The Mynns' Mystery

For at that moment, as the sick man struggled in his delirium, he heaved himself till his body formed an arch, and it was all that the three men could do to keep him upon the couch.

“Like anyone suffering from a powerful dose of strychnia,” muttered the doctor.

“What are you going to do, Lawrence?” whispered the lawyer. “Can’t you give him some narcotic that will last till you get him back to his chambers?”

“What I have sent for,” said the doctor, in a quiet, business-like way. “Mrs Hampton, we want something to form a long broad band to hold him down to the couch, without doing any harm.”

“Why not one of those long curtains?” said George Harrington, pointing to an alcove full of books.

“Yes, the very thing,” cried the doctor, looking in the indicated direction.

George Harrington waited until a paroxysm was over, and the patient had for the moment ceased to struggle, before leaping upon a table and rapidly unhooking the piece of drapery, which was formed into a broad band, and tightly secured across the patient’s chest before being fastened below the couch.

“Half an hour to wait before we can get the medicine, I’m afraid,” said the doctor. “I want to get him composed, and then we might put him in a fly and drive up to his chambers.”

“You’ll never get him away to-night,” said George Harrington bluntly. “Rather hard on the ladies; but he is a relative, and it seems to me that you ought to keep him here.”

“I’m afraid he is right, Hampton,” said the doctor. “Good heavens! what a paroxysm.”

There was a long struggle, during which the delirious man made desperate efforts to get free.

“Down, beast!” he literally growled; and in his terrible fit he seemed to be struggling with the dog. “Down, brute! I’ll dash your brains out! Curse him! how strong he is?”

There was a few moments’ cessation, and Mrs Hampton, who had been wringing her hands by the window, and trying hard to master her emotion, came up to say calmly:

“Can I do anything?”

“Yes. Go and see whom Gertrude has sent,” cried the doctor impatiently. “If that old woman has gone, it will be an hour before she is back.”

Mrs Hampton hurried out, and the sound made by the closing door seemed to startle the sick man into action again.

“Ah, would you?” he growled. “Beast! Devil! What! Bite! Ah!”

He uttered a yell of pain, and clapped his hand upon his injured arm.

“Curse you! take that, and that. Now then! Yes, yelp and snarl. You’ll never bite again. Ah! It’s like red-hot irons going into my flesh; but kill your mad dog, they say, and there’s no harm done.”

“That miserable dog’s attack seems to have quite overset him,” whispered the lawyer. “Good heavens! what a terrible position for us all.”

George Harrington said nothing, but stood at the head of the couch, ready to seize and hold the sufferer the moment the next paroxysm occurred.

He had not long to wait, for with a howl that did not seem human, Saul Harrington made such a start that the couch cracked as if it was being wrenched apart.

“Ah, you here! Watching! But you can’t speak – you can’t tell tales. If I’d known, I’d have silenced you. Lie down, brute! Do you hear – lie down! Hey, Bruno, then; good dog. Lie down, old man,” he said, laughing softly, and talking in a low cajoling tone. “You know me, Bruno. Good dog, then. Lie down, old fellow. Friends, do you hear – friends. Good dog, then.”

He extended a hand toward the dog he imagined that he saw, smiling unpleasantly the while, and then once more he started and yelled horribly.

“Down, you beast! Curse you! Bitten me, have you. I’ll have your life, if I die for it. Beast! Devil! Curse you! Strong, are you? Yes, and I am strong too. Oh, if I had a knife!”

He panted out these words in a series of hoarse cries; and all he while, as far as his hands would allow, he went through the movements of one having a desperate struggle with a great dog – fending off its efforts to get at his throat. Again clapping his hand to his arm with a moan of pain, and ending by striking at the animal which had attacked him blow after blow, to sink back looking hideously ghastly and perfectly exhausted by his efforts.

“Poor fellow!” said the lawyer, as the sick man lay with his eyes half closed. “How unlucky for the dog to spring at him. Seems to have completely shattered his brain.”

“Yes,” said the doctor gravely, as he held his patient’s wrist.

“Terrible work, sir,” continued the lawyer, looking at George Harrington, but the young man made no reply. He was staring thoughtfully at the wretched man, apparently waiting the moment when he must lean over the head of the sofa, and hold him down; but all the while following up a clue which his active imagination painted before him in vivid colours.

