Tempest-Driven: A Romance (Vol. 1 of 3). Dowling Richard

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СКАЧАТЬ if she could do anything. I hope this is not a case of foul play."

      CHAPTER III

      HINTS OF EARLY HISTORY

      Alfred Paulton had not said too much of the kindliness of his father and mother. He left Mrs. Davenport in the drawing-room and knocked at his mother's door, and explained to both father and mother what had occurred, and the step he had taken in the matter. After expressions of surprise and horror at the tragedy at Crescent House, both applauded his action. Mrs. Paulton then told him to go down to the guest and say that she would follow him in a few minutes.

      When he got back to the drawing-room he found the widow where he had left her. She was sitting in an easy-chair, her elbow resting on a table, her head on her hand. She raised her head as he entered. Otherwise she did not move.

      "My mother is delighted you have come," he said. "She will be here in a few minutes. I see the fire has gone out. I hope you do not feel the place very cold?"

      She looked at him with a stony stare. Her brows were slightly raised, but around her eyes the lids were strangely contracted. The expression of the whole face was that of one who suffered pain, but was not giving attention to the pain. When she spoke, her voice was dry and hard.

      "It is most kind of your mother to interest and trouble herself about a perfect stranger. I do not feel cold, thank you."

      The contraction round the eyes relaxed. A look of intelligence alarmed came into her eyes, and she asked, in a husky voice:

      "Do you know anything of cases such as this? I mean, do you know anything of the law in such cases?"

      "The law!" he said, "the law! In what way do you mean?"

      "Oh," she cried, covering her face with her hands, "it is dreadful to think of-horrible! Can you not tell me," she pleaded, "if-if it will be necessary to have an-"

      She paused and looked at him beseechingly.

      "An inquest?"

      "Yes."

      "Certainly not," he answered promptly. With this beautiful woman before him it was shocking to think of the ordeal and details of an inquest. "Mr. Davenport was suffering from a disease of long standing; it had been particularly bad to-night, and a violent paroxysm overcame him. My friend, Dr. Santley, will make it right, and you will be spared all pain that can possibly be diverted from you."

      "Thank you," she said, feebly; and she threw herself back in her chair.

      Nothing further was said until Mrs. Paulton entered the room. The young man introduced Mrs. Davenport to his mother; then he left to rouse the coachman for the purpose of sitting up at Crescent House. As soon as Paulton had arranged this, he hastened back to Dr. Santley.

      "I came as quickly as I could, doctor. That poor woman is in a dreadful state of mind; she looks to me as if she were losing her reason."

      "H'm," said the doctor, who was sitting on a chair by the lamp on the table, and had been reading a newspaper he had happened to have in his pocket. He seemed thoughtful or sleepy; Paulton was not a man of nice observation.

      "Poor thing!" said the latter, compassionately; "she is not only in great grief for the loss of her husband, but was very uneasy about the suddenness of his death."

      "No wonder," said the doctor drily.

      The younger man sat down on a chair and regarded his companion with surprise. He had known the other for years, and had always taken him for a simple, sympathetic man. His tone now was one of cynical distrust, although distrust of what Paulton could not even guess. He leant forward and peered into Santley's face.

      "I told her to make her mind quite easy on the score of the future. You understand what I mean?"

      "She does not want an inquest?"

      "Precisely."

      "That is unfortunate, for I will not certify."

      "What!" cried Paulton, leaning still farther forward, "you will not certify as to the cause of death? What do you mean?"

      He shivered, and looked apprehensively at the body reclining on the couch.

      "I don't know what the cause of death was."

      "She said spasmodic asthma."

      "A disease that very, very rarely kills."

      "I thought that, on the contrary, it was most fatal."

      "No. In a paroxysm of coughing, something in the head or chest may give way, but asthma itself does not kill."

      An uneasy expression came into the young man's face, and, looking straight into the doctor's eyes, he said:

      "And in this case what do you think killed?"

      "It is impossible to say until after the inquest. I found on the floor this" – he held a bottle up in his hand. "It is a two-ounce bottle, empty; it contained chloroform. There is chloroform spilt all over the beard, shirt, and waistcoat."

      "But perhaps the chloroform was administered for the relief of the dead man?"

      "Perhaps so," said Santley, rising; "we shall find out all at the inquest. I'm off to bed now. Let nothing be stirred here. Good-night."

      As Dr. Santley turned away from the gate of Crescent House, Paulton's coachman came up and the young man was relieved. He walked home straight and went to bed.

      It was past four by this time, and after the excitement of the night there was little chance of the young man closing his eyes. His life up to this had been barren of adventure, and here was he now plunged into the middle of an affair which would be town talk in twenty-four hours. It was quite plain to him, from Santley's manner, that the latter did not think the man had died a natural death, and it was almost as plain he did not think it was a case of accidental poisoning or suicide. Gradually, as time went by, it seemed to narrow itself down to one question: Did or did not that superb woman-? But no; the mere question was a hideous libel! He wished he could go to sleep; but sleep would not come. He tossed and tumbled until he felt feverish. In the heat and hurry of events a few hours old he had not had time for thought; now he had time for thought, but he did not want to think. True, he had no personal interest in that silent room out of which he had stepped a little while ago, but it haunted him, and lay before his imagination, lighted up with a fierce light which made every object in it stand out with painful sharpness.

      While the actions of which he had been a spectator were going on at Crescent House, all had been confusion, chaos. Now every object was firmly defined by a hard, rigid line; every sound had a metallic ring; every motion went forward with mathematical deliberateness and precision. And over this scene of rigid forms and circumspect movement presided the woman, whose dark and lofty beauty had filled him with amazed reverence.

      Murder! Could it be that murder had been done? There could be no doubt Santley thought so. Murder done by whom? Ugh! How he wished he had had nothing to do with that house; and yet, it was a privilege even to have seen her, to have heard her voice, to have done her a slight service. Above all, it was consoling to think she was now under this roof. If a fool knew how his thoughts were running now, that fool might think he was in love with this woman. In love! Monstrous! He would as soon think of falling in love with a sunset, a melody, a poem.

      Oh, if he could only sleep! Why should he trouble himself СКАЧАТЬ