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Great Secret

<h2 id="id00545" style="margin-top: 4em">CHAPTER VIII</h2> <h5 id="id00546">IN THE TOILS</h5> "This," the nurse said, after a moment's somewhat awkward pause, "is the doctor—Dr. Kretznow!" A tall, awkwardly built man, wearing heavy glasses, turned away from the bedside, and looked at me inquiringly. "My name is Courage, doctor," I said; "I am an acquaintance of your patient's." The doctor frowned on me as he picked up his hat. "I have given no permission," he said, "for my patient to receive visitors." "I trust that you don't consider him too ill," I answered. "I was hoping to hear that he was better!" "He is doing well enough," the doctor declared, "if he is left alone. But," he added, in a lower tone, "he is a sick man—a very sick man." I glanced towards the bedside, and was shocked at the deathly pallor of his face. His eyes were half closed. He had not the air of hearing anything that we said. I walked towards the door with the doctor. "What is the matter with him, doctor?" I asked. He glanced towards me suspiciously. "I was told," he said, "that my patient was without friends here, or any one for whom he could send." "I have only known him a very short time," I answered, "but I am interested in him. If I may be allowed to say so, I am perfectly willing to defray any charges—" He stopped me impatiently. "I am physician to the hotel," he said, "Mr. Blumentein arranges all that with me!" "Then perhaps as I have told you I am interested in him, I can trespass so far upon your courtesy as to inquire into the nature of his ailment," I said. "I am afraid," he said, "that as you are not a medical man, I could scarcely make you understand." "There was—an accident, I think," I began. "A trifle! Nothing at all," the doctor declared hastily. "The trouble is with his heart. You will excuse me! I have many calls to make this evening." "Perhaps you would kindly give me your address," I said. "Dr. Mumford, the heart specialist, is an acquaintance of mine. You would not object to meet him in consultation?" He looked at me for a moment fixedly. "It is not at all necessary!" he declared. "If Mr. Blumentein is not satisfied with my conduct of the case, I will withdraw from it at once! Otherwise, I shall not tolerate any interference!" He left me without another word. I returned to the bedside. As I approached, Guest deliberately opened one eye and then closed it again. I addressed him in French: "How are you?" "About as I am meant to be," he answered. The nurse came over to the bedside. "It is not well for the gentleman to talk to-night," she said. "The doctor has said that he must be quite quiet." "I shall only stay a few minutes," I answered; "and I will be careful not to disturb him." She stood quite still for a moment, looking sullenly at us. Then she turned away and left the room. Guest raised himself a little in the bed. "She has gone to fetch one of my—guardians," he remarked grimly. "I am going to take you away from here—down to my home in the country," I said. "Do you think you can stand the journey?" "Whether I can or not makes no difference," he answered. "I shall never be allowed to leave this room alive." The Britisher in me was touched. "Rubbish," I answered, "if you talk like that, I shall go to Scotland Yard at once. I tell you frankly, I don't like your nurse. I don't like your doctor, I don't like their shutting you up in this lonely part of the hotel, and I can't understand the attitude of Mr. Blumentein at all. He must know what he is risking in attempting this sort of thing, in London of all places in the world." He interrupted me impatiently. "Don't talk about Scotland Yard," he said. "These people are not fools. They would have a perfect answer to any charge you might bring." "You don't mean that you intend to lie here and be done to death?" I protested. "Death for me is a certain thing," he answered. "I have been a doomed man for months. There was never a chance for me after I entered the portals of this hotel. I knew that; but I backed my luck. I thought that I might have had time to finish my work—to lay the match to the gunpowder." "Listen," I said, "there is a lady—a young lady staying here, a Miss Van Hoyt." "Well?" "It was her suggestion that I should take you away with me!" His eyes seemed to dilate as he stared at me. "Say that again," he murmured. I repeated my words. He raised himself a little in the bed. "What do you know of her?" he asked. "Not much," I answered. "She came to Lord's cricket ground. My cousin was with her. We have spoken about you." "You know—" "I know that she is or appears to be one of your—what shall I say—enemies." "She is willing," he repeated, "for me to go away with you! Ah!" A sudden understanding came into his face. "Yes!" he declared hoarsely, "I think that I understand. Go back to her! Say that I consent. She—she is different to those others. She plays—the great game! Hush! I go to sleep!" He closed his eyes. The door opened, and the nurse entered, followed by a man who bowed gravely to me. He was still wearing a grey tweed suit and a red tie; his eyes beamed upon me from behind his gold-rimmed spectacles. "Ah!" he exclaimed softly, "so you have come to see your friend. It is very kind of you! I trust that you find him better." I pointed to the nurse. "Send her away," I said. "I want to talk to you!" "We will talk with pleasure," the newcomer answered, "but why here? We shall disturb our friend. Come into my room, and we will drink a whisky and soda together." "Thank you, no!" I answered dryly. "I