For, as he stood there, the wanderings of the delirious man’s brain evoked a chain of ideas, and he saw farther than his two companions, who attributed the violence of the paroxysms to the shock caused by the dog’s attack.

“The trouble must be farther back than that,” he thought. “The dog had dashed at him as if for some former cause,” and the incoherent panting words which he heard better than his companions at the feet could, he read as by the key suggested to his mind. Once started upon this track, all came very easily.

“There must have been some old encounter when the dog had attacked him. His words suggested it all, even to the effect of the encounter. He had been bitten and – then – to be sure, there was that broken walking-stick! – he had retaliated with a blow of such savage violence that he believed he had killed the dog; and, of course, it was perfectly clear – the next time they met, and the poor brute had sufficiently recovered, it had dashed at him.”

Saul Harrington’s breath came in a low, stertorous way, as Mrs Hampton just then re-entered the room, and crept to her husband’s side on tip-toe to whisper:

“Gertrude has gone herself. I’ll go back and wait till she returns.”

George Harrington felt a pang of disappointment as he asked himself why he had not gone, but the reason came to remind him, for as Mrs Hampton stole back to the door, Saul uttered a savage cry, and they had hard work to keep him down, as he threw his head from side to side, gnashing his teeth, snapping, and making a hideous, worrying sound, such as might come from a dog. For some moments no coherent words left his lips – nothing but these terrible, low, hoarse cries, and the doctor whispered from where he stood to George Harrington:

“For heaven’s sake take care. If he bit you now, the consequences might be serious.”

A shudder ran through the young man; but he forgot his own peril in the excitement of hearing the words which now came distinctly to strengthen his theory; as, with convulsed features, and eyes seeming to start as they watched something which the diseased brain had conjure: up, Saul panted savagely:

“Yes, you beast! I see you tracking and watching me. But keep off! I’ll kill you as I would a rat. Hah! Take him off – take him off! My arm! My arm! Don’t you see! His teeth have met and he has torn a piece out. Ah! Down, beast, down! Hah! You had it that time! Curse you! You’ll never do that again. Dead – dead – dead!”

He sank back once more in utter exhaustion, but his lips kept moving feebly, and a curious jerk from time to time sent a spasmodic action through his limbs.

“Yes, that must be it,” thought George Harrington; “the dog had attacked him, and fastened upon his arm, and this injury, which he attributed to a fall on the Alps, was from the bite of the dog, which for some reason – of course so as not to hurt Gertrude’s feelings – he wished to keep quiet. The reason was simple enough. He had struck and nearly killed the dog.”

His musings were interrupted by a fresh paroxysm, so horrible that those who held the delirious man shuddered, and George Harrington felt a strange dread of the doctor’s patient, as it seemed to him probable that this might be all the result of that bite – a form of hydrophobia – that horrible incurable disease which sets medicine knowledge at defiance, and laughs all remedies to scorn.

Saul Harrington’s cries, curses and writhings once more subsided just as the great iron gate was heard to clang.

“Go, and fetch the medicine, Hampton,” whispered the doctor, “and tell them it is impossible to take him away. A bed must be made up on the floor of the study.”

“Yes. Quite right.”

“And they must not come in here again. It is too horrible. Really it is not safe.”

A fierce cry rang out at that moment, and Saul’s strength seemed to be so superhuman that the broad fold of curtain which helped to keep him down parted, and, tossing aside the hands which tried to restrain him, he made for the door, which Gertrude opened.

George Harrington uttered a low cry, which sounded like a quick, sharp expiration of the breath, and leaped across the room to seize the wretched maniac as he was in the act of springing upon Gertrude, who shrank back against the door appalled by the hideous look upon his face.

Then began a terrific struggle, in which, for some time, no aid could be rendered.

No sound escaped Gertrude’s lips, but she stood there white and trembling, as if fascinated by the horror of the scene, while Mrs Hampton held her by the arm with the intention of dragging her away, but only to be so paralysed by terror that she could not stir.

For a good five minutes nothing was heard in the room but the overturning and breaking of furniture, mingled with the hoarse panting animal cries of Saul, who seemed to see in George Harrington the dog he sought to destroy.

In spite of all the others could do, matters went hard with George; but the dexterity of a man used to wild life stood him in good stead, and just as in the midst of a savage, snarling sound Gertrude felt the room swimming round her, and as if insensibility was coming on, there was a heavy crash, and the shock brought her back to life.

