Nothing of importance happened on the way. We passed one or two stragglers who did not speak to us, and who, in the darkness of the night, could have seen very little of us; we, on our part, were more watchful, and though we exchanged but few words nothing escaped our attention. It behooved us to be thus careful, because there was the risk of our coming into contact with our common foes, Mr. Nisbet and Dr. Cooper. In silence we reached the gloomy wall which surrounded the building, and, marshaled by Mr. Rivers, took up our posts of observation. Rivers and I were together on the hill in the rear of the house, Ronald and his uncle were some dozen yards off. They were to keep their eyes on us, and to observe certain signals which had been arranged upon. Very nearly at the same moment as on the previous night, the gate was slowly opened, and Mme. Bernstein appeared, carrying a dish covered with a white cloth. She paused at the open gate, and peered this way and that, to make sure that she was not seen, and then she closed the gate softly, and proceeded in the direction of the hut. We followed her warily at a safe distance; she reached the hut and entered it, and gave the man and the child food and wine, Rivers and I watching them through the uncurtained window at the back of the hut.
The meal finished, the old woman kissed the child, and issued from the hut. All her movements were in accordance with our anticipation, and this being so, a certain plan we had agreed upon was immediately acted upon. Ronald and his uncle remained behind, the intention being that they should make an endeavor to get into conversation with either the sick man or the child, or with both, and to extract from them some information of Mr. Nisbet's establishment which might assist our operations. Rivers and I played our part in the plan by following Mme. Bernstein. Midway between the hut and Mr. Nisbet's house Rivers nudged me, and we quickened our steps. Hearing the sound the old woman stopped, and we also stopped. After listening a moment or two she fancied she was deceived, and she hobbled on again, we following with rapid steps. Again she paused, and gave a scream as we came close to her. Putting his hand on her shoulder, Rivers said:
"Do you speak English, Mme. Bernstein?"
"Yes, a little," she replied, trembling in every limb. "Do not hurt me--I am an old woman; I have no money."
"You speak English very well," said Rivers. "We will not harm you. It is only that we wish to have a word with you. We do not want money; we have money to give, if you would like to earn it. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir, I understand that you will not hurt an old woman, and that you have money to give."
I ought here to explain that the English Mme. Bernstein spoke was by no means so clear and grammatical as I set it down, but I find myself unable to reproduce her peculiar method and idioms, and consider it best, therefore, to put what she said plainly before the reader. We understood each other, and that was the main point.
"But it must be earned. Do not tremble so; we are not robbers; we are officers of the law. What have you under that cloth? A basin, empty. You took it from the house full. You can be punished for that, Mme. Bernstein. The master did not give you the food, he did not give you the wine. You stole them, Mme. Bernstein."
Overcome with terror she fell upon her knees, and implored us to spare her; she had taken the food to save a little child from starvation; she had never done it before----
Rivers interrupted her. "You do it every night, madame." Which plunged her into deeper despair.
Still keeping her sensible that she was in our power, and that we would have her punished if she did not do as we bade her, Rivers succeeded in pacifying her to some extent.
"There are four of us," he said, when she rose from the ground; "two are here, two are with your brother and his child, who without our aid will starve if you are put in prison or can no longer rob your master of food. It is with you, madame; you can save or ruin them, you can save or ruin yourself."
"What is it that I shall do?" she quavered. "Tell me, and I will do it."
"That is as it should be," said Rivers, "and you shall be rewarded. We must know everything about the master you serve. We are here from England for that purpose, and he must not be told that you have spoken with us. You will swear it by the cross which is hanging from your neck."
She lifted the black wooden cross to her lips, and kissed it. "I swear it, sir," she said. "He shall not be told; he shall not know. But if you keep me here now he will discover it without being told. He will be waiting for supper, and I shall not be there to serve it. He will come and look for me, and then it will be ruin for me and you. He is a hard man, a bad man, a wicked man, and I hate him."
"That pleases me," said Rivers blithely. "Why do you remain in his service?"
"Should I not starve if I went away? I get my food, and I save it and give it to my dying brother and the little child. That is something. Do not keep me here too long. Englishmen are rich; you have a watch. What hour is it?"
"Half past ten," said Rivers.
"At eleven they have supper. If I am not in the house----"
"You shall be there. Let us walk on, Mme. Bernstein. In ten minutes we shall reach the gate, and he will not know. Does he go to bed late?"
"Sometimes at twelve, sometimes at one; it is not certain."
