Part 8

Again she glanced at Mrs. Quelton. Was it imagination, or was there already a faint and indefinable change?

“No, that’s nonsense,” she thought. “There couldn’t be, so soon—although I don’t know how often he gives her that priceless tonic.”

Suddenly she wanted to laugh. She had a very vivid memory of Dr. Quelton tapping that bottle with his finger, and saying to Captain Grey that he had a preparation in there which would make his fortune, if he chose.

“It wouldn’t now,” she thought, struggling with suppressed laughter.

There was nothing in that bottle now but water. Just before dinner she had run up to the cupola, emptied its contents into the sink, and filled it from the tap.

The idea had come to her when she overheard the two men talking. It had seemed to her then a plain and obvious duty to destroy the drug that so horribly affected Mrs. Quelton. Fate had allowed her to see which bottle it was. Fate gave her an undisturbed half hour when the doctor and Captain Grey were out; and, to make her plan quite perfect, the liquid in the bottle was colorless and almost without odor.

She had thought it possible that the doctor would not notice the substitution until his unhappy wife had had at least a chance to return to a normal condition. Lexy had meant to wait and to watch, and, when the moment came, to speak to Mrs. Quelton. She had thought that she could warn the doctor’s wife, and implore her not to submit to that hideous domination.

She had scarcely thought of the risk to herself, and it had not occurred to her that there might be serious risk to Mrs. Quelton. She knew almost nothing about drugs and their effects. Her one idea had been to destroy the thing that was destroying Mrs. Quelton. Only now, when it was done, did she realize the mad audacity of her act. A man like Dr. Quelton couldn’t be tricked by such a childish device. He would know what had happened, and who had done it. Very likely he had plenty more of the drug somewhere else. If he hadn’t—

“He’d feel like killing me,” thought Lexy. “I suppose he could, easily enough. He must know all sorts of nice, quiet little ways for getting rid of obnoxious people. Perhaps there was something in my dinner to-night!”

She dared not think of such a possibility.

“No!” she said to herself. “He asked me here just to show me how little I mattered. He knew I’d seen Caroline here, and he asked me to come, because he was so sure I couldn’t do anything. I’m too insignificant for him to bother with. He knows that nobody would believe what I said. He’d only have to say that I was hysterical, and Captain Grey and Mrs. Royce would be obliged to bear him out. He won’t trouble himself about me!”

She stole a glance at him, and, to her profound uneasiness, she found him staring intently at her. A shiver ran down her spine, and she turned back to her book with a very pale face. If only it had been an interesting book, so that she might have forgotten herself for a little while!

The clock struck half past eleven.

“After all, I don’t see why I have to sit here,” she thought. “I shouldn’t exactly break up the party if I went to bed.”

And she was just about to close her book when Mrs. Quelton spoke.

“I’m so tired!” she said in a high, wailing voice. “I’m so tired—so tired—so tired!”

Dr. Quelton hastily rose and came over to her chair.

“Then you must go to bed,” he said. “Come!”

He helped her to rise, and she stood, supported by his arm, her face drawn and ghastly.

“I’m so tired!” she moaned.

Captain Grey came toward her, making a very poor attempt to smile.

“Good night, Muriel!” he said, holding out his hand.

She did not answer, or even look at him. Leaning on the doctor’s arm, she went out of the room, into the hall, and up the stairs. Her wailing voice floated back to them: “I’m so tired—so tired!”

For a moment Captain Grey and Lexy were silent. Then—

“Good God!” he cried suddenly. “I can’t stand this! I—”

Lexy came nearer to him.

“Don’t stand it!” she whispered. “Take her away! Can’t you _see_? Take her away!”

“How can I? Her husband—she doesn’t want to go.”

“Make her! Oh, can’t you see? He’s giving her some horrible drug!”

“You mustn’t be alarmed,” said Dr. Quelton’s voice from the hall. They both looked at him with a guilty start, but his blank eyes were staring past them, at nothing. “It is unfortunate,” he said. “The little excitement of this visit—”

He walked past them into the room and over to the table, where his pipe lay among the chessmen. He lit it deliberately and stood smoking it, with one arm resting on the mantelpiece.

