The Mystery of 31 New Inn Page 3

  Chapter III

  "A Chiel's Amang Ye Takin' Notes"

  The attitude of the suspicious man tends to generate in others the kindof conduct that seems to justify his suspicions. In most of us therelurks a certain strain of mischief which trustfulness disarms butdistrust encourages. The inexperienced kitten which approaches usconfidingly with arched back and upright tail, soliciting caresses,generally receives the gentle treatment that it expects; whereas theworldly-wise tom-cat, who, in response to friendly advances, scampersaway and grins at us suspiciously from the fancied security of anadjacent wall, impels us to accelerate his retreat with a well-directedclod.

  Now the proceedings of Mr. H. Weiss resembled those of the tom-cataforesaid and invited an analogous reply. To a responsible professionalman his extraordinary precautions were at once an affront and achallenge. Apart from graver considerations, I found myself dwellingwith unholy pleasure on the prospect of locating the secret hiding-placefrom which he seemed to grin at me with such complacent defiance; and Ilost no time and spared no trouble in preparing myself for theadventure. The very hansom which bore me from the Temple to KenningtonLane was utilized for a preliminary test of Thorndyke's littleapparatus. During the whole of that brief journey I watched the compassclosely, noted the feel and sound of the road-material and timed thetrotting of the horse. And the result was quite encouraging. It is truethat the compass-needle oscillated wildly to the vibration of the cab,but still its oscillations took place around a definite point which wasthe average direction, and it was evident to me that the data itfurnished were very fairly reliable. I felt very little doubt, after thepreliminary trial, as to my being able to produce a moderatelyintelligible track-chart if only I should get an opportunity to exercisemy skill.

  But it looked as if I should not. Mr. Weiss's promise to send for meagain soon was not fulfilled. Three days passed and still he made nosign. I began to fear that I had been too outspoken; that the shutteredcarriage had gone forth to seek some more confiding and easy-goingpractitioner, and that our elaborate preparations had been made in vain.When the fourth day drew towards a close and still no summons had come,I was disposed reluctantly to write the case off as a lost opportunity.

  And at that moment, in the midst of my regrets, the bottle-boy thrust anuncomely head in at the door. His voice was coarse, his accent washideous, and his grammatical construction beneath contempt; but Iforgave him all when I gathered the import of his message.

  "Mr. Weiss's carriage is waiting, and he says will you come as quicklyas you can because he's took very bad to-night."

  I sprang from my chair and hastily collected the necessaries for thejourney. The little board and the lamp I put in my overcoat pocket; Ioverhauled the emergency bag and added to its usual contents a bottle ofpermanganate of potassium which I thought I might require. Then I tuckedthe evening paper under my arm and went out.

  The coachman, who was standing at the horse's head as I emerged, touchedhis hat and came forward to open the door.

  "I have fortified myself for the long drive, you see," I remarked,exhibiting the newspaper as I stepped into the carriage.

  "But you can't read in the dark," said he.

  "No, but I have provided myself with a lamp," I replied, producing itand striking a match.

  He watched me as I lit the lamp and hooked it on the back cushion, andobserved:

  "I suppose you found it rather a dull ride last time. It's a longishway. They might have fitted the carriage with an inside lamp. But weshall have to make it a quicker passage to-night. Governor says Mr.Graves is uncommon bad."

  With this he slammed the door and locked it. I drew the board from mypocket, laid it on my knee, glanced at my watch, and, as the coachmanclimbed to his seat, I made the first entry in the little book.

  "8.58. W. by S. Start from home. Horse 13 hands."

  The first move of the carriage on starting was to turn round as ifheading for Newington Butts, and the second entry accordingly read:

  "8.58.30. E. by N."