George Harrington was seated upon Saul’s chest, as he said in a panting voice:

“Now, doctor, quick! Give him what you have. I can’t hold him long. About beat out.”

The next minute the doctor was on his knees beside the wretched man, seizing any opportunity to trickle a few drops of the strong sedative between the gnashing teeth – a dangerous and difficult task – till a goodly portion had been swallowed as well as scattered over the carpet, and then Saul lay staring and muttering something about the dog.

“I’ve exhibited a tremendous dose,” whispered Doctor Lawrence, as he recorked the bottle. “That must calm him for a time.”

But quite a quarter of an hour passed before Saul sank into a state of stupor; and then after he had been replaced upon the couch, it was wheeled into the study, a more secure bandage placed across his heaving chest; and the exhausted party sat down to watch.

Chapter Thirty Seven

Mr Hampton’s Recipe

Doctor Lawrence’s first action on getting his patient quieted down, was to telegraph off to town for a colleague, and an attendant from the asylum of a friend; but it was too late to expect assistance that night, and so as to be prepared in case of another terrible scene, the gardener’s aid was called in, the man willingly offering to help and sit up with the doctor, to watch.

“You will stay, too, Mr Harrington?” said Mrs Hampton. “Gertrude, my dear, why do you not speak?”

The poor girl gave her old friend a reproachful look, which spoke volumes.

“I should have offered to stay,” said George, “but I felt a delicacy about so doing, and it seemed as if I should be forcing my presence here.”

“If in this time of terrible distress and anxiety,” said Gertrude with quiet dignity, “Mr George Harrington will stay and help us, we shall be most grateful.”

“I can’t make a pretty speech in return for that, Miss Bellwood,” he replied, “but you know how much more comfortable I shall be to know that you are all safe.”

“It will be trespassing sadly upon you,” said Gertrude, in formal tones.

“Yes, terribly,” he said drily. “But it suits me exactly, for I want to sit down and think.”

He had plenty of time for thought during the long hours of that painful night. The ladies ostensibly went off to bed, while the gentlemen occupied the dining-room, the doctor rising from time to time to go in to see his patient, who lay in a complete stupor – overcome for the time being by the potency of the medicine which had been administered.

It was a slow, dreary watch, for all were more or less exhausted by the struggle which they had had, but no one complained, and three o’clock had arrived when, on going once more into the study, the doctor found that the gardener was nodding.

“You will have to go and lie down, my man,” said the doctor coldly.

“Beg pardon, sir; very sorry,” said the man apologetically. “Bit drowsy, but if you’d stop here a quarter of an hour while I go and walk round the yard and garden, kill a few slugs, and have a quiet pipe, I shall come back as fresh as a daisy.”

“Very well, my man, go; but tell the gentlemen in the dining-room first.”

The gardener went out into the kitchen, filled his pipe, took the matches from the chimney-piece, and went out, telling himself that this were the rummest start he knew, and wondering what master would say if he came back and found Mr Saul ill there.

Meanwhile George Harrington sat in the dining-room thinking over the problem he had set himself to solve, till he felt perfectly convinced that Saul had, for some reason, had an encounter with the dog, been severely bitten, and had then nearly killed his assailant, leaving him for dead.

He was just hard at work, trying whether it was possible to connect this with his enemy’s disappearance, when he became aware of the fact that after nodding very peacefully, as if bowing to the counterfeit resemblance of his old friend on the wall, the lawyer suddenly sat up with a jerk.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” he said confusedly; “I am not used to this sort of thing.”

“Then lie down on the sofa and have a nap, sir,” said the young man quietly.

“No, I am not going to give in; but do you know, Mr Blank, I think a cigar and a good glass of toddy would be pleasant, soothing, stimulating and everything good one could say of it.”

“Yes, it would be pleasant,” said George Harrington smiling.

“Then I shall take the liberty, as executor, and poor old James Harrington’s friend, of helping myself.”

“Easier to propose than to perform,” said the old lawyer, after an examination. “Sideboard, cupboards, cellarettes and sarcophagus all locked up. Can’t rouse the ladies; it would be brutal. But I tell you what; I know. Come with me.”

He led the way into the hall, lit a candle, and, leaving it on the slab, went softly into the study, followed by George.

