mine, which were thrilling enough in all conscience."
"That is a bargain," Uzali smiled. "But there is one thing you must tell me first. Is our friend Samuel Flower still alive? Did anything happen to him last night?"
"Oh, he is still alive," Wilfrid said dubiously. "But how long he is likely to last is another matter. And now, if you will promise not to get unduly excited, I will tell you everything that has happened since I put you in the cab. You will be interested."
Uzali listened with rapt attention to what Wilfrid had to say. He even expressed his satisfaction at the knowledge that things were no worse with Samuel Flower.
"So far, so good," he said. "And now, perhaps, I had better tell you my story. It is shorter than yours and not so dramatic. In the square I fell foul of those countrymen of mine, never doubting for a moment but that they would recognize me and my authority. Perhaps they took me for some imposter, perhaps they lost their heads in the darkness. Anyway, they attacked me in a most murderous fashion before I had the slightest chance of explaining; hence the fact that you found me in the square nearly done for. Mind you, if this had happened a week ago I would not have interfered, but have allowed matters to take their own course. But now things are different. They have changed altogether."
It was a long time before Uzali spoke again. He lay there with his eyes closed as if asleep or dreaming.
CHAPTER XXX
A SLIGHT MISUNDERSTANDING
Wilfrid walked slowly back to Bloomsbury, his own affairs uppermost in his mind. His morning had not been wasted. He had found out several things likely to be of use to him, but, on the other hand, the time was so short that it seemed almost impossible to save the situation. There was an outside chance that his friend Vardon might have been able to raise the money, but no information had come from him, and in such cases no news is bad news. The security had undoubtedly found its way into Cotter's hands and no time would be lost in making use of the weapon. The mere thought was maddening. Here was a man lying on his death-bed, yet ready to strike at another man, who, on two occasions had risked his life for him. It would have been better to allow those poisonous little Easterns to have their own way and remove a scoundrel like Flower altogether. Still, there was a chance yet, and Wilfrid meant to take advantage of it if he had the opportunity. He was not beaten.
Beatrice's pale white face glancing wearily through the drawing-room window recalled him to himself. There was better news, on the whole, than Wilfrid had expected. Shelton's operation had been partially successful, and he and his colleague were waiting for Wilfrid's return.
"You haven't very much to do," Shelton explained. "The nurse I have chosen will be here at any moment and she will take your place. You will find certain medicines upstairs which you will know what to do with."
Shelton departed hurriedly, after the manner of his kind, and Wilfrid made his way to the sick room. Beatrice followed him fearfully with a whispered request to be permitted to see how the injured man was, and Wilfrid had not the heart to refuse.
"It must be only a moment, then," he said. "I have no right to have stayed here so long. I ought to have been back in Oldborough hours ago. You must promise to be quiet and not speak a single word if I admit you into the sick room."
Beatrice gave the assurance and they crept into the bedroom silently together. Flower lay with his eyes wide open, gazing about the room in a strange, lack-lustre fashion. Evidently he had not the remotest notion where he was or what was taking place around him. He murmured from time to time a medley of things in which the shrewdness of a man and the innocence of a child were curiously mingled. Wilfrid seemed to hear sounds of some one moving in the dressing-room beyond, and he looked into the room, where he saw Cotter in the act of placing some papers in a desk. Flower's confidential clerk looked up guiltily as his glance met Wilfrid's eye.
"What are you doing here?" Wilfrid asked sternly. "Don't you know that nobody but the doctor and the nurse are allowed here? And why are you tampering with those papers?"
"I am not," Cotter stammered. "I swear I am not. I am only putting away a few documents which my master told me to fetch from the City this morning. I am very sorry, sir, but I won't come back again. Is he better?"
Wilfrid turned on his heel without reply. No sooner had Cotter left the dressing-room than Wilfrid was back in the bedroom intent on getting rid of Beatrice also. It was useless for the girl to stay, for she could do nothing except stand there with eyes full of tears of pity and sorrow. Wilfrid led her out to the landing.
"You must not come here again," he said. "I will leave directly the nurse arrives. I have to call upon a friend and then I must get back to Oldborough without delay."
"Is there any hope?" Beatrice asked.
