he was both mystified and suspicious,therefore I extracted from him a pledge of secrecy, and promised toassist him towards a solution of the extraordinary problem. I made nomention to anybody of Asta's message to me, which I intended shouldremain a secret.
At my earnest appeal he allowed me to creep on tiptoe into the darkenedchamber, wherein still lay unconscious the woman I loved so profoundly--she who was all the world to me.
I bent over the poor white face that presented the waxen transparency ofdeath, and touched the thin, soft hand that lay outside the coverlet.Then, with eyes filled with tears, and half choked by the sob which Iwas powerless to restrain, I turned away and left the room.
"Will she recover?" I managed to ask the doctor. But he merely raisedhis thick eyebrows in blank uncertainty.
What devil's work had been accomplished within that locked room? Ay,what indeed?
Against the man Shaw, who had so cleverly misled her into the honestbelief that he adored her, there arose within me a deep and angryhatred. Why was he not there, knowing Asta's precarious condition? Hisexcuse of enforced attendance at the Petty Sessions was no doubt aningenious one. Little did he dream that before the occurrence Asta hadsummoned me, and for that reason I was there at her side.
So strange had been all the circumstances from that moment when the manof mystery--Melvill Arnold--had breathed his last, that I had becomeutterly bewildered. And this amazing occurrence in the night nowstaggered me. Only one person had solved the mystery of the shadowyhand, and he, alas I had not lived to reveal what, no doubt, was aterrible truth.
In the corridor I stood discussing my beloved's condition in low, batedwhispers with the fussy country practitioner, a man of the oldfox-hunting school--for nearly every one rides to hounds in thatgrass-country. He had already telephoned for Doctor Petherbridge, inNorthampton, to come for consultation, and was now expecting him to comeover in his car.
"I have done all I can, Mr Kemball," he said. "But as we don't knowthe cause, the exact remedy is rather difficult to determine. Everysymptom is of brain trouble through fright."
"Exactly the same symptoms as those you observed in Nicholson!" Iremarked. Whereat he slowly nodded in the affirmative, and againstroked his rosy, clean-shaven chin.
"Well, doctor," I said, "I intend to make it my business to investigatethe cause of this peculiar phenomenon."
And I sat down and wrote an urgent telegram to Cardew, who was, I knew,now stationed at Aldershot.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.
ANOTHER REVELATION.
The dark anxious hours of that dismal autumn morning went slowly by.
Doctor Petherbridge arrived in hot haste from Northampton, and had along and earnest consultation with Redwood. Both men were greatlypuzzled. I met them after a long and eager wait, when they emerged insilence from the sick-room.
"We are doing all we can, Mr Kemball," declared Petherbridge. "Theyoung lady is, I regret to say, in a most precarious condition--in fact,in a state of collapse."
I begged him to remain, and he did so. For several hours they wereconstantly at her bedside, while Mrs Howard, anxious and solicitous forthe welfare of her young mistress, expressed surprise that Mr Shaw didnot return.
My own suspicion was that he had already fled, yet it proved ungrounded,for at half-past two he arrived in eager haste, in a hired carriage, hiscar having broken down. Both doctors came forward and explained thatthe condition of Miss Asta had in no way improved. She was sufferingfrom some obscure malady which they had diagnosed as affecting bothheart and brain.
"Poor girl! Poor girl!" he cried, tears welling in his eyes. "Do yourbest for her, I pray of you both," he added. "She's all the world tome. Can't we summon a specialist?"
"Sir George Mortimer, in Cavendish Square, might see her," remarked thedoctor from Northampton.
"Let's wire to him at once," urged Shaw, eagerly. "I accept yourdiagnosis entirely, yet I would like to have a specialist's opinion."
Both medical men acquiesced, and a telegram was dispatched to the greatspecialist on brain trouble.
As Redwood, seated at the library table, wrote the telegram, hisclose-set eyes met mine. The glance we exchanged was significant.
"How did you know of this terrible affair, Kemball?" asked Shaw,abruptly, a little time afterwards.
