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The Great Secret, a fiction by E. Phillips Oppenheim |
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CHAPTER XI. A LEGACY OF DANGER |
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_ I was scarcely aware myself to what an extent my attention had been riveted upon this strange story of my guest's, until the interruption came. The entry of the cheerful little village doctor seemed to dissolve an atmosphere thick with sensation. I drew a long breath as I rose to my feet. There was a certain measure of relief in the escape from such high tension. "Glad to see you, doctor," I said mechanically. "My friend here, Mr. Guest, Dr. Rust," I added, completing the introduction, "is a little run down. I thought that I would like you to have a look at him." The doctor sniffed the air disparagingly as he shook hands. "Those beastly cigarettes," he remarked. "If you young men would only take to pipes!" "Our insides aren't strong enough for your sort of tobacco, doctor," I answered. "I will leave you with Mr. Guest for a few minutes. You may like to overhaul him a little." I made my way into the gardens, and stood for a few minutes looking out across the park. It was a still, hot evening; the scene was perhaps as peaceful a one as a man could conceive. The tall elms stood out like painted trees upon a painted sky, the only movement in the quiet pastoral landscape was where a little string of farm laborers were trudging homeward across the park, with their baskets over their shoulders. Beyond, the land sloped into a pleasant tree-encompassed hollow, and I could see the red-tiled roofs of the cottages, and the worn, grey spire of the village church. There was scarcely a breath of wind. Everything around me seemed to stand for peace. Many a night before I had stood here, smoking my pipe and drinking it all in--absolutely content with myself, my surroundings, and my life. And to-night I felt, with a certain measure of sadness, that it could never be the same again. A few yards behind me, in the room which I had just quitted, a man was looking death in the face; a man, the passionate, half-told fragments of whose life had kindled in me a whole world of new desires. These two, the man and the girl, enemies perhaps, speaking from the opposite poles of life, had made sad havoc with my well-ordered days. The excitement of his appeal was perhaps more directly potent; yet there was something far more subtle, far stranger, in my thoughts of her. She and her maid and her queer, black-eyed poodle were creatures of flesh and blood without a doubt; yet they had come into my life so strangely, and passed into so wonderful a place there, that I thought of them with something of the awe which belongs to things having in themselves some element of the mystic, if not of the supernatural. The blue of her eyes was not more wonderful than the flawless grace of her person and her environment. I could compare her only with visions one has read and dreamed about in the unreal worlds of poetry and romance. Her actual existence as a woman of the moment, a possible adventuress, certainly a very material and actual person, was hard indeed to realize. I moved a little farther away into the gardens. The still air was full of the perfume of sweet-smelling flowers, of honeysuckle and roses, climbing about the maze of arches which sheltered the lower walks. To-night their sweetness seemed to mean new things to me. The twilight was falling rapidly; the shadows were blotting out the landscape. Out beyond there, beyond the boundaries of my walled garden, I seemed to be looking into a new and untravelled world. I knew very well that the old days were over. Already the change had come. I turned my head at the sound of a footstep upon the gravel path. The doctor was standing beside me. "Well," I asked, "what do you think of him?" He answered me a little evasively. The cheerful optimism which had made him a very popular practitioner seemed for the moment to have deserted him. "Your friend is in rather a curious state of health," he said slowly. "To tell you the truth, I scarcely know how to account for certain of his symptoms." I smiled. "He seems in a very weak state," I remarked supinely. "Is he a very old friend?" the doctor asked. "Why do you ask that?" I inquired curiously. "Simply because I thought that you might know something of his disposition," the doctor answered. "Whether, for instance, he is the sort of man who would be likely to indulge in drugs." I shook my head. "I cannot tell," I said. "There is something a little peculiar about his indifference," the doctor continued. "He answers my questions and submits to my examination, and all the time he has the air of a man who would say, 'I could tell you more about myself, if I would, than you could ever discover.' He has had a magnificent constitution in his time." "Is he likely to die?" I asked. "Not from any symptoms that I can discover," the doctor answered. "Yet, as I told you before, there are certain things about his condition which I do not understand. I should like to see him again in the morning! I am giving him a tonic, more as a matter of form. I scarcely think his system will respond to it!" "It has not occurred to you, I suppose," I remarked, "that he might be suffering from poisoning?" The doctor shook his head. "There are no traces of anything of the sort," he declared. "My own impression is that he has been taking some sort of drug." "Will you come in and have something?" I asked, as we neared the house. The doctor shook his head. "Not to-night," he answered; "I have another call to pay." So I went back into the house alone, and found my guest waiting for me in some impatience. He was lying upon a sofa, piled up with cushions, and the extreme pallor of his face alarmed me. "Give me some brandy and soda," he demanded. "Your village Aesculapius has been prodding me about, till I scarcely know where I am." I hastened to the sideboard and attended to his wants. "Well, did he invent a new disease for me?" he asked. "No!" I answered. "On the contrary, he admitted that he was puzzled." "Honest man! What did he suggest?" "He asked whether you were in the habit of taking drugs," I answered. "Never touched such a thing in my life," he declared. "Neither did I," I remarked grimly, "until last night." And then I told him what had happened to me. He listened eagerly to my story. "So there is a division in the camp," he murmured softly. "I imagined as much. As usual, it is the woman who plays the whole game." "I wonder," I said, "whether you would mind telling me what you know of Miss Van Hoyt?" He moved on the couch a little uneasily. The request, for some reason or other, seemed to disquiet him. Nevertheless, he answered me. "Miss Van Hoyt," he said, "is an American young lady of excellent family and great fortune. She has lived for the last few years in Berlin and other European capitals. She has intimate friends, I believe, attached to the court at Berlin. She is a young person of an adventurous turn of mind, and she has, I believe, no particular love for England and English institutions." "You number her," I remarked, "amongst your enemies?" "And amongst yours," he answered dryly. "Yet it was through her that I was able to bring you away," I remarked. He turned his head towards me. "You are not supposing, for one moment," he said, "that any measure of kindness was included in her motive." "I suppose not," I answered doubtfully. "Listen!" he said, "I fell into a trap at the Universal. I have been in danger too often not to recognize a hopeless position when I see one. I knew that escape for me was impossible. It was not as though my task were finished. I had months of work before me, and I was tracked down, so that I could not have moved except on sufferance. Our genial friend, whom you will remember in the grey tweed suit and glasses, and who has the knack of sticking to any one in whom he is interested like a leech, thought that my death, with as much dispatch as was wise, would be the simplest and pleasantest way out of the difficulty. The young lady, however, plays for the great stakes, She wanted to succeed where others have failed." He paused for a moment, and drank from his tumbler. There were dark lines under his eyes, and I felt that I ought to stop him talking. "Tell me the rest in the morning," I suggested. "I am sure that you ought to go to bed." "You forget," he remarked grimly, "that for me there may be no morning. I am drawing very near the end, or even she would not have dared to let me come. Besides, you must understand, for it must be through you that she hopes--to succeed. She expects that I shall tell you, that you will be the legatee of this knowledge, which she would give so much to gain. And I suppose--don't be offended--that she counts you amongst the fools whom a woman's lips can tempt to any dishonor. You needn't glare at me like that. Miss Van Hoyt is very young and very beautiful. She has not yet learnt all the lessons of life--amongst which are her limitations. You see I do not ask you for any pledge--for any promise. But I do ask you, as an Englishman--and a man of honor--to take my burden from my back, and carry it on--to the end!" I came over to his side. "What does it mean?" I asked quietly. "Death, very likely," he answered. "Danger always. No more sport, no more living in the easy places. But in the end glory--and afterwards peace. A man can die but once, Courage!" "I am not afraid," I answered slowly. "But am I the man, do you think, for a task like this?" "None better," he answered. "Listen, where do you sleep?" "In the next room to yours," I answered. "Good! Will you leave your door open, so that if I call in the night you may hear?" "Certainly! You can have a servant sleep on the couch in your room, if you like." He shook his head. "I would rather not," he answered. "Just now I cannot talk any more. If my time comes in the night, I shall wake you. If not--to-morrow!" _ |
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