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“Dr Chester? Oh, at last! Come – quickly! before it is too late.”
“Pray be calm,” he said, motioning his visitor to a seat, but she threw back her head.
“Come!” she cried imperiously. “The brougham is at the door. Quick! He is dying.”
“Pray explain yourself, madam,” said the doctor.
“Oh, how can you be so cold-blooded? Man, I tell you that Robert is dying. He must not – he shall not die. Come – come!”
“But, my dear madam!”
“I’ll explain everything as we go,” cried the visitor, passionately, as she drew him towards the door. “A terrible accident. Come and save his life.”
At another time Fred Chester might have hesitated, but there was a strange magnetism in the eyes of his beautiful visitor – an appeal in the quivering lip. Every feature was drawn by the agitation from which she suffered. It was his profession to help in emergencies – evidently some terrible crisis had arisen, and he felt it impossible to resist.
He threw open the door, there was a faint gasp of satisfaction as he caught up his hat, and the next moment, with his visitor holding still tightly by his hand, he was descending the broad steps, perfectly ignorant of the fact that Aunt Grace was standing at the top of the first flight of stairs, watching intently.
By the light of the gas lamps Chester saw a handsomely-appointed brougham drawn up at the kerb. His companion said the one word “Home,” then stepped quickly into the carriage, the doctor followed, and they were driven off at a rapid pace.
The night was dark, and it was by flashes of the lamps they passed that he had glimpses of the beautiful, quivering face leaning earnestly toward his. He was conscious of the delicate scent emanating from the dress; the warm perfumed breath reached his face, and there was, as it were, a magic in the contact with her rustling robe, as they sped along the streets. A wild intoxication seemed to have seized upon him in those moments, before he could master himself sufficiently to say —
“Will you explain the accident?”
“Yes, yes, as soon as I can speak,” was panted out. “I – I – ah – h – ah!”
The speaker lurched toward him, and he caught her, fainting, in his arms. But her strong will mastered the weakness, and she struggled free.
“Better now,” she panted. “Doctor, we had heard of you, I came myself. He is dying. Oh, faster – faster!” she cried, and leaning forward she beat upon the front window, there was a quick movement on the part of the driver, and the horses seemed to fly.
“It was like this. We were at dessert. Robert was examining a pistol. It went off, and he is horribly wounded. Dr Chester, oh, for Heaven’s sake, save my poor boy’s life!”
“With Heaven’s help, madam, I will,” said the doctor, earnestly, “if we are not too late.”
“Too late – too late? Oh no, no, no, we cannot be too late! Quicker! Quicker! These horses seem to crawl. Oh, it is too horrible – too horrible! I cannot bear it!”
By a quick, impulsive movement the speaker threw herself forward, to sink upon her knees in the bottom of the brougham, pressing her hands to her mouth, and resting her face upon them against the padded cushion by the front window; while, feeling strangely moved, Chester leaned slightly over her with his hands half raised, in the desire he dared not gratify, to raise her to her seat and whisper gentle words of comfort. At that time it did not occur to him that it seemed strange for a gentleman – he must be a gentleman; everything suggested it – to be handling a pistol at dessert. All he could think of was the terrible suffering of his companion, and his attention was centred upon her as he saw the agony she suffered, while as yet he could do nothing.
She sprang up as suddenly as she had thrown herself down, and her voice and look thrilled him again as she said sharply —
“I can’t pray: it is too horrible. Don’t notice me; don’t speak to me, please, doctor. I am half mad.”
She flung herself back in the corner and covered her face with her hands, while, totally oblivious of the direction taken by the driver, Chester sat back in his own place, gazing at his companion, and weaving a romance.
It was some story of love, he told himself – love and jealousy – for the woman at his side was beautiful enough to tempt a saint. That was it, he was sure, and the distracted husband had attempted to or had committed suicide.
“What is it to me?” he said to himself, fiercely, and he wondered now that he should have been so strangely moved. His professional instincts had the mastery again, and for the first time he looked out through the drawn-up glass to try and see what street they were in. But at that moment his companion started again.
“Shall we never be there?” she cried in her agony. “Ah! at last!”
For the horses were pulled up suddenly, there was a flash of light from an open hall, and a gentleman ran down and tore open the brougham door.
“Brought him?”
“Yes, yes!” cried the lady, springing out and turning to snatch at the doctor’s wrist and hurry him up the steps.