  But this direction was not maintained long. Very soon we turned southand then west and then south again. I sat with my eyes riveted on thecompass, following with some difficulty its rapid changes. The needleswung to and fro incessantly but always within a definite arc, thecentre of which was the true direction. But this direction varied fromminute to minute in the most astonishing manner. West, south, east,north, the carriage turned, "boxing" the compass until I lost all countof direction. It was an amazing performance. Considering that the manwas driving against time on a mission of life and death urgency, hiscarelessness as to direction was astounding. The tortuousness of theroute must have made the journey twice as long as it need have beenwith a little more careful selection. At least so it appeared to me,though, naturally, I was not in a position to offer an authoritativecriticism.

  As far as I could judge, we followed the same route as before. Once Iheard a tug's whistle and knew that we were near the river, and wepassed the railway station, apparently at the same time as on theprevious occasion, for I heard a passenger train start and assumed thatit was the same train. We crossed quite a number of thoroughfares withtram-lines--I had no idea there were so many--and it was a revelation tome to find how numerous the railway arches were in this part of Londonand how continually the nature of the road-metal varied.

  It was by no means a dull journey this time. The incessant changes ofdirection and variations in the character of the road kept me mostuncommonly busy; for I had hardly time to scribble down one entry beforethe compass-needle would swing round sharply, showing that we had oncemore turned a corner; and I was quite taken by surprise when thecarriage slowed down and turned into the covered way. Very hastily Iscribbled down the final entry ("9.24. S.E. In covered way"), and havingclosed the book and slipped it and the board into my pocket, had justopened out the newspaper when the carriage door was unlocked and opened,whereupon I unhooked and blew out the lamp and pocketed that too,reflecting that it might be useful later.

  As on the last occasion, Mrs. Schallibaum stood in the open doorway witha lighted candle. But she was a good deal less self-possessed this time.In fact she looked rather wild and terrified. Even by the candle-lightI could see that she was very pale and she seemed unable to keep still.As she gave me the few necessary words of explanation, she fidgetedincessantly and her hands and feet were in constant movement.

  "You had better come up with me at once," she said. "Mr. Graves is muchworse to-night. We will wait not for Mr. Weiss."

  Without waiting for a reply she quickly ascended the stairs and Ifollowed. The room was in much the same condition as before. But thepatient was not. As soon as I entered the room, a soft, rhythmicalgurgle from the bed gave me a very clear warning of danger. I steppedforward quickly and looked down at the prostrate figure, and the warninggathered emphasis. The sick man's ghastly face was yet more ghastly; hiseyes were more sunken, his skin more livid; "his nose was as sharp as apen," and if he did not "babble of green fields" it was because heseemed to be beyond even that. If it had been a case of disease, Ishould have said at once that he was dying. He had all the appearance ofa man in articulo mortis. Even as it was, feeling convinced that thecase was one of morphine poisoning, I was far from confident that Ishould be able to draw him back from the extreme edge of vitality onwhich he trembled so insecurely.

  "He is very ill? He is dying?"

  It was Mrs. Schallibaum's voice; very low, but eager and intense. Iturned, with my finger on the patient's wrist, and looked into the faceof the most thoroughly scared woman I have ever seen. She made noattempt now to avoid the light, but looked me squarely in the face, andI noticed, half-unconsciously, that her eyes were brown and had acurious strained expression.

  "Yes," I answered, "he is very ill. He is in great danger."

  She still stared at me fixedly for some seconds. And then a very oddthing occurred. Suddenly she squinted--squinted horribly; not with thefamiliar convergent squint which burlesque artists imitate, but wi
thexternal or divergent squint of extreme near sight or unequal vision.The effect was quite startling. One moment both her eyes were lookingstraight into mine; the next, one of them rolled round until it lookedout of the uttermost corner, leaving the other gazing steadily forward.

  She was evidently conscious of the change, for she turned her head awayquickly and reddened somewhat. But it was no time for thoughts ofpersonal appearance.

  "You can save him, doctor! You will not let him die! He must not beallowed to die!"

