III
In the dim light of a shaded table lamp Carlson saw a large double bed of massive and antique construction. At the head was a high and projecting portion of carved woodwork which overhung like a canopy. On the bed he saw the outline of a human body through the coverings.
The head showed a mass of thick dark-brown hair, unbound and falling about the shoulders. The upper part of the face was hidden by a wide bandage wound several times around the head. The arms were bare and lay outside the coverlet. They were well rounded, and the hands were small and beautiful.
Carlson stood silently beside the bed at first, watching the patient's deep and rapid breathing, and assembling his professional manner. The hand nearest him was trembling slightly. As he took it up, to feel the pulse, the arm jerked and the whole body shook, as if under profound nervous tension. A thrill of compassion and pity ran through him as he held the trembling little hand.
"Don't be afraid, Madam," he said rather huskily. "I'm the doctor. I want to feel your pulse." Instantly the trembling stopped and her fingers tightened about his. He noted the pulse rate with his other hand. and found it rapid, about 120. The hand and wrist were burning hot.
He let go of the hand and took a thermometer from his vest pocket, After shaking it down several times he placed it in her mouth and closed her lips with his fingers, saying:
"Hold it that way for five minutes, please." Again he took her hand, pretending to count the pulse beats by his wrist watch, but in reality thinking as hard as he could. The thermometer was actually a one-minute thermometer, but he wished to gain as much time as possible. When at last he took it from her mouth and held it to the light it registered 105. Involuntarily he whistled. Here was a very sick woman, indeed!
"How long have you been sick?"
"Three days." The voice was soft, but deep and sweet.
"Is your throat sore?"
"No."
"Do you cough?"
"No."
"Have you pain anywhere?"
"I hardly know. I feel sick all over."
Carlson thought for a minute. Three days sick, and now a temperature of 105! About time for a skin eruption to begin to show, if it was one of those diseases. He turned to the masked virago who stood beside him.
"I must have more light," he said abruptly. The woman hesitated and looked toward the man.
"What about it?" she jerked out.
"What's the matter with this light?" the man snapped angrily.
"Just that it isn't enough for me, that's all! She may have typhus or smallpox—"
"Hell!" The man jumped backward so quickly that he upset a small table and chair.
"Damn her!" screamed the woman, retreating to the wall.
Carlson, being a doctor and often in contact with contagious and loathsome diseases, had not counted on the terrifying effect of the word "smallpox" on the criminals he was for the moment associated with. But he instantly realized the advantage it gave him, and decided to capitalize it to the limit in the mysterious woman's interests.
After a short but tense silence he said impressively:
"Yes, it may be smallpox. But I cannot say for certain in this light."
The masked man waited a few uneasy seconds. then went to the chandelier and raised a hand to the light key.
"Teresa. See that the bandage is
