The Death-Doctor/13
CHAPTER XIII
IN WHICH MRS. AUBERON'S SECRET IS REVEALED
I WONDER, my trusted friend, if you remember that September day when you, after a consultation in Abingdon Road, lunched at my house, and we opened that bottle of most excellent '64 port which old Glynn in Campden Hill had sent me?
That same evening you, in your ignorance, would insist upon seeing me off upon a holiday from Charing Cross, though your presence on the platform cost me a first-class ticket to Paris. I tried to induce you not to come, for I had no intention whatever of going to the Continent. But you were inexorable, so I was compelled to buy a ticket and travel as far as Dover, just because I wished it to be thought that I had gone to Italy.
I had left young Saunderson in charge as locum tenens. You will remember him—a tall, dark, thin fellow, who drifted up and down the country making love to every lady-patient he came across. You will remember, too, how hard-worked I had been with that epidemic of influenza, and you yourself, who had just been on holiday, suggested that I should run out to Palermo.
I know that my face was pale and drawn, and, by Jove, I think yours would have been if you had been dreading the ugly revelation of which I then stood in hourly fear. It was a case of blackmail over a certain little affair. Suffice it to say that one night I had received a knock-down blow—a visit from a woman.
A third person knew sufficient to put me into the dock at the Old Bailey!
Phew! I grow hot all over when I reflect upon it.
Well, I decided upon having a much-needed change, and, as you know, I left Charing Cross by the night-mail for Dover. But instead of crossing to Calais I slept the night at the "Lord Warden," and on the next afternoon alighted at the quiet, little old-fashioned town of Ashburton, which, perhaps you know, is situated at the end of a branch line from Totnes, in Devonshire, and, being in close proximity to the heather-clad slopes of breezy Dartmoor, is very popular as a holiday centre.
As I stepped upon the platform a smart chauffeur met me, my traps were quickly stowed into a powerful grey Daimler, and in a few moments we were tearing along the leafy Devonshire lanes, away in the direction of the Moor.
I sat back with my cigarette and reflected.
This visit of mine was, indeed, a curious one—as curious as the circumstances which had induced it.
Perhaps I had better describe them.
One night, about three months before, just as I had thrown down the evening paper with thoughts of bed, the telephone bell rang, and a woman's refined voice asked me to call at an address in Queen's Gate, a few doors from Old Brompton Road, which, as you know, is a high-class neighbourhood about half a mile from my house. Scenting a wealthy patient, I promised to go at once, and on arrival found the house a large, old-fashioned one, drab painted, with porch and deep basement.
In the drawing-room, to which I was shown by a grave, white-headed man-servant, I was greeted by a rather handsome woman of thirty in a dinner-gown of black satin and sequins, reheved by a bunch of scarlet flowers in the corsage.
"My husband has been taken very ill this evening, Dr. d'Escombe," she said, after thanking me for coming at that hour. "I would be so very grateful if you would see him."
I bowed and expressed readiness to do all in my power. Then, after a few minutes' conversation, she told me that her name was Auberon, and that they had come into the neighbourhood quite recently.
As our eyes met I noted that she was extremely handsome. I also knew instinctively that she was endeavouring to make an impression upon me.
Why is it. Brown, that women are so fond of flirting with their doctor? Ah! How many times has a pale, pinched face lying upon a pillow "made eyes" at me; how many times has a convalescent patient, sitting by her fire, put out a tiny foot and shapely ankle for my admiration. And how many times, too, has a woman sniggered provocatively when I have held my stethoscope upon her bared breast.
But enough! You know me sufficiently well to be aware that I am only a ladies'-man when I have a distinct purpose in view. The medical man who allows himself to fall beneath the blandishments of his patients of the opposite sex is instantly a lost soul. The "dear doctor" must be ever wary, and constantly on the look-out for pitfalls spread before him by those who, eager for flirtation, are not sufficiently bold enough to do it outside their own homes. With the doctor, the confidant of the family, a secret understanding is so very easy.
Towards Mrs. Auberon I preserved a purely professional and correct attitude, and followed her upstairs into the large, handsomely-furnished room, where I found a grey, bald-headed man in pink pyjamas, much older than herself, lying in bed.