"At what hour last night?"
"At twelve."
"Keep watch, madame, to-night, and when he goes to his room and the house is quiet, you will come out to us, and we will talk."
"Yes, I will come."
"By the back gate, madame; we shall be on the hill. Do not forget--you shall be rewarded, And do not forget that you have sworn upon the cross. Here, to commence with, are two francs, to prove that we are in earnest, and are men of our word."
She clutched the coins eagerly, and said in a whisper: "We are near the house--do not speak loud, or he will hear us. There is something strange and terrible. You shall be told of it. I will come when they sleep."
We did not accompany her to the gate. She glided forward, opened it quietly, and disappeared.
"Now, Mr. Emery," said Rivers, "can you find your way alone to the hut?"
"Yes, it is a straight road."
"Go, and bring your friends here. There is strength in numbers. Something strange and terrible, she said. We have not come a moment too soon. Hurry back quickly."
I wasted no time, and soon reached the hut. Ronald and Bob were within; I heard them talking to the little girl. When I tapped at the door and called to them, they joined me immediately, and hearing that they were to return with me they spoke a few parting words to the child, and promised to call and see her again. I briefly related what had passed between ourselves and Mme. Bernstein, and asked if they had obtained any information.
"None," replied Bob, "that is likely to assist us. Some general expressions of dislike toward Mme. Bernstein's employer, of whom they seem to stand in some sort of fear--that is all. Neither the man nor the child has ever been inside the house. But we made friends with them, and that might have served us with Mme. Bernstein if you had not already enlisted her. Everything seems to depend upon what will occur during the next twenty-four hours."
We found Rivers lying on his back on the hill, with his hands clasped behind his head.
"I have been watching the windows," he said, "and making a mental map of the house. All the bedrooms seem to be situated at the back; the ordinary living rooms are in front. See--there is a light in only one of the rooms; there was a light in that room last night. It burns steadily, and without flickering; the room is occupied, but no shadow has appeared on the blind, nor has the light been shifted. Someone is sleeping there, and sleeping undisturbed. If we stopped here till daylight we should probably find that light still burning. Afraid to sleep in the dark, denoting a nervous organization. Ah, observe. Two rooms have just been entered; each person, entering, carried in a candle with him; the lights shift and waver; there are shadows on the blinds. One is the shadow of Mr. Nisbet, the other the shadow of Dr. Cooper; their bedrooms adjoin. Rather restless those shadows. We have the advantage of them; we can see them, they cannot see us lying here in black darkness. I am in my element, and can work out theories. I have done the same in country places in England, and the theories I have worked out there have led to very useful conclusions. Isn't there a German or French story of a man who sold his shadow to the devil? I can imagine occasions when our friend Mr. Nisbet would gladly sell his, for shadows are sometimes criminating witnesses. Those men do not seem in a hurry to get to bed. One has gone into the other's room; the flaring of the candle shows that he has left his door open. The shadows of the two men are now in one room. They walk up and down in their slippers--of that you may be sure. There is something so secret and mysterious going on in the house--which might be a prison or a private lunatic asylum--that the principal conspirators are careful to make no noise. They have no wish to disturb the sleeper in the third room, which, by a stretch of the fancy, we might suppose to be occupied by a dead person. By the way, did Dr. Cooper have time to bring his slippers with him from London? I should say not; therefore he is wearing a pair of Mr. Nisbet's or is walking in his stocking feet. Now they stop, now they walk about again, and now--yes, now they go into the room which the first man left. Science has been busily at work of late years, but it has not yet discovered a means of bringing sound to our ears as this glass which I am holding brings the figures of those men near to my eyes. There is the telephone, but you cannot carry a telephone about with you in a little pocket case. I dare say the discovery will be made one of these days. Mr. Nisbet is a couple of inches taller than Dr. Cooper, and as they are now standing quite still I know which is one, and which the other; therefore I shall presently know which is Mr. Nisbet's bedroom, and which Dr. Cooper's. If we could only hear what they are saying to each other! Speaking in whispers, of course--again for the reason that they do not wish to disturb the sleeper in the third room. Mme. Bernstein will inform us who it is who sleeps there. What do you say--a man or a woman?"
The question was addressed to us, and we expressed our inability to answer it.
