Читать книгу Paul Quentin - Fred M. White - Страница 7

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Dugdale could have sworn afterwards that he had half expected some such reply. He stammered an apology and turned and looked at the doctor again. At any other time he might have betrayed his astonishment in the discovery he was about to make. For this grave, professional-looking man in the close-fitting grey frock was actually wearing a string of diamonds round his neck, and a star of the same stones glittered on his forehead, attached by a band of black velvet. Dugdale wondered whether he had not strayed into a private lunatic asylum. But there was no hint of insanity in the cold, hard beauty in the armchair, although there was nothing very human about her except a half-pathetic, half-pleading look in her dark eyes. Then Dugdale saw something more. He saw that this mysterious Dr Prince carried something gleaming in his right hand, which the trained eye of the traveller immediately recognised as a small, ivory-handled, silver-plated revolver.

Here was an adventure, then. Here was a high comedy which might at any moment materialise into tragedy stark and ghastly. Dugdale's errand faded from his mind. He began to realise that his presence here might be more necessary than the fulfilment of his original errand. His muscles stiffened, and his courage came back to him.

"I am very sorry to hear what you say," he observed. "You will know why I came. Doubtless, by this time there are plenty of willing hands on the scene of the accident. If I can do anything here, pray command my services."

"Won't you sit down?" the woman in the armchair said coldly. "In any case, I take it you have nowhere to go. Therefore, you had better stay here."

"That is very kind," Dugdale acknowledged.

"Not at all; I could not do less. If there has been an accident to your train, of course you can't get farther to-night, and I shall be pleased to offer you accommodation."

So this was one point gained, Dugdale thought. He was speaking evidently to the mistress of the house. The woman looked very young to be the owner of this wealth and luxury, and obviously was still unmarried. Dugdale resolved to see the thing through. Something warned him he would have to move cautiously. Some subtle self-conscious impulse informed him that the woman trusted him, and she was appealing to him for assistance. On the other hand, the whole thing might turn out to be like a situation from some brilliant farce. But that did not account for an eminent physician wearing diamonds round his neck and carrying a silver-plated revolver in a fashionable drawing-room.

"May I ask how the case occurred?" Dugdale asked.

"It is simplicity itself," Dr Prince replied. "An hour or so ago a message came from Miss Pearson here to my friend Dr Harper, with whom I was staying. One of Miss Pearson's servants was taken suddenly ill, and my friend was sent for. Unfortunately, he had gone to London on an important consultation, and perhaps fortunately I was at home. At any rate, I came to see the patient. At a glance I saw how grave the case was. The poor man is in for an attack of smallpox of a very malignant type. It was essential that the patient should be removed at once, so I sent for the ambulance without delay. I was indiscreet enough to let the other servants know what was the trouble, and they have lost their heads entirely. With the exception of the poor fellow lying upstairs, Miss Pearson has not a single domestic on the premises. They fled like a flock of sheep, leaving all their belongings behind them, and have gone goodness knows where. It was in vain that I protested; in vain that I assured them that the case had not assumed the contagious stage as yet. I think that Miss Pearson will tell you that I have stated the case correctly."

"If you say so, it must be true," Miss Pearson said listlessly.

Dr Prince smiled and bowed. At the same time, Dugdale knew that he was lying. He knew that the girl's noncommittal reply was intended to convey to him a warning. Palpably, there was something terribly wrong, or how was the shimmering fire of the diamonds round the doctor's throat, or the gleaming revolver in his hand to be explained?

"It is a distressing case," Dugdale agreed.

"For the moment, yes," Dr Prince said with a smile. "But the ambulance will be here before long, and the patient removed. It will be difficult for Miss Pearson to obtain a fresh set of servants."

Dugdale uttered some commonplace reply. He was racking his brains to get a comprehensive grip of the situation. Despite Miss Pearson's haughty indifference, he could see how quickly she was breathing, how tight and convulsive was her hold on the arms of the old oak chair. She turned to him with one quick, flashing glance, and bade him be seated.

"We must make the best of the situation," she said. "No doubt it is a strange experience, but you see how helpless I am. I can do nothing."

Dugdale saw that clearly. He knew perfectly well that there was peril of some kind before him, and that the girl was doing her best to put him on his guard. If there were tragedy here, it was attuned to a fine setting. And yet it was almost impossible to associate crime and violence with these beautiful and restful surroundings, the pictures and china, and the purple silken curtains rustling in the breeze over the door of the conservatory.