I was left alone with my patient. After a few questions which he answered in a weak voice, I made careful diagnosis, found a high temperature, took a swab from the throat, placed it in a sterile tube, and then promising to send a mixture spoke some cheery words, and left the room.
As I opened the door I distinctly heard the frou-frou of disappearing skirts, and knew that the sick man's wife had been listening at the door.
Having descended the stairs to the dining-room she soon joined me, all anxiety to know my opinion.
"At present, Mrs. Auberon, I fear I cannot say exactly what the complaint may be. But I shall call to-morrow, and then I shall know definitely," was my reply, and presently I left.
She sent the old butler with me for the mixture, and as he walked at my side I tried to learn what I could of his master and mistress.
"I've only been with 'em a month, sir," was the man's reply. "Mr. Auberon is a very nice gentleman, but the missus don't get on very well with young Mr. Edward. He's the master's son by 'is first wife."
"Oh! Where is he?" I asked.
"At Canterbury. He's in the Army."
"And is Mr. Auberon comfortably off?"
"Yes, doctor. I've heard from the servants that about half the town of Torquay belongs to 'im—or at least the ground it stands on."
"Do they quarrel?"
"Oh! a bit. The master keeps a tight 'and on the money, I fancy. He says she's extravagant and, my eye, 'e's right. She's never at 'ome—always in Paris, or somewhere," he replied.
Arrived at my surgery, I concocted the usual harmless mixture, and the old man departed.
Then I threw myself into my chair and lit a cigarette.
Yes. Whatever the situation was in the Auberon household, the lady was certainly very shrewd and clever. And that she had attempted to fascinate me could not be disguised. What did it mean? Next morning I was up early. I rubbed the damp swab upon a cover-glass, dried it, and stained it with methylene blue for a few minutes. Then I washed the film, dried it, mounted it and placed it beneath my microscope.
No second glance was required to determine the nature of the disease from which Mr. Auberon was suffering. The bacilli were present in characteristic form, those slender rods, some straight, some slightly curved, their thickness being slightly greater than the tubercle bacillus—the indisputable proof of diphtheria.
When I called an hour later I carried with me some antidiphtheric serum. I was introduced to Captain Edward Auberon, the sick man's son, a tall, well-built fellow almost the same age as his step-mother.
The wife introduced him, and to them I told the result of my diagnosis. Both were greatly alarmed, but I assured them that the administration of the serum would quickly arrest the progress of the malady, and that we must hope for the best results. I suggested the immediate engagement of a nurse, and gave certain instructions to be followed.
Suddenly Mrs. Auberon, addressing her step-son, said:
"Edward, I wish you would do me a favour, dear. Go to the telephone and ask Cox to come up and see your father at once. He's been asking to see him."
"Cox," I ventured to exclaim. "Who is he?"
"My husband's lawyer. He is worrying about something or other. Of course, doctor, you will not tell Henry what the malady is?"
"Of course not, Mrs. Auberon," I replied, looking straight into her dark eyes, for instinctively I saw that she was longing to say something, now that we were alone and the door had closed.
"Do—do you honestly believe my husband will recover?" she asked in a curious strained voice.
"I certainly believe so. The serum is generally efficacious," was my reply.
Her lower lip stiffened slightly, so slightly, indeed, that had I not been watching, I should not have noticed it.
She was silent. Her gaze was fixed out of the window. The pause was a rather awkward one. Then suddenly, after watching her for a few moments, I said with a smile:
"Forgive me, Mrs. Auberon, if I say that you do not appear—well, exactly anxious for your husband's recovery."
"What do you mean?" she cried, turning upon me, her dark eyes flashing in resentment.
"Nothing," I replied grimly. "Only—well, in some cases, you know, wives are a little tired—just a trifle weary of married life. That's all."
She bent forward in her chair, looking into my face with a fierce, intense expression.
"Ah! I see. Dr. d'Escombe—I see, now, that you are not one of those canting moralists, but a thorough-going man of the world. You judge the world by the world's standards. You have read the heart of a woman. You—you have read mine!" she admitted.
A footstep sounded outside in the tiled hall, and she started, fearing lest it should be the Captain returning.