"I say a woman," continued Rivers, who was certainly in his element, as he had declared, "and until Mme. Bernstein favors us with her company we remain in ignorance as to who the woman is. Our little Barbara's sister? Perhaps. But Barbara describes her sister as being a lively young person, and no lively young person lies sleeping there. How do I arrive at that conclusion? Impossible to say. Mental cerebration, if you like. We work out plots as novelists do, or rather, they work out themselves. Concentration is the agent. The same process leads me to the conclusion that the conspirators yonder are walking and talking noiselessly because of their fear of being overheard. The same process leads me to the conclusion that they are quietly discussing an important and dangerous matter. How did Mr. Nisbet's stepdaughter meet her death? Asphyxiation caused by an escape of gas while sleeping in a bedroom almost hermetically sealed. But there is no gas in these parts, and their light is supplied by oil and candle. Therefore they are deprived of that means of causing death. What are they doing now? The shorter of the two, Dr. Cooper, holds something up to the light. The object is too small to be discerned at this distance, but I take it to be a vial. Not a wine bottle, nor a bottle containing brandy or whisky. A small vial. And now Mr. Nisbet hands his co-conspirator a wineglass; he holds that up also; the shadow is reflected on the blind, and you can see by the shape that it is not a tumbler. The vial in one hand, the wineglass--it may be a medicine glass--in the other, Dr. Cooper is pouring a few drops from the vial into the glass. He counts the drops; I can't see his lips move, but unless I am dreaming he is counting the drops. He puts down the vial, and Mr. Nisbet takes the glass from him. To drink? No. He dips his finger into the liquid, and puts that finger to his lips. He stands still a while; he is deliberating. Is it satisfactory, Mr. Nisbet? If it is, and you need a sleeping draught, drink it off, and wish your companion good-night. You do nothing of the kind. You come to the window; you draw aside the blind; you open the window."
"We shall be seen," whispered Bob, in great alarm.
"We are as safe," said Rivers calmly, "as if we wore caps that rendered us invisible, as in the fairy tale. As they stand side by side at the window, the position of the light enables me to see them clearly. TheyareMr. Nisbet and Dr. Cooper. Provoking! What is it that Mr. Nisbet has just done? Why did you move, you fool of a doctor? But I guess what he did. He emptied the glass out of the window. Of course, of course; that was it. They have been making a chemical experiment, testing a liquid--to what end? Mr. Nisbet peers into the dark grounds, he stares straight at the hill upon which we are lying. Don't stir a finger. It is curious that criminals almost invariably overlook some slight circumstance which supplies the clew to their conviction. It has been so in thousands of cases. The window is closed, the blind is pulled down. See the shadows of the men as they approach and retreat, growing to monstrous proportions, dwindling to nearly natural size. The shadows of Fate. I suppose by this time the conference is at an end. It is. They separate. Each is in his own room. Ah, I see which room is occupied by Mr. Nisbet, and which by Dr. Cooper. The doctor gets into bed first. Out goes his light. Sleep the sleep of the just, doctor, if you can. Mr. Nisbet lingers; his is the greater stake. He is the principal, his companion is the tool. Take care, the pair of you; the dogs are on your track. Mr. Nisbet puts out his light; all the windows are masked except the window of the third room. Good-night, good-night."
These ingenious theories filled me with wonder, and I accepted them as if they were proved testimony; and I am positive, from the remarks made by Bob and Ronald, that they also accepted them as I did. Rivers chuckled, and said:
"It is a fine art, and we become masters only by long study. Now for Mme. Bernstein. She will not keep us waiting long."
She did not. In a few minutes the gate was opened, and the old woman appeared.
Rivers went forward to meet her, and taking her hand, led her to where we were standing. Dark as it was I saw that she was greatly agitated, and the increase of our party did not lessen her agitation.
"You perceive," Rivers commenced, "that it is as I said. There are four of us, and we are determined to know the truth about your master and what is going on in that gloomy house, which, as I just remarked to my friends, resembles a prison."
"I will tell you everything," said Mme. Bernstein, her voice shaking with fear. "Why should I not, when you have promised to reward me? I have done nothing wrong."
"Do not speak so sharply to her," said Ronald to Rivers; "you frighten her." Then he turned to the old woman, and spoke to her in French, and his manner was so kind and his voice so gentle that she soon forgot her fears. "You shall be well rewarded," he said to her; "I promise you on the honor of a gentleman. We have left a little money with your brother and his pretty little girl, and to-morrow we will send a doctor to see him. If it were day instead of night you would know that I am blind, and you would trust me."