“In her present highly nervous condition,” he went on, “the little excitement of this visit has proved too much for her. I shall drive over to the hospital and fetch a nurse—”

“A nurse!” cried the young man. “Then she’s—”

“There is absolutely no occasion for alarm, as I told you before. A few days’ rest and quiet—”

“Look here, sir!” said Captain Grey. “It seems to me—I’ve no wish to be offensive, or anything of that sort, but it seems right to me”—he paused for a moment—“to get a second opinion.”

“I shouldn’t advise it,” replied the doctor blandly.

“Possibly not, sir; but perhaps you would be willing to oblige me to that extent. I don’t want to insist—”

“I wouldn’t, if I were you.”

There was a faint flush on the young man’s dark face.

“Nevertheless—” he began, but again the doctor interrupted him.

“My dear young man,” he said, “you oblige me to be frank. I should have preferred a discreet silence; but as you are obviously determined to make the matter as difficult as possible, you must hear the truth. For some years your sister has been addicted to the use of certain drugs. When I discovered this, I set about trying to cure the addiction. You probably have no idea what that means. I venture to say that there is nothing—absolutely nothing—more difficult in the entire field of medicine. I have been working on the case for more than a year, and I have made distinct progress; but it will be some time before the cure is completed, and I can assure you that it never will be unless I am left undisturbed. There is no other man now living who can do what I am doing.”

He spoke gravely and coldly, and his blank eyes were fixed upon Captain Grey with a sort of sternness; but Lexy had a curious impression—more than an impression, a certainty—that within himself Dr. Quelton was laughing.

“If you care to take another doctor into your confidence,” he went on, “I can scarcely refuse permission; but you will regret it.”

The young man said nothing. He turned away and stood by the open window, looking out into the dark garden. Lexy waited for a moment. Then, with a subdued “Good night,” she went out of the room, up the stairs, and into her own room.

“It’s a lie!” she said to herself.

XIX

“Then you’re not going to do anything?” asked Lexy.

“My dear Miss Moran, what in the world can I do?” returned Captain Grey, with a sort of despair.

They were sitting together on the veranda in the warm morning sunshine. They had had breakfast in the dining room, with the doctor—an excellent breakfast. The doctor had been at his best—courteous, affable, very attentive to his guests. Everything in his manner tended to reassure the young soldier.

Everything in the world seemed to tend in that direction, Lexy thought. A Sunday tranquillity lay over the country. Church bells were ringing somewhere in the far distance. The windows of the library stood open, and the parlor maid was visible in there, flitting about with broom and duster. Everything was peaceful and ordinary, and Captain Grey had come out on the veranda and attempted to begin a peaceful and ordinary conversation.

But Lexy had no intention of allowing him to enjoy such a thing. She felt pretty sure that her time in this house would not be long. She had caused Dr. Quelton an anxiety that he could not conceal. She had got in his way. She could not tell whether he had discovered her trick yet, but the effects were manifest; and if he didn’t know now, he would very soon, and then—

Captain Grey must carry on when she was gone.

“You’re properly satisfied—with everything?” she went on mercilessly. “You’re not allowed even to see your sister. No one can see her. You’re not allowed to call in another doctor.”

“Even if I’m not properly satisfied,” he answered, “what can I do? In her husband’s house, you know—I can’t make a row.”

“Why can’t you?”

He looked at her, startled and uneasy. Her question was ridiculous. Why couldn’t he make a row? Simply because he couldn’t; because he wasn’t that sort; because it wasn’t done; because almost anything was preferable to making a row.

“Of course, if you have a blind faith in Dr. Quelton—” she persisted.

“Well, I haven’t,” he admitted; “but—”

“Then let’s go upstairs and see her. The doctor has gone out.”

“But the nurse—”

“Put on your best commanding officer’s air,” said Lexy. “You can be awfully impressive when you like. If I were you, there’s nothing I’d stop at.”

“Yes, but look here—what can I say to Quelton when he hears about it?”

“Laugh it off,” said Lexy.

The idea of Captain Grey trying to laugh off anything made her grin from ear to ear.

“Not much of a joke, though, is it?” he said rather stiffly. “Suppose he hoofs us out of the house?”

“Oh, dear!” cried Lexy. “You’re not a bit resourceful! Let’s try it, anyhow. It’s horrible to think of her shut up like that. Perhaps she’s longing to see you.”

He rose.

“Right-o!” he said. “Let’s try it!”

