The Man with a Shadow

“Mr Delton is with your master,” he said.

Mrs Milt sighed.

“Let me go to him, sir, please.”

Salis signed to her to follow, and led the way to where North lay now as if asleep, with Mary’s hand held to his brow.

The old housekeeper stood for a few moments watching, and then drew back.

“No, sir,” she said; “I won’t disturb him. I haven’t seen him look like that for weeks.”

“And I will not disturb him,” said the old doctor. “Rest like that must be good.”

He followed Salis into the dining-room, where he sat down to read the communication North had written, and after studying it carefully for some time, he looked up to find the curate’s eyes fixed upon him intently.

“Well?”

“Well, Mr Salis, I think I can say a comforting word or two. By the way, I thought I would come on straight to you instead of calling first at the Manor House, and it is as well I did.”

“But the letter, sir – the letter from my poor friend?”

“Ah, yes, the letter,” said the old doctor dreamily. “I have read and studied it well.”

“And you think?”

“A great deal, my dear sir – a great deal; but I have not finished yet. A clear case of overtaxed brain. I should say that he had worked himself into a state of exhaustion, and then some shock must have occurred to destroy the tottering balance. Not a money trouble, for I think Mr North is well off. Not a love trouble, for judging from what I saw – ”

“You are mistaken in that, sir,” said Salis. “My poor friend suffered a grievous shock a short time since.”

“Ah! just as I expected. That is quite sufficient to account for it all.”

“But the future, sir? For goodness’ sake, speak! Your reticence tortures me.”

“I beg your pardon. I am thoughtful and slow, Mr Salis. Let me try and set you at rest. As far as I can judge without further study of the case, I should say that you need be under very little uneasiness.”

“You do not consider his case necessitates his being placed in a private asylum?”

“I should say the people who placed him in one deserved to be hanged. Well, no,” he added, smiling; “not so bad as that, but to be placed in a private asylum themselves.”

“Thank God!” said Salis fervently, and the tears stood in his eyes as he grasped the old doctor’s hands.

The evening was growing old as Mr Delton sat facing Salis in his study, nursing his knee, and calmly watching the curate smoking his one per diem cigar.

“No,” said the old man, smiling; “I rarely smoke now; but North was right; it is good for you. I don’t mind a bit. Pray go on.”

So Salis smoked and sat talking with the tea-things on the table.

Leo had begged to be excused. The excitement had upset her, she said, and she was in her room, where Dally had taken her up some tea, and paused for some moments on the landing, in the dark, to set the saucer down upon the large window sill, and as she bent over the tray a faint gurgling sound was heard, and click as of glass against glass.

The doctor had been in twice to see North, who was sleeping heavily, with Mary and the old housekeeper seated by him, the lamp being shaded and placed where the light could not trouble the patient; and, after a stormy day, all seemed to have settled down to calm repose.

“My dear sir,” said the doctor, “it is not the first time that Nature has performed a miracle of this kind. Your sister’s nervous excitement did what we doctors were unable to perform – triumphed over the inert muscles. They obeyed; the latent force was set in action, and she rose from her couch to go to her poor friend’s help – in time to save him from a very terrible fate, whether that fate was the private asylum, or that which he had evidently in mind. Poor fellow! I wish I had seen him sooner. No; it is better as it is, and he will say so when we have him once more himself.”

“Then you really do feel hopeful?”

“My dear Mr Salis,” said the old man, “if I am not wrong in my ideas, that sweet-faced lady in the next room will slowly and patiently repay our poor friend for unknowingly restoring her to a life of activity. She will bring him back to calm reason.”

“You think this?” said Salis hoarsely.

“Indeed I do. His long and lucid statement to me shows that in every point but one he was as sane as you or I. He had one little crotchet, due to the overstrain, and that will, I feel sure, with a little help, soon disappear. Mr Salis, take my word for it, you may be perfectly at rest.”

“Good heavens!” cried Salis, springing to his feet, for at that moment a wild shriek resounded through the house, followed by a heavy fall in the room above.

Volume Three – Chapter Twenty Two.

Missing the Mail Train

Ten o’clock had just struck, and the old tower was still vibrating, when Dally Watlock’s bedroom door was softly opened, and the little lady, clad in her tightly-fitting jacket and natty hat, came softly out, to stand upon the landing listening.

The lamp was burning on the hall table, and it sent up a faint yellow glow which shone strangely upon the girl’s face, as she stood listening to the murmur of voices proceeding from the curate’s study, and she could just make out a faint line of light coming from beneath the drawing-room door.

Dally went slowly and softly across the landing till she reached Leo’s door, where she paused to listen; but all was perfectly still, and stealing one gloved hand to the latch, she tried the door cautiously, but it did not yield, and though she tapped twice there was no response.

Dally drew her breath softly between her teeth, and uttered a low, vicious little laugh.

“Good night, dear,” she said softly; “it’ll be ten o’clock to-morrow when you wake, and then – we shall see!”

One of the stairs gave a loud warning creak as she stopped, bag in hand, holding on by the balustrade, and ready, rat-like, to dart back to her room should any one open the study door.

But the murmur of voices still went on, and Dally stole down the rest of the way to reach the hall, creep softly to a swing-door, and pass through into the neatly-kept kitchen, where a fire still glowed and a kettle sang its own particular song.

Dally closed the kitchen door after her, darted across the broad patch of warm light cast by the fire into the darkness of a scullery beyond, and closed a door after her to stand thinking.

“Craven Street, Strand,” she muttered. “Ten miles to King’s Hampton. Ten o’clock to half-past one; I can do it easy, and at ten o’clock to-morrow morning, my dear, we shall see!”

She said these words with a vicious little hiss, and the next minute two well-oiled bolts were shot, the key was turned, the door opened with a sharp crack, and then there was a rustle as Dally passed through, closed the door with a light click of the latch, and stood in the semi-darkness of a soft starlight night.

Drawing a long breath, as if to get a reserve of force, the girl stepped quickly along the path leading round to the front, passing as soon as she could on to the closely-cut lawn, and over it to the gate.

She had nearly reached it, bag in one hand and umbrella in the other, when she turned quickly round to see that she was not observed by any one in the curate’s study; and as she did so she plumped up against something hard and yet soft.

“Oh!” she involuntarily ejaculated, and she started back, as that which she had thumped against took a step forward, and she found that she was face to face with Joe Chegg.

“Where are you going?” he said sourly.

Dally was too much startled for a moment to speak. Then, recovering herself, she said shortly:

“What’s that to you?”