"Listen!" she went on in a low, hoarse whisper, glancing towards the door. "It is true—true what you have surmised. I—I confess it to you. Ah! the horror of it all! But I can bear this life no longer. Henry has driven me to desperation. Quick, there's no time to lose if we are to come to an arrangement—a purely business arrangement," and she paused, suddenly growing quite calm. "You have the tube of serum in your bag. What is its price. Dr. d'Escombe?" she whispered.
I was taken aback. She had fallen into the net more quickly than I had anticipated.
"Five hundred pounds," I replied, naming the figure that first entered my mind. I was an arrant fool. I might just as well have said a thousand.
"Done!" she said. "Give it to me."
"No," I said, smiling. "I suppose you do not keep such a sum in the house. So I shall call again at five o'clock this afternoon to administer the serum. If, by that time, you have the cash ready to hand to me, I shall go away—and forget to inject it. Or better," I added, "I may perhaps inject something else."
"There will be no blunder?" she said hoarsely.
"None—on my part."
"And none on mine," was the woman's hard reply. Her dark brows were shghtly knit and her lips stiffened again. Ah! how easily, my dear Brown, will an evil woman, in these days of rapid living, buy a man's life! If you had only seen half of the ugly side of matrimony as I have seen it you would be appalled and thank your stars you are a bachelor.
Five hundred pounds is surely good pay for a moment's forgetfulness. Therefore we smiled at each other in perfect agreement, and I ascended the stairs and visited my patient.
A very bad chill and swollen throat, I pronounced it to be.
"My dear Mr. Auberon," I said, "don't worry in the least. I hear you are troubling yourself over business affairs. It is all to no purpose. In a week I shall have you smoking a cigar with me. Trust in me, and I'll pull you through right enough. I've sent for a most excellent nurse—a woman I can implicitly trust—and you'll very quickly pull round again."
"You took something from my throat last night, doctor. What did you find?" he asked, looking me straight in the face.
"I made the most minute microscopical examination, and I found absolutely nothing abnormal," was my airy response.
I suppose I must have chatted with him for half an hour in the presence of his wife, and he became quite satisfied.
"It's a good job, Dora, that it isn't anything serious," he said laughing, as he fondly took his wife's hand—the hand which intended to murder him. "I really thought I was in for something very bad."
"Yes, and so did I, dear. I've been worrying all night," she replied. "But Dr. d'Escombe declares that you'll be all right again in a few days, and then we'll go down to Coombe for a month or so. The moorland air always does you so much good. So cheer up, dearest, and be patient." And she pressed his hot hand tenderly.
Her eyes met mine. Then I walked across to the window. To save the man, the serum should have been administered then and there. I knew sufficient of diphtheria to be well aware that at five o'clock it would probably be too late, even if I then administered it.
The Captain entered the room, followed by the nurse whom I had engaged by telephone. To her, I gave instructions in the presence of them both, and shortly afterwards, after calling the nurse aside and telling her the true nature of the case, I left the house.
I declare to you, old chap, that I walked back home with a lighter gait than for fully three months past. A firm of money-lenders were bothering me over a little loan, and I wanted money to settle with them. Therefore I had raised no objection to selling my little tube of serum for five hundred of "the best and brightest."
I saw my patients as usual, and at the appointed hour I had a stiff peg of whisky and returned to Queen's Gate.
In the hall I met the Captain, who accompanied me to his father's room, and watched my rather fussy investigations in silence.
I wondered whether he entertained any suspicion.
My attitude was, as before, one of cheerful optimism. The patient was, I saw, considerably worse than in the morning. He was taking his mixture regularly, but I fear it was not calculated to do him very much good. A glass of water would have been equally efficacious.
The Captain called me outside into the corridor and suggested that a second medical man should be called into consultation.
"Certainly," I said. "I have not the slightest objection. My own idea is that the best course would be to inject the anti-diphtheric serum this evening and call in a second opinion to-morrow morning."
Delay was what I required.
My frank response satisfied him, and he named Heston Forsyth, a very good man living in Cavendish Square. Therefore I promised to telephone an appointment with him.