“Still asleep?” he whispered.

“Yes, and calmer,” was the reply.

“Look here, Lawrence, I’ve been thinking that a glass of toddy and one of the old Partagas apiece would be good medicine, eh? Excusable under the circumstances?”

“My dear Hampton, you ought to have been a physician,” said the doctor smiling.

“There, Mr Blank,” whispered the old lawyer, rubbing his hands; “indorsed by the faculty. Here are the cigars,” he said, opening the cabinet and taking out a box; “and here is a spirit-stand, but it is empty, I know; but I thought of going to the cellar and getting a bottle of that old Cognac from the far bin. Would you mind letting me reach to that drawer? Bless my heart, I seem to be quite at home in the old place.”

He opened the drawer, took out the cellar keys softly, nodded to the doctor, and, followed by George Harrington, went out, closed the door carefully, and then descended the passage and the few steps leading to the cellar door.

“Now, I do not hold, Mr Blank,” said the old man, pausing, candle in one hand, keys in the other, before the door, “that you are the rightful heir here; but I do say this, that the real Simon Pure will own as fine a cellar of wine as any man in the country.”

“Many a good bottle of which, my dear sir, I hope we shall discuss.”

“Ah, that remains to be proved. Would you mind holding the candle? Thanks. Look like burglars or debauchees, opening cellars at this time of the night; but my poor old friend had some very choice Cognac. Come along. Now, the other door. Hold up the light. Bin number twenty-four. Bless my soul, what’s that?”

A long, low, dismal howl close behind them nearly made the lawyer drop the long-necked bottle.

“That dog escaped?” cried George Harrington excitedly; and as there was a panting noise, he caught at the collar of the dimly-seen dog as it came by him; but instead of struggling, the great beast rose upon its hind legs, planted its paws upon his breast, threw up its head again, and uttered its dismal howl.

“The gardener must have let him out,” said George quickly.

“And Saul Harrington must be dead,” said the old lawyer, in a solemn whisper, which seemed to run along the roof of the gloomy, crypt-like place.

Chapter Thirty Eight

New Mortar

They hurried to the door as soon as they had recovered from the first shock.

“Look here, sir,” said George, “what shall we do about the dog?”

“Ah, I forgot him. It would be too horrible to let him get into the room where the poor fellow is. Yes, poor fellow! De mortuis, et cetera. Come along, Mr Blank, and we’ll lock the dog in here for a few hours.”

“Good idea,” was the reply; and the outer door of the cellar was locked upon Bruno, who made no attempt to follow; but when they reached the study door, all was perfectly still, and upon George’s turning the handle softly, the doctor quickly raised his head and gave them a nod.

“Got it?” he said. “I’ll have mine here.”

“How is Mr Saul?” said the old lawyer in a trembling voice.

“Unchanged. He will have another paroxysm, though, when the effects of the medicine pass off.”

“Doctor Lawrence,” said George quickly, as he gazed searchingly in the old man’s eyes, “are not these symptoms very similar to those which would occur if a man had been bitten by a savage or mad dog?”

“Almost identical, sir,” said the old doctor. “But Mr Saul assured me that the wound was not a bite, but an abrasure that had gone bad, consequent upon ignorant treatment by a foreign doctor, and was poisoning the blood.”

“Thank you, sir,” said the young man gravely; and as soon as the lawyer had replaced the keys, they quietly left the room, and were on their way to prepare the hot spirit and water, when they stopped short, and Mr Hampton grasped his companion’s arm, as from the cellar, sounding smothered and strange, there came the low howl of the dog.

“We must stop that,” said the lawyer excitedly. “I don’t think I’m at all superstitious, but when you know a patient is in a dangerous state, it is too horrible to have a dog uttering those blood-curdling howls.”

“It does not sound pleasant,” said George thoughtfully.

“Stop a moment; I know,” whispered Mr Hampton; and he went down the passage, and unhooked a baize door fastened back against the wall, the effect being that the sound was deadened, though not destroyed.

“That must do for the present,” he said. “I dread our having another scene with that brute.”

“Is he always as savage and fierce as I saw him?” asked George.

“Oh, dear, no. As a rule the quietest and most docile of animals, but he never seems to have liked Saul Harrington.”

“Is anything the matter?” said a voice in a low whisper, and they found that Gertrude had come softly down the stairs, and that Mrs Hampton was looking over the balustrade.

