Читать книгу The Sentence of the Court - Fred M. White - Страница 5

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Gilray moved back as if that long, slim hand was some fearful thing fraught with peril. Yet he was strangely fascinated by it, it aroused all his artistic sense and love of the beautiful. Nor was he blind to the value of those beautiful old rings that decked it with their glittering brilliants. It seemed to him that he had seen one of them before in a famous collection of jewels. Surely the one with the panel of stones had been part of the D'Alencus treasures.

Gilray could have sworn that he had once had it in his hand for inspection; that it was something he at one time had been half disposed to buy. Sweating and trembling as he was from hand to foot, he could not keep these thoughts out of his mind.

The slim, white arm advanced, the slender fingers, with the nails of pearl were almost on his foot, the waving light made circles of flame in the shadows, he could see the gleaming eyes of the terrified rats. He could see, too, the dark slime on the floor. Then the trap-door opened wider, and there was a sudden crash. Something was going to happen now.

But there was nothing to be desperately afraid of, after all. A big slice of the wall seemed to fall away, and behind the light of an electric torch Gilray could discern the outline of a slender figure. There was about it something pathetic and appealing—something that seemed to bring back Gilray's manhood again. He could not but see that the girl was in some trouble, and the idea flashed across him that her trouble had arisen because she had gone out of her way to assist him. She was gathering courage now. "You—you are Dr. Gilray?" she whispered.

Gilray replied hoarsely that he was. He wished that he could see his companion a little more plainly. As if in answer to his desire, the girl placed the torch on a ledge above her head, and stood out in the gleaming rays of it. And then, just for a moment, Gilray forgot his fear, forgot all his troubles and misfortunes, in the contemplation of that perfect face.

He was conscious of the exquisite chiselling of her features, the creamy ivory tint of her skin, and the clear lucent ruby of the pathetic lips. He saw the glint of gold and amber in the piled up masses of her hair, the violet grey eyes all heavy with unshed tears.

The girl was in trouble beyond all doubt, but the lines of sorrow on her face only added to her beauty, She was wrapped from head to foot in some soft clinging black drapery, but a wisp of fine old lace rippled about the white column of her throat, and another filmy wave was visible above her tiny ankles. Gilray's artistic eye apprised the value of the gossamer lace and the lovely old paste buckles on her shoes. Here was a mean, rat-haunted house in a mean and noisome neighbourhood allied with the beautiful and the costly in the strangest possible fashion, and Gilray would have given a good deal to know the meaning of it all.

"I came for you," the girl, explained. "I am sorry that you should have been left here so long."

She spoke as he had expected, in a voice low, sweet, and refined, yet just a little haughty. There was, too, a faint suggestion of hauteur about the face and in the carriage of the dainty head.

"It is nothing," Gilray hastened to explain. "I came here professionally, you understand. I knew it was an unconventional visit, so I was prepared to find an unconventional reception."

"So I understood. Will you come this way, please?"

"Might I not ask," Gilray stammered, "would it not be just as well for me to know where I am and the name of the people here? For instance; you are——"

The girl's face grew cold and hard.

"Does it in the least matter?" she asked. "I believe that the situation was made quite plain to you. It really was good of you to come, and Dr. Vorley is grateful. But as we are never likely to meet again my name can be nothing to you."

Gilray stammered some kind of apology. But he would have been something more than human not to have expressed some curiosity anent the situation in which he found himself. Beautiful women, were no strangers to him; he had seen beauty day by day in the most perfect, the most exquisite settings. But never before had he met a woman who moved him as this one did. He would have to marry some day, of course, he had always told himself that. Moreover, it was imperatively necessary that he should marry money. He could not forget the latter fact even in the midst of his surprises. Perhaps the girl was a heiress in her way, despite her sordid surroundings. Were there not those rings, that priceless lace, the old paste buckles to be accounted for?

"I am very sorry," he stammered. "You see, I sometimes have patients who wish to remain anonymous. I always decline to advise them. I had forgotten that to-night's business was exceptional. Is it not time that I saw my possible patient?"

The girl murmured that she had come to bring him to the patient, and without further ado led the way up a flight of steps into a corridor the walls of which were dark with age and grime. The floor apparently had not been scrubbed for years, yet here and there were scattered Persian prayer rugs that would attract admiration in Regent or Bond street. A picture or two, panels in oils, whose value could be seen at a glance, hung carelessly and crookedly on the dingy walls. Gilray took in all this with amazement, feeling more and more bewildered as he walked along. Presently he and his guide reached a square hall in which glowed a solitary electric lamp. It was strange to find electricity installed in so remote and sordid a house as this. Yet the hall was large and lofty, and had apparently at one time been richly decorated, for along the cornice Gilray could see peeling flakes of tarnished gold, and on the ceiling the faint remains of an allegorical painting. He remembered now what Vorley had said as to the time when this fragrant district had boasted fields and fair houses, houses wherein more than one chapter of past history had been made.