Together they went up the stairs and down the hall of the other wing, opposite that in which Lexy’s room was. Captain Grey knocked on a door, and a quiet, middle-aged little nurse came out.

“I’ll just pop in to see how my sister’s getting on,” said the young man, and Lexy silently applauded his toploftical manner.

“I’m sorry,” said the little nurse, “but Dr. Quelton has given strict orders—”

“Er—yes, quite so!” he interrupted suavely. “I shan’t stop a minute.”

He came nearer, but the nurse drew back and stood with her back against the door.

“Dr. Quelton has given strict orders—” she repeated.

“No more of that, please!” he said with a frown. “I’m going to see Mrs. Quelton for a moment. Stand aside, please!”

He did not raise his voice, but the quality of it was oddly changed. Lexy felt a thrill of pleasure in its cool assurance and authority. Perhaps he objected very much to “making a row,” but what a glorious row he could make if he chose! If he would only once face Dr. Quelton like this!

“Stand aside, if you please!” he repeated, and the poor little nurse, very much flustered, did so.

“I’m afraid Dr. Quelton will be—” she began, but Captain Grey had already entered the room.

The nurse followed him, closing the door after her. Lexy opened it at once and went in after them. She caught a glimpse of the young man and the nurse vanishing through one of the long windows that led out to the balcony. For a moment she hesitated, looking about her at the big, dim room. The dark shades were pulled down, and not a trace of the spring’s brightness entered here.

Then she heard Captain Grey’s voice speaking.

“My dear, my dear!” he said. “Can I do anything in the world for you? My dear!”

There was no answer. Lexy crossed the room to the window and looked out. The balcony, too, was dim, with Venetian blinds drawn down on every side, and on a narrow cot lay Muriel Quelton. There was a bandage over her forehead and covering her hair, and under it her face had a mystic and terrible beauty. She was as white as a ghost, with great dark circles beneath her eyes; and she was so still—so utterly still—that Lexy was stricken with terror.

Captain Grey was sitting beside her in a low chair, holding one of her lifeless hands, and Lexy saw on his face such anguish as she had never looked upon before.

“My dear!” he said again.

Her weary eyes opened and looked up at him. Then the shadow of a smile crossed her face.

“Stay!” she whispered.

Lexy drew nearer. Tears were running down her cheeks. She tried to read the nurse’s face, but she could not.

“How is—she—getting on?” she asked, speaking very low.

“Lexy!” came a voice from the cot, almost inaudible. “Take it—the top drawer—of the bureau—for you.”

“But do you mean—I don’t understand!” cried Lexy.

“Hush, please!” said the nurse severely. “Mrs. Quelton is not to be excited.”

Lexy was silent for a moment. Then, just as she was about to speak, her quick ear caught a very unwelcome sound—the sound of a horse’s trot. She turned away and went back through the window into the room. Dr. Quelton was coming home. She couldn’t wait to find out what Muriel Quelton had meant. Once more she was compelled to do the best she could amid a fog of misunderstanding.

“Lexy—take it—the top drawer—of the bureau—for you.”

That was what she thought Mrs. Quelton had said, and she acted upon that premise. She crossed the room to the bureau, and opened the top drawer. In the dim light that filled the shuttered room she could not see very clearly; but, as far as she could ascertain, there was nothing in the drawer except some neatly folded silk stockings, a satin glove case, some little odds and ends of ribbons, and a pile of handkerchiefs. She looked into the glove case—nothing there but gloves. There was nothing hidden away among the stockings, nothing among the ribbons.

She heard the front door close and a step begin to mount the stairs, deliberate and heavy, in the quiet house. In haste she went at the pile of handkerchiefs. There were dozens of them, all of fine white linen, all with a “2” embroidered in one corner—very uninteresting handkerchiefs, Lexy thought; but halfway through the pile she came upon one that she had seen before.

It was so familiar to her that at first she was not startled or even surprised. It was a handkerchief that she had embroidered for Caroline Enderby.

She took it up and looked at it with a frown. Then she heard Dr. Quelton’s step in the hall outside. She tucked the handkerchief in her belt, and tried to close the drawer, but it stuck. Her heart was beating wildly, her knees felt weak. He would find her there, like a thief!

But the footsteps went on past the door. She waited for a moment, and then went noiselessly across to the door, opened it, looked up and down the empty corridor, and ran, like a hare, back to her own room.

