Читать книгу A Secret Service - Fred M. White - Страница 10

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Ida ran up the rickety staircase. In front of her, out of a door that was slightly open, there came a flood of clear, yellow light. As she pushed her way into the room she saw standing on the floor a standard lamp with a green silk shade. It looked startlingly out of place until she observed that the room was comfortably, not to say luxuriously, furnished. There was a thick carpet on the floor, some good prints on the walls, and in the modern grate a bright fire burnt cheerfully. The bed was of brass, and the coverlet was clean and white, as if fresh from the laundry. Lying on his back there, with face turned upwards, lay the patient. His eyes were open, but there was no expression in them, and it was plain that they saw nothing. The man muttered from time to time, but the words were slurred, and Ida could not catch the meaning. Her heart overflowing with sheer pity and womanliness, she approached the bed and laid a cool, slim hand upon, the patient's burning forehead.

"I am sorry for you."

For a moment a flash of consciousness crept into the man's eyes, and he turned eagerly to her.

"Ida Vanstone!" he murmured. "Dear little Ida."

It was only for an instant, and then his eyes closed wearily, as if he were spent for want of sleep. Ida dropped on the bed and covered her face with her hands. The discovery left her faint and dizzy. For Arnold Gray was an old acquaintance, if not, indeed, something more. Strange she should overlook the similarity in names! Her friend had been Arnold Grey Fraser, but she had not associated him with the Arnold Gray of this dramatic and thrilling adventure. It all came back to her now the pleasant summer holiday she had spent two years ago, with a relation of her mother's at Folkestone, when Arnold Fraser had come into her life. There had been picnics and boating excursions, and evenings on the pier in moonlight, and one delirious night when he had kissed her under the silent stars. And she, well, she had kissed him, too, and he had spoken of the time when he would be free to come and claim her, and meanwhile it was to be a delicious secret between them. He had told her how he was in the diplomatic service, that he was poor and ambitious, but that be enjoyed the confidence of his chief, and that he hoped soon to be in a position to make a home, and he had left Ida no doubt as to who should be its mistress. He had spoken, too, of a rich, eccentric aunt who might leave him money some day. Was it possible that that day had arrived, and that with his aunt's fortune he had dropped the name of Fraser and become simply Arnold Gray?

But, be that as it might, here was the man to whom Ida had given her heart, whom she had waited for, and in whom she had the most implicit confidence. It had been their tender fancy, if self-denying, that neither word nor sign should pass between them till Gray was ready to come to her and carry her off to the ideal home they had planned together. Ida knew that this time would come, and the thought had cheered her immensely during the past weary months. And she had found him, the man whom she loved, sick almost unto death and surrounded by the direst peril. Her heart sank at the contemplation of it. How could she get him away from here, she who was alone in the world and practically penniless? She could not go to Valerie Brune for help, because in a vague way she felt that the latter was somehow responsible for all that had happened to Arnold. Still the omen was good. Surely some unseen power had brought her here at the eleventh hour; clearly this mysterious power would befriend her.

But it was not the time to mope or lament: she must resolutely banish the past and fix her eyes firmly on the future. Something must be done and that before long.

She laid her hand upon Gray's forehead again, and at the cool and soothing touch he opened his eyes once more.

"Don't you know me, dearest?" she whispered. "It is Ida, sent here by Heaven to help you."

"Ida! Ida!" the sick man murmured. "Where have I heard that name? Folkestone...one night...yes, yes. So you have come back to me, my dearest one. If I could only think! But I can't find the coat. I hid it myself."

"Suppose I try to find it," Ida suggested.

"Oh, do! It matters nothing to me what happens then. You can take care of it, and hide it till I can think of the best thing to be done. I don't know what's in the coat, but I know it's something of importance, and when it's in your possession I shall feel easier in my mind."

"You are not safe here, Arnold."

"I think I am. I think I am, when I can think at all. Ah, it's all getting cloudy and confused again! Try to find the coat, oh, try to find it! No, I'm not going to be moved; I'm in too much pain. Why do you always pull me about in this way?"