"I trust you now, sir," said Mme. Bernstein. "But this gentleman"--indicating Rivers--"speaks to me as if I had committed a crime. I will answer you anything. It is because I am poor that I have served M. Nisbet, and if I have taken a little bit of food for my dying brother and the child I hope you will protect me from the anger of M. Nisbet. He is a hard man; he would have no mercy."
"We will protect and befriend you," said Ronald. "Have no fear. My friends here do not understand French very well, so we will converse now in English. Express yourself as well as you can; we all wish to hear what you have to say, and we all are kindly disposed toward you. Mr. Rivers, you are so much more experienced than ourselves that the command must be left in your hands, but I beg you to moderate your tone when you address madame."
"With all the pleasure in life," said Rivers cheerfully. "Bless your heart, madame, you need not be frightened of me; if I speak sharp it's only a way I've got. Don't you take any notice of it, but begin at the beginning, and go straight on. How long have you been in service here?"
"Ever since M. Nisbet first came," replied Mme. Bernstein. "It is years ago--I don't know how many--and he bought the house, and wanted a woman to look after it. When he goes away to England or France I attend to everything." She stopped here, as if at a loss how to proceed.
"We shall get to the bottom of things all the quicker," said Rivers, "if I ask you questions. Has there been any other person besides yourself in Mr. Nisbet's service?"
"No one else--it is I alone who have served him."
"Does he live here alone?"
"Oh, no. When he first came he brought a lady with him."
"And she is still in the house?"
"Oh, yes; she is still in the house, poor lady!"
Instinctively we all turned our eyes to the window which Rivers had declared to be the window of the room occupied by a lady--even Ronald's sightless eyes were turned in that direction.
"That is her bedroom?" Rivers asked.
"Yes, it is there she sleeps."
"Hold hard a bit," he cried. "She is awake."
The occupant of the room had moved the light, and we saw her shadow on the blind. We looked up in silence, expecting that something strange would occur. I cannot explain the cause of this impression, but in subsequent conversation with my companions they confessed that they had experienced the same feeling of expectation as myself. What did occur was this: The blind was pulled up, and the window opened, and by the window stood a female figure in a white nightdress, stretching out her arms toward us. It was not possible that she could see us, but her imploring attitude seemed like an appeal to us to save her from some terrible danger, and it powerfully affected me.
I put my finger to my lips, to warn Bob and Rivers against uttering any exclamation of surprise, and I placed myself in such a position that Mme. Bernstein could not see what we saw. Presently the female's arms dropped to her side, and she sank upon a chair by the window, and sat there while Rivers continued his examination.
"Why do you say 'poor lady'?" asked Rivers. "Is she suffering in any way?"
"She is much to be pitied," replied Mme. Bernstein. "So young and beautiful as she is!"
"But explain, madame. You speak in enigmas. Does your master oppress her? Is he cruel to her?"
"I do not know. She does not complain, but I would not trust him with a child of mine."
"Is she his child, then?"
"Oh, no; but he has authority over her. He has never struck her, he has never spoken a harsh word to her; still I would not trust him."
"We shall get at it presently, I suppose," said Rivers impatiently. "What is the lady's name?"
"Mlle. Mersac."
"Her Christian name?"
"I have not heard it, all the years I have been in the house. There was no reason why I should hear it. Mlle. Mersac--is not that a sufficient name?"
"It must content us for the present. If she is not his daughter she is doubtless some relation?"
"It cannot be--he has himself declared that she is not. I ventured one day--it is now a long time ago--to ask him, and he answered me angrily, and bade me attend to my duties, and nothing more. He repented a little while afterward; and came to me and inquired why I had put the question to him. 'It was a thought, sir,' I said. 'Can you see any likeness between us?' he asked. I answered no, and there is no likeness. She is fair, he is dark; there is not the least resemblance between them."
"May we say that she is afflicted?"
"Sorely afflicted. She has no memory, she seems to have no mind. From one day to another she cannot recollect. Each day is new to her; she has no memory. Even her own name is strange to her. When my master is here I see her only in his presence, and am not allowed to speak to her. When he is absent I see more of her; it is necessary; she has no one else to attend to her. But even then she utters but a very few words. Once only did we have a conversation while the master was away. It was against his commands, but I could not help it. He gives his orders what I shall do during his absence, and I am to do those things, and nothing more. To give her her meals, to give her her medicine, not to allow her to pass the gates. For years she has not been outside those walls."