  She spoke with as much passion as if he had been the dearest friend thatshe had in the world, which I suspected was far from being the case. Buther manifest terror had its uses.

  "If anything is to be done to save him," I said, "it must be donequickly. I will give him some medicine at once, and meanwhile you mustmake some strong coffee."

  "Coffee!" she exclaimed. "But we have none in the house. Will not teado, if I make it very strong?"

  "No, it will not. I must have coffee; and I must have it quickly."

  "Then I suppose I must go and get some. But it is late. The shops willbe shut. And I don't like leaving Mr. Graves."

  "Can't you send the coachman?" I asked.

  She shook her head impatiently. "No, that is no use. I must wait untilMr. Weiss comes."

  "That won't do," I said, sharply. "He will slip through our fingerswhile you are waiting. You must go and get that coffee at once and bringit to me as soon as it is ready. And I want a tumbler and some water."

  She brought me a water-bottle and glass from the wash-stand and then,with a groan of despair, hurried from the room.

  I lost no time in applying the remedies that I had to hand. Shaking outinto the tumbler a few crystals of potassium permanganate, I filled itup with water and approached the patient. His stupor was profound. Ishook him as roughly as was safe in his depressed condition, butelicited no resistance or responsive movement. As it seemed verydoubtful whether he was capable of swallowing, I dared not take the riskof pouring the liquid into his mouth for fear of suffocating him. Astomach-tube would have solved the difficulty, but, of course, I had notone with me. I had, however, a mouth-speculum which also acted as a gag,and, having propped the patient's mouth open with this, I hastilyslipped off one of the rubber tubes from my stethoscope and insertedinto one end of it a vulcanite ear-speculum to serve as a funnel. Then,introducing the other end of the tube into the gullet as far as itslength would permit, I cautiously poured a small quantity of thepermanganate solution into the extemporized funnel. To my great relief amovement of the throat showed that the swallowing reflex still existed,and, thus encouraged, I poured down the tube as much of the fluid as Ithought it wise to administer at one time.

  The dose of permanganate that I had given was enough to neutralize anyreasonable quantity of the poison that might yet remain in the stomach.I had next to deal with that portion of the drug which had already beenabsorbed and was exercising its poisonous effects. Taking my hypodermiccase from my bag, I prepared in the syringe a full dose of atropinesulphate, which I injected forthwith into the unconscious man's arm. Andthat was all that I could do, so far as remedies were concerned, untilthe coffee arrived.

  I cleaned and put away the syringe, washed the tube, and then, returningto the bedside, endeavoured to rouse the patient from his profoundlethargy. But great care was necessary. A little injudicious roughnessof handling, and that thready, flickering pulse might stop for ever; andyet it was almost certain that if he were not speedily aroused, hisstupor would gradually deepen until it shaded off imperceptibly intodeath. I went to work very cautiously, moving his limbs about, flickinghis face and chest with the corner of a wet towel, tickling the solesof his feet, and otherwise applying stimuli that were strong withoutbeing violent.

  So occupied was I with my efforts to resuscitate my mysterious patientthat I did not notice the opening of the door, and it was with somethingof a start that, happening to glance round, I perceived at the fartherend of the room the shadowy figure of a man relieved by two spots oflight reflected from his spectacles. How long he had been watching me Icannot say, but, when he saw that I had observed him, he cameforward--though not very far--and I saw that he was Mr. Weiss.

  "I am afraid," he said, "that you do not find my friend so wellto-night?"

  "So well!" I exclaimed. "I don't find him well at all. I am exceedinglyanxious about him."

  "You don't--er--anticipate anything of a--er--anything serious, I hope?"

  "There is no need to anticipate," said I. "It is already about asserious as it can be. I think he might die at any moment."

  "Good God!" he gasped. "You horrify me!"

  He was not exaggerating. In his agitation, he stepped forward into thelighter part of the room, and I could see that his face was pale toghastliness--except his nose and the adjacent red patches on his cheeks,which stood out in grotesquely hideous contrast. Presently, however, herecovered a little and said:

  "I really think--at least I hope--that you take an unnecessarily seriousview of his condition. He has been like this before, you know."

