_ CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT. TO SAVE HER
The knock was repeated as Brettison and Stratton stood gazing at each other, and then at the miserable imbecile before them in the chair.
At that moment a familiar voice, muffled by the doors, but still silvery and clear, said:
"No use; not at home."
"One more try!" came plainly to their ears, followed by a cleverly executed _roulade_ with the little brass knocker.
Then there was a short pause, and the rattle of the little copper-plate of the letter-box as if something had been dropped in; the babble of merry voices, and descending steps.
Stratton waited till the last sound had died out, when he opened the inner door, and took out two cards.
"Edie and Guest," he said, as he came back and reclosed the door.
Just then a line or two in pencil caught his eye, and he read:
"Come on to my rooms as soon as you can. News.
"P.G." "Impossible?" muttered Stratton, tossing the cards on to the table. "Now, Brettison, we must act at once."
"Yes. Yes; of course. But, my dear lad, what a pity you found me, and I took you there."
"Too late to talk of that, man," said Stratton, who was full of energy now as he stood frowning. "But have you ever had any scene like this before? I mean, has he returned to his former self?"
"No. He has always been as you saw him this morning. His memory was a blank as to the past. Your coming and the sound of your voice must have revived it all."
"But he made not the faintest sign of recognition."
"No; but we cannot understand the workings of the brain. It was, perhaps, the expiring effort of his reason, for look at him now."
"Expiring!" cried Stratton. "Yes; but how many more flashes of reason may spring up before the light goes right out?"
Brettison gazed at the man in a perplexed way, and bent over and touched him, but there was no sign.
"This settles it," said Stratton at last. "We must act at once."
"Yes. What shall we do?"
"You see, he may have a hundred returns of his memory, and come here again and again threatening and making demands; and if he has reason enough at these times to come here, what is to prevent his going up to the admiral's and making a terrible scene there?"
Brettison nodded.
"Yes," he said hopelessly. "What, indeed! Malcolm, my dear lad. I thought by going into hiding with him, and devoting myself to his care, I was doing you a great service; but I'm getting old and weak, I suppose. I will go by all you say now. I haven't an opinion of my own."
"You did everything you could for me," said Stratton warmly; "and you must go on helping me still."
"I will do anything if you will only trust me."
"Trust you," cried Stratton reproachfully. "There, we must act at once."
"What do you propose doing?"
"Making sure that the man has no further opportunity of doing harm to anyone."
"You will not hand the poor wretch over to the police?"
"No," said Stratton sternly. "I cannot; he is her husband. That blow must not come from me. Either you or I must always be with him abroad."
"Yes, it would be best. Beyond reach of doing harm. Where shall I take him?"
"_We_ will take him across to France first," said Stratton, emphasising the first word. "Let's get him to Saint Malo, and then along the coast to some secluded fishing village, till we can think out a better plan."
"Good; and when will you start?"
"At once--that is, to-night. You could be ready?"
"A man who can draw a little money is always ready," replied Brettison, smiling. "Then I'll take him back with me in a cab, pack up some things, and you will join us in time to catch the train which meets the Southampton boat this evening."
"No. Leave him with me," said Stratton firmly. "Go and get your luggage ready, and call for me with a cab at nine; that will be plenty of time for us to catch the train."
"But--er--leave you--with him?" said Brettison hesitatingly.
Stratton laughed bitterly.
"Don't be afraid, old fellow," he said. "I shall not try to murder him this time."
"My dear Malcolm!" cried the old man reproachfully.
"Well," said Stratton, smiling sadly; "if you did not exactly think that, you had some hazy notions of its being unsafe to leave me with my incubus."
"I--that is--" faltered Brettison weakly.
"There, say no more. He's safe with me. I shall not try to buy her freedom at such a cost. You know that."
"At nine o'clock, then," said Brettison hastily. "You are sure you will not mind being left with him?"
"Mind?" said Stratton with a smile. "Yes, I mind it, but it is our duty, old fellow; and we are going to do that duty to the end."
He wrung his old friend's hand as he saw him off, and then, with a complete change coming over his countenance, he carefully locked the door, placed the inner key in his pocket, and walked steadily across to where his unwelcome visitor lay back in his seat, with his hand still playing furtively about the red scar behind his ear. His eyes stared in a leaden way at the rich carpet; and, as Stratton followed them he shuddered, and the whole scene of that terrible night came back, for the eyes were fixed upon a stain only partly obliterated, and it was there where his head had lain after he received the shot.
A peculiar sense of shrinking ran through Stratton as he saw himself again passing through the struggle and dragging the man into the bath-closet, while once more he had to fight with the feelings of dread of detection, and recalled how he had argued with himself, upon the necessity for hiding away the wretch whose existence had been as a blight on Myra's young life, and who, dead, was the great bar to their future happiness.
"And," he muttered aloud with a bitter sigh, "living--as great a barrier still."
"If he would but die," something seemed to say; "and free her."
But he shook his head directly.
"A vain hope," he said--"a vain hope."
He shuddered and clenched his hands, closing his eyes directly after, for a maddening, horrible feeling of temptation had come over him. They were alone in that solitary room--he with this wretch whose existence in his sane moments was a curse; and who now, as he lay back there feeble, vacuous, existing only in body, not in mind, was a mere blot upon the earth, less worthy of the space he occupied than the vilest animal classed as vermin, and which man crushed out of his way without compunction, without a second thought. What sin would it be to quench the flickering life before him? He must give up all hope of ever clasping Myra to his heart, as he had given it up before, and suffer as he had suffered then; but she would be free. There would never then be any possibility of her coming face to face with this horror. And it would be so easy! One firm grasp of his nervous fingers, and the feeble beating of the miserable wretch's arteries would cease.
And after?
Brettison would return and find that his preparations had been vain-- that the man was lying back there in his chair--dead from a fit--the precarious life had come to an end, as might have been foretold after such a seizure--such a stroke. And it would be so easy--so easy.
Stratton opened his eyes and stood gazing down at the vacant face with the lids half-closed now, and remained there as if fascinated, unable to drag himself away till, with one vigorous wrench, he turned and literally rushed into his chamber to prepare for the journey.
He was absent about half an hour before he returned to make a few more preparations there.
He went about the room opening cabinet and case to find money and other necessaries for his journey, busying himself, and taking care not to let his eyes rest for a moment on the figure sitting back in the chair and uneasily moving from time to time.
"He is safe with me--safe with me," Stratton muttered as he went to and from his bedroom. "What thoughts will force themselves into a man's head at times!"
The hours had glided by till it had grown quite dark, and still he was busy for the sake of occupying himself. But at last he could see to do no more, and he went softly to a drawer to get out matches and light his lamp.
The drawer creaked as he pulled it out, and deadened a sound behind him as of one softly rising from a chair, and a piece of stone--a large fossil--grated as it was taken from the mantelpiece; but, rapt in thought, Stratton did not hear it as he opened the box, took out and struck a match, which flashed, and threw a bluish, ghastly light upon a hideous face, with beside it an arm raised to strike.
The next minute there was a crash and a heavy fall.
It was about half an hour later that Brettison ascended the staircase, and as he reached the landing there was a puffing and panting behind him.
"It is you, then, Mr Brettison," cried Mrs Brade joyfully; "I thought it was you as you passed the lodge, and I am glad, sir. We began to think you must be dead and gone. Now do let me come and tidy up your room, sir, and make you a cup of tea."
"No, no," said Brettison. "I am going in here. Mr Stratton and I are leaving town."
"Mr Stratton has gone, sir. Leastwise not at home."
"What!"
"Mr Guest was here a quarter of an hour ago, and said he'd been here once before. He couldn't make no one hear."
"Something has happened then," said Brettison to himself, and a thrill of horror ran through his frame. _