I was eager to have a private chat with Mrs. Auberon, but to my dismay, discovered that she was out. She had gone out on a business message for her sick husband, and would not return before seven.
Having learnt this, I decided to come back at seven and inject the serum.
Had the woman repented? Did she fear lest I might give her away? I walked back to my surgery with mixed feelings of anger and disappointment. A note lay upon my table, and I opened and read it with satisfaction.
I had not, however, been indoors half an hour when a patient was announced, and on entering the waiting-room with my best professional smile, I found Mrs. Auberon.
"I came here, doctor," she exclaimed in a low, half-frightened voice when she was seated in my consulting room with the door closed. "I came, because I feared that Edward might overhear, or have his suspicions aroused. Have you made the injection?" she inquired quickly.
"Not yet. I have promised Captain Auberon to return at seven, in order to do so. He wishes Heston Forsyth to see his father in the morning."
"And what then?" she gasped, staring straight at me.
"Why, nothing," I laughed. "That is if you are in the same mind as you were this morning."
"My mind is unchanged," she promptly replied with resolution. "I am here prepared to buy the serum," and from her hand-bag she produced a small roll of crisp bank-notes—the price of her husband's life.
In silence I took them, counted them, and in return handed over to her the little tube from my bag.
"But—but, doctor," she whispered hoarsely as she held it in her hand. "You will inject something—or Edward may grow suspicious."
"Of course, I shall," I replied, smiling. "The first question that Heston Forsyth will ask will be whether I have done so."
"Then you will be at the house at seven, eh?" she asked, rising from her chair, her handsome face pale and hard-set.
"I shall," was my brief response.
Then, as she put out her hand to me in farewell, I suddenly fixed her with my eyes and said:
"As we now understand each other so perfectly, Mrs. Auberon, I wonder that you are not entirely frank with me."
"Frank with you! What do you mean?" she exclaimed in surprise.
"Well, you might, for instance, acknowledge the motive of this little affair—that another man, Mr. Paul Taylor, is anxious to marry you in the event of your husband's non-recovery."
"How did you know that?" she gasped, her face blanched to the lips.
"I learnt it to-day," I said, quite coolly. "You left the house at three o'clock and kept an appointment with Taylor in the Burmese Tea Rooms, in Bond Street. Afterwards you went to a mourning warehouse in Regent Street, where you were measured for a gown, though you did not actually order one. Taking time by the forelock, Mrs. Auberon, eh?"
"You have had me watched!" she cried resentfully.
"And surely there is no harm in it all," I declared. "When dealing with a stranger it is usual, in every business, to make some inquiries. We are still friends, I hope." And I put out my hand.
She grasped it and, laughing a little nervously, declared that I had been a trifle too inquisitive.
"But never mind. Dr. d'Escombe. I trust you implicitly. You will call at seven," she added.
Then I bowed her out, extremely glad to rid myself of her presence.
The notes I locked away in my writing-table, and having prepared another tube of a perfectly harmless serum, I attended at Queen's Gate punctually at seven o'clock.
Again the Captain met me, pale and anxious, and in his presence the nuise declared that the patient was rapidly growing worse.
"I feel no alarm," I said. "I shall give the injection, and he should pull round within the next four hours."
So I ascended to the room and used my little hypodermic, filled with a perfectly harmless liquid, in the presence of the nurse, whom I intended should be my witness in case of any awkward inquiry.
Below, in the drawing-room, sat Mrs. Auberon full of anxiety. She plied me with so many questions that I was compelled to admit to myself that she was a most admirable actress. I noted with satisfaction, too, that whatever might be the strained relations between son and step-mother, the former had no suspicion of the manœuvre in progress.
I used the Auberons' telephone to speak with Heston Forsyth, and made an appointment to meet him there at eleven o'clock next morning. For four hours I remained in the house, visiting my patient many times, and noting his progress. I declared his condition to be ameliorated, though, truth to tell, he was growing from bad to worse.
Well, to cut a long story short, when Heston Forsyth came he saw, at first glance, that the case was a very serious one, but as I had injected the serum and given the drugs usual in such cases, nothing more could be done.