  I felt pretty certain that he had not, but there was no use indiscussing the question. I therefore replied, as I continued my effortsto rouse the patient:

  "That may or may not be. But in any case there comes a last time; and itmay have come now."

  "I hope not," he said; "although I understand that these cases alwaysend fatally sooner or later."

  "What cases?" I asked.

  "I was referring to sleeping sickness; but perhaps you have formed someother opinion as to the nature of this dreadful complaint."

  I hesitated for a moment, and he continued: "As to your suggestion thathis symptoms might be due to drugs, I think we may consider that asdisposed of. He has been watched, practically without cessation sinceyou came last, and, moreover, I have myself turned out the room andexamined the bed and have not found a trace of any drug. Have you goneinto the question of sleeping sickness?"

  I looked at the man narrowly before answering, and distrusted him morethan ever. But this was no time for reticence. My concern was with thepatient and his present needs. After all, I was, as Thorndyke had said,a doctor, not a detective, and the circumstances called forstraightforward speech and action on my part.

  "I have considered that question," I said, "and have come to a perfectlydefinite conclusion. His symptoms are not those of sleeping sickness.They are in my opinion undoubtedly due to morphine poisoning."

  "But my dear sir!" he exclaimed, "the thing is impossible! Haven't Ijust told you that he has been watched continuously?"

  "I can only judge by the appearances that I find," I answered; and,seeing that he was about to offer fresh objections, I continued: "Don'tlet us waste precious time in discussion, or Mr. Graves may be deadbefore we have reached a conclusion. If you will hurry them up about thecoffee that I asked for some time ago, I will take the other necessarymeasures, and perhaps we may manage to pull him round."

  The rather brutal decision of my manner evidently daunted him. It musthave been plain to him that I was not prepared to accept any explanationof the unconscious man's condition other than that of morphinepoisoning; whence the inference was pretty plain that the alternativeswere recovery or an inquest. Replying stiffly that I "must do as Ithought best," he hurried from the room, leaving me to continue myefforts without further interruption.

  For some time these efforts seemed to make no impression. The man lay asstill and impassive as a corpse excepting for the slow, shallow andrather irregular breathing with its ominous accompanying rattle. Butpresently, by imperceptible degrees, signs of returning life began tomake their appearance. A sharp slap on the cheek with the wet towelproduced a sensible flicker of the eyelids; a similar slap on the chestwas followed by a slight gasp. A pencil, drawn over the sole of thefoot, occasioned a visible shrinking movement, and, on looking oncemore at the eyes, I detected a slight change that told me that theatropine was beginning to take effect.

  This was very encouragi
ng, and, so far, quite satisfactory, though itwould have been premature to rejoice. I kept the patient carefullycovered and maintained the process of gentle irritation, moving hislimbs and shoulders, brushing his hair and generally bombarding hisdeadened senses with small but repeated stimuli. And under thistreatment, the improvement continued so far that on my bawling aquestion into his ear he actually opened his eyes for an instant, thoughin another moment, the lids had sunk back into their former position.

  Soon after this, Mr. Weiss re-entered the room, followed by Mrs.Schallibaum, who carried a small tray, on which were a jug of coffee, ajug of milk, a cup and saucer and a sugar basin.

  "How do you find him now?" Mr. Weiss asked anxiously.

  "I am glad to say that there is a distinct improvement," I replied. "Butwe must persevere. He is by no means out of the wood yet."

  I examined the coffee, which looked black and strong and had a veryreassuring smell, and, pouring out half a cupful, approached the bed.

  "Now, Mr. Graves," I shouted, "we want you to drink some of this."

