Witness to the Deed Part 42

"I give in," he said huskily. "You are right. A little out of order.

Nerves, I suppose. But no doctor. There is no need. I'll--I'll do everything you wish."

"Then you'll come abroad with me?"

"No. No, I cannot. I will not."

"Very well, then, I'm not going to see you grow worse before my eyes. I shall do as I said."

"No, no, for Heaven's sake, don't be so mad as to do that. Look here, Guest. I am ill, and weak, and low. I confess it, but I shall be better here. It is as you say, overstrain. If you force me to go somewhere else, I shall be ten times worse. I'll do anything you advise, yield to you in every way, but I must stay here. The inst.i.tution, you know."

"Leave of absence for a sick man."

"I could not ask for it. Besides, my work will do me good. I should mope and be miserable away."

"Not on the Swiss Alps."

"I tell you I will not go," said Stratton fiercely.

"Very well, I'll be satisfied with what you have promised. So just draw up that blind and open the window wide."

Stratton hesitated.

"At once, man. Your promise. The air of Benchers' Inn is not particularly good; but it's better than this mephitic odour of stuffiness and gas. Why, Mal, old lad, I can smell the methylated spirits in which you preserve your specimens quite plainly."

A faint ring of white showed round Stratton's eyes; but Guest did not notice it, for his back was turned as he made for the window and let in the light and air.

"That's better. Now go to your bedroom, and make yourself look more like the Malcolm Stratton I know. I'll be off now. I shall be back at a quarter to seven, and then we'll go out and have a bit of dinner together."

"No, no; I could not go."

"What! I'm coming, I say, at a quarter to seven, and then we're going out to dine."

"Very well," said Stratton meekly, and his friend left the chambers.

"Only touched a little," said Guest, as he went across the inn, put his head in at the lodge, and nodded pleasantly to Mrs Brade, for she was engaged with someone else.

"Better, Mrs Brade--nothing to mind. He'll soon be all right," he continued to himself. "Poor old chap. Only wants a strong will over him. Wish mine were stronger, and I had a little more manly pluck; but he did not see how nervous I was; and, take it altogether, I did not do so badly."

What time Stratton was pacing his room and talking hurriedly to himself.

"It is horrible," he muttered; "too much for a man to bear. Do I look so wild?"

He stopped in front of an old Venetian mirror, and scanned his haggard countenance for a few moments before turning away with a shudder, to resume his walk up and down the room.

"They could do it," he said fiercely. "I could not help myself. My conduct would be sufficient plea. A visit from a couple of doctors, and no matter what I said, I might be taken away. Medical supervision," he said, with a bitter laugh; "imprisonment till such time as they chose to set me free. Well, it would be pleasant to be able to throw all responsibilities upon someone else if one could only cease to think.

But that would be too terrible. I must give up everything and trust to Guest."

He looked sharply round the room again, and stood listening, for he fancied that he heard a sound, and, stepping softly to the panel door on the right of the fireplace, he placed his ear to the woodwork, and stood listening for some moments.

But he was evidently dissatisfied. He seemed to be trying to make out whether anyone was in Brettison's room but he was listening at the end of a pa.s.sage turned into a closet like his own, and he knew that if the door at the other end were closed it was in vain.

He came away at last with a quick gesture indicating his discontent, and stood hesitating for a few minutes, when he again started and looked wildly toward the fireplace, for he was convinced that he heard sounds in the next chambers.

They ceased, though, directly, and might have come from above; but he once more went back to the panel on the right, listened, and came away dissatisfied still.

"I must know," he said with a heavy sigh; and, taking a bunch of keys from his pocket, he stood selecting one which looked black and rusty, a good-sized key, from among those which had been worn smooth and remained bright.

This done, he stood hesitating; and, looking straight before him, he shrank slowly backward till checked by a bookcase standing against the wall, when with an angry gesture that he should have been startled by the sight of his own ghastly face in the old mirror, he walked straight to the door on the left of the fireplace. Again he paused for a few moments, and then, with the sweat standing in great beads upon his brow, and the hair at his temples wet and clinging, he slowly, and without a sound, inserted the key, turned it in the well oiled lock, and drew open the door, which came toward him with a faint creak.