“No, nothing is wrong,” said George hastily.

“But I heard Bruno howling. Yes: there it is again.”

George explained the reason, and after a few moments’ conversation they were about to return upstairs when, in spite of the closed doors, the dog’s howl came in a deep, low, thrilling tone, and directly after he began to bark in a deep utterance that seemed to vibrate through the house.

“He’ll set that young fellow off again,” said George Harrington sharply. “I’ll try and get him back to the stable.”

“I’ll come and help you,” said Gertrude quietly.

“No; the animal developed such strange ferocity that I don’t think it is safe.”

“Safe? Bruno would not hurt me,” said Gertrude, with a smile.

“Not intentionally, perhaps; but leave him to me.”

There was so much decision in the request – a request which almost sounded like an order, that Gertrude, hardly knowing why, gave way at once, and returned with Mrs Hampton to their room, while in company with the lawyer, George Harrington went back to the cellar door, just within which they could hear the dog snuffing, and every now and then uttering his uneasy whine, followed by a howl.

“What is it, my lad?” said George, with his mouth to the key-hole.

The effect was magical, for the dog seemed to raise himself up against the door, barking wildly, and then they could hear him scratching away the sawdust.

“Lie down, old chap! Lie down, Bruno!” cried George.

There was at this another sharp burst of barking, as if the dog was excitedly striving to get out.

“Shut that baize door, sir,” said George; “and then we must get him out, and back to the stable. He’ll worry the doctor’s patient to death.”

The key was brought forth, and George proceeded to open the door.

“Do you think there’s any danger?” whispered the old lawyer.

“Not a bit.”

“But he seems so savage.”

“Not with me,” said George, as he threw open the door. “Here, Bruno!” he cried.

The dog bounced out, and for the moment it seemed to Mr Hampton that he was about to attack the young man, for he rose on his hind legs, and placed his paws breast-high, barking furiously.

“Come, come; what’s the matter?” said George, seizing him with both hands by the collar. “Don’t you like to be shut up there. Some folks would; eh, sir?”

“I don’t think the brute is safe,” said Mr Hampton. “Pray get him out.”

“Yes, I’ll take him to the stable. Now, Bruno, old chap. Will you lock that door, sir?”

George Harrington had to speak loudly, for the dog was keeping up his excited bark, and mingling it with whines; but the moment the old lawyer moved towards the door the animal dropped down on all fours, shook himself free, and dashed back into the wine-cellar.

“Come out, sir!” cried the lawyer. “I thought he didn’t like the place?”

“Here – Bruno, Bruno!”

The dog responded with a sharp, angry bark, evidently from some distance.

“Oh, I see what it is; he can smell rats.”

“But we can’t have him making that noise in the middle of the night.”

“Come out, sir!” cried George, entering the cellar and calling the dog, who came bounding towards him; but as an effort was made to seize his collar, he sprang round and dashed back.

“Give me the candle, Mr Hampton.”

“No,” said the old man; “you’ll want both hands to him. I’ll light you, or you’ll think I’m a terrible coward. I’m not used to dogs.”

He looked smilingly in his companion’s face, and went to the front.

“I know the cellar better than you do, sir. Good heavens, dog?”

The lawyer and the light were both nearly upset, for as he moved forward Bruno literally rushed at him, but only to turn again and run back right into the depths of the cellar.

“Here, Bruno! Come here, sir!” cried George sternly. “We don’t want to go ratting now.”

But the dog paid no heed to the call, and went on barking furiously, while the next minute they reached the spot where he stood with his head outstretched, making the place echo.

“Come here, you old stupid!” said George good-humouredly; and, taking hold of the dog’s collar with one hand, he patted his head with the other. “Now, then, we don’t want to find rats. Come along.”

The dog looked up in his face, whined, and then swung round and going to the blank patch of whitewashed wall, threw up his head and howled.

“Yes, it must be rats,” said the old lawyer, “behind that bricked-up part. Try and drive him out.”

George Harrington turned sharply on the lawyer.

“Bricked-up part?” he said.

“Yes, there’s another cellar there through that arch, where old Mr Harrington laid down a quantity of wine for his grandson. Well, what is it? Yes; that’s the place.”

George had snatched the candle, and gone to the wall to hold the light close to the whitewashed bricks.