Witness to the Deed Part 36

"Exactly, but you are a patient now. There, don't be idiotic. I can read you like a book."

Stratton looked up at him sharply.

"You don't want the doctor to see your wound and know how it came-- there, don't stare in that wild way--leave it to me. It was an accident. You were fooling about with a revolver. Cleaning it, say; and it went off. That's all the doctor need know."

"No one must know even that."

"But your wound must be properly dressed."

"I will not have it touched," cried Stratton decisively. "Now, once more. I am not much hurt. Go."

Guest laughed bitterly.

"No, my boy, you don't get rid of me. I'll stick to you like your conscience."

Stratton's eyes dilated.

"And I'm going to be master here till you are well bodily and mentally."

"I tell you I am not much hurt. Mentally! Pooh, I'm as well as you are."

"Better, of course. Why, what nonsense you are talking!" cried Guest, pointing to the other's wounded shoulder. "Come, don't let us argue more. Give in sensibly, there's a good fellow, and let me do my best for you. I know you see things in a wrong light now, but you'll thank me some day."

They watched each other furtively, and Guest could see how hard his friend was evidently planning to get rid of him, while, on his own part, he was calculating his chances. He knew that mad people were superhumanly strong, but then in spite of his conduct he could not in his own mind grant that Stratton was mad. It was a case of what coroners call "temporary insanity," due to some trouble which had been kept hidden; and if there should be a struggle, Guest felt that he would be more than a match for his friend, injured as he was.

Stratton was the first to speak, in a low voice, which suggested his being faint and in great pain.

"Now I'm better. Will you go and leave me?"

Guest took a chair, and placing its back opposite to his friend, strode across it, and rested his arms on the rail.

"Look here, Stratton, old fellow; I've always trusted you, and you've always trusted me."

"Yes, of course," said Stratton hurriedly.

"Well, then, as your old chum--the man who has stuck to you and is going to stick to you all through this hobble into which you have got yourself--don't you think it would be as well to make a clean breast of it--to me?"

Stratton's eyes dilated as he spoke, and his look was so strange that Guest involuntarily prepared himself for some outbreak.

"You can trust me," continued Guest, and he saw a look of despair come into his friend's countenance. "Come, old chap, what's the use of a friend if he is not to help you? You know I want to."

Stratton's lips parted in an almost inaudible, "Yes."

"Well, then, for poor Myra's sake."

Stratton started as if he had been stung.

"I can't help hurting you, and I repeat--for her sake. She is a woman.

She loves you."

"For pity's sake, don't, don't," groaned Stratton in a voice full of unutterable anguish.

"She loves you, I say," continued Guest firmly; "and, whatever has been the cause of this madness, she will forgive you."

Stratton shook his head slowly.

"But I say she will. Come, we are none of us perfect. I tell you I am fighting for you now as well as myself. Your act this morning injures Edie and me too. So take it like this, old fellow. You have done wrong in some way; is not an attempt to make amends the first step toward showing repentance?"

"You don't know--you don't know," groaned the wretched man.

"Not yet; you will not be open. Come now, be frank with me. In your utter despair, consequent upon your nerves being weak with mental worry, you used that pistol."

Stratton buried his face in his hands.

"The old man was right," continued Guest; "it was a cowardly way to get out of the difficulty. Let me help you. Come, once more, make a clean breast of it."

Stratton's hands fell again, and there was an eager look in his face; his lips parted and he was about to speak, but the look faded away and in a despondent, weary way he sank back once more.

"Very well. I will not press you now," said Guest. "You'll think better of it, old fellow. I'll wait. Now, then, let me help you into your room."

"What for?" cried Stratton suspiciously.

"Because a wounded man must be better lying down."

"So that you can lock me in and go for people--for doctors?"

"He is queer," thought Guest. "The cunning of a man off his head."

As he thought this he rose, walked to the bedroom door, opened it, and took the key out to hand to his friend.

"There, are you satisfied? Look here, Mal, even to better you I will not play any treacherous trick like that?"

"I believe you," said Stratton quietly; and he waved away the hand holding the key.

"So far, so good, then. Will you come and lie down while I fetch a doctor?"

"No. I will not have a doctor. It is a mere scratch."

"Very well. Come and sit down, then."

Stratton shook his head.

"Invalids must be humoured, I suppose. Sit where you are then, and try and have a nap. You'll be calmer afterward--I hope," he added to himself.

Guest changed the position of his chair, took up a book, and crossed to a lounge, but as he was in the act of turning it he saw that Stratton was watching him keenly.

"Don't do that. I want you to leave me now."