CHAPTER XVIII.

A DETECTIVE ON THE TRACK.

Boarding-house life tends to make one selfish; “each for himself and God for us all,” is the boarders’ motto. Where people come and go, drifting in and out like weeds upon the tide, deep interests or affections are rare, but even in boarding-houses men are sometimes thoughtful, and women sympathetic. This is especially true in cases of illness. The medical lady and Mrs. Dumaresq rushed to the assistance of Prudence when she stumbled off the sofa in a dead faint. She was conveyed to her room, smelling-salts, strong brandy-and-water from Major Jones’ private store, burnt feathers, and other powerful but unpleasant remedies were applied until she opened her eyes and gasped:

“Where am I? What has happened?”

Before anyone could answer, memory apparently came back to her, for she went into a fit of the wildest hysterics.

“There now! there now!” said Mrs. Dumaresq soothingly.

“Don’t talk to her like that, or she will be twice as bad,” observed Miss Lord in a low stern voice. “Now, Miss Semaphore,” she continued sharply, “that is quite enough. Just you stop laughing and crying, or I shall try the effect of a pail of cold water on you.”

She evidently meant it, and with a few gasping, choking sobs, Prudence subsided. Though there were two or three violent relapses, each was promptly checked in turn, so that she allowed herself to be undressed, put to bed, tucked in, and left quietly weeping, until she fell asleep from sheer exhaustion.

Next morning she was too ill and unstrung to rise. The consuming anxiety that urged her to be up and doing, to recover her lost sister and flee from London, worked her into a fever. The medical woman, who, much to the patient’s distaste, had established herself in the sick-room, and ruled with a rod of iron, absolutely refused to let her rise. Seeing the papers, and reading or writing letters were likewise prohibited. Prudence had neither the bodily strength nor the firmness of character to resist. She simply wept and moaned, and wrung her hands, and swallowed all the nauseous doses the medical woman prepared for her. Meantime, the fever increased so rapidly, and the poor creature was so prostrate, that Miss Lord advised calling in Dr. Creedy, physician-in-ordinary to the Misses Semaphore. Accordingly, without consulting Prudence, Dr. Creedy was sent for. He was a little, fat, bald-headed man, of few words, and thought Prudence very ill indeed. When he left her room he had a long conversation with the medical woman and Mrs. Dumaresq, pronounced the patient to be suffering apparently from the effect of shock, and enquired where her sister was. Mrs. Dumaresq told him Miss Semaphore had gone to the seaside for a change, having herself been seriously and mysteriously ill.

“I think she ought to be communicated with,” said the doctor, “I should not alarm her, but this may be a grave matter, and it would be wise to let her know that Miss Prudence is not very well. She might help us to soothe her, for Miss Prudence has evidently some trouble on her mind. Unless we can remove the cause of her anxiety, my medicines will have little effect.”

“But we don’t know Miss Semaphore’s address, doctor,” objected Mrs. Dumaresq. “I believe she wrote yesterday to say she was better, but her sister did not tell anyone where she had gone to.”

“No doubt our patient will give it to you if you ask her,” said the doctor. He prescribed a composing draught, ordered a certain course of treatment, which the medical woman guaranteed to carry out, then took his hat and his departure.

Mrs. Dumaresq, like Miss Lord, loved anything that gave her a little temporary importance, so Dr. Creedy had no sooner gone than she approached the bedside of Miss Prudence, and said in her sweetest tones:

“I think, dear Miss Semaphore, that perhaps your sister may be uneasy if she does not hear from you. You know the doctor says you are to make no exertion for a day or two. I forget where you said she was staying, but if you will give me her address, I shall have much pleasure in writing to her and telling her all the news.”

To the speaker’s intense alarm, she had not concluded this apparently harmless sentence when Prudence had a relapse so sudden and violent that it at once brought the medical woman on the scene. Without ceremony—her manners had never pleased Mrs. Dumaresq—she bundled the diplomatic lady into the corridor, and left her reflecting bitterly that since the new boarder’s wife had betrayed such inconvenient knowledge of her family, Miss Lord had been much less civil.

After about twenty minutes the medical woman joined her, and enquired abruptly:

“What were you saying to her to set her off like that again?”

“Nothing at all. I cannot account for it. I only asked her for her sister’s address that I might write to her. You heard the doctor say she ought to be told how ill Miss Prudence is.”

“Look here,” exclaimed the medical woman, “this is more of the mystery about her sister which I feel persuaded is at the bottom of her illness. You shouldn’t have mentioned her at all, and the woman in such a state of nerves. I wish I could find out what really is the matter. It seems to me to be all of a piece.”

“Oh! I don’t believe it has anything to do with her sister,” said Mrs. Dumaresq, offended. “Why, she went off in a dead faint last night when no one was speaking of her sister. I thought at the time it was something in that case Major Jones was reading out that affected her.”

“About the baby farming woman?” asked the medical woman. “Why, what earthly effect could that have on her? She could have nothing to do with that.”

“I confess,” said Mrs. Dumaresq, “I don’t see exactly how it could, but I’m persuaded there is some connection between the two. Did you notice her face when he began to read? No? Well, I did, and I never saw horror more plainly depicted on a human countenance. I have been thinking matters over, and putting two and two together. Do you remember the extraordinary tipsy woman that called before dinner on Tuesday? I am certain I heard her say something about a cheque and bringing back a baby. I happened to be going upstairs at the moment, as you may recollect, and stopped on the landing to tie my shoe string.”

“Oh, that’s absurd on the face of it,” said the medical woman. “Miss Semaphore is a perfectly respectable woman, and not likely to be mixed up with people of that kind. Why I was on the stairs at the same time, and I did not hear a word of this; there was certainly something said about a cheque, but not about a baby.”