"I came over to invite you both to dine next Wednesday," I said, ofcourse concealing the secret message I had received from the woman I hadgrown to love.
In response, he gave a grunt of dissatisfaction, and walked down thehall in hasty impatience. Was his impatience an eagerness to hear ofthe poor girl's end?
Surely that could not be, for was he not utterly devoted to her! Andyet her seizure and her symptoms were exactly similar to those of poorGuy Nicholson!
The whole day I remained there, watching closely Shaw's demeanour andhis movements.
Once, when he found me alone looking forth from the window of themorning-room, he came up beside me, and, looking at me with those smallquick eyes of his, said--
"This is a terrible blow for me, Kemball. I have been quite frank withyou, therefore be frank with me. I've not been blind. I've noticedthat you've been in love with the poor child, and--well, to tell thetruth, I secretly hoped that one day you would propose marriage to her.My own position is, as you know, one of hourly insecurity, and mykeenest wish was to see her happily settled before--before the crisis."
"You guessed the truth," was my reply. "I do love her--I love her morethan I can tell."
He sighed deeply, a sigh that echoed through the big silent room.
"Well," he said, "our grief must be mutual, I fear. Petherbridge hasjust told me that they do not believe she can live another hour."
Hardly had those words left his mouth when Mrs Howard ushered in atall, thin, white-haired man, the eminent specialist, Sir GeorgeMortimer.
Without delay he was taken to the poor girl's room, and then a longperiod of anxious waiting, while the trio of medical men remained withthe door closed.
I suppose it must have been about an hour afterwards when, on passingalong the carpeted corridor near Shaw's room, next that of Asta, I sawthat the door was shut, but as I passed I heard him utter that peculiarwhistle, yet so very low that it was only just audible. Twice I heardit, and halting, found myself involuntarily copying him. He waswhistling so softly that it could scarcely be overheard beyond the wallsof his own room.
What was the meaning of that sound? Probably it only escaped his lipswhen deep in thought. Some men invariably whistle softly or hum tuneswhile dressing. Yet in any case it was curious that he should do thiswhile Asta lay dying.
All was chaos and disorder in that usually calm, well-ordered household.Just about seven o'clock Redwood came to me and called me to one of theupstairs rooms, where the great specialist awaited me alone.
"I believe that a friend of yours, a Mr Nicholson, died a little timeago in somewhat similar circumstances to the present case," said SirGeorge, standing upon the hearthrug with his arms folded. "Now, as faras I can make out, the young lady's illness is due to brain trouble,brought on perhaps by fright. I have seen several similar cases in myexperience--and I have treated them."
"But Miss Seymour--will she live?" I asked in frantic anxiety.
"Ah! That I cannot foretell," he replied calmly, in his soft-spokenvoice. "I have administered two injections, and I'm glad to tell youthat she is infinitely better. Indeed, I expect her very soon to regainconsciousness, and we may hope for a turn."
"Thank God!--thank God!" I cried, with over burdened heart. "She isvery dear to me, Sir George," I added with emotion, "and I thank youdeeply for your efforts to save her."
"I understand--I quite understand, my dear sir," he said withprofessional calmness. "Yet, from what my two colleagues have told me,I can't help thinking that there is--well, a little mystery somewhere,eh?"
"A little mystery?" I echoed. "Ah, Sir George, there is a very greatmystery, one which I intend at al
l hazards to investigate--now that Astahas fallen a victim."
But as I spoke the door was unceremoniously pushed open, and Shaw, whohad put on a dark blue suit, and who looked unusually pale and haggard,entered, and inquired for the latest bulletin of the patient.
"I'm glad to tell you, Mr Shaw, that she will probably recover,"replied the eminent man. "In an hour we trust to have her consciousagain, and then she will, I hope, tell us what happened--what sheindicated when, in her fright, she made mention of this mysterioushand."
The hand! I recollected those written words of Melvill Arnold.
"She was delirious, I suppose, poor girl!" Shaw said. "But this isreal good news that she is getting better! You are quite sure that shewill