  The flaccid eyelids lifted for an instant but there was no otherresponse. I gently opened the unresisting mouth and ladled in a coupleof spoonfuls of coffee, which were immediately swallowed; whereupon Irepeated the proceeding and continued at short intervals until the cupwas empty. The effect of the new remedy soon became apparent. He beganto mumble and mutter obscurely in response to the questions that Ibellowed at him, and once or twice he opened his eyes and lookeddreamily into my face. Then I sat him up and made him drink some coffeefrom the cup, and, all the time, kept up a running fire of questions,which made up in volume of sound for what they lacked of relevancy.

  Of these proceedings Mr. Weiss and his housekeeper were highlyinterested spectators, and the former, contrary to his usual practice,came quite close up to the bed, to get a better view.

  "It is really a most remarkable thing," he said, "but it almost looks asif you were right, after all. He is certainly much better. But tell me,would this treatment produce a similar improvement if the symptoms weredue to disease?"

  "No," I answered, "it certainly would not."

  "Then that seems to settle it. But it is a most mysterious affair. Canyou suggest any way in which he can have concealed a store of the drug?"

  I stood up and looked him straight in the face; it was the first chanceI had had of inspecting him by any but the feeblest light, and I lookedat him very attentively. Now, it is a curious fact--though one that mostpersons must have observed--that there sometimes occurs a considerableinterval between the reception of a visual impression and its completetransfer to the consciousness. A thing may be seen, as it were,unconsciously, and the impression consigned, apparently, to instantoblivion; and yet the picture may be subsequently revived by memory withsuch completeness that its details can be studied as though the objectwere still actually visible.

  Something of this kind must have happened to me now. Preoccupied as Iwas, by the condition of the patient, the professional habit of rapidand close observation caused me to direct a searching glance at the manbefore me. It was only a brief glance--for Mr. Weiss, perhapsembarrassed by my keen regard of him, almost immediately withdrew intothe shadow--and my attention seemed principally to be occupied by theodd contrast between the pallor of his face and the redness of his noseand by the peculiar stiff, bristly character of his eyebrows. But therewas another fact, and a very curious one, that was observed by mesubconsciously and instantly forgotten, to be revived later when Ireflected on the events of the night. It was this:

  As Mr. Weiss stood, with his head slightly turned, I was able to lookthrough one glass of his spectacles at the wall beyond. On the wall wasa framed print; and the edge of the frame, seen through thespectacle-glass, appeared quite unaltered and free from distortion,magnification or reduction, as if seen through plain window-glass; andyet the reflections of the candle-flame in the spectacles showed theflame upside down, proving conclusively that the glasses were concave onone surface at least. The strange phenomenon was visible only for amoment or two, and as it passed out of my sight it passed also out of mymind.

  "No," I said, replying to the last question; "I can think of no way inwhich he could have effectually hidden a store of morphine. Judging bythe symptoms, he has taken a large dose, and, if he has been in thehabit of consuming large quantities, his stock would be pretty bulky. Ican offer no suggestion whatever."

  "I suppose you consider him quite out of danger now?"

  "Oh, not at all. I think we can pull him round if we persevere, but hemust not be allowed to sink back into a state of coma. We must keep himon the move until the effects of the drug have really passed off. If youwill put him into his dressing-gown we will walk him up and down theroom for a while."

  "But is that safe?" Mr. Weiss asked anxiously.

  "Quite safe," I answered. "I will watch his pulse carefully. The dangeris in the possibility, or rather certainty, of a relapse if he is notkept moving."

  With obvious unwillingness and disapproval, Mr. Weiss produced adressing-gown and together we invested the patient in it. Then wedragged him, very limp, but not entirely unresisting, out of bed andstood him on his feet. He opened his eyes and blinked owlishly first atone and then at the other of us, and mumbled a few unintelligible wordsof protest; regardless of which, we thrust his feet into slippers andendeavoured to make him walk. At first he seemed unable to stand, and wehad to support him by his arms as we urged him forward; but presentlyhis trailing legs began to make definite walking movements, and, afterone or two turns up and down the room, he was not only able partly tosupport his weight, but showed evidence of reviving consciousness inmore energetic protests.