Caroline’s handkerchief! Was that what Mrs. Quelton had meant her to find? Or had she discovered it by accident? Did it mean that Mrs. Quelton was at heart her ally? Or was this little square of linen all that was left of Caroline?

Lexy took it out of her belt and looked at it again, and her tears fell on it. Whatever else it might imply, it told her clearly enough that her friend _had been there_. Poor Caroline—the helpless little captive who had left her prison to be lost in the strange world outside—had come here, and she had brought with her the handkerchief that Lexy had embroidered for her. It had come now into Lexy’s hand, a mute and pitiful emissary, whose message she could not understand.

“What shall I do?” she thought. “Oh, what must I do? Perhaps it’s time for the police. Perhaps, if I show this to Captain Grey, he’ll believe me. There must be some one, somewhere, who’ll believe me and help me!”

There was a knock at the door.

“Yes?” she said.

“Open the door!” ordered Dr. Quelton’s voice.

“No!” Lexy promptly replied.

She put the handkerchief inside her blouse and stood facing the closed door, with her hands clenched. Now he knew! She heard him laugh quietly.

“Perhaps you’re right,” he said. “It is better, perhaps, for us not to meet again. Even making every allowance for your hysterical, unbalanced mind, I find it difficult to excuse this latest manifestation which I have just this moment discovered. It was you, of course, who filled that bottle with water?”

She did not answer.

“Why you did it, I don’t know,” he went on, “and probably you don’t know yourself. It was the wanton mischief of an irresponsible child, but the consequences in this instance are serious—very serious. Mrs. Quelton will suffer for them. I doubt if she will recover. No, Miss Moran, you are too troublesome a guest. You had better go—at once!”

“All right!” said Lexy, in a defiant but trembling voice.

“At once!” he repeated. “I shall send your bag this afternoon.”

XX

“I don’t care!” said Lexy to herself. “I’ll come back!”

She did not wish to have her bag sent after her. She packed it in great haste, put on her hat and coat, and, opening the door of her room, stepped out cautiously and looked up and down the corridor. There was no one in sight, so she picked up her bag and set forth.

She was running away—worse than that, she was being driven away; but just at the moment she could see no other course open to her. She could not appeal to Captain Grey while he was in such distracting anxiety about his sister. It would be cruel, and it would be useless. What could he do? If Dr. Quelton did not want her in his house, certainly his brother-in-law could not insist upon her staying.

“No!” she reflected. “He would only think it was his duty as a gentleman to leave with me, and he would be miserable, not knowing what became of his sister. I’ve got to go, that’s all; but, by jiminy, I’ll come back! And then we’ll see how much more wanton mischief this irresponsible child can manage!”

There was in her heart a steady flame of anger. Hatred was not natural to her, but her feeling for Dr. Quelton came dangerously near to it. For Caroline’s disappearance, for Mrs. Quelton’s pitiful state, for her own humiliation and suffering, she held him responsible; and she meant to settle that score.

She met no one on her way through the house. She went down the stairs, opened the door, and stepped out into the dazzling sunshine. It was a warm day, her bag was very heavy, and the three-mile walk to Mrs. Royce’s was not inviting. It had to be done, however, and off she started.

The lane was thick with dust, and it was hard walking with that heavy bag, but she went on at a smart pace as long as she thought any one could possibly see her from the cupola. Then she set down the bag and rested for a moment.

“There’s a certain way to carry things without strain,” she thought. “I read about it in a magazine. You use the muscles of your back, or your shoulders, or something.”

But she couldn’t remember how this was to be done; so, picking up the bag in her usual way, went on again. Obviously her way was a very wrong way, for by the time she had reached the end of the lane her fingers were cramped and painful, and her arms ached; and there was the highway, stretching endlessly before her under the hot noonday sun—two miles of it or more. There was no reasonable chance of a taxi, and she knew no one in the neighborhood who might come driving by. There was nothing in sight but a man walking along the road toward her, and that didn’t interest her.

She went on as far as she could, and then stopped under a tree, to rub her stiffening arms.

“I wonder,” she thought, “if I could hide this darned old bag somewhere, and send Joe for it later!”

But her nicest clothes were in it, and the risk was too great. With a resentful sigh she lifted it and stepped out again. The man coming along the road was quite close to her now. She stopped short, and so did he.