"I cannot say," Wilfrid replied. "It may be days before we are sure of that, and whatever happens, remember that you are safe. These people who come and go in this mysterious fashion have no feeling against you. It is only your uncle who is the object of their vengeance."
"But, surely, the police ought to know," Beatrice protested.
"I am not sure of that," Wilfrid said. "If your uncle were well and we suggested calling the police, I am certain that he would oppose the idea strongly."
A little colour crept into Beatrice's face.
"You speak so strangely," she said. "You hint at such dark things. Do you know that all the years I have lived with my uncle I have never found him anything but the best of men? It is only latterly that this cloud has come between us. There was none of it until you came into my life again."
The words were quietly spoken, yet they stung Wilfrid to the core.
"That is easily remedied," he said bitterly. "I can take myself out of your life as I brought myself into it. I could school myself to forget you in time. But do not forget that I have saved your uncle's life twice, though, in so doing, I have rendered a very doubtful service to humanity."
"What do you mean?" Beatrice asked hotly.
Wilfrid advanced a step or two closer and took the girl's hands in his. His face was grave and set.
"Then I will tell you," he said. "Samuel Flower might have been even more to you than you say he has, but that does not prevent him from being a great scoundrel. You may bridle and colour, but I ask you to hear me to the finish. You may say, quite sincerely, you have never heard anything of this before. But if you could go amongst business men who knew nothing of your relationship to Samuel Flower, and ask them what they thought of him and his methods, you would learn some startling things. Do you know that for over two years I was a servant of your uncle's on board one of his ships? Have you ever heard him mention a boat called the Guelder Rose?"
"I have heard of it," Beatrice murmured. "There was a mutiny on board and a great loss of life. It was a shameful thing altogether, and if my uncle had cared to bring the mutineers to justice most of them would have suffered long terms of imprisonment, but he refrained from doing so – "
"Because he was afraid," Wilfrid said sternly. "He dared not face the ordeal of a court of justice. I was the doctor on board that ill-fated boat and could tell you all about it. If I could only put my hand upon one other survivor, poor and friendless as I am, I would fight your uncle to the last gasp. I hesitated to come to Maldon Grange the day I was sent for, because I was afraid I might be recognized and have to pay the penalty of my interference in that mutiny. And I was recognized – I realized that almost as soon as I entered the house."
"My uncle said nothing to me," Beatrice protested.
"Oh, no, he would not," Wilfrid said bitterly. "That is not the way in which he works, but he has lost no time in trying to ruin me. He lost no time in getting into communication with the people from whom I borrowed money to buy my practice. He bought the security I gave, and if the money is not forthcoming to-morrow, I shall be a ruined man without a house over my head. I daresay you wonder why I tell you this, but sooner or later you are bound to know, and if it happens that somebody else – "
What more Wilfrid might have said was cut short by a sudden moan from the bedroom. Without another word Wilfrid turned and Beatrice crept silently down the stairs.
It was only for a moment or two, however, and the patient lapsed into the absent stage again. The minutes were creeping along; the nurse would be here soon and Wilfrid would be glad to turn his back upon that house of mystery. His mind was full of his own troubles; he found his thoughts wandering to the desk in the dressing-room where he had seen Cotter arranging those papers. Then it suddenly struck him that the security he was in search of was actually within his grasp. As far as he could see, Cotter had not even turned the key in the desk. Overwhelming curiosity drew Wilfrid from his seat and impelled his lingering footsteps towards the dressing-room.
Here was the desk with the key still in it. There was the heap of papers in the top drawer. A long, pale blue slip with a red stamp in the corner caught his eye. There was no occasion for him to ask what it was. He could see his own bold handwriting across it. Here was the precious document that meant so much to him, so little for the man in the next room. He had only to tear it in two and throw the fragments in the fire and he would be free from all anxiety for ever. It was only for a moment, but that moment was long enough, for the dressing-room door stood open and the shadow of Beatrice blocked the light.
"The nurse is here," she said coldly. Her eyes were fixed upon the paper which Wilfrid held in his hand. "I thought I would bring her this way. And now, Dr. Mercer, don't you think that we shall be able to dispense with your services?"