  At this point Mr. Weiss astonished me by transferring the arm that heheld to the housekeeper.

  "If you will excuse me, doctor," said he, "I will go now and attend tosome rather important business that I have had to leave unfinished. Mrs.Schallibaum will be able to give you all the assistance that yourequire, and will order the carriage when you think it safe to leave thepatient. In case I should not see you again I will say 'good night.' Ihope you won't think me very unceremonious."

  He shook hands with me and went out of the room, leaving me, as I havesaid, profoundly astonished that he should consider any business of moremoment than the condition of his friend, whose life, even now, was buthanging by a thread. However, it was really no concern of mine. I coulddo without him, and the resuscitation of this unfortunate half-dead mangave me occupation enough to engross my whole attention.

  The melancholy progress up and down the room re-commenced, and with itthe mumbled protests from the patient. As we walked, and especially aswe turned, I caught frequent glimpses of the housekeeper's face. But itwas nearly always in profile. She appeared to avoid looking me in theface, though she did so once or twice; and on each of these occasionsher eyes were directed at me in a normal manner without any sign of asquint. Nevertheless, I had the impression that when her face was turnedaway from me she squinted. The "swivel eye"--the left--was towards me asshe held the patient's right arm, and it was almost continuously turnedin my direction, whereas I felt convinced that she was really lookingstraight before her, though, of course, her right eye was invisible tome. It struck me, even at the time, as an odd affair, but I was too muchconcerned about my charge to give it much consideration.

  Meanwhile the patient continued to revive apace. And the more herevived, the more energetically did he protest against this wearisomeperambulation. But he was evidently a polite gentleman, for, muddled ashis faculties were, he managed to clothe his objections in courteous andeven gracious forms of speech singularly out of agreement with thecharacter that Mr. Weiss had given him.

  "I thangyou," he mumbled thickly. "Ver' good take s'much trouble. ThinkI will lie down now." He looked wistfully at the bed, but I wheeled himabout and marched him once more down the room. He submittedunresistingly, but as we again approached the bed he reopened thematter.

  "S'quite s'fficient,
thang you. Gebback to bed now. Much 'bliged frallyour kindness"--here I turned him round--"no, really; m'feeling rathertired. Sh'like to lie down now, f'you'd be s'good."

  "You must walk about a little longer, Mr. Graves," I said. "It would bevery bad for you to go to sleep again."

  He looked at me with a curious, dull surprise, and reflected awhile asif in some perplexity. Then he looked at me again and said:

  "Thing, sir, you are mistake--mistaken me--mist--"

  Here Mrs. Schallibaum interrupted sharply:

  "The doctor thinks it's good for you to walk about. You've been sleepingtoo much. He doesn't want you to sleep any more just now."

  "Don't wanter sleep; wanter lie down," said the patient.

  "But you mustn't lie down for a little while. You must walk about for afew minutes more. And you'd better not talk. Just walk up and down."

  "There's no harm in his talking," said I; "in fact it's good for him. Itwill help to keep him awake."

  "I should think it would tire him," said Mrs. Schallibaum; "and itworries me to hear him asking to lie down when we can't let him."

  She spoke sharply and in an unnecessarily high tone so that the patientcould not fail to hear. Apparently he took in the very broad hintcontained in the concluding sentence, for he trudged wearily andunsteadily up and down the room for some time without speaking, thoughhe continued to look at me from time to time as if something in myappearance puzzled him exceedingly. At length his intolerable longingfor repose overcame his politeness and he returned to the attack.

  "Surely v' walked enough now. Feeling very tired. Am really. Would yoube s'kind 's t'let me lie down few minutes?"

  "Don't you think he might lie down for a little while?" Mrs. Schallibaumasked.

