In White Raiment

by William Le Queux

when Hoefer made theannouncement. "Death lurks in that place. Let us close and lock it."

  "Ach! no, madame," he responded. "It is no risk now that we have theprophylactic." And, turning to me, he handed me a little of the lastinjection which he had given to Beryl, together with the phial of etherand the syringe.

  "Use this, if necessary," he said, briefly, and then leaving us, hecrossed the threshold and examined every nook of the room.

  The window was still open, but he closed and fastened it. Upon a littlewriting-table in the corner lay the soiled sheet of note-paper thatBeryl had obtained on her first visit to the library, thus proving thetruth of her story. The door swung to, as before, and after about fiveminutes he again emerged.

  Scarcely had he crossed the threshold when he gave vent to a loud cry.

  "Gott!" he gasped. "The injection--quick!"

  He had again been seized. The unseen hand of Death was upon him.Truly, it was an uncanny mystery.

  Without a second's delay I filled the syringe, rubbed the flesh withether, and then ran the needle beneath the skin. The effect was almostinstantaneous. The sudden paralysis was arrested, and the musclesreanimated in a manner most marvellous. One fact was, therefore, plain:Hoefer had discovered the proper treatment, even if the cause of theextraordinary seizure remained unknown.

  He stood for a few moments motionless, but at length declaring himselfbetter, said--

  "The thing is an absolute enigma; I can discern no cause whatever forit. There would seem to be some hidden influence at work, but of itsnature we can discover absolutely nothing. The attack does not occuruntil one emerges here into the hall."

  "Can it be out here?" I suggested, whereat both my companions turnedpale with fright.

  Certainly the situation was as weird and uncanny as any in which I haveever found myself. An unseen influence is always mysterious, and thischill touch of the hand of death that we had all experienced wasactually appalling.

  We held council, and decided that the room should be closed and lockedto prevent any of the servants entering there. Our conversation hadundoubtedly been overheard by them, and Hoefer was anxious that theplace should remain undisturbed so that he might make furtherinvestigations, which he promised to do on the following day.

  Then we entered the dining-room together, partook of some wine which herladyship offered us, and left the house in company--not, however, beforeI had promised to call again on the morrow and visit my patient.

  "Now, Hoefer, what is your candid opinion?" I asked my companion as westood on the kerb, opposite the Marble Arch, awaiting the belatedomnibus to take him back to Bloomsbury.

  "I don't like it, my dear frient," he answered dubiously; "I don't likeit." And, shaking my hand, he entered the last Holborn 'bus withoutfurther word.

  On foot I returned to Bayswater utterly confounded by the curious eventsof the evening. By Hoefer's serious expression and preoccupied manner,I saw that the influence within or without that room of mystery was tohim utterly bewildering. He had spent his life in the study ofmicro-organisms, and knew more of staphylococci, streptococci, andpneumococci than any other living man, while as a toxicologist he wasacknowledged, even by his clever compatriots in Germany, as the greatestof them all. He had searched out many of the secrets of Nature, and Ihad myself at times witnessed certain, of his experiments, which werelittle short of marvellous. It was, therefore, gratifying that I hadenlisted his aid in solving this most difficult problem.

  Yet, as I lay awake that night, reflecting deeply upon the curioussituation, I could not arrest my thoughts from turning back to thetragedy at Whitton and the omission of those two names from the list ofvisitors furnished to the police. That her ladyship was a bosom friendof Mrs Chetwode's was quite plain, and that she was present, togetherwith Beryl, earlier in the day, I had myself seen. Somehow, I could notget rid of the conviction that Sir Henry's wife, the woman who had takenthis secret journey from Atworth to London to have a clandestineinterview with some person whom she declined to name, knew the truthregarding the Colonel's death.

  I was plunged into a veritable sea of perplexity.

  If I could but discover the identity of La Gioia! That name rang in myears, sleeping or waking. La Gioia! La Gioia! Ever La Gioia!