We were together in the sick-room for over an hour, and afterwards meeting Mrs. Auberon and her step-son in the drawing-room he gave out a quantity of professional patter and concluded by assuring them:
"You can, I feel certain, rest assured that Dr. d'Escombe's treatment is the very best that could have been adopted. I agree entirely with everything he has done, and we can only now hope for a speedy recovery."
I glanced at the sick man's wife, but she instantly averted her gaze.
The Captain was quite re-assured, and Heston Forsyth, having pocketed his fee, drove away.
The inevitable occurred rather sooner than I expected, for I was called up on the 'phone at one o'clock one morning, and before I could get round, Mr. Auberon had passed to that land that lies beyond the human ken.
So next day I signed the death-certificate, and two days later his remains were followed by his sorrowing widow and son and a number of friends to their last resting-place in Woking Cemetery.
In a month, my dear Brown, I had forgotten all about the affair. I possess a faculty for forgetfulness that is often very convenient. Cocaine and soda have washed many a nasty taste from my mouth.
Late one night, about eight or nine weeks afterwards, I was reading the evening paper before going to bed when a patient was shown into my consulting-room.
It proved to be Mrs. Auberon. She looked very elegant, for her deep black suited her well.
"Dr. d'Escombe," she began in a low, frightened voice, scarce above a whisper. "I—I'm in peril. I"
"What!" I gasped, starting up. "Is it known?"
"Not exactly. Wait, and I will explain the situation," she said as she bent eagerly towards me. "On my husband's death I found, quite contrary to my expectations, that I was left with ten thousand a year, together with Coombe Manor, our place in South Devon. I believed that it had all gone to Edward, and that I should only have a life-interest. And secondly—well, I found that Mr. Taylor and myself were not exactly suited to each other."
"I'm very sorry for that," I said. "I believed that you were devoted to each other."
"So we were—but—well, little differences arose between us, because—because—I may as well confess it—because I found out, by mere chance, who and what he really was."
"And what was he?"
"A pure adventurer."
"Phew!" and I emitted a long breath.
"And worse," she went on. "In a foolish moment of indiscretion during my husband's illness I unfortunately told him that he would not get better—that you and I were in accord, and that I had bought the bottle of serum."
"My God, woman!" I cried, starting to my feet. "Are you a howling imbecile?"
"You are right!" she gasped. "I was. I've paid for it—paid for it dearly ever since. He's had three thousand pounds from me already."
"You're an infernal fool, Mrs. Auberon," I declared openly. "And you deserve what you've got."
"I know! I know!" she cried in sheer despair. "But your peril is equal with mine. I've paid in order to save you, as well as to save myself. He threatens to put the whole matter before Edward. If he does, then we are lost. What can I do?"
"Do? Why, pay him a lump sum and get rid of him."
"And if I do so he will then commence to blackmail you."
"What does he really know?" I asked calmly.
"Everything. I was a fool, and believing we were to be man and wife, told him everything."
'He can prove nothing."
"Ah, yes he can," she replied. "I paid you in notes. He knows that. He knows that I got those notes from my bank. I suppose you paid them into yours?"
I was a fool to have done so. But all seemed so clear and easy at the time that I had not taken my usual precaution to change them at Cook's into foreign money, and then back into English currency at the bank.
What the woman said was only too true. Thanks to her foolish confession we were both in an uncommonly tight corner.
"Well, what is to be done?" I asked, clasping my hands behind my back.
"Done? What can we do? If I pay him off, he will come to you."
"How much does he want?"
"He will name no fixed price. He laughs in my face and says that he intends that I shall provide him with an income for life."
I pulled a grimace.
"I suppose he'll come to me before very long, eh?"
"No doubt he will. But we must act before that. Dr. d'Escombe. He must not suspect that I have seen you."
"Act. How?"
"Well," and she hesitated, her fine dark eyes turned upon mine. "Well—do you leave it to me to suggest a way out?" she asked slowly.
"You did so on a previous occasion," I remarked.
A silence fell between us, broken only by the loud solemn tick of the old grandfather's clock in the corner.
"He is coming to visit me at Coombe next Saturday. Perhaps he—well, he might be taken seriously ill during his stay with me. Who knows?"
And in her eyes showed a queer, eager look. She was a woman of nerve and determination.