He was rambling once more as Ida could plainly see. She wondered whether there was anything in this business of the missing coat, or whether it was a pure delusion. Racking her brains for a clue, presently something like an inspiration came to her. Why was it, she wondered, that Arnold was so anxious not to be moved?

She imagined his pain might be simulated.

There was no twitching of the limbs, none of those sighs and groans and quick catchings of the breath that accompany physical torture. Had Arnold contrived to drag himself from his bed and concealed the coat between the mattresses? Some sub-consciousness, no doubt, was working in his brain. With an effort Ida managed to raise the top mattress and dragged from under it a long dust coat!

She thrilled with triumph as she laid it on the floor. Here was a great discovery! Perhaps the pockets contained priceless documents, papers of the last international importance. Eagerly Ida dived her hand into the pockets. But though she searched again and again, not so much as a scrap of paper rewarded her efforts. She laid the coat across the bed and tried with all the blandishments at her command to bring Gray back to semi-consciousness again. It was some time before she succeeded, then produced the coat for his inspection.

"That's it," he whispered. "How clever you are!"

"But I can find nothing in the pockets."

"It does not matter in the least. I can't explain to you now because I seem to be in a mist. But it is safe, absolutely safe as long as that coat is in your keeping. I shall be better soon and then I will come and tell you everything. Only don't part with it—whatever you do, see that that coat does not leave your possession. I can't think why you are so careful with it, but—but—"

He closed his eyes, and Ida bent over him till at length she saw that he was sleeping easily and lightly as a little child. It would be cruel to disturb him again, for he was getting the rest his jaded brain so sorely needed. The weight was off his mind, and he was enjoying the refreshing slumber which made for health and strength.

Ida brushed his forehead lightly with her lips, and turned to leave the room. She felt that Arnold would do now; nothing ill could happen, and she trusted he might soon be in a fit state to be removed. She was glad she had made friends with the doctor and had won his confidence. She would obtain Truscott's address from the evil-looking woman downstairs. She paused on the landing, for she heard heated voices below, and the high-pitched tones of the old crone carried to her ears. She seemed to be very excited.

"Oh, you can say what you like!" she cried. "There's nobody in the 'ouse besides me and the children not in bed yet, drat 'em! The doctor's gone. There was a young lady, but I dunno what's become of 'er. And if you search the 'ole place for what you're after you won't find it, because it ain't 'ere. Diamonds, indeed, bits o' glass I call 'em. Only good enough for kids to play with."

"You old fool," a rasping voice replied. "You don't know what you're talking about. Come along, Avis. I'll search the house through if I have to stay here all night."

Ida reeled against the banisters, and would have fallen had she not clutched them. Verily, it was a night of startling surprises! Events had followed so fast and furious that she was ready for almost anything now. Nor did she need anyone to tell her that the speaker downstairs was her father. He had Avis with him, too—the dark-browed, oily, inscrutable man, who coveted her and was scheming to make her his wife. The mere horror of his presence turned her sick and faint.

Two men were coming upstairs and would enter Gray's bedroom. Ida darted into it to hide behind the window curtains. One side of the room formed an alcove with a window that looked into the yard below and a basement room where were four children at play. These must be the children the old woman had alluded to, and, despite her anxieties, Ida could not help wondering what sort of house it could be where bairns were allowed to play about at midnight. She felt safer when she discovered a flight of steps leading downwards from the alcove. She pulled herself together, determined to trust to her courage and fertility of resource to deliver her from peril.

The two men were in the room now talking in undertones which Ida had some difficulty in following, but she caught the name of 'Gray' more than once, and some allusion to a 'princess' which she could not in the least comprehend. Nor had she the smallest notion what the men wanted. She heard them moving about, searching here and there, and a smothered oath or two reached her. Then for a time there was silence.

However, she would not move until she was obliged, as she hoped she might hear something of importance. As she glanced casually towards the lighted basement below she caught the flash and glitter of some sparkling objects with which the children were playing.