The Jewel of Seven Stars - Bram Stoker (best 7 inch ereader .TXT) 📗

class="softbreak"> 

Here Miss Trelawny joined in the conversation:

 

“That would be quite right, so far as the action of the drug was

concerned; but according to the second part of your surmise the wound

may have been self-inflicted, and this after the drug had taken

effect.”

 

“True!” said the Detective and the Doctor simultaneously. She went on:

 

“As however, Doctor, your guess does not exhaust the possibilities, we

must bear in mind that some other variant of the same root-idea may be

correct. I take it, therefore, that our first search, to be made on

this assumption, must be for the weapon with which the injury was done

to my Father’s wrist.”

 

“Perhaps he put the weapon in the safe before he became quite

unconscious,” said I, giving voice foolishly to a half-formed thought.

 

“That could not be,” said the Doctor quickly. “At least I think it

could hardly be,” he added cautiously, with a brief bow to me. “You

see, the left hand is covered with blood; but there is no blood mark

whatever on the safe.”

 

“Quite right!” I said, and there was a long pause.

 

The first to break the silence was the Doctor.

 

“We shall want a nurse here as soon as possible; and I know the very one

to suit. I shall go at once to get her if I can. I must ask that till

I return some of you will remain constantly with the patient. It may be

necessary to remove him to another room later on; but in the meantime he

is best left here. Miss Trelawny, may I take it that either you or Mrs.

Grant will remain her—not merely in the room, but close to the patient

and watchful of him—till I return?”

 

She bowed in reply, and took a seat beside the sofa. The Doctor gave

her some directions as to what she should do in case her father should

become conscious before his return.

 

The next to move was Superintendent Dolan, who came close to Sergeant

Daw as he said:

 

“I had better return now to the station—unless, of course, you should

wish me to remain for a while.”

 

He answered, “Is Johnny Wright still in your division?”

 

“Yes! Would you like him to be with you?” The other nodded reply.

“Then I will send him on to you as soon as can be arranged. He shall

then stay with you as long as you wish. I will tell him that he is to

take his instructions entirely from you.”

 

The Sergeant accompanied him to the door, saying as he went:

 

“Thank you, sir; you are always thoughtful for men who are working with

you. It is a pleasure to me to be with you again. I shall go back to

Scotland Yard and report to my chief. Then I shall call at Chatwood’s;

and I shall return here as soon as possible. I suppose I may take it,

miss, that I may put up here for a day or two, if required. It may be

some help, or possibly some comfort to you, if I am about, until we

unravel this mystery.”

 

“I shall be very grateful to you.” He looked keenly at her for a few

seconds before he spoke again.

 

“Before I go have I permission to look about your Father’s table and

desk? There might be something which would give us a clue—or a lead at

all events.” Her answer was so unequivocal as almost to surprise him.

 

“You have the fullest possible permission to do anything which may help

us in this dreadful trouble—to discover what it is that is wrong with my

Father, or which may shield him in the future!”

 

He began at once a systematic search of the dressing-table, and after

that of the writing-table in the room. In one of the drawers he found a

letter sealed; this he brought at once across the room and handed to

Miss Trelawny.

 

“A letter—directed to me—and in my Father’s hand!” she said as she

eagerly opened it. I watched her face as she began to read; but seeing

at once that Sergeant Daw kept his keen eyes on her face, unflinchingly

watching every flitting expression, I kept my eyes henceforth fixed on

his. When Miss Trelawny had read her letter through, I had in my mind a

conviction, which, however, I kept locked in my own heart. Amongst the

suspicions in the mind of the Detective was one, rather perhaps

potential than definite, of Miss Trelawny herself.

 

For several minutes Miss Trelawny held the letter in her hand with her

eyes downcast, thinking. Then she read it carefully again; this time

the varying expressions were intensified, and I thought I could easily

follow them. When she had finished the second reading, she paused

again. Then, though with some reluctance, she handed the letter to the

Detective. He read it eagerly but with unchanging face; read it a

second time, and then handed it back with a bow. She paused a little

again, and then handed it to me. As she did so she raised her eyes to

mine for a single moment appealingly; a swift blush spread over her pale

cheeks and forehead.

 

With mingled feelings I took it, but, all said, I was glad. She did not

show any perturbation in giving the letter to the Detective—she might

not have shown any to anyone else. But to me…I feared to follow the

thought further; but read on, conscious that the eyes of both Miss

Trelawny and the Detective were fixed on me.

 

“MY DEAR DAUGHTER, I want you to take this letter as an instruction—

absolute and imperative, and admitting of no deviation whatever—in case

anything untoward or unexpected by you or by others should happen to me.