"Why is he visiting you?"
"It is a purely friendly visit—to talk over the future. By tacit agreement our engagement is at an end, of course."
"He has no love for you, eh?"
"None. He never had. He was after my money—by fair means or foul. That's all."
"And when he has bled you for all you are worth, he will just go to the Captain and tell him the whole story."
"That is my firm belief. For that reason I make the suggestion that certain means—may—be—found—eh?"
And as she whispered the words slowly, she glanced around the room as though in fear of eavesdroppers.
I was silent. I was lighting a cigarette.
"I thought, perhaps, you might run down to Coombe," she went on, watching me. "I go down to-morrow morning, and you could follow me the day after. You, on your part, might pretend to go on a holiday, and come to me in secret instead."
"But Taylor may be watching my movements. If so, he will be aware of your visit here to-night!"
"I think not. I have no fear of that. He's in Scotland. Say that you will come."
"Well—I will do so, if you wish to consult me professionally."
"I do. But I don't want you to cure any disease. I want you to give one—you understand?" and she grinned.
"Perfectly. You think that in our mutual interests this fellow's mouth must be effectually closed?" I said quite coolly.
"You follow me exactly, doctor. Think matters over carefully between now and Tuesday, and make preparations to go for a holiday—perhaps to the Continent. Instead of doing so come down to me. Come as Mr. Fryer, my solicitor. None of my old servants are with me now."
I promised. Then she drank the glass of brandy-and-soda I mixed for her, and I saw her into the taxi which was waiting.
My hat, Brown! Imagine my feelings when she had gone. Here I was, once more, in an infernal hole, merely on account of a hysterical woman.
And the only way out of that impasse was by some subtle manœuvre whereby the man who knew would be placed hors-de-combat.
For hours I paced my room that night, turning matters carefully over, and trying to arrive at some conclusion as to the best means to adopt to achieve our sinister end.
You came in. Brown, to ask me about that testimonial to the organist at St. Stephen's, you will remember, and I put down my couple of guineas, which you thought so very generous where church work was concerned, did you not? It pays a medical man to be known among his patients as a good churchgoer. You know that quite well.
As Mr. Basil Fryer, solicitor, I duly arrived at Ashburton, after your unwelcome attention had sent me down to Dover, and after half an hour in the car I found myself at a big, old country-mansion overlooking Dartmoor, where my clever hostess greeted me warmly.
We dined together tête-à-tête in the fine oak-panelled room, and afterwards we were closeted in the library, the servants having previously been informed of my professional capacity.
"He will occupy the room you now have," she said at last in a low voice, as she crouched near the fire, her dark, wonderful eyes fixed upon me. "I leave it to you to devise some means."
"While dressing to-night I made an examination of the room, hardly knowing what course to adopt. But a plan occurred to me at dinner. I shall explain it to-morrow, before I leave for London."
"No. Tell me now. I am all anxiety. Is there any chance of failure?"
"I think not, Mrs. Auberon," was my quiet reply. "We both of us have far too much at stake to court disaster. But—well, may I speak quite frankly?"
"Certainly. Are we not friends?"
"I am about to perform you a service, and well—one generally expects payment for such delicate work—not much, of course, but—just a slight acknowledgment. Say a sum equal to that before, eh?"
The woman looked very straight at me, and her chest heaved just a little, causing her diamond pendant to glitter.
"Five hundred," she remarked. "Well, if you really must have it I will give you a cheque when the affair is complete."
"I merely suggest it," I said. "I think that the little matter is worth that to you—is it not?"
"You are equally implicated," she exclaimed.
"But without motive. You had a motive, remember."
"You are equally culpable with me."
"That, unfortunately, does not alter the circumstances that I am just a little pushed for money," I laughed. "We doctors have, alas! to live beyond our incomes all the time. I think you will quite understand that I'm really in need of another five hundred."
"And that is all, remember."
"The last penny I shall suggest."
"You will have the cheque on the day of the unfortunate event," she said, and we rose and passed into the big drawing-room where she seated herself at the grand piano, and played several airs from the latest musical comedy.