“Lexy!” he shouted, and came toward her on a run, with a wide grin on his sunburned face.

She dropped the bag with a thump, and stood waiting for him. He held out both hands, and she took them.

“Oh, golly!” she cried. “I’m so glad you’ve come, Mr. Houseman!”

“So am I!” he said. “Ever since I got that last letter from you—”

“Last! I only wrote one.”

“Well, I got two,” he told her. “The second one came yesterday, about this doctor, and the roses, you know.”

“Mrs. Royce must have posted it!” said Lexy. “I wrote it, but I didn’t mean it to be sent to you unless something happened to me.”

“Enough has happened to you already!”

“More things are going to happen,” said she. “Lots more!”

It suddenly occurred to her that the proper moment had come for withdrawing her hands from Mr. Houseman’s firm grasp. Indeed, she thought the proper moment might already have passed, and a warm color came into her cheeks.

The young man flushed a little himself.

“I didn’t mean to call you that,” he said; “but Caroline used to write a lot about you, and she always called you ‘Lexy,’ so I got into the way of thinking of you—like that.”

“I don’t mind,” Lexy conceded.

There was a moment’s silence.

“Charles is my name,” he observed.

Another silence.

“Queer, isn’t it?” he said seriously.

“Here we’ve only seen each other once, and yet somehow it seems to me as if I’d known you for years!”

“Well, the circumstances are rather unusual,” said Lexy.

“You’re right! But look here—we’ve got to talk about all this. Where were you going?”

“Back to Mrs. Royce’s.”

“Let’s go!” he said cheerfully, and picked up the bag as if it were nothing at all.

“But where were _you_ going?” asked Lexy.

“To find you. You see, we ran into some awfully bad weather, and the engines broke down, and we came back for repairs; so I got your letters. I explained to the old man that I’d have to have leave, for some very important business, and off I came to Wyngate. Your Mrs. Royce told me you’d gone out to the Queltons’. I didn’t like that. Why did you go there, after what had happened?”

“I’ll tell you all about that later,” said Lexy; “but now you’ve got to tell me things. How did you ever meet Caroline? How in the world did she manage to write to you?”

“Well, you see, I met her about a year ago, on board the Ormond. She and her parents were coming back from France, and I was third officer, you know. Her mother and father were seasick most of the time, so we had a chance to—to talk to each other; and, you see—”

“Yes, I see!” said Lexy gently.

“One of the servants—a girl called Annie—used to post Caroline’s letters for her, and I used to write to her in care of Annie’s mother. We never had a chance to meet again, after that trip. I wanted to come to the house and see her people, but she said it wasn’t any use; and from what I saw of them on the Ormond I dare say she was right. I wouldn’t have suited them. I haven’t any money, you know—nothing but my pay; but it was enough for us to live on. Other fellows manage!”

He was silent for a moment.

“After all,” he said, “I’m not a beggar. I can hold my own pretty well in the world, and I could look after a wife.”

“I know it!” cried Lexy, with vehemence. She felt curiously touched by his words, and quite indignant against the Enderbys and any one else who did not appreciate him.

“I asked Caroline to marry me,” he went on. “I told her I couldn’t give her much, but we could have had a jolly sort of life. Look here! Are you crying?”

“A little bit,” Lexy admitted; “but don’t pay any attention to it. Go on!”

“That’s about all there is. She said she would meet me here in Wyngate, because that’s the nearest station of the main line to some little place where a nurse or a governess of hers lived.”

“Miss Craigie!”

“Never heard the name. Anyhow, she wanted to go there after we got married, and—I wish you wouldn’t look like that!”

“But I’m so _awfully_ sorry for you!”

“It was pretty hard, at first,” he said; “but—well, you see, I’ve thought a bit about it, and after all I’m glad we didn’t get married.”

“Oh!” cried Lexy, profoundly shocked. “But that’s—”

“Because I—you see, she didn’t—well, I don’t think she really liked me very much.”

Lexy was astounded.

“Fact!” said he. “What she wanted was romance, and all that sort of thing. She wanted to get away from home, and I was the only chance she had; so there you are!”

“That wasn’t very fair to you!”

“I don’t blame her,” he said thoughtfully. “We were both—but what’s the sense of talking about all that? The thing is to find her!”

Lexy agreed to that promptly.