  I felt his pulse, and decided that he was really becoming fatigued, andthat it would be wiser not to overdo the exercise while he was so weak.Accordingly, I consented to his returning to bed, and turned him roundin that direction; whereupon he tottered gleefully towards hisresting-place like a tired horse heading for its stable.

  As soon as he was tucked in, I gave him a full cup of coffee, which hedrank with some avidity as if thirsty. Then I sat down by the bedside,and, with a view to keeping him awake, began once more to ply him withquestions.

  "Does your head ache, Mr. Graves?" I asked.

  "The doctor says 'does your head ache?'" Mrs. Schallibaum squalled, soloudly that the patient started perceptibly.

  "I heard him, m'dear girl," he answered with a faint smile. "Not deafyou know. Yes. Head aches a good deal. But I thing this gennlemanmistakes--"

  "He says you are to keep awake. You mustn't go to sleep again, and youare not to close your eyes."

  "All ri' Pol'n. Keep'm open," and he proceeded forthwith to shut themwith an air of infinite peacefulness. I grasped his hand and shook itgently, on which he opened his eyes and looked at me sleepily. Thehousekeeper stroked his head, keeping her face half-turned from me--asshe had done almost constantly, to conceal the squinting eye, as Iassumed--and said:

  "Need we keep you any longer, doctor? It is getting very late and youhave a long way to go."

  I looked doubtfully at the patient. I was loath to leave him,distrusting these people as I did. But I had my work to do on themorrow, with, perhaps, a night call or two in the interval, and theendurance even of a general practitioner has its limits.

  "I think I heard the carriage some time ago," Mrs. Schallibaum added.

  I rose hesitatingly and looked at my watch. It had turned half-pasteleven.

  "You understand," I said in a low voice, "that the danger is not over?If he is left now he will fall asleep, and in all human probability willnever wake. You clearly understand that?"

  "Yes, quite clearly. I promise you he shall not be allowed to fallasleep again."

  As she spoke, she looked me full in the face for a few moments, and Inoted that her eyes had a perfectly normal appearance, without any tracewhatever of a squint.

  "Very well," I said. "On that understanding I will go now; and I shallhope to find our friend quite recovered at my next visit."

  I turned to the patient, who was already dozing, and shook his handheartily.

  "Good-bye, Mr. Graves!" I said. "I am sorry to have to disturb yourrepose so much; but you must keep awake, you know. Won't do to go tosleep."

  "Ver' well," he replied drowsily. "Sorry t' give you all this trouble.L' keep awake. But I think you're mistak'n--"

  "He says it's very important that you shouldn't go to sleep, and that Iam to see that you don't. Do you understand?"

  "Yes, I un'stan'. But why does this gennlem'n--?"

  "Now it's of no use for you to ask a lot of questions," Mrs. Schallibaumsaid playfully; "we'll talk to you to-morrow. Good night, doctor. I'lllight you down the stairs, but I won't come down with you, or thepatient will be falling asleep again."

  Taking this definite dismissal, I retired, followed by a dreamilysurprised glance from the sick man. The housekeeper held the candle overthe balusters until I reached the bottom of the stairs, when I perceivedthrough the open door along the passage a glimmer of light from thecarriage lamps. The coachman was standing just outside, faintlyilluminated by the very dim lamplight, and as I stepped into thecarriage he remarked in his Scotch dialect that I "seemed to have beenmakin' a nicht of it." He did not wait for any reply--none being in factneeded--but shut the door and locked it.

  I lit my little pocket-lamp and hung it on the back cushion. I even drewthe board and notebook from my pocket. But it seemed rather unnecessaryto take a fresh set of notes, and, to tell the truth, I rather shirkedthe labour, tired as I was after my late exertions; besides, I wantedto think over the events of the evening, while they were fresh in mymemory. Accordingly I put away the notebook, filled and lighted my pipe,and settled myself to review the incidents attending my second visit tothis rather uncanny house.

