An Eye for an Eye Part 25

I remember raising myself, after he had gone, in an endeavour to reach a cupboard where there was some brandy in a bottle, but as I made a step forward all strength let me. I became paralysed, clutched at the table, missed it, and fell headlong to the floor. Then all consciousness became blotted out. I knew no more.

How long I remained insensible I have only a very vague idea. It must have been many hours. When, however, I slowly became aware of things about me, I found myself lying upon my own bed partly dressed. I tried to move, but my limbs seemed icy cold and rigid; I tried to think, but my thoughts were at first only a confused jumble of reminiscences.

There was a tearing pain across my stomach, and across my brow--a pain that was excruciating. It seemed as though my waist was bound tightly with a belt of wire, while my brain throbbed as if my skull must burst.

I opened my eyes, but the bright light of day caused me to close them quickly again.

Noises sounded about me, strange and distorted. I distinguished voices, and I knew that I was not alone. Again I opened my eyes.

"Thank Heaven! my dear old fellow, you are saved!" cried d.i.c.k, whose coat was off, as he bent down eagerly to me, looking with keenest anxiety into my face.

"Saved!" I echoed. "What has happened?" for at that moment I recollected little of the past.

Then I saw, standing beside d.i.c.k, my friend, Dr. Tweedie, of the Royal Free Hospital in Gray's Inn Road, a mild-mannered old gentleman whom I had many times met during my inquiries at that inst.i.tution.

"What's happened?" the latter repeated. "That's what we want to ask you?"

"I don't know," I answered, "except that I was suddenly taken frightfully queer."

"Taken queer! I should rather think you were," he said, bending down to get a better look at my countenance, at the same time feeling my pulse.

"You're better now, much better. But it's been a very narrow squeak for you, I can tell you."

"What's been the matter with me?" I inquired mystified.

"You've been eating something that hasn't quite agreed with you," he answered with a mysterious smile.

"But that couldn't have brought on a seizure like this," I argued weakly.

"Well," the doctor said, "of course you can tell better what you've been eating than I can. Only one fact is clear to me."

"And what's that?" I asked.

"Why, that you've been within an ace of death, young man," he answered.

"You'll want the most careful treatment, too, if we are to get you round again, for the truth is you've been poisoned!"

"Poisoned?" I gasped.

"Yes," he responded, handing me some medicine. "And this seizure of yours is a very mysterious one indeed. I've never seen such symptoms before. That you've been poisoned is quite plain, but how the accident has occurred remains for us to discover later."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

IN THE CITY.

Through several days I remained in bed, my limbs rigid, my senses bewildered.

Although we said nothing to Tweedie, Cleugh entirely shared my suspicion that if an attempt had actually been made upon my life it had been made at Riverdene. The doctor ran in several times each day, and d.i.c.k, a.s.sisted by old Mrs. Joad, was as attentive to my wants as any trained nurse, s.n.a.t.c.hing all the time he could spare from his duties to sit by me and gossip of men and things in Fleet Street, and the latest "scoop"

of the _Comet_.

Tweedie was puzzled. Each time he saw me he remarked upon my curious symptoms, carefully noting them and expressing wonder as to the exact nature of the deleterious substance. He p.r.o.nounced the opinion that it was some alkaloid, for such it was shown by the reagents he had used in his a.n.a.lysis, but of what nature he was utterly at a loss to determine.

Many were the questions he put to me as to what I had eaten on that day, and I explained how I had lunched at one of the restaurants in Fleet Street, and afterwards dined with friends at Laleham.

"You ate no sandwiches, or anything of that kind at station refreshment bars?" he asked, when he visited me one morning, in the vague idea, I suppose, that the poison might, after all, be a ptomaine.

"None," I answered. "With the exception of what I told you, I had a gla.s.s of wine at the house of a friend at Hampton before rowing up to Laleham."

"A gla.s.s of wine," he repeated slowly, as if reflecting. "You noticed no peculiar taste in it? What was it--port?"

"Yes," I replied. "An excellent wine it was, without any taste unusual."

For the first time the recollection of that gla.s.s of wine given me by Eva at The Hollies came back to me. Surely she could not have deliberately given me a fatal draught?