"You are wandering, madame. Once you had a conversation with her. Inform us what was said."
"I pitied her, and asked her whether she had no friends she wished to see. 'Friends!' she said, and looked at me wonderingly. 'The world is dead!' I could have shed tears, there was such misery in her voice. I addressed her by her name. 'Mersac!' she exclaimed. 'Who is Mlle. Mersac?' 'But, mademoiselle,' I said, 'it is yourself.' 'Are you sure of that?' she asked. 'Why, yes,' I answered, 'it is certain.' She shuddered and said, 'I had dreams, I think, when I was a child, but I am an old woman now.' 'Mademoiselle,' I cried, 'you are young, you are beautiful!' 'It is you who are dreaming,' she said, 'I am an old woman. The world is dead. This house is my tomb!' That is all that passed; she would not speak another word. If I had dared, if I had not been poor and had known what to do and how it was to be done, I would have tried to find her friends, for what hope of recovery is there for her in such a place as this? For me who have not long to live---I am seventy-five--it does not matter. I have lived here all my life, and I shall die here; there is no other place for me to die in, and I am content that it should be so. But even I had my bright years when I was a young woman. I had a lover, I had a husband, I had children; they are all dead now, and but for my dying brother and his little girl I am alone. I was not so beautiful as mademoiselle; I was not a lady as she is. That is plainly to be seen. At her time of life she should be bright and happy; she should have a lover; she should have friends, companions. They might wake her up, for though she is not dead she might as well be."
The old woman spoke very feelingly, and I patted her on the shoulder.
"Thank you," she said, as though I had bestowed a gift upon her.
"She is a French lady?" questioned Rivers.
"Oh, no; she is English."
"English! But her name is French."
"It may not be hers. She is perhaps sent here to be forgotten. It is sad, very sad!"
"Apart from this loss of memory, from this forgetfulness of herself, is she in health?"
"She is strong, she is well otherwise. It is only her mind that is gone. She gripped my hand once; it was the grip of a strong young girl. She is lithe, she is well formed. If I had been like her when I was her age I should have been proud. I brought some flowers to the house one day. 'Who are these for?' my master asked. 'I thought mademoiselle would like them,' I answered. He frowned, and taking them in his hands crushed them and threw them to the ground. 'That is not part of your duties,' he said. I brought no more flowers. There are some strange things, some things I cannot understand. Do you come to help the poor lady? Are you related to her?"
"We are not related to her, but we will help her if it is in our power."
"Heaven will reward you for it."
"What do you mean by saying there are strange things, things you cannot understand?"
"For one--why does the master say she will not live, when, but for her loss of memory, she is strong and well?"
"Oh, he says that, does he?"
"Yes, and he has brought a friend with him now, a celebrated doctor, because, as I heard him say, she is sinking. What does that mean?"
"Ah," said Rivers, in a significant tone which we understood, "what does that mean, indeed? It means mischief, Mme. Bernstein."
"It is what I think. Now I have opened my heart I do not care what happens to me. This celebrated doctor that he has brought from England with him is no better than my master is. They are a pair. But what can she do against them alone?"
"She is no longer alone, madame," said Ronald, with a strange earnestness in his voice. "The lady is beautiful, you say. Very fair?"
"As fair as a lily, sir."
"You can tell me the color of her eyes."
"They are blue as a summer sky, and there is sometimes a light as sweet in them."
"What would be her age, in your opinion, madame?"
"Not more than twenty-four, and though she suffers so, she sometimes looks like a maid of eighteen."
"When your master is absent he leaves medicine for her to take? He places this medicine in your charge? Is it a liquid?"
"It is a liquid."
"And its color, madame?"
"White."
"Is it clear? Has it a sediment?"
"It is perfectly clear, like water?"
"How often does she take it?"
"Once every day, in the evening."
"Does she take it willingly?"
"Quite willingly."
There was a brief silence here, and I observed Ronald pass his hands across his eyes. It was he who was asking these questions, and Rivers did not interpose.
"Mme. Bernstein, did you ever taste this medicine?"
"Ah, sir, you make me remember what I had forgotten. I am old; forgive me. It was this, also, that was in my mind when I said there were strange things I could not understand. It happened two years ago. Mademoiselle had left nearly half the dose in the glass, and had gone to bed. I took it up and tasted it; it was as water in my mouth, and--I do not know why--I drank what remained. 'It is not likely to harm me,' I thought, 'for it does not harm mademoiselle.' I went to bed and slept soundly. In the morning when I awoke it was with a strange feeling. I had some things to do; I could not remember what they were. I dressed myself and sat in my chair as helpless as a babe. The clock struck more than once, and still I sat there, trying to think what it was I had to do. At last the clock struck twelve, and I started to my feet, as though I had just woke out of a waking sleep, and went about my work as usual."