  Considered in leisurely retrospect, that visit offered quite a number ofproblems that called for elucidation. There was the patient's condition,for instance. Any doubt as to the cause of his symptoms was set at restby the effect of the antidotes. Mr. Graves was certainly under theinfluence of morphine, and the only doubtful question was how he hadbecome so. That he had taken the poison himself was incredible. Nomorphinomaniac would take such a knock-down dose. It was practicallycertain that the poison had been administered by someone else, and, onMr. Weiss's own showing, there was no one but himself and thehousekeeper who could have administered it. And to this conclusion allthe other very queer circumstances pointed.

  What were these circumstances? They were, as I have said, numerous,though many of them seemed trivial. To begin with, Mr. Weiss's habit ofappearing some time after my arrival and disappearing some time beforemy departure was decidedly odd. But still more odd was his suddendeparture this evening on what looked like a mere pretext. Thatdeparture coincided in time with the sick man's recovery of the power ofspeech. Could it be that Mr. Weiss was afraid that the half-consciousman might say something compromising to him in my presence? It lookedrather like it. And yet he had gone away and left me with the patientand the housekeeper.

  But when I came to think about it I remembered that Mrs. Schallibaum hadshown some anxiety to prevent the patient from talking. She hadinterrupted him more than once, and had on two occasions broken in whenhe seemed to be about to ask me some question. I was "mistaken" aboutsomething. What was that something that he wanted to tell me?

  It had struck me as singular that there should be no coffee in thehouse, but a sufficiency of tea. Germans are not usually tea-drinkersand they do take coffee. But perhaps there was nothing in this. Rathermore remarkable was the invisibility of the coachman. Why could he notbe sent to fetch the coffee, and why did not he, rather than thehousekeeper, come to take the place of Mr. Weiss when the latter had togo away.

  There were other points, too. I recalled the word that sounded like"Pol'n," which Mr. Graves had used in speaking to the housekeeper.Apparently it was a Christian name of
some kind; but why did Mr. Gravescall the woman by her Christian name when Mr. Weiss addressed herformally as Mrs. Schallibaum? And, as to the woman herself: what was themeaning of that curious disappearing squint? Physically it presented nomystery. The woman had an ordinary divergent squint, and, like manypeople, who suffer from this displacement, could, by a strong musculareffort, bring the eyes temporarily into their normal parallel position.I had detected the displacement when she had tried to maintain theeffort too long, and the muscular control had given way. But why had shedone it? Was it only feminine vanity--mere sensitiveness respecting aslight personal disfigurement? It might be so; or there might be somefurther motive. It was impossible to say.

  Turning this question over, I suddenly remembered the peculiarity of Mr.Weiss's spectacles. And here I met with a real poser. I had certainlyseen through those spectacles as clearly as if they had been plainwindow-glass; and they had certainly given an inverted reflection of thecandle-flame like that thrown from the surface of a concave lens. Nowthey obviously could not be both flat and concave; but yet they had theproperties peculiar to both flatness and concavity. And there was afurther difficulty. If I could see objects unaltered through them, socould Mr. Weiss. But the function of spectacles is to alter theappearances of objects, by magnification, reduction or compensatingdistortion. If they leave the appearances unchanged they are useless. Icould make nothing of it. After puzzling over it for quite a long time,I had to give it up; which I did the less unwillingly inasmuch as theconstruction of Mr. Weiss's spectacles had no apparent bearing on thecase.

  On arriving home, I looked anxiously at the message-book, and wasrelieved to find that there were no further visits to be made. Havingmade up a mixture for Mr. Graves and handed it to the coachman, I rakedthe ashes of the surgery fire together and sat down to smoke a finalpipe while I reflected once more on the singular and suspicious case inwhich I had become involved. But fatigue soon put an end to mymeditations; and having come to the conclusion that the circumstancesdemanded a further consultation with Thorndyke, I turned down the gas toa microscopic blue spark and betook myself to bed.