He stood there peering into the darkness of the narrow, pa.s.sage-like place, listening, and then came away to the other side of the room, thrust off his boots, and went to the window, which he closed again, and drew down the blind before going back to the door--entering, and walking to the end, to stand listening at the panel in the darkness for some minutes before he came out again, acting now with decision, as he went to the door of exit from the room, and slipped the bolt.

Drawing a deep breath, he now hurried across to a little cabinet, from which he drew a bright steel implement, and then, with his brow rugged and his face looking old and worn, he was hurrying across back to the door of the open closet, when he caught his unshod foot in a thick Eastern rug, stumbled forward, and only saved himself from a heavy fall by throwing himself into an easy-chair.

He rose, holding his left wrist as if it were sprained, and then stooped to pick up the steel implement he had dropped on the carpet.

The change which came over the man was terrible as he stopped there, fixed of eye, fascinated as it were, and unable to move, glaring at a place on the carpet laid bare by the rug being kicked over. And a minute must have elapsed before he could tear himself away and draw himself up to hold the back of his hand across his eyes, as if to shut out some horrible vision.

The sigh he heaved was hoa.r.s.e and strange as he dropped his hand again, and hurriedly drew the rug back into its former position.

That done, his mental strength seemed to return, and seizing the steel tool, he listened for a moment, and then hurried into the dark, pa.s.sage-like closet.

At that moment there was a sharp double knock at the outer door, and, active now as a cat, Stratton sprang into the room, listening to faintly heard, descending steps.

Then, opening the inner door, he saw that there was a letter in the box, and satisfied of the cause of the interruption, he closed and bolted the inner door again, and once more crossed to the closet and entered.

Then, from out of the darkness, came sound after sound as if someone was busy at work. Now it was the creaking of a hinge; then a faint rap, as of a lid escaping too soon from a person's hand, and after that, for quite an hour, the rasping and cracking of wood, till Stratton came out bathed with perspiration, and looking more ghastly than ever.

This time he stood wiping the great drops from his dripping brow before taking a flask from a shelf, uns.c.r.e.w.i.n.g the top, and drinking deeply.

He listened again, and once more drawing a deep breath he hurried back into the darkness of the closet, where the creaking noise was repeated, and followed twice by a deep, booming sound, after which there was a long-continued m.u.f.fled gurgling, as of water flowing, and a peculiar odour filled the room.

This was repeated; and at last Stratton reeled out of the place panting, staggered to the window, which he opened a little way by pa.s.sing his hands under the blind, and held his face there to breathe the fresh air before hurrying-back to his writing table. Here he struck a match, lit a taper, and, taking it up, moved toward the closet door like one in a dream, but stopped short, blew out the light, and plunged into the darkness once again.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

GUEST SPEAKS OUT.

"Why not a run to Saint Malo and a couple of months' yachting?"

Sir Mark proposed as a cure foreign travel, but Myra refused to go.

Edie tried vainly to inveigle her into some distraction, and Guest spent a little fortune in concert and opera tickets in trying to persuade her to accompany them, but they were generally wasted.

Miss Jerrold tried hard, too, and was more successful, coaxing her niece to come and stay at her house, or to spend quiet afternoons with her, no one else being admitted. And all the time it was understood that the unfortunate engagement was a subject tabooed; but one day, when Myra was with her alone, Guest having been there by accident when the cousins came--that is to say, by one of his accidents, and at a suggestion from Miss Jerrold that a walk would do Edie good, as her face looked "very pasty," having taken Edie for the said walk--Miss Jerrold seeing the wistful eyes, sunken cheeks, and utter prostration of her niece's face, bethought her of a plan to try and revive interest in things mundane, at a time when the girl seemed to be slowly dropping out of life.

"We've petted and cosseted her too much," said Aunt Jerrold to herself.

"I'll try that."