CHAPTER XXV
THE MAN IN THE STREET
This morning I had an adventure.
I was in the breakfast-room. Papa, as usual, was late for breakfast,and I was wondering whether I should begin without him, when, chancingto look round, something caught my eye in the street. I went to thewindow to see what it was. A small crowd of people was in the middle ofthe road, and they were all staring at something which, apparently, waslying on the ground. What it was I could not see.
The butler happened to be in the room. I spoke to him.
'Peter, what is the matter in the street? Go and see.'
He went and saw; and, presently, he returned. Peter is an excellentservant; but the fashion of his speech, even when conveying the mosttrivial information, is slightly sesquipedalian. He would have made acapital cabinet minister at question time,--he wraps up the smallestpetitions of meaning in the largest possible words.
'An unfortunate individual appears to have been the victim of acatastrophe. I am informed that he is dead. The constable asserts thathe is drunk.'
'Drunk?--dead? Do you mean that he is dead drunk?--at this hour!'
'He is either one or the other. I did not behold the individual myself.I derived my information from a bystander.'
That was not sufficiently explicit for me. I gave way to a, seemingly,quite causeless impulse of curiosity, I went out into the street, justas I was, to see for myself. It was, perhaps, not the most sensiblething I could have done, and papa would have been shocked; but I amalways shocking papa. It had been raining in the night, and the shoeswhich I had on were not so well suited as they might have been for anencounter with the mud.
I made my way to the point of interest.
'What's the matter?' I asked.
A workman, with a bag of tools over his shoulder, answered me.
'There's something wrong with someone. Policeman says he's drunk, buthe looks to me as if he was something worse.'
'Will you let me pass, please?'
When they saw I was a woman, they permitted me to reach the centre ofthe crowd.
A man was lying on his back, in the grease and dirt of the road. He wasso plastered with mud, that it was difficult, at first, to be sure thathe really was a man. His head and feet were bare. His body waspartially covered by a long ragged cloak. It was obvious that that onewretched, dirt-stained, sopping wet rag was all the clothing he had on.A huge constable was holding his shoulders in his hands, and wasregarding him as if he could not make him out at all. He seemeduncertain as to whether it was or was not a case of shamming.
He spoke to him as if he had been some refractory child.
'Come, my lad, this won't do!--Wake up!--What's the matter?'
But he neither woke up, nor explained what was the matter. I took holdof his hand. It was icy cold. Apparently the wrist was pulseless.Clearly this was no ordinary case of drunkenness.
'There is something seriously wrong, officer. Medical assistance oughtto be had at once.'
'Do you think he's in a fit, miss?'
'That a doctor should be able to tell you better than I can. Thereseems to be no pulse. I should not be surprised to find that he was--'
The word 'dead' was actually on my lips, when the stranger saved mefrom making a glaring exposure of my ignorance by snatching his wristaway from me, and sitting up in the mud. He held out his hands in frontof him, opened his eyes, and exclaimed, in a loud, but painfullyraucous tone of voice, as if he was suffering from a very bad cold,
'Paul Lessingham!'
I was so surprised that I all but sat down in the mud. To hear Paul--myPaul!--apostrophised by an individual of his appearance, in thatfashion, was something which I had not expected. Directly the wordswere uttered, he closed his eyes again, sank backward, and seeminglyrelapsed into unconsciousness,--the constable gripping him by theshoulder just in time to prevent him banging the back of his headagainst the road.
The officer shook him,--scarcely gently.
'Now, my lad, it's plain that you're not dead!--What's the meaning ofthis?--Move yourself!'
Looking round I found that Peter was close behind. Apparently he hadbeen struck by the singularity of his mistress' behaviour, and hadfollowed to see that it did not meet with the reward which it deserved.I spoke to him.
'Peter, let someone go at once for Dr Cotes!'
Dr Cotes lives just round the corner, and since it was evident that theman's lapse into consciousness had made the policeman sceptical as tohis case being so serious as it seemed, I thought it might be advisablethat a competent opinion should be obtained without delay.
Peter was starting, when again the stranger returned toconsciousness,--that is, if it really was consciousness, as to which Iwas more than a little in doubt. He repeated his previous pantomime;sat up in the mud, stretched out his arms, opened his eyes unnaturallywide,--and yet they appeared unseeing!--a sort of convulsion went allover him, and he shrieked--it really amounted to shrieking--as a manmight shriek who was in mortal terror.
'Be warned, Paul Lessingham--be warned!'
For my part, that settled it. There was a mystery here which needed tobe unravelled. Twice had he called upon Paul's name,--and in thestrangest fashion! It was for me to learn the why and the wherefore; toascertain what connection there was between this lifeless creature andPaul Lessingham. Providence might have cast him there before my door. Imight be entertaining an angel unawares. My mind was made up on theinstant.
'Peter, hasten for Dr Cotes.' Peter passed the word, and immediately afootman started running as fast as his legs would carry him. 'Officer,I will have this man taken into my father's house.--Will some of youmen help to carry him?'
There were volunteers enough, and to spare. I spoke to Peter in thehall.
'Is papa down yet?'
'Mr Lindon has sent down to say that you will please not wait for himfor breakfast. He has issued instructions to have his breakfastconveyed to him upstairs.'
'That's all right.' I nodded towards the poor wretch who was beingcarried through the hall. 'You will say nothing to him about thisunless he particularly asks. You understand?'
Peter bowed. He is discretion itself. He knows I have my vagaries, andit is not his fault if the savour of them travels to papa.
The doctor was in the house almost as soon as the stranger.
'Wants washing,' he remarked, directly he saw him.
And that certainly was true,--I never saw a man who stood moreobviously in need of the good offices of soap and water. Then he wentthrough the usual medical formula, I watching all the while. So far asI could see the man showed not the slightest sign of life.
'Is he dead?'
'He will be soon, if he doesn't have something to eat. The fellow'sstarving.'
The doctor asked the policeman what he knew of him.
That sagacious officer's reply was vague. A boy had run up to himcrying that a man was lying dead in the street. He had straightwayfollowed the boy, and discovered the stranger. That was all he knew.
'What is the matter with the man?' I inquired of the doctor, when theconstable had gone.
'Don't know.--It may be catalepsy, and it mayn't.--When I do know, youmay ask again.'
Dr Cotes' manner was a trifle brusque,--particularly, I believe, to me.I remember that once he threatened to box my ears. When I was a smallchild I used to think nothing of boxing his.
Realising that no satisfaction was to be got out of a speechlessman--particularly as regards his mysterious references to Paul--I wentupstairs. I found that papa was under the impression that he wassuffering from a severe attack of gout. But as he was eating a capitalbreakfast, and apparently enjoying it,--while I was still fasting--Iventured to hope that the matter was not so serious as he feared.
I mentioned nothing to him about the person whom I had found in thestreet,--lest it should aggravate his gout. When he is like that, theslightest thing does.