"Often," he said, "a substance which is poison to one person is harmless to another. If we could only discover what it really was which affected you, we might treat you for it and cure you much more rapidly. As matters rest, however, you must grow strong again by degrees, and thank Providence that you're still alive. I confess when I first saw you, I thought you'd only a few minutes to live."

"Was I so very bad?"

"As ill as you could be. You were cold and rigid, and looked as though you were already dead. In fact, any one but a doctor would, I believe, have p.r.o.nounced life extinct. Your breath on a mirror alone showed respiration, although the heart's movement was so weak as to be practically imperceptible. But don't trouble further over it, you'll be about soon," and shortly afterwards he shook my hand and went on his way to the hospital, already late on my account.

I longed to tell him all the curious events of the past, but saw that such a course would be unwise. If I did so, Eva--the woman I adored-- must be prematurely judged, first because of old Lowry's revelations, and now secondly because of the suspicious fact of my illness after partaking of the wine she offered.

The idea that the attempt had been made upon me at Riverdene seemed very improbable, because I had dined in common with the other guests; the tea I had taken was poured from the same Queen Anne pot from which the cups of others were filled, and in the whisky-and-soda I had had before leaving I was joined by three other men who had rowed up from a house-boat about a quarter of a mile lower down.

As I lay there restless in my bed, trying vainly to read, I spent hours in recalling every event of that day, but could discover no suspicious circ.u.mstance other than that incident of the wine at The Hollies. I recollected how Eva after ringing for the servant and ordering it, had herself gone out into the dining-room, and had been absent a couple of minutes or so. Possibly she might only have gone there in order to unlock the cellarette, yet there were likewise, of course, other graver possibilities.

This thought which fastened upon my mind so tenaciously allowed me but little rest. I tried to rid myself of it, tried to scorn such an idea, tried to reason with myself how plain it was that she actually held me in some esteem, and if so she would certainly not seek to take my life in that cowardly, dastardly manner. Sometimes I felt that I misjudged her; at others grave suspicions haunted me. Yet withal my love for her never once wavered. She was my idol. Through those long, weary hours of prostration and convalescence I thought always of her--always.

I had written her a short note, saying that I was unwell and unable to go down to Riverdene, not, however, mentioning the cause of my illness, and in response there came in return a charmingly-worded little letter, expressing profound regret and hoping we should meet again very soon. A hundred times I read that note.

Was the thin, delicate hand that penned it the same that had endeavoured to take my life?

That was the sole question uppermost in my mind; a problem which racked my brain day by day, nay, hour by hour. But there was no solution.

Thus was I compelled to exist in torturing suspicion, anxiety and uncertainty.

One hot afternoon I had risen for the first time, and was sitting among pillows in the armchair reading some magazines which d.i.c.k had thoughtfully brought me during the luncheon hour, when a timid knock sounded at the door. The Hag had left me to attend upon her other "young gentlemen" in the Temple, and I was alone. Therefore I rose and answered the summons, finding to my surprise that my visitor was Lily Lowry.

At once, at my invitation, she entered, a slim figure dressed in neat, if cheap, black, without any attempt at being fas.h.i.+onable, but with that primness and severity expected of lady's-maids and shop-a.s.sistants. Her gloves were neat, her hat suited her well, and beneath her veil I saw a pretty face, pale, interesting and anxious-looking.

"I didn't expect to find any one in, except Mrs. Joad," she said apologetically, as she took the chair I offered. Then, noticing my pillows, and perhaps the paleness of my countenance, she asked. "What?

You are surely not ill, Mr. Urwin?"

"Yes," I answered. "I've been rather queer for a week past. The heat, or something of that sort, I suppose. Nothing at all serious."

"I'm so glad of that," she said. "I only called because I was pa.s.sing.

I've been matching some silk at the wholesale houses in the City, and as I wanted to give Mr. Cleugh a message I thought I'd leave it with Mrs.

Joad."

"A message?" I repeated. "Can I give it?"

She hesitated, and I saw that a slight blush suffused her cheeks.

"No," she faltered. "You're very kind, but perhaps, after all, it would be better to write to him."