An Eye for an Eye

by William Le Queux

truth is you've been poisoned!"

  "Poisoned?" I gasped.

  "Yes," he responded, handing me some medicine. "And this seizure ofyours is a very mysterious one indeed. I've never seen such symptomsbefore. That you've been poisoned is quite plain, but how the accidenthas occurred remains for us to discover later."

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

  IN THE CITY.

  Through several days I remained in bed, my limbs rigid, my sensesbewildered.

  Although we said nothing to Tweedie, Cleugh entirely shared my suspicionthat if an attempt had actually been made upon my life it had been madeat Riverdene. The doctor ran in several times each day, and Dick,assisted by old Mrs. Joad, was as attentive to my wants as any trainednurse, snatching all the time he could spare from his duties to sit byme and gossip of men and things in Fleet Street, and the latest "scoop"of the _Comet_.

  Tweedie was puzzled. Each time he saw me he remarked upon my curioussymptoms, carefully noting them and expressing wonder as to the exactnature of the deleterious substance. He pronounced the opinion that itwas some alkaloid, for such it was shown by the reagents he had used inhis analysis, but of what nature he was utterly at a loss to determine.Many were the questions he put to me as to what I had eaten on that day,and I explained how I had lunched at one of the restaurants in FleetStreet, and afterwards dined with friends at Laleham.

  "You ate no sandwiches, or anything of that kind at station refreshmentbars?" he asked, when he visited me one morning, in the vague idea, Isuppose, that the poison might, after all, be a ptomaine.

  "None," I answered. "With the exception of what I told you, I had aglass of wine at the house of a friend at Hampton before rowing up toLaleham."

  "A glass of wine," he repeated slowly, as if reflecting. "You noticedno peculiar taste in it? What was it--port?"

  "Yes," I replied. "An excellent wine it was, without any tasteunusual."

  For the first time the recollection of that glass of wine given me byEva at The Hollies came back to me. Surely she could not havedeliberately given me a fatal draught?

  "Often," he said, "a substance which is poison to one person is harmlessto another. If we could only discover what it really was which affectedyou, we might treat you for it and cure you much more rapidly. Asmatters rest, however, you must grow strong again by degrees, and thankProvidence that you're still alive. I confess when I first saw you, Ithought you'd only a few minutes to live."

  "Was I so very bad?"

  "As ill as you could be. You were cold and rigid, and looked as thoughyou were already dead. In fact, any one but a doctor would, I believe,have pronounced life extinct. Your breath on a mirror alone showedrespiration, although the heart's movement was so weak as to bepractically imperceptible. But don't trouble further over it, you'll beabout soon," and shortly afterwards he shook my hand and went on his wayto the hospital, already late on my account.

  I longed to tell him all the curious events of the past, but saw thatsuch a course would be unwise. If I did so, Eva--the woman I adored--must be prematurely judged, first because of old Lowry's revelations,and now secondly because of the suspicious fact of my illness afterpartaking of the wine she offered.

  The idea that the attempt had been made upon me at Riverdene seemed veryimprobable, because I had dined in common with the other guests; the teaI had taken was poured from the same Queen Anne pot from which the cupsof others were filled, and in the whisky-and-soda I had had beforeleaving I was joined by three other men who had rowed up from ahouse-boat about a quarter of a mile lower down.

  As I lay there restless in my bed, trying vainly to read, I spent hoursin recalling every event of that day, but could discover no suspiciouscircumstance other than that incident of the wine at The Hollies. Irecollected how Eva after ringing for the servant and ordering it, hadherself gone out into the dining-room, and had been absent a couple ofminutes or so. Possibly she might only have gone there in order tounlock the cellarette, yet there were likewise, of course, other graverpossibilities.

  This thought which fastened upon my mind so tenaciously allowed me butlittle rest. I tried to rid myself of it, tried to scorn such an idea,tried to reason with myself how plain it was that she actually held mein some esteem, and if so she would certainly not seek to take my lifein that cowardly, dastardly manner. Sometimes I felt that I misjudgedher; at others grave suspicions haunted me. Yet withal my love for hernever once wavered. She was my idol. Through those long, weary hoursof prostration and convalescence I thought always of her--always.

  I had written her a short note, saying that I was unwell and unable togo down to Riverdene, not, however, mentioning the cause of my illness,and in response there came in return a charmingly-worded little letter,expressing profound regret and hoping we should meet again very soon. Ahundred times I read that note.

  Was the thin, delicate hand that penned it the same that had endeavouredto take my life?

  That was the sole question uppermost in my mind; a problem which rackedmy brain day by day, nay, hour by hour. But there was no solution.Thus was I compelled to exist in torturing suspicion, anxiety anduncertainty.

  One hot afternoon I had risen for the first time, and was sitting amongpillows in the armchair reading some magazines which Dick hadthoughtfully brought me during the luncheon hour, when a timid knocksounded at the door. The Hag had left me to attend upon her other"young gentlemen" in the Temple, and I was alone. Therefore I rose andanswered the summons, finding to my surprise that my visitor was LilyLowry.

  At once, at my invitation, she entered, a slim figure dressed in neat,if cheap, black, without any attempt at being fashionable, but with thatprimness and severity expected of lady's-maids and shop-assistants. Hergloves were neat, her hat suited her well, and beneath her veil I saw apretty face, pale, interesting and anxious-looking.

  "I didn't expect to find any one in, except Mrs. Joad," she saidapologetically, as she took the chair I offered