Читать книгу The Sentence of the Court - Fred M. White - Страница 4

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Gilray stared wonderingly at the speaker. He could only wait for the other man to speak. It looked that night as if all the world had gone mad, as if law and order, and the sacred rights of property were no more. For this man was not shirking or abashed; there was no suggestion of an apology about him. On the contrary, his manner was coolly contemptuous, even superior; it was as if a magistrate were addressing a first offender.

He was a waster, of course, and a failure—even his cool and easy audacity could not conceal that. But he was undoubtedly a strong man, and Gilray did not fail to recognise the fact.

"How did you get here?" he stammered.

"Does it matter?" the other asked. "Let it suffice that I am here. Before long you will be glad I came. Permit me to introduce myself. Mr. Horace Vorley, whilom Doctor Vorley, very much at your service.

"You mean that you are not on the Medical Register now?"

"Precisely. You catch my meaning exactly. The old story of two men and one woman, and that woman happened to be my wife. I took matters in my own hands...Since then I have had a series of adventures in many lands, mostly taking the form of strife between myself on the one side and the authorities on the other. If you would give me a biscuit——"

"There are light refreshments in the dining-room," Gilray said, "and—and whisky."

"Thank you very much. I have eaten practically nothing to-day. I was searching for food in your kitchen. You see, I thought that Warner—the bailiff who was here just now—would have remained a little longer. When you left the front door open I followed you into the house. I also took the liberty of listening to your conversation with Warner. It looked like being a big struggle between you, so I stopped down in the kitchen. What did you give him to buy him off?"

Gilray exploded with impatient passion. How dared Vorley come here like this. What did he mean by treating the house as if it were some hotel? What business was it of his? Did he want the police to be telephoned for?

"Not a bit of good," Vorley coolly said, as he finished the sandwiches. "Upon my word, you have a pretty taste in whisky, sir. And these are really Villar Corona cigars. Let me ask you a question. Where are you going to get the money to pay that debt to-morrow? If it is not discharged by four o'clock the bailiff will be back again. At the present moment you have not one penny in the world. If the truth leaks out you are professionally ruined. Now, don't bluster, and don't lie about it. I was looking in here when you were discussing matters with Warner. Oh, if you could only have seen the white, anxious misery of your face; if you could only have heard the hoarse despair in your voice! You were pleading desperately for your social life. Man, do you want me to get you that money?"

Gilray laughed somewhat mirthlessly. He was beginning to like this blunt, outspoken man.

"That money! I'd give anything for it," he said. "Still, it is absurd to hear you talk of finding it! You are palpably penniless, seedy, desperate; and until a few moments ago, hungry. And you talk of finding me money! You find two hundred and fifty pounds! Ridiculous."

"Nevertheless, I can," Vorley said emphatically. "Before daybreak. That is, if you are prepared to perform a secret operation and to forget all about it afterwards."

"You came here to ask me to do this?"

"In a measure—yes. There is a man in whom I am deeply interested who has met with an accident to his eyes. He cannot for certain reasons show up in public, in fact he is hiding in a shady quarter near the river. No occasion to go into details. It's a queer business altogether. But this man needs the very highest skill, and I came West to-night to get it for him. My idea was to call on Evershed—he's a good chap, and we were pals at one time. I was hanging about on his doorstep making up my mind. Then I saw Warner stop you, and my way was clear."

"Warner is an old acquaintance of yours, I presume," Gilray sneered.

"Once more you show your quickness and intelligence," Vorley said urbanely. "When I was going headlong to perdition, Warner was a frequent guest in my house. We were good friends. So when I saw him to-night fighting with you on your doorstep I saw my way. Here was the fashionable and popular Dr. Gilray being arrested on a writ of attachment! You see, I know all the jargon. What a revelation! People don't let things go so far as writs of attachment unless they are in desperate need of money. My chance lay plain before me, and I took it in both hands. Now, do you need that money?"

"I would give my soul for it," Gilray said hoarsely. "If you can prove to me that you——"

"Man, you must take my word for it. And you must ask no questions. I cannot get a shilling for myself, but I can get you three hundred guineas for the secret operation. The man who handles the cash is a miser of the worst possible type. But the operation means much to him. I told him what I proposed to do, and he scoffed at the suggestion. No surgeon of good repute, he held, would come at dead of night to one of London's deadliest slums and perform such an operation as that required."

"But the patient might come here?"

"The patient is ill, he has had a bad accident. And there are other reasons why the thing should be carried out with every precaution. The danger of it——"

"Oh, there is danger, then? I see I am going to earn my money."

"Glad to hear that you have made up your mind," Vorley said, smiling for the first time. "'My poverty, and not my will consents,' as Shakespeare's Apothecary said. As a matter of fact, everything that I could see to is ready for you. You will need an anaesthetist, and you could not have a better one than myself. All the needful appliances are on the spot. So come along."

Gilray hesitated no longer. The hand of Fate was clearly directing the thing, fortune for once in a way was fighting on his side. The difficulty that had been before him threatening his ruin was solved—he would be able to keep faith with Warner.

"Very well," he said. "I will trust to your word. The money will be paid to me——"

"In gold, if you like, as soon as the operation is over. But we are wasting time here. Come on."

Gilray, after that, waited only to get his necessary instruments together, and presently he and Vorley were walking eastward together. A passing taxi was hailed by Vorley, and an address given that was somewhere at the back of the Tower of London. They were in a maze of mean streets presently, dark and narrow thoroughfares, dirty and ill-smelling, with dim lights gleaming here and there behind faded curtains. A few gas lamps struggled fitfully against the pervading gloom. Even these ineffectual gleams were lost presently, for, dismissing the taxi, Vorley turned through a broken-down gateway that seemed to give on to some open space, evidently a disused wharf or shipbreaker's yard, littered with refuse, amongst which Gilray stumbled along painfully, sweating, and uncertain on his feet. He could faintly catch the glimmer and hear the drip of water somewhere as he groped his way blindly in the dark.

"Where are you leading me?" he asked hoarsely.

"Take my hand," Vorley whispered. "I know every inch of the way. This is a treacherous place at night. A false step to the right or left and you are over the edge, and into one or the disused old locks. At one time a prosperous trade in the building of ships was carried on here, now the place is deserted and derelict. We are just about to cross the sluice-plank over one of the waterways. Be careful, man, be careful! Put your hand on my shoulder and shuffle your feet along."

Gilray with a shudder compiled. He was suffering all the tortures of a vivid imagination. He would have given five years of his life to be back in his own house again. But there was no turning back now, and the vision of the rich reward to come spurred him on.

They were on firmer ground presently with something that looked like the outline of a house ahead. It seemed to be a fair-sized building, but there were no lights anywhere and the place was all in darkness. At this point Vorley paused and struck a match which he concealed as far as possible in the hollow of his hand. The fitful light disclosed what appeared to be a kind of basement to the house, with a door to which a flight of steps gave access. A sudden puff of wind and out went the match. Vorley swore under his breath.

But Gilray was no longer attending to the movements of his guide. He stood almost transfixed to the spot, all his fear gone, listening and wondering. For in the house away back in the darkness a girl was staging the 'Jewel Song,' from 'Faust.' The voice was glorious, divine. Its free abandon, its exquisite quality and purity of tone amazed Gilray. Here, wasting the silver of her notes, was assuredly some great star of Opera.

"Come on," Vorley whispered, noting his companion's amazement. "I'll show you queerer things than that yet. Now, get inside and wait till I come for you. The basement is dark and damp, but you can sit there for a moment. As to myself, I shall have to enter the house another way."

Gilray followed with blind obedience. He was thrust without ceremony into a dark room, and the door was locked behind him. Then, as Vorley's footsteps died away it seemed to him that he was neglected and deserted in a world of darkness and desolation. He heard something squeak and scurry, he felt something warm move over his foot. Gilray shuddered and his hair stiffened as he recognised the fact that the place was full of rats. He could hear them scrambling up the damp walls, and high above all he could hear the owner of that divine voice singing the passionate music as if her soul were in it.

Well, here was a link with the better side of humanity at any rate. So long as that glorious music continued Gilray could take heart of grace. He strained his ears, he heard the liquid notes break off suddenly and a woman's voice screaming in deadly fear. The screams went on for a moment or two, then ceased with a gurgling cry. It was as if a hand had been placed on the throat of a nightingale to stop its melody.

Every individual hair seemed to stand up straight on Gilray's head. He could hear the heavy tread of feet above him as if several persons were engaged in a deadly struggle, he could hear muffled curses and something that might have been the crack of a revolver.

Evidently he had been forgotten, murder was being done upstairs, and whatever the danger, he must not be found there. He fumbled for the door, only to find it fast locked, so he groped for some other outlet. As he did so there was a heavy fall in the room above, and after that silence like that of the grave. It was so silent that Gilray fancied he could hear the blood pulsing through his brain.

Something snapped, and a gleam of light darted like a lance across the floor and flooded the dark brick floor of the cellar-like room. A huddle of rats scampered away into the shadows. A trapdoor opened and a hand and arm appeared through the opening—a slim, white, velvet-skinned arm and hand traced with delicate blue veins a hand that had known no labour, daintily manicured, pink as to the polished nails, a hand moreover blazing with a glittering of antique diamond rings.

"Lord," Gilray gasped "Lord, I'd give my reputation and my good name to be well out of this!"