“But I beg your pardon,” said Mrs. Dumaresq with asperity, “perhaps your hearing is not as good as mine. I certainly heard the woman say threateningly she would bring back the child, or the infant, I forget which word was used, if something were not done.”

“They are charitable,” reflected the medical woman, “perhaps they subscribe to a home or institution, and this was some tipsy pensioner.”

“Perhaps so,” said Mrs. Dumaresq oracularly, “time will tell.”

“I’m certain she is upset about her sister’s mysterious illness.”

“And I’m certain she is upset about that woman’s visit, and that there is some connection between it and the case in the papers. I have an instinct in such matters.”

“Take care it does not mislead you,” said the medical woman. Mrs. Dumaresq again noticed bitterly that her friend was much less deferential since the new boarder’s wife had spoken so abruptly of her brother.

Whatever the cause of the younger Miss Semaphore’s illness, there was no doubt that it had alarmingly increased since Mrs. Dumaresq injudiciously questioned her. Fever, extreme excitability, restlessness, and a tendency to delirium, all manifested themselves, and it was only when a composing draught had been administered, that the patient sank into a troubled slumber. As she sat watching her, the medical lady heard a slight knock at the door, and opened it cautiously.

It was Mary the maid.

“Please ’m,” she said, “there’s a gentleman in the ’all wanting to see Miss Prudence Semaphore.”

“What does he want with her?” asked the medical woman surprised. “Did you tell him she was ill?”

“Please ’m, I don’t know. I did tell him she was ill, but ’e said ’e should see ’er whether or no.”

“I shall go down to him,” said the medical woman with dignity, and she went.

“My good sir,” she began, “Miss Semaphore is extremely ill, and must on no account be disturbed. If you have any message for her, I shall be pleased to deliver it when she is strong enough to attend to business.”

“I come from Scotland Yard, madam,” said the man respectfully, “and my business is with Miss Semaphore herself. I shall not detain her long, but I must see her.”

“Quite impossible,” said the medical woman with decision. “The doctor would never allow it. She is extremely restless and feverish, and has just been given a sleeping draught, so that it would be most dangerous to rouse her. But what do you want with her?”

“She is required to give evidence in a case.”

Her conversation with Mrs. Dumaresq flashed through the mind of the medical woman. Could it be that her theory was right after all? Without considering what she was saying, she asked with an air of confidence and knowledge:

“Is it the baby farming case?”

“Yes,” said the stranger.

“My good gracious heavens!” said the medical woman, sitting down abruptly and heavily on the hall chair. “Who would have thought it? What has _she_ to do with the case?” she asked insinuatingly, but the stranger from Scotland Yard had already repented saying “yes,” and replied:

“I really can tell you nothing about it, madam, my business is entirely personal to Miss Semaphore.”

“Well, she cannot see you, you know,” repeated the medical woman. “I am nursing her, and will not take the responsibility. Can you not call again?”

The stranger hesitated.

“I suppose I shall have to. When do you think she will be able to receive me?”

“If she has a good night, and is kept perfectly quiet to-morrow, she may be able to see you next day, but I can’t answer for it.”

“Very well,” said the man, “I will call again the day after to-morrow.”

The medical woman belied the statement that great bodies move slowly, for she broke the record in speeding to Mrs. Dumaresq’s room. She had scarcely patience to wait for a “come in” in reply to her agitated knock, when she burst out with:

“I do believe you were right after all.”

“How? What do you mean? About what?”

“About that baby farming case. A detective—a detective”—and she paused to observe the look of horror that the face of Mrs. Dumaresq assumed at the word—“has just been here from Scotland Yard to see Miss Semaphore. I told him she was too ill, and asked his business. He said she was required to give evidence in a case, and when I said, ‘Is it a baby farming case?’ he said ‘Yes.’”

“I knew it,” said Mrs. Dumaresq, clasping her hands with fervour. “I knew it from the very moment I saw her face of guilt and terror. Oh! to think that I should be in the same house with such a woman. As sure as you stand there, this address will get into the papers, and what will become of us? If my friends see it, I am lost.”

The two women stood looking at each other blankly.

“The best thing to do,” said the medical woman, “is to go to Mrs. Wilcox, tell her our suspicions, and insist on this—this person being moved the very first moment she is fit.”

“It is horrible, horrible,” ejaculated Mrs. Dumaresq. “When do you think she will be able to go?”

“Not for a couple of days, I fear,” said the medical woman. “It is better to say nothing about this detective to her. It will only agitate her and throw her back, and spoil the chance of her speedy recovery, which, of course, we must promote in every way.”

“My position,” said Mrs. Dumaresq, “is horrible. The idea of knowing such people! What will my friends say?”

“What will all our friends say?” exclaimed the medical woman abruptly. “We are every one in the same position. It will be an awful scandal, and the worst of it is, that I fear this is not the whole story. You take my word, there is more to come out. I had my suspicions from the first, but I am naturally good-natured, and could not bring myself to believe them. Every day, however, confirms their truth. A woman who could for so long deceive us as to her real character, a woman who led me, _me_, to look on her as, at worst, a harmless fool, and was all the time mixed up with police and criminals and baby farmers, is capable of anything.”

“Then you think she is?—she has?” queried Mrs. Dumaresq breathlessly.

“I shan’t say what I think just yet,” said the medical woman. “I will make some searching enquiries first, and if my worst fears are confirmed, I will reveal all to Mrs. Wilcox this evening, and let her take action. My dear, we are lucky if we find she has been guilty of baby farming alone.”