The Man with a Shadow

“I’m afraid not, sir.”

“I must be a patient.”

“You, sir? Why, you look the picture of health.”

“But I have been very patient, Mrs Milt,” said Salis, laughing.

“Ah, sir, and so have I,” said the housekeeper dolefully: “and a deal I’ve suffered, what with master’s illness, and my conscience.”

The old lady put her apron to her eyes, and gave vent to a low sob.

“Your conscience, Mrs Milt,” said Salis, smiling. “Why, I should have thought that was clear enough.”

“Clear, sir? Oh, no! It’s many a bitter night I’ve spent thinking of my temper, and the way I’ve worried poor master when he’s had all his work on his shoulders. I’ve helped to make him what he is. Oh, there’s that man, sir!”

She drew the curate within and closed the door, for steps were heard, and Cousin Thompson passed round from the back-garden to go down to the gate.

“He’s gone out, sir; and I’ll try now if master will see you. It worries him dreadfully his cousin being here, and it always did.”

Closing and fastening the door the housekeeper led the way to the first-floor landing, and, signing to Salis to be silent, she tapped gently at the doctor’s door.

The moment before they had faintly heard the sound of some one pacing to and fro, but at the first tap on the door this ceased. There was no answer.

The housekeeper knocked again, and in simple, old English, country fashion called gently:

“Master, master!”

Still there was no response; but she persevered, and knocked again.

“Master, master!”

“Yes, what is it?” came from within; and Mrs Milt turned and gave the curate a satisfied nod, as she said:

“Mr Salis, sir. He would like to see you.”

There was a pause, and then hoarsely: “Tell Mr Salis I am ill, and can see no one.”

The curate was about to speak, but Mrs Milt hastily raised her hand.

“But I’m sure he’d like to see you very much, sir. Mr Thompson’s gone out.”

“Tell Mr Salis – ”

There was a pause, and the curate went close to the door.

“North, old fellow,” he said gently; “don’t turn your back on all your friends. What have I done to be treated thus?”

There was another pause, during which those on the landing listened anxiously fulsome response from within.

But all remained perfectly still, and Salis ventured to appeal again.

“I will not stop longer than you like, old fellow,” he said; “but I am uneasy, and – ”

He was interrupted by the sharp snap made by the lock of the door. Then the handle was turned, and a long slit of darkness was revealed.

“Come in,” said a harsh voice; and Salis turned and gave Mrs Milt a satisfied nod and smile, as he entered North’s room and closed the door.

The sensation was strange, that passing from broad daylight into intense darkness, and Salis tried to recall the configuration of the room, and the position of window and bed, as he felt North brush past him, and lock the door.

For it was evident that an attempt had been made to exclude every ray of light, and not without success.

“Well, I am glad – I was going to say to see you, old fellow,” cried Salis. “Hadn’t you better open the curtains and the window? This room smells very faint.”

“Brandy spilt,” said North, alluding to his accident of many days before.

“Brandy? Why, the place smells of laudanum and chloroform, and goodness knows what besides.”

“You wanted to speak to me,” said North.

“Yes, I’ve a great deal to say; but I should like to sit down.”

“There is a chair on your left.”

“Ah, yes. Thanks,” said Salis, feeling about until he touched it, and sitting down. “Where are you?”

“Sitting on the bed.”

“Well, I suppose you have a reason for this blind-man’s-buff work. Eyes bad?”

“Very.”

“May I say a few words to you about getting advice?”

“Aren’t you afraid of shutting yourself up with me here in the dark? There are razors in that drawer. There’s a bottle of prussic acid on the dressing-table. Why, parson, you’re a fool!”

The voice seemed changed, and this speech was followed by a curious mocking laugh which ran through Salis and made him shrink; but he recovered himself directly.

“No,” he said stoutly; “I am not afraid.”

“No, you are not afraid,” came softly from out of the darkness.

“Come, North, old fellow,” continued Salis; “we are old friends. You have helped me when I have been in sore distress; forgive me, now that I know you are in trouble, for thrusting myself upon you.”

“I have nothing to forgive.”

“Then let me help you. Believe me that Mary and I are both terribly concerned about your health. Tell me what I can do.”

There was a pause; then a low, piteous sigh; and from out of the darkness came the word —