If I should be suddenly and mysteriously stricken down—either by

sickness, accident or attack—you must follow these directions

implicitly. If I am not already in my bedroom when you are made

cognisant of my state, I am to be brought there as quickly as possible.

Even should I be dead, my body is to be brought there. Thenceforth,

until I am either conscious and able to give instructions on my own

account, or buried, I am never to be left alone—not for a single

instant. From nightfall to sunrise at least two persons must remain in

the room. It will be well that a trained nurse be in the room from time

to time, and will note any symptoms, either permanent or changing, which

may strike her. My solicitors, Marvin & Jewkes, of 27B Lincoln’s Inn,

have full instructions in case of my death; and Mr. Marvin has himself

undertaken to see personally my wishes carried out. I should advise

you, my dear Daughter, seeing that you have no relative to apply to, to

get some friend whom you can trust to either remain within the house

where instant communication can be made, or to come nightly to aid in

the watching, or to be within call. Such friend may be either male or

female; but, whichever it may be, there should be added one other

watcher or attendant at hand of the opposite sex. Understand, that it

is of the very essence of my wish that there should be, awake and

exercising themselves to my purposes, both masculine and feminine

intelligences. Once more, my dear Margaret, let me impress on you the

need for observation and just reasoning to conclusions, howsoever

strange. If I am taken ill or injured, this will be no ordinary

occasion; and I wish to warn you, so that your guarding may be complete.

 

“Nothing in my room—I speak of the curios—must be removed or displaced

in any way, or for any cause whatever. I have a special reason and a

special purpose in the placing of each; so that any moving of them would

thwart my plans.

 

“Should you want money or counsel in anything, Mr. Marvin will carry out

your wishes; to the which he has my full instructions.”

 

“ABEL TRELAWNY.”

 

I read the letter a second time before speaking, for I feared to betray

myself. The choice of a friend might be a momentous occasion for me. I

had already ground for hope, that she had asked me to help her in the

first throe of her trouble; but love makes its own doubtings, and I

feared. My thoughts seemed to whirl with lightning rapidity, and in a

few seconds a whole process of reasoning became formulated. I must not

volunteer to be the friend that the father advised his daughter to have

to aid her in her vigil; and yet that one glance had a lesson which I

must not ignore. Also, did not she, when she wanted help, send to me—to

me a stranger, except for one meeting at a dance and one brief afternoon

of companionship on the river? Would it not humiliate her to make her

ask me twice? Humiliate her! No! that pain I could at all events save

her; it is not humiliation to refuse. So, as I handed her back the

letter, I said:

 

“I know you will forgive me, Miss Trelawny, if I presume too much; but

if you will permit me to aid in the watching I shall be proud. Though

the occasion is a sad one, I shall be so far happy to be allowed the

privilege.”

 

Despite her manifest and painful effort at self-control, the red tide

swept her face and neck. Even her eyes seemed suffused, and in stern

contrast with her pale cheeks when the tide had rolled back. She

answered in a low voice:

 

“I shall be very grateful for your help!” Then in an afterthought she

added:

 

“But you must not let me be selfish in my need! I know you have many

duties to engage you; and though I shall value your help highly—most

highly—it would not be fair to monopolise your time.”

 

“As to that,” I answered at once, “my time is yours. I can for today

easily arrange my work so that I can come here in the afternoon and stay

till morning. After that, if the occasion still demands it, I can so

arrange my work that I shall have more time still at my disposal.”

 

She was much moved. I could see the tears gather in her eyes, and she

turned away her head. The Detective spoke:

 

“I am glad you will be here, Mr. Ross. I shall be in the house myself,

as Miss Trelawny will allow me, if my people in Scotland Yard will

permit. That letter seems to put a different complexion on everything;

though the mystery remains greater than ever. If you can wait here an

hour or two I shall go to headquarters, and then to the safe-makers.

After that I shall return; and you can go away easier in your mind, for

I shall be here.”

 

When he had gone, we two, Miss Trelawny and I, remained in silence. At

last she raised her eyes and looked at me for a moment; after that I

would not have exchanged places with a king. For a while she busied

herself round the extemporised bedside of her father. Then, asking me

to be sure not to take my eyes off him till she returned, she hurried

out.

 

In a few minutes she came back with Mrs. Grant and two maids and a

couple of men, who bore the entire frame and furniture of a light iron

bed. This they proceeded to put together and to make. When the work

was completed, and the servants had withdrawn, she said to me:

 

“It will be well to be all ready when the Doctor returns. He