Ronald did not continue his questions; his attention seemed to be drawn to another matter; his head was bent forward, in the attitude of listening.
I do not recollect what it was that Rivers said at this point, but he had spoken a few words when Ronald cried:
"Be silent!"
His voice was agitated, and the same feeling of expectation stole upon me as I had experienced before the female in her white nightdress opened her bedroom window and stretched out her arms toward us.
"Mme. Bernstein," said Ronald then, "the young lady we have been speaking of is a musician."
"Yes, sir."
"She plays in the night sometimes."
"I have heard her, sir, on two or three occasions."
"The instrument she plays on is the zither."
"Yes, sir."
"She is playing at the present moment."
"If you say so, sir. My hearing is not so good as yours."
"It is Beatrice who is playing," said Ronald, and his tone now was very quiet. "I knew she was not dead, and that we should meet again."
These startling words caused us to throw aside the restraint we had placed upon our movements. We darted forward to the gate, from which spot we could just catch the faint sounds of music. The truth burst upon me like a flash of light. The mystery of Beatrice's supposed death was made clear to me, and the unspeakable villainy of which Mr. Nisbet was guilty was revealed. But alas for poor Barbara, who was eagerly waiting to embrace her sister Molly!
Mme. Bernstein joined us at the gate, and cautioned us to be careful not to speak aloud. We removed to a safe distance, and were about to discuss our plans and decide upon our course of action when Ronald settled the matter for us.
"Mme. Bernstein," he said, addressing her, "the lady is a dear friend of mine; she was to have been my wife. A foul wrong has been done to her, and Providence has directed our steps here to save her. We must enter that ill-fated house to-night."
"To-night!" she exclaimed.
"Now--this moment," said Ronald, with decision.
"But the danger----"
"We are four men to two," said Ronald. "If I place my hands on one of the monsters I will account for him, blind as I am. We are armed, and no danger threatens us. An innocent lady's life is in peril; she lies at the mercy of wretches who have no heart or conscience, and a moment's delay may be fatal. You shall be well paid for the service, madame----"
"It is not that I shall be well paid," she interrupted. "I have a heart, I have a conscience. It is because the master is a dangerous man. But you shall have your way; the Just God will help you. Tread softly; make no noise."
"Mr. Elsdale is right," whispered Rivers to me as we followed Mme. Bernstein. "Strike the iron while it's hot. There's a surprise in store for two scoundrels to-night."
We succeeded in making our entrance without awaking the enemy.
"What now shall be done?" asked Mme. Bernstein.
Ronald answered her. "Mlle. Mersac--it is not her name, but that matters little--has no aversion to you, madame?"
"None, none," she replied eagerly.
"You will go to her room, and remain with her till you hear from us. If she is awake, encourage her to sleep. She must know nothing till daylight. Should it be needed call to us for assistance."
"Yes, yes."
"You will show us the rooms in which your master and his friend from London sleep, and you will then leave us." Ronald turned to us. "I and my uncle will keep watch outside Mr. Nisbet's door; if he comes out to us I shall know how to deal with him. You, Mr. Rivers and Mr. Emery, will introduce yourselves to Dr. Cooper, and endeavor to force a confession from him. If he will not speak--well, you are a match for him. Bind him, so that he shall be unable to move; then join us, and we will make Mr. Nisbet secure. He must administer no more stupefying drugs to his stepdaughter; his power over her is at an end. Have you any objection to my plan, Mr. Rivers?"
"None. It is the best that can be adopted. Let us set about it."
With noiseless footsteps we ascended the stairs to the sleeping apartments, Mme. Bernstein leading the way. She pointed out the rooms to us. "That is the master's; that is his friend's." Then she left us, and went to Beatrice's room. Bob and Ronald took their station outside Mr. Nisbet's door and I observed that Bob held his revolver in his hand. No indication reached us that we had disturbed the inmates.
"It is our turn, now," Rivers whispered to me. "I think I know how to manage our customer."