"I suppose I ought to apologise," Dugdale said, "but really, in such abnormal circumstances, I may be allowed to take off my overcoat."

"You find it rather warm?" the girl asked. "By all means take your coat off. Is that the 'Marlborough Magazine' in your pocket? It contains a strange story."

The question was put with a zest and keenness which puzzled Dugdale. By way of doing or saying something, he took the yellow-covered periodical from his pocket and handed it to his hostess. Dr Prince looked on with a benign smile. He was walking up and down the room restlessly.

"Which story do you allude to?" Dugdale asked.

Miss Pearson turned over the leaves with restless fingers.

"This is the one," she said. "It is wildly sensational, of course, but it struck me as being original and clever. Perhaps you read the story in the train."

She handed the magazine back to Dugdale opened at the spot which she had indicated. It was as he had expected. He knew that she was referring to the tale called 'The Purple Curtain.' He did not need any subtle instinct to tell him that. Nor was he in the least surprised to find that this startling adventure of his was more or less mixed up with his original expedition. Yet he hardly cared to trust himself to speak, and waited until he felt sure that he had his voice under proper control.

"Curiously enough, I had begun it," he said. "I was rather taken with it. I have the best of reasons for being interested in the story, though I cannot tell you why. By the way, do you happen to know how far I am from Silverdale?"

The girl elevated her eyebrows.

"Which do you mean," she asked, "the station, or the house of that name? Because my estate is called Silverdale, and you are in Silverdale at the present moment."

Though Dugdale half anticipated this reply, he was none the less startled by it. He fluttered the pages of the magazine over with his finger, and turned to Miss Pearson.

"Do you wish me to read the story now?" he asked.

"It would be as well," the girl said with a strange forced laugh. "You will excuse me, I know, because you will understand why I do not feel inclined for conversation. Never mind about the conventions. Perhaps a little later when we have rid the house of this terrible trouble——"

Mary Pearson paused and looked meaningly at Dugdale. Dr Prince was still striding up and down the room, and it suddenly struck Dugdale that the girl was talking to him in two languages. Surely she was alluding to her uncanny visitor when she spoke of the trouble. For some cogent reason, the mistress of the house wanted him to read the story and wanted him to read it now. Perhaps there was a hidden message underlying the cold print, though Dugdale could find none so far as the Dragon Vase was concerned. But this was an entirely different matter and Miss Pearson's woman's wit had hit upon this method of conveying the sense of her danger to a third person without the knowledge of the man who was pacing to and fro with a shining revolver in his hand.

And, then, Dugdale began to understand. He grasped the possibilities of the situation almost before he had read a dozen lines. The crux of the story was jingling in his head again in the same meaningless, irritating way it had done in the train. He came upon the passage almost immediately. Then he gave a smothered gasp as the magazine fell to his knees. For this was what he read:—

"In a sudden flash of inspiration he saw it all. The girl was signalling to him beyond all question. She was attempting to convey the peril of her position without betraying the fact to the man with the green eyes. He would know how to act now...."

Dugdale got it with a vengeance. Tense and thrilling as the situation was, he did not fail to admire the alert wit which enabled the girl even in the midst of her danger to convey to him unheard everything that she wanted to tell him. It was providential that he had a copy of the 'Marlborough Magazine' in his pocket. Doubtless, the girl had read the story quite recently, and recognised instantly a method of deliverance. And now he knew as much as she could have told him, had she burst into torrents of speech and risked her life and Dugdale's by doing so.

In a flash he had seen everything. The well-groomed, quietly-dressed doctor, with the pale face and ascetic air, was a lunatic, and of the most dangerous type, too. His very coolness and quietness told Dugdale that, for Dugdale was a man of many experiences and had not travelled the world over to no purpose. Under his eyebrows he watched the slim and restless figure pacing up and down the room. He flashed a swift comprehensive glance towards Miss Pearson. He saw the answering smile in her eyes. He knew that she was trusting him implicitly.

His plans would have to be carefully and cunningly laid. In point of strength the mad doctor was easily Dugdale's match, so that if it came to a struggle for possession of the revolver, he was not likely to prevail. Such a struggle was out of the question, especially as Miss Pearson was present. Dugdale knew that he would have to try some other way.