I wanted to get away from the place, for I had been seized by a desire for a Continental holiday after all. Saunderson was looking after things—his eye ever upon the lady patients—and with five hundred I could have a merry time for a week or two.
At last I bent over her hand and she left me, while I strolled along to the smoking-room, where the butler served my whisky-and-soda with great stateliness.
Then, after an excellent cigar, I ascended to my room.
Next morning, when I dressed I used the cake of soap from my dressing-case, in preference to the brand-new cake which I found in the soap-dish upon the dressing-room wash-stand.
By eight o'clock I had had my tub and was fully dressed. Therefore, I turned my careful attention to the dark brown cake of soap—a highly-perfumed tablet of a well-advertised variety. Fortunately for me, it possessed no antiseptic qualities. Therefore, with greatest care, I opened a small tube of culture which I had brought with me, and, with a camel-hair brush, lightly painted it over the surface of the soap.
It dried quickly, and I replaced it in its dish.
Those few strokes of the tiny brush had rendered that unsuspicious-looking cake of soap as deadly as the bite of a cobra. The culture was in glucose bouillon, and if any inquisitive person had smelt the soap he would have detected a peculiar burnt odour of the particular bacillus which I had employed.
These, if submitted to the microscope, would have been found to be of drumstick form, slender organisms developing filamentous forms which could be easily identified by an expert in "bugs."
Truly a knowledge of bacteriology is of greatest use to the medical man!
Mrs. Auberon appeared at breakfast, fresh and charming in a neat grey gown of the latest mode, and surely no one would suspect her of being haunted by that terrible dread of exposure. Her face betrayed not the slightest anxiety, and it was with superb coolness that, when later on we were alone in the morning-room, she asked:
"Well, doctor, what are your plans?"
"They are already laid," I replied. "Allow your visitor to have my dressing-room—exactly as it is at present, nothing touched. Give careful instructions to the maids, and then treat your friend diplomatically for say four, or even five, days. Allow him to believe that you are again ready to be bled. That will disarm him."
"And then?" she asked, still without a muscle of her face moving, as she stood near the fire-place.
"Wait and see," I replied with a grim smile. "Remember that clean water may be placed in the ewer and the bottle, but nothing else on the wash-stand must be touched—nothing whatever."
"Your instructions shall be carried out to the very letter," she declared. "But what may I expect?"
"After five days you may expect the inevitable," I said. "And if it occurs, I can have my cheque at once—eh?"
"Certainly, the same day, I promise you. But—but if we fail?"
"No," I said. "We cannot fail. I have accomplished my part of the affair. The rest must be left to you to entertain your visitor, and disarm all suspicion."
"You are really very mysterious," she declared, with a laugh.
"Am I? Well, in such a case it is as well sometimes not to be too open. You will learn the result of my efforts quite quickly enough. I think you said my train left Ashburton at half-past eleven?" I added.
She glanced at the clock, and ringing the bell, told the man to get my bag. I was anxious to get back to town again, and leave for Paris by the night mail. The five hundred pounds were now as good as in my hand.
As I drove away in the car she stood in the old stone porch, and waved her hand merrily in farewell. By Jove! She was a really remarkable woman. Her self-control was unequalled.
I went first to Geneva, and then south to Naples, on my way to Palermo.
At the hotel at Naples I received a hastily-scribbled note from her to say that Taylor had been stricken by some mysterious disease. She did not trust to the telegraph, in fear lest the message should be brought up against her.
I smiled as I read her hasty scrawl in pencil. There are few men who have not some slight abrasion of the skin upon their hands or do not shave so closely that the blood is drawn. Upon a broken skin the slightest use of that tablet of soap would produce an effect as deadly as a knife wound in the heart.
Six days later, as I entered the hall of the pretty Hôtel Igiea, at Palerno, the hall-porter handed me a letter which, he said, had arrived only that morning.
It was from Mrs. Auberon, who regretted to inform me that her guest had, on the day of writing, unfortunately died of tetanus.
Enclosed was a cheque in payment of my account.
And that cheque, my dear fellow, was for the sum agreed—five hundred pounds.
Without a doubt, the fatal illness of Paul Taylor saved us both from a very unpleasant experience.
And it paid all the expenses of my Continental holiday.