Once more the strange thrill ran through Fred Chester’s nerves and his heart throbbed heavily. Then they were inside a handsome entry, and he saw statuary, pictures, a cluster of electric lights, in rapid sequence, as he hurried over soft carpets to the back of the house, and into a handsome dining-room in which some eight or nine ladies and gentlemen in evening dress were clustered about a couch drawn up near a table covered with glass and plate, flowers, fruit, and the signs of the interrupted dessert, seen by a bouquet of soft incandescent lights.
The sight of the figure on the couch was enough, and Chester was fully himself as his companion ran to the sufferer, threw herself on her knees, and kissed the white face there.
“Be my own brave boy,” she whispered hoarsely. “The doctor is here.”
“Be kind enough to leave the room, all but two of you gentlemen,” said Chester, sternly.
“No; I shall stay,” cried the lady, firmly, as she threw off the thick mantilla and fur-lined cloak, to stand there bare-armed and palpitating. “I will not leave you, Rob,” she cooed over the wounded man. “Doctor, I will be nurse.”
The doctor bowed his head, and as all left the room but two of the gentlemen, he hurriedly made his examination, and probed in vain for the bullet, which had passed in under the left shoulder-blade, inflicting a dangerous wound, against which, at intervals, the lady pressed her handkerchief.
The patient bore all with remarkable fortitude, and in the moments of his greatest agony set his teeth and held on by his nurse’s hand, while she bent down from time to time from watching every movement of the doctor, and pressed her trembling lips to the sufferer’s hand.
At last the examination was over, and the wounded man lay very white and still; while Chester made use of a finger-glass and napkin to remove the ugly marks from the white hands.
“Drink this, doctor,” whispered one of the gentlemen who had waited upon him, no servant having been seen.
Chester, who had had eyes only for his patient, turned sharply, and took a tumbler of Burgundy from the well-bred man who offered it, drank a few mouthfuls, and set the glass down close by the weapon which had caused the wound, and which lay near a dish containing a large pine.
Chester raised his brows a little as he now saw the richness of the table appointments, and at the same time grasped the fact that he was in some wealthy home. Then this was endorsed as he turned and his eyes lit upon the lady kneeling on the other side of the couch, pale and beautiful, for he noted that she had magnificent diamonds in her hair, about her neck, and clasped upon her soft white wrists.
“Say something, doctor,” she whispered pleadingly.
“I cannot, madam, yet.”
“But he will live?” she wailed.
“Please God, madam. Gentlemen, the case is serious,” he said, turning to those who were watching him. “I should like someone else called in for consultation.”
“No,” said one of the gentlemen, decisively. “If you cannot save him, no one can.”
“Jem,” said the other, hoarsely, “it’s murder not to – ”
“Silence!” said the first speaker, sternly. “Dr Chester will save him if he is to be saved.”
“Oh, Jem, Jem!” moaned the lady.
“Be quiet, Marion. He is in the right hands. No, doctor, we will have no one else called in.”
A low moan from the wounded man took Chester’s attention, and he knelt down again to bathe his face and lips with brandy, while the two gentlemen went to a door at the other end, passed out, and a low, hurried dispute arose, all in whispers.
Chester heard a word or two – angry words – and grasped the fact that there must have been some desperate quarrel, ending in the unfortunate man before him being shot down. A chair was overturned, and glasses and decanters upset, as if from a struggle. But the patient was apparently slipping away, and for hour after hour through that night Chester fought the grim Spectre, striving to tear the victim from his hands, seeing nothing, nothing, nothing, forgetting everything – home, Isabel, the anxious woman at his side. His every nerve was strung to the fight, and at last he felt that he had won.
His face showed it as he rose, uttering a sigh of relief, and his fellow-watcher at the other side of the couch sprang from her knees, caught his hands in hers, and kissed them passionately, while the rest of the company came slowly back into the room.
“Then he’ll live, doctor?” whispered the gentleman the others had addressed as Jem.
“I hope so. He is sleeping easily now. I will come back about nine. There is not likely to be any change. If there is, of course I must be fetched.”
“Have some refreshment, doctor,” said the gentleman he addressed. “You must not leave him.”
Wearied out as he was, this was enough to irritate Chester.
“I am the best judge of that, sir,” he said coldly. “Of course the patient must not be left.”
