Читать книгу The Case for the Crown - Fred M. White - Страница 4

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From the lips of the tortured man there came a queer, horrible whistling scream, the scream of a man on the verge of epilepsy. His eyes were full of a nameless horror, the sweat poured down a face white and ghastly. Molyneux staggered across the room in the direction of the fireplace, where a large plant in a big pot stood. He picked it up, and held it at arm's-length as if it were a feather weight. At that moment he possessed the strength of a dozen men. Then the pot came crashing down upon the Persian carpet, and the next moment the tortured drunkard was fighting a legion of unseen horrors as if his life depended on it. His cries rang through the house, they echoed out into the garden and carried far down the road. But it was only for a brief space, and then the temporary madness passed, leaving Molyneux faint and helpless, and so spent that he dropped into a chair with no strength left in that big frame of his. He wiped the horror from his face, and out of his eyes.

"For goodness sake, make haste," he cried in a voice so small and still that it hardly carried to Cecil's ears. "Give me a dose of the stuff that Barclay prescribed. Hurry up, or all those devils will be back again. Do what I tell you, or by Heaven I won't be responsible for what happens. Give me a double dose. If it kills me, so much the better for you."

Cecil crossed the broad hall and made her way to her own sitting-room. Here she took a key from a dragon vase on a little Chippendale table, and opened her desk. From it she took a tiny blue bottle in which were a few drops of some white fluid. This was a powerful drug that had been placed in her hands by the London specialist who had pulled Molyneux through his last bout. The phial and the prescription had been placed in Cecil's hands with strict injunctions that she was to keep them carefully under lock and key, and that in no circumstances was she to allow either of them out of her possession. She knew that the drug was a powerful poison, to be most carefully administered; she knew that the local chemist would not make up the medicine unless she presented the prescription herself. And she knew, too, that those deadly drops were only to be administered when a violent attack came on. And that was why she kept the bottle in a secret place, knowing only too well the recklessness and cunning of the man with whom she had to deal. She knew, too, that more than once Molyneux had threatened her with violence because she would not hand over to him the prescription. She had found him searching for it on more than one occasion, and now he was trying to bully her into giving him a double dose. She was thankful to know that there were only sufficient drops in the bottle to comply with the doctor's orders, and that there was not another drop in the house. Dr. Barclay had told her that her husband's heart was in a terrible state, and that any sudden exertion might prove fatal. And this was why he had been so careful to warn her of the necessity of exercising the greatest care in pouring out the medicine. In no circumstances was it to be administered more than once in twenty-four hours.

Cecil hastened back to the dining-room with the bottle in her hand. She rang the bell and the butler appeared.

"Can I get anything for you, madam?" he asked.

"A wine glass, Barton," Cecil said. "A wine glass half filled with water."

"And buck up, Barton," Molyneux cried. "Your mistress is in a hurry. She has got an important appointment to keep. Mr. Coventry is waiting for her down the road."

The blood flamed into Cecil's face. But this was not the first time by a good many that Molyneux had grossly insulted her before the servants. A wave of disgust swept over her, but her hand was steady enough as she allowed the drops to trickle one by one into the glass of water. There were twenty-four of these altogether, and when the last petered out the bottle was empty. Cecil handed it to the butler, who carried it gravely from the room.

"Is that all?" Molyneux growled. "Didn't I tell you to give me a double dose? None of your tricks with me. Go and fetch another bottle. This is no good."

"There isn't another drop in the house," Cecil said. "I have given you a full dose, and in no case can you have any more till to-morrow night. I will go down to Metcalfe's in the morning, and get some more of the medicine made up."

A queer cunning look came into Molyneux's eyes. He seemed to be amused about something, though Cecil did not notice it at the time. He held out a trembling hand for the glass, and poured the contents down his throat. Then, for some little time he sat holding on rigidly to the arms of his chair, his teeth and his eyes glaring as if he were looking into some inferno visible only to himself. Then gradually, very gradually, the tension of his muscles relaxed, his mouth fell open, and the horror faded from his eyes, leaving them strangely colourless and devoid of expression. At the same time a profuse perspiration broke out upon his face, and the big drops gathered and rolled down upon the lapels of his dinner jacket. He drew a deep breath of shuddering relief.

"Ah, that's better," he gasped, "I've done them again, I've beaten the devils. My goodness, if you only knew what it is to go through what I have to. If you only knew what the tortures of hell are like. You needn't stay here any longer. Not that I feel fit yet, for that stuff doesn't act like a charm as it used to. That's why I wanted a double dose."

"Which would probably kill you," Cecil said.

"I don't believe it would. At any rate, I'm ready to risk it. I'd give half my fortune at the present moment for another twenty-four of those drops. What's the good of standing there looking at me as if I were some disgusting animal? Why don't you go? Go and meet Coventry if you like. Tell Barton to bring me my cigar-case and the evening paper. Great Scot, is it only nine o'clock?"

A big timepiece on the mantel-shelf pealed out the hour of nine on a drift of silver bells, as Cecil turned with a sigh of relief and made her way from the room. Upstairs in her dressing-room her maid, Judith Carr, was putting her mistress's things away in a big wardrobe. She seemed just a little confused as her mistress entered, but the confusion was lost upon Cecil.

"I thought you were going out for the evening, Carr," she said. "Have you already been?"

"No, madam." the neat, refined-looking maid returned. "I had a letter or two to write. But I am going now if you have no objection. I think you said if I was back by eleven it would be early enough."

"Oh, yes, that will do, Carr. You needn't trouble to see me when you come in."

The maid murmured her thanks and departed, and Cecil was alone. She raised her white arms above her head imploringly.

"How long?" she cried. "How long? How long can I go on living like this? What have I done to deserve it?"

There were no tears in her eyes, for Cecil was long past tears, and there was something to be done before she slept. She pulled the blind aside and looked out into the sweet and fragrant September night.

"There can be no harm in it," she whispered. "No harm in my wishing Godfrey good-bye. It will be a wrench, but it will be best for both of us that he should go."

She wound a wrap about her shoulders and made her way into the garden.