He tried the door, and finding it locked, smiled as he said, "Locks himself in. Doesn't trust his host. A good sign." He did not knock, but kept fumbling at the handle, in order to attract Dr. Cooper's attention. Presently succeeding, we heard the doctor get out of bed.
"Who is there?" he asked softly, his ear at the door.
"Let me in," Rivers replied, in a whisper. "I have something to say to you. Why do you lock your door?"
Had Rivers spoken above a whisper Dr. Cooper would have detected him, but whispers are very much alike, and it is not easy to distinguish a man's voice by them.
"Wait a moment," said Dr. Cooper from within. "I will strike a light."
This accomplished, he opened the door, which, as we glided in, Rivers quickly closed and locked. Dr. Cooper had retreated from the door, and stood, holding the candle above his head. With an exclamation of alarm he let the candle slip from his hand, and we were in darkness.
"What a clumsy fellow you are!" exclaimed Rivers in a jocose tone. "Light it again, Mr. Emery. I have got Dr. Cooper quite safe."
And I saw, when I had picked up the candle and lighted it, Dr. Cooper standing quite still, with his arms pinned to his sides from behind by Rivers. I placed the candle out of the doctor's reach, and Rivers released him.
Dr. Cooper was in his nightshirt, and presented anything but a pleasant picture. Rivers, on the contrary, had an airy lightness about him which was new to me. His eyes shone, and he rubbed his hands together, as if he were taking part in a peculiarly agreeable function. On a table by the bedside were a glass and a bottle of whisky, half empty. Rivers put the bottle to his nose.
"Scotch," he said. "I always drink Scotch myself."
"Who are you?" Dr. Cooper managed to say. "What do you want?"
"All in good time, doctor," replied Rivers. "It's no good commencing in the middle of the game. You haven't the pleasure of my acquaintance yet, but you know this gentleman."
"I have seen him once before," said Dr. Cooper, with a troubled glance at me.
"And I am positive you must have enjoyed his society. He proves that he enjoyed yours by his anxiety to renew the intimacy. He is a private gentleman, I am a private detective, and we have come a long way to see you. But you will catch cold standing there with only your shirt on. Will you get into your clothes or into bed before we have our chat. You would like to dress? You shall. Softly, softly. I will hand you your clothes, taking the precaution to empty your pockets first."
"By what right----"
"Steady does it, doctor. If you talk of rights we shall talk of wrongs. That's a sensible man. On go the trousers, on goes the waistcoat, on goes the coat, and we're ready for business. Now, how shall it be? Friends or foes? You don't answer. Very good. We'll give you time. Take a chair, and make yourself comfortable. No, doctor, no; don't take your whisky neat; as an experienced toper myself I insist upon putting a little water into it. And we'll pour half the spirit back into the bottle. Moderation and economy--that's the order of the day. You can't make up your mind to speak. Very well; we'll see if we can loosen your tongue.Iintend to make a clean breast of it, and you may feel disposed presently to follow a good example. Give me your best attention, I am going to open the case, and if I make mistakes I'm open to correction. Some few years ago there lived in the north of London a gentleman--we'll be polite, if nothing else--a gentleman and his stepdaughter, name of the gentleman Nisbet, name of the stepdaughter Beatrice. The house they inhabited was in Lamb's Terrace, and a gentleman of means could not have selected a more desolate locality to reside in. Miss Beatrice's mother was dead, and in her will she appointed her second husband--she couldn't very well appoint her first, doctor--guardian to her child, with a handsome provision for the maintenance and education of the young lady. The bulk of her fortune she left to her daughter, who was to come into possession of it when she was of age. It was a large fortune, some fifty or sixty thousand pounds, I believe, and I wish such a bit of luck had fallen to my share, but we can't all be born with silver spoons in our mouths, can we, doctor? That this fortune should have been left to the lady instead of the gentleman annoyed and angered him, and he determined to have the fingering of it. Now, how could that be managed? There was only one way, according to his thinking, and that was, to get rid of the lady, because it was set down in the will that, in the event of the young lady's death before she came of age, the money should revert to him. He laid his plans artfully, but there was a flaw in them, as you will presently confess. I don't pretend to understand how it was that he set about compassing his desire in the crooked way he did. Perhaps he found the young lady hard to manage; because he had some sort of sneaking feeling for her, perhaps he thought it would not be half so bad if he got rid of someone else in her place; and so contrived that it should be believed it was his own stepdaughter who was dead, instead of a poor, friendless young girl of her own age and build."
Dr. Cooper shifted uneasily in his chair, and an expression of amazement stole into his face.