“That is what we all feel, doctor. Ask what fee you please, but you must stay.”
“Yes, yes; pray, pray stay, doctor,” cried the lady in a pleading voice which went to his heart.
“It is impossible, madam. I have others to think of as well as your – friend.”
He could not for the life of him say husband.
“I will be back about nine.”
“Sir, we beg of you to stay,” said the gentleman who took the lead, earnestly.
“I have told you, sir, that I cannot. I must leave you now.”
“No, no, doctor!” whispered the lady.
“Madam, it is not necessary for me to stay now. Silence, I beg. The patient must be kept quiet.”
“Yes – quiet,” said the chief speaker. “Doctor, we have asked you not to leave us; now we must insist.”
“What! Why?”
“Because we decline to let you go till your patient is quite out of danger.”
“What!” cried Chester, sharply, over-excited by what he had gone through. “Am I to be kept a prisoner?”
“If you like to call it so. Everything you desire you can have, but you cannot leave here yet.”
“Absurd!” said Chester, angrily, and as he spoke he saw that two of the gentlemen present moved to the door by which he had entered. “I insist upon going at once.”
“You cannot, sir.”
“Stand aside, sir, and let me pass!” cried Chester, sternly, as his opponent moved between him and the door.
“Jem, for pity’s sake” – whispered the lady. “Doctor, I beg, I pray you to stay.”
“It is impossible, madam, now. Let me pass, sir.” There was a fierce motion made towards the patient, but Chester did not heed it. He saw that the other occupants of the room were closing him in, in answer to a gesture made by the gentleman in front.
The spirit within him was roused now, and in his resentment he stepped fiercely forward with extended hand, when his opponent thrust his hand into his breast with a menacing gesture.
Quick as thought, Chester stepped back and caught up the revolver he had seen lying upon the table.
There was a faint cry, and two white hands were laid upon his breast.
“Stand aside, Marion!” and there was a click from the lock of another pistol.
“Doctor! for his sake! – pray!”
Chester turned from her sharply, as if to avoid her eyes. Then flashed his own upon the man who barred his way.
“Is this the rehearsal of some drama, sir?” he said scoffingly. “I refuse all part in it. Now have the goodness to let me pass, for pass I will.”
He threw the pistol he held upon the carpet, and once more advanced toward the door, braving the weapon pointed at his head.
“Bah!” he cried; “do you think to frighten me with that theatrical nonsense?”
“Keep back, sir, or I fire.”
At that moment a white hand pressed the electric button by the side of the heavy mantelpiece, the room was suddenly darkened, and a sharp crack and rattling sound announced the locking of the door and withdrawing of the key.
“Then there has been foul play,” muttered Chester. “Into what trap have I fallen here?”
Chapter Three.
Two Hundred Guineas
Chester took a couple of steps to his right, for there was a faint sound in the pitchy darkness which he interpreted to mean the advance of an enemy. Then in the perturbation of spirit and nervousness of the moment, he moved a step or two cautiously in what he believed to be the direction of the other door, and stopped short, half-dazed by the feeling of confusion which comes upon one in a dense fog.
“Who did that?” said the voice he recognised. “You, Marion, of course. Here, you go to your room.”
There was no reply.
“Do you hear me? It is no time for fooling now.”
“Yes, I hear you, but I will not leave his side. You cowards! do you want to kill me too?”
“Hold your tongue. Di – Paddy – all of you, get hold of the mad fool before worse comes of it.”
There was a faint cry, a panting and scuffling, the word “Help!” blurred and stifled as if a hand had been suddenly clapped over the speaker’s lips, and Chester mentally saw his beautiful companion of the brougham struggling violently as she was being half carried from the room.
Stirred by excitement to the deepest depths, Chester rushed to her help, and was brought up sharp by the dining table, while the scuffling continued upon the other side.
He felt his way along the edge, to pass round it in the darkness, but the noise he made betrayed his whereabouts, and his next step took him into the grasp of a pair of strong hands, which held him firmly, and before he could free himself, there was the sound of a door opening, a faint light showed for a moment, and before it was shut off he dimly saw the actors in the struggle; then the door was closed, and the voice of him addressed as Jem said sharply —
“Light up, Paddy.”
A glass was knocked from the table; someone stumbled against a chair; an angry oath followed; and then came the rattle of massive fire-irons.
