wilfrid had to repeat his command more than once before beatrice seemed to understand what he was saying. the girl was dazed with the horror of the thing. she stood looking at the white, still figure on the bed, marvelling what was going to happen next. and yet, at the back of her mind there was a glimmering of the truth. this was a vendetta and these relentless foes would never slack their efforts until samuel flower had paid the debt to the last penny. many of these things beatrice had read about in the pages of fiction. she had forgotten, perhaps, that there are stranger things in every-day life.
as for wilfrid he was calm enough. his professional instincts came to his aid. laying his hand gently upon beatrice's shoulder he led her from the room.
"i want you to be brave and silent," he whispered. "i want you to help me all you can. it is possibly a selfish reflection, but your life is safe. if you would save your uncle, you must do what i tell you."
"i will try," beatrice murmured. "what do you want me to do? oh, i remember."
she departed without another word, leaving wilfrid to do what he could with her uncle. this second attack was much more serious than the first, for samuel flower lay to all appearance dead. it was not difficult for wilfrid to make an examination, for flower had undressed and gone to bed before the attack. he lay on his back with his arms inert by his side, the deep purple of his cheeks had given way to a ghastly whiteness. wilfrid could detect not the slightest trace of violence anywhere, nothing but one or two small indentations on the forehead and at the back of the head. try as he would wilfrid could make nothing of the case. and if he could trust to his trained knowledge, he felt sure that no explanation would ever come from flower's lips, for surely the man was dead.
he could hear no murmur from the heart. by laying the glass of his watch on the murdered man's lips he could distinguish no moisture. he could only wait patiently until assistance came, and then tell the story as best he could. with almost a sensation of shame wilfrid realized that flower was harmless to do him further injury. he tried to put the matter out of his mind, but it recurred more than once, until he was fain to walk up and down the room in the growing light. he pulled up the blinds by and by and let in the flood of day. even in the strong light he could detect no motion and no change in that awful figure on the bed. inured as he was to these kind of tragedies, it was with a thrill of thankfulness that he heard steps coming up the stairs and saw a stranger enter the room. there was no reason for wilfrid to ask if the new-comer were a doctor, for he carried his profession in every crease of his well-fitting frock-coat, in every line of his well-groomed hair.
"my name is dr. shelton," he said. "i am sorry to be so late, but i have only just got back to town. so this is your patient? what do you think he is suffering from? you have made an examination?"
"i haven't the remotest idea," wilfrid said frankly. "i have never seen a case like it before. mr. flower lies there to all appearances dead. he does not breathe. there is not the slightest motion of the heart, and yet, rigor mortis has not set in. i should say it is some brain trouble."
dr. shelton stripped off his coat and turned up his shirt sleeves. for a long time he bent over the bed, but at last he stood upright drawing a long breath.
"most extraordinary," he murmured. "everything points to severe concussion of the brain, and yet there is not the slightest trace of violence; there is no suggestion of a blow, or fall, or anything of that kind. we must wait till the patient comes to himself as he will before long."
"he is not dead, then?" wilfrid asked.
"no. it is a case of suspended animation. that the brain is seriously injured the congestion of the eyes proves beyond demonstration. but, surely, you can throw some light on this mystery. how came you to be called in?"
wilfrid had been dreading the question for some time. he hardly knew how to explain matters to this polished man of the world whose lines had probably always fallen in conventional places.
"well, it was like this," he began. "i have lately started a practice in oldborough and mr. flower has a country house close by. i was called in to attend him for a trifling injury, and when i got to the house i discovered that miss galloway, mr. flower's niece, was an old friend; in fact, we had met in london some months ago. miss galloway had been under the impression that some one was trying to get into the house, but perhaps i had better tell you at length what really happened."
wilfrid proceeded with his statement, purposely, however, saying nothing as to the mysteriously-knotted string, or the strange incantations which he had watched on the part of the malays. these matters seemed to have nothing to do with the case, nor could they influence the opinion of dr. shelton. he told his story straightforwardly, how he had got into this house and what sort of reception had met him. shelton raised his eyebrows incredulously.
"so you think this is a case of burglary?" he asked. "mr. flower has something in the house which these villains were after. you say you saw them in this room when you entered by the balcony?"
"i did," wilfrid replied. he was feeling on safer ground now. "i suppose my presence frightened them and, you see, i had other things to think of. it is very singular that these fellows did mr. flower no violence."
"no violence whatever," shelton said emphatically. "they hadn't gone as far as that, though their intentions might have been murderous. it seems to me, dr. mercer, that this is a case as much for the police as for the medical man. at any rate, i frankly own that i am as puzzled as yourself. it will be a great favour to me if you will remain here while i go to harley street, as i should like another opinion besides my own. if you stay in the house it will be sufficient. it will be some time before mr. flower regains consciousness."
wilfrid expressed his willingness to do whatever was necessary and dr. shelton bustled away. the servants were moving about the house now. wilfrid heard the clock strike the hour of eight, then; presently, an appetizing odour of cooking stole over the room. it was nearly an hour later before beatrice came and asked the latest news. there was no change, for flower lay as he had done three hours before.
"i have told the servants nothing," beatrice whispered. "they have merely been informed that my uncle has had a slight seizure and that the house must be kept very quiet. but won't you come downstairs and have breakfast? it is ready in the dining-room. and if you could manage to stay here till dr. shelton returns——"
wilfrid explained that he had already promised to do so. despite the thrilling adventure of the night before, he was hungry and did ample justice to his meal. at the same time he could not forget his own affairs. it might be a security to feel that flower lay upstairs beyond the reach of mischief, but flower was not alone in this business. beyond doubt the man cotter had received his instructions. beyond doubt the law was already in motion which was to deprive wilfrid of his good name and his means of living. it was hard he should have to stay there doing nothing and keep watch and ward over a man who was intending to ruin him through another; but of this he could say nothing to beatrice.
she sat at the foot of the table playing with a cup of tea and some toast; recent events had shaken her terribly. for some time she kept silent.
"i must speak to you, wilfrid," she said presently. "i want to know if you have found out anything. i want to know if you have discovered anything that has been hidden from me. tell me truthfully, is this the first attack of the kind which has been made upon my uncle? didn't a very similar thing happen the night you were at maldon grange?"
"i am sorry you asked me that," wilfrid said quietly, "because i cannot look you in the face and tell you a lie. of course i can't say yet whether i was successful last night, but under providence i most assuredly saved samuel flower's life on the occasion you speak of. please don't ask me more. try to be brave and patient, and all will be well."
beatrice said no more, but it was evident she was putting a great strain upon her curiosity.