"I see that I am interesting you. This poor friendless girl was in his service in Lamb's Terrace at the time, her name, Molly. So what did this Nisbet do but send his stepdaughter from the house, and take a ticket for her to some part of the Continent, precise place unknown, but doubtless where she was pretty well out of the world. He was to follow her, and they were to live in foreign parts. Meanwhile the poor girl Molly was left in the London house, and on the morning of his intended departure was found dead, not in her own bed, but in the young lady's, with the young lady's clothes on and about her. The cause of death was said to be asphyxiation by an escape of gas in the young lady's bedroom. The Nisbets kept no society in London, and had no friends or acquaintances, so there was no one to dispute his statement that it was his stepdaughter who was dead. Now, he knew, that an inquest would have to be held, and that a certificate of the cause of death would have to be produced, so what does he do but go to a miserable wretch of a doctor or apothecary living or starving--the latter, I suspect--in the neighborhood of Lamb's Terrace, and by plausible words and bribe induce him to give this necessary death certificate. Name of doctor, Cooper. Fire away, doctor, if you've anything to say."
"It has been done again and again," said Dr. Cooper, sucking his parched lips. "But I can't speak till I've had a drink."
"Here it is," said Rivers, mixing a glass, sparing with the whisky and liberal with the water, and handing it to the wretched man. "Don't swallow it all at once; moisten your lips with it now and then."
"It has been done again and again," repeated Dr. Cooper. "A doctor is called in who has not attended the patient; he sees that the cause of death is unmistakable, and he gives the certificate. It is not a crime."
"I am not so sure of that," said Rivers, in a dry tone. "Anyway it is too late now to prove the true cause of poor Molly's, death, for the body has been cremated."
"It was not a case of illness," continued Dr. Cooper; "no doctor had been in the house to see the girl before that morning, and I only did what any other doctor would have done."
"You did," corrected Rivers, "what no respectable doctor would dream of doing."
"I was in debt," pursued Dr. Cooper, "I was in trouble on all sides, I had a large family to support, and no food to give them. He came to me, and I was glad to earn a pound or two. I had never seen him before that morning, I had never even heard of him. What is this story you are telling me of another girl being put into his daughter's bed? It is false; I do not believe it."
"It is true," I said, "and it can be proved, for the young lady lives."
"May I drop dead off this chair if I knew it!" cried Dr. Cooper, with trembling outstretched hands. "How was I to know it when I had never seen the lady, when I had never seen the girl, when I had never seen him before that morning?"
Notwithstanding the feeling of loathing with which he inspired me, I had no doubt that he was speaking the truth, and that he was not implicated in the conspiracy. He presented a pitiable and degrading spectacle as he sat trembling and writhing in his chair.
"I will go on to the end," said Rivers, "and you will find that you have something else to explain. The inquest was held, and you gave false evidence at it."
"You can't prove that it was false," said Dr. Cooper. "There is no body to exhume, and there is no one to give evidence against me. You may be right in the other parts of the story, but you will never be able to prove yourself right in this. I know sufficient of the law to know that no crime can be brought home to me for which I can be made to suffer."
"Perhaps you do know the law," said Rivers dryly, and I fancied that he felt himself at a disadvantage here, "and perhaps you don't. One thing is certain. You may escape, but there is no possibility of escape for the infernal scoundrel you have served, and who has brought you over from London to assist him in some other diabolical scheme."
"Stop a minute," exclaimed Dr. Cooper, bending forward and fixing his bloodshot eyes on Rivers' face. "Didn't I see you on the boat?"
"It is more than probable," answered Rivers, with a sly chuckle, "for I was there."
"You followed us?"
"Every step of the way. If you had looked for me you would have seen me on the train. What do you say now? Are we friends or foes?"
"Friends," cried Dr. Cooper eagerly. "Friends. I am on your side. I will conceal nothing."
Was it my fancy that there was a movement in the wall between the room we were in and that occupied by Mr. Nisbet? It must have been, I thought, for upon looking more closely I saw nothing to confirm the fancy, and I ascribed it to the fever and excitement of the scene of which I was a witness.
"You are wise," said Rivers, "though I take it upon myself to declare that, with or without your assistance, we can bring his guilt home to him. There are others in the house as well as ourselves. Two of our friends are at this moment stationed outside Mr. Nisbet's door. He is doomed, if ever man was. If he knows a prayer it is time for him to say it."