  Beryl held her in abject dread. Of that I knew from those words of hereI had overheard at Whitton. She had declared that she would commitsuicide rather than face her vengeance. What had rendered my adored oneso desperate?

  As I sat over my lonely breakfast on the following morning, there beingalready a couple of patients in the waiting-room--clerks who had comefor "doctors' certificates" to enable them to enjoy a day's repose--theservant brought in the letters, among them being one for me which hadbeen forwarded from Shrewsbury by my mother.

  The superscription was in a formal hand, and, on reading it, I wassurprised to find that it was from a firm of solicitors in Bedford Row,stating that my uncle George, a cotton-spinner in Bury, had died,leaving a will by which I was to receive the sum of one thousand poundsas a legacy. I read the letter, time after time, scarcely able tobelieve the good news.

  But an hour later, when I sat in the dingy office in Bedford Row, and myuncle's solicitor read a copy of the will to me, I saw that it was areality--a fact which was indeed, proved by the cheque for fifty poundswhich he handed me for my immediate use. I drove to the Joint StockBank in Chancery Lane, cashed the draft, and returned to Bayswater withfive ten-pound notes in my pocket. From a state of penury I had, withinthat single hour, become possessed of funds. True, I had always hadexpectations from that quarter; but I had, like millions of other men,never before been possessor of a thousand pounds. In a week or two themoney would be placed to my credit. To a man with only half a crown inhis pocket a thousand pounds appears a fortune.

  I counted the crisp new notes in the privacy of the doctor'ssitting-room, then, locking three of them in my portmanteau, took a cabdown to Rowan Road to receive Bob's congratulations. He was delighted.He sent Mrs Bishop out for a bottle of the best champagne procurable inthe neighbourhood, and we drank merrily to my future success. Then,while smoking a cigarette over what remained of the wine, I related tohim my strange adventure of the previous night.

  He sat listening to my story open-mouthed. Until I had concluded, heuttered no word. Then gravely he exclaimed--

  "The affair grows more and more amazing. But now, look here, Dick! Whydon't you take my advice, and drop the affair altogether?"

  "Drop it? What do you mean? Remember Beryl!"

  "I know," he answered. "But I can't help feeling that association withthose people is dangerous. They're a queer lot--a devilishly queerlot!"

  "Of course they're a queer lot," I said; "but I can't leave her to theirmercy. She's in deadly peril of her life; they intend to kill her."

  A grave expression was on his face. "Do you think that last night'scurious phenomenon was actually an attempt to kill her?" he inquired.

  "Without a doubt."

  "Then, if so, how was it that you all experienced similar symptoms?What's old Hoefer's theory?"

  "He has none."

  "He never has--or, at least, he pretends that he hasn't; he keeps allhis discoveries to himself. That's why he has always refused to writeany books. When he lectures he's always careful to keep his secrets tohimself."

  "Yes; he's a queer old boy," I remarked, for his eccentricities weremany, and had often caused us much amusement at Guy's.

  "I only wish, Dick, that you'd try to forget all about this tangledaffair," Bob said earnestly. "You're worrying yourself to death all tono purpose."

  "Why `all to no purpose'?" I echoed. "I am patient, and I shalldiscover something one day."

  "No," he said confidently. "You'll never discover anything--mark mywords."

  "What makes you think that?"

  "Because you are watched far too closely."

  "Watched!" I cried in surprise. "Who watches me?"

  "Severa
l persons. Among them your wife herself."

  "How do you know?"

  "Because I saw her in this street, on the evening before last, evidentlyin search of you. She passed several times, and glanced across here.Yet she tells you--or, rather, her cousin tells you--that they were notin London at that time."

  "Are you certain?"

  "Absolutely."

  "But how did you recognise her?" I demanded eagerly. "Why, you'venever seen her!"

  He started quickly. By the expression on his face I recognised in aninstant, that he had inadvertently betrayed to me the fact that theywere not strangers.

  He knew her! And