will drink with you at the bar, or in the smoking-room if you like—not in your room." He bowed. "An admirable precaution, sir," he declared. "We will go to the smoking-room." I glanced towards the bed. Guest was sleeping, or feigning sleep. My companion's eyes followed mine sympathetically. "Poor fellow!" he exclaimed. "I am afraid that he is very ill!" I opened the door and pushed him gently outside. "We will go downstairs and have that talk," I said. We found a quiet corner in the smoking-room, where there was a little recess partitioned off from the rest of the room. My companion drew a small card-case from his pocket. "Permit me, Mr. Courage," he said, "to introduce myself. My name is Stanley, James Stanley, and I come from Liverpool. Waiter, two best Scotch whiskies, and a large Schweppe's soda." "Mr. Stanley," I said, "I am glad to know a name by which I can call you, but this is going to be a straight talk between you and me; and I may as well tell you that I do not believe that your name is Stanley, or that you come from Liverpool!" "Ah! It is immaterial," he declared softly. "I want to speak to you," I said, "about the man Guest upstairs. It seems to me that there is a conspiracy going on against him in this hotel. I want you to understand that I am not prepared to stand quietly aside and see him done to death!" My companion laughed softly. He took off his spectacles, and wiped them with a silk handkerchief. "A conspiracy," he repeated, "in the Hotel Universal. My dear sir, you are letting your indignation run away with you! Consider for a moment what you are saying. The hotel is full of visitors from all parts of England. It is one of the largest and best known in London. Its reputation—" "Oh! spare me all this rot," I interrupted rudely. "Let me remind you of what happened two nights ago, when you broke into my room in search of Guest." "Ah!" he remarked, "that, no doubt, must have seemed an odd proceeding to you. But, in the first place, you must remember we had no idea that the room was occupied. We were very anxious to have an explanation with our friend, purely a business matter, and he had irritated us both by his persistent avoidance of it. We have had our little talk now, and the matter is over. My partner has already left, and I am returning to Liverpool myself to-morrow or the next day. I fear that you were misled by my language and manner on that unfortunate evening. I am sorry; but I must admit that I was over-excited." "Very good," I said. "Then, perhaps, as you are so fluent with your explanations, you will tell me why Mr. Guest has been removed to a part of the hotel which I am quite sure that no one knows anything about, is being attended by a doctor of most unprepossessing appearance, and a nurse who treats him as a jailer would!" Mr. Stanley's face beamed with good-humored mirth. "You young men," he declared, "are so imaginative. Mr. Guest has simply been removed to the part of the hotel which is reserved for sick people. No one likes to know that they have anybody next door to them who is seriously ill. As for the doctor, he is a highly qualified practitioner, and visits the hotel every day by arrangement with the manager; and the nurse was sent from the nearest nurses' home." "You think, then," I continued, "that if I were to go to Scotland Yard, and tell them all that I know, that I should be making a fool of myself." Mr. Stanley's eyes twinkled. "Why not try it?" he suggested. "There is a detective always in attendance on the premises. Send for him now, and let us hear what he says." "Very well, Mr. Stanley," I said, "your explanations all sound very reasonable. I am to take it, then, that if Mr. Guest desired to—say leave the hotel to-morrow, no one would make any objection!" Mr. Stanley was almost distressed. "Objection! My dear sir! Mr. Guest is his own master, is he not? He pays his own bill, and he leaves when he likes. At present, of course, he is not able to, but that is simply a matter of health." "I am proposing," I said, "to take Mr. Guest away with me into the country to-morrow." Mr. Stanley looked at me steadily. There was a subtle change in his face. I was watching him closely, and I saw the glint of his eyes behind his spectacles. I began to think I had been rash to lay my cards upon the table. "I am afraid," he said gently, "that you are proposing what would be—certain death to Mr. Guest—in his present state of health." "I am afraid," I replied, "that if I leave him here, it will also be—to certain death!" Mr. Stanley called to the waiter. "One small drink more, and I must go to bed," he said. "Up to a certain point, I agree with you. I believe that Leslie Guest is a dying man. Whether he stays here or goes makes little difference—very little difference indeed to me. Your health, Mr. Courage! A farewell drink this, I am afraid!" I raised my tumbler to my lips, and nodded to him. Then I rose to my feet, but almost as I did so, I realized what had happened. The floor heaved up beneath my feet, my knees trembled, I felt the perspiration break out upon my forehead. Through the mist which was gathering in front of my eyes, I could see the half-curious, half-derisive glances of the other occupants of the room; and opposite, Mr. Stanley, his eyes blinking at me from behind his spectacles, his expression one of grieved concern. I leaned over toward him. "You d——d scoundrel!" I exclaimed. After that, my head fell forward upon my folded arms, and I remembered no more! <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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