Down a flight of oaken stairs, rich with carved rails and balusters, Vorley came noiselessly. His coat was torn, his face was dirty, and one eye was partially closed. He had a bloodstained handkerchief across his forehead. It was then that Gilray, looking about him, noticed evidence of a struggle. A table and a couple of chairs had been overturned, and on the bare floor was a horribly suggestive dim red patch. With a shudder he remembered the din and confusion he had heard above him while imprisoned in the hideous darkness of the basement vault.

"Sorry to keep you so long waiting," Vorley said. "Did you hear anything?"

"It certainly seemed to me at one time as if some disturbance was going on. I also heard somebody singing most divinely. Probably I have to thank the young lady here for——"

"You are quite mistaken," the girl said coldly. "Are you not wasting time?"

She bowed and vanished into one of the unlighted rooms leading from the hall. As she closed the door behind her Gilray heard the click of a switch.

"What an exquisite creature!" he remarked involuntarily.

"Pretty girl, isn't she?" Vorley said carelessly. "You didn't get much out of her, I expect. Did she by any chance tell you her name?"

"She did not. She promptly checked all curiosity on the point."

"Umph, I thought so! As you will never see her again, probably it doesn't matter. We had a little bit of a scrimmage here, as you heard. It's a queer household, Lord knows how queer. But we're not poor, we can afford to pay for our little fancies. Still, come this way—your patient is upstairs. And a nice handful he is."

In one of the bare oak-beamed upper rooms the patient lay upon a plain iron bedstead. Vorley had rigged up an apology for an operating table, and by an ingenious arrangement of incandescent lamps and reflectors a powerful light was thrown directly upon it. Here, too, were all the necessary appliances for the administration of an anaesthetic, and it needed no second glance to see that Vorley had made no false boast when he claimed to understand this side of the business.

On the bed lay a big, heavy man, with luxuriant beard and whiskers. Between his frequent groans he was cursing in some language that sounded like German. A silk handkerchief was tied across his eyes. It was a queer pattern, in which orange spots predominated, and the design impressed itself upon Gilray's memory.

"It's all right, old man," Vorley said cheerfully to the man on the bed. "The oculist is here. No need to mention names, no need to do so on either side for that matter, but I've got the best that Harley-street can produce. Let's get that bandage off and see what really is the matter."

The bearded man muttered something that might have been gratitude. As Gilray removed the bandage he saw that the face was all raw and bleeding. Here and there were tiny punctures with raised edges, and the whole appearance went to show that the man had been wounded at long range by a charge of small shot. Both eyelids were granulated and suppurating and the inflammation was intense, making it plain that the sufferer was then quite blind, even if his sight was not lost for ever.

"Get him on the table and give him a whiff of ether," Gilray commanded.

With some trouble this was accomplished, and at last the patient lay inert and unconscious, ready for the operator. Directly Gilray had his instrument in his hands everything else was forgotten. He was no longer a stranger in a house of fear, he was the born genius with science on his side fighting for a man's sight. For an hour or more with his marvellously delicate touch he worked at the injured eyes, the grim rigidity of his face slowly relaxing as he moved on inch by inch towards victory.

He tossed the last bit of sponge aside, and wiped his face. Vorley was gazing at him with undisguised anxiety.

"Well?" he asked. "Are you satisfied?"

"Quite," Gilray said. "It was a very near thing, but I've managed it. The man has escaped total blindness by a sheer miracle. But he will get right again. All that's needed now is scrupulous care. A good, non-irritating antiseptic for washing purposes must be applied frequently and the eyes rebandaged closely after every application. Keep this going for a week, and then let the patient have light gradually; follow my directions carefully, and you'll not need me any more. And now we had better be going."

"Isn't there something to be done first?" Vorley asked.

"So far as I am concerned, nothing except the fee. I think you suggested that I could have this in cash, if necessary. A cheque in the circumstances might be difficult to negotiate. If the money is handy——"

Vorley chuckled, as if amused.

"Oh, you can have the hard gold if you prefer it," he said. "You will have to see the old man. Never mind what his name is. He's waiting for you in the room at the end of the corridor downstairs. Walk in, assure him of the success of the operation, and the money is yours. I'll wait for you and see you part of the way home."

Gilray followed the directions. He knocked at the door but no reply came, so he walked in and looked about him. He saw a desk with a swinging light over it, a desk piled high with gold, hundreds and hundreds of sovereigns, and stacks of bank notes. Behind the desk was a huge fire-proof safe full of books and papers that looked like securities.

Gilray fairly gasped at the evidence of all this wealth; he was gasping still as a door on the far side opened, and an old man came in. With a snarling cry of anger he banged down the top of his desk and turned to the intruder with raised hand. On the finger of the hand Gilray could see a Sard Intaglio, magnificent, and priceless.

"Who are you, and what do you want here?" the old man demanded. "Speak, or I'll—I'll kill you."