A Bachelor's Dream. Duchess

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СКАЧАТЬ on the pavement; he was lost by this time in the busy restless throng of Saturday night foot-passengers. The Doctor, abandoning any idea of chasing and securing him, lost not a moment in doing what he could. The short street was a new one, having on one side a neglected piece of waste land, where bricks, gravel, and mortar were flung in confusion; upon the other a row of half-finished houses. A curve at its upper end hid the thoroughfare beyond, although the sound of wheels and the hoarse cries of hucksters were audible to him as he dropped upon one knee, and gently raised the inert figure. Blood was upon it; he felt it and knew that it was staining his hand. Had no one heard that dreadful, thrilling cry but himself? It seemed not. He shouted loudly with the full power of his lungs:

      "Help, help! Murder! Here – help!"

      He was heard, for, as he loudly shouted again, voices answered him; and in a few moments a group of men and women had gathered about him, eager, excited, questioning. Before he could answer them they made way for a sergeant of police whom Doctor Brudenell happened to know. He explained hastily; the knot commented; the sergeant was cool and professional.

      "Pity you weren't quick enough to nab him, sir!"

      He went down upon his knee and turned the light of his lantern upon the ghastly face.

      "H'm! Young, and a spanker to look at, I should say! Wonder if it was robbery? Is she dead, sir?"

      "No." The Doctor laid her gently down, his practiced hand over the heart. "No; she's not dead. The blow was aimed at her heart, but something in her dress – a corset, probably – turned the weapon aside. Call me a cab, somebody. You're off duty, I think, sergeant – can you come with me?"

      "I am, sir. Always happens so when there's anything doing," muttered the sergeant, discontentedly. "Here's another of our people that ain't, though," as a second sergeant forced his way through the group, followed by a constable. "Baxter, you'd best step round and report this little job, and not lose any time about it, either. It's attempted murder – that's what the game is. Chap made off as if he'd got springs in his heels."

      The second officer bent down as the first had done, glanced at the bloodless face, asked a question or two, and started off at a smart pace, the fringe of the crowd hurrying after him.

      The Doctor looked at his companion, repeating:

      "Can you come with me? I may want assistance."

      "With pleasure, sir! You'll take her to the hospital, I suppose?"

      "No. My house is nearer; and, unless the wound is looked to at once, I don't answer for the consequences. There is no objection, I suppose?"

      The sergeant thought there could be no objection, although the hospital was "the usual thing." The Doctor put aside that consideration contemptuously. From what he could see of the wound, he was prepared to state professionally that any delay would be highly dangerous. The sergeant yielded the point respectfully, but protestingly; and the cab came, bringing an excited crowd in its train.

      There was no lack of proffered help; but the Doctor and the sergeant lifted the insensible woman into the cab between them. On arriving at the Doctor's house the two men carried her indoors; then bells rang, maid-servants hurried, exclaimed, and questioned; and soon the door of the library was closed upon all except Mrs. Jessop and the Doctor. The sergeant retired to the dining-room, and meditatively took an inventory of its furniture and appointments, as he awaited further developments. Noticing the Doctor's decanter of choice old port, which was still upon the table where he had left it, the officer helped himself to a glassful, drinking it with evident relish.

      Half an hour passed before the Doctor entered. He took his seat thoughtfully by the fire, and motioned to the sergeant to draw his chair nearer.

      "The wound is not much – merely a deep flesh-wound," he observed, abruptly.

      "Glad to hear it, I'm sure," returned the sergeant, politely.

      "She has lost a great deal of blood, will be much weakened, and is totally insensible now," Doctor Brudenell continued; "but no vital part is touched – not the fault of that scoundrel, though, sergeant."

      "Ah!" replied the sergeant, intelligently.

      The Doctor had motioned to him to help himself to the wine, and he did so now with contemplative deliberation.

      "Then you think it is a case of intended murder, I take it, sir?"

      "As far as my judgment serves me – yes. I should say the blow was meant to kill her – indeed, only the steel of her corset saved her."

      "H'm, I thought as much! Now, as to motive, sir; have you got any theory?"

      "Robbery, I suppose. Ah" – as the sergeant shook his head with a wise air – "you don't think so, then!"

      "No, I don't, sir. Maybe, of course, but I doubt it. A man don't use a knife when his fists will do, as a rule. And look you here, sir," said the sergeant, leaning forward to place his broad hand for a moment upon the Doctor's knee – "when you find a fine old gentleman with a bald crown or a 'spectable old lady with a bag and umbrella, tipped over neat in a corner, you may put it down to robbery; for you won't find anything in their pockets, I'll wager. But you find a good-looking fellow with a ha'porth of rat poison inside of him that he didn't put there himself, or a young woman stabbed that's as handsome as that one" – jerking his head toward the door – "and you won't go far wrong if you put it down to jealousy."

      The Doctor sat silently pondering. The sergeant slowly filled his glass again.

      "You've examined her dress, of course, sir? Anything in the pockets?"

      "Nothing – absolutely nothing!"

      "Nothing torn? No appearance of having been robbed?"

      "No. Merely the cut where the blow was given."

      "Just so, sir. About the weapon – an ordinary knife, should you say?"

      "No; from the appearance and general character of the wound it was caused by a two-edged blade."

      "H'm! Sort of dagger – stiletto kind of thing?" queried the sergeant.

      "I should say so."

      The sergeant gave a prolonged whistle, with an air of intense satisfaction.

      "Supports my idea, you see, sir. A man going about with a dagger in his pocket usually means to use it. A case of jealousy – that's what it is! It's surprising, I'm sure, the way a man will put his neck into a rope if there's a woman t'other side of it. You wait till this young woman comes round, and you'll find that that's about the size of it. The work of some hot-headed young fool she's thrown over, I expect; or, maybe, she's bolted from her husband, and it's a case of elopement. Shouldn't wonder, for the handsomer they are the more mischief they get up to. That's my experience."

      "I hope you are mistaken," said the Doctor, rising and looking thoughtfully at the fire. "I hope you are, but we shall see. Fill your glass, sergeant!"

      "Thank you, sir, I am sure." The sergeant obediently filled his glass for the fourth time, and held it critically between his eye and the light. "Well, we shall see, as you say. When do you fancy you'll be able to speak to her, may I ask?"

      "Impossible to say. She may be sensible to-morrow, or the shock may cause a fever, in which case her condition may become highly dangerous. I can't possibly say."

      "Pity there isn't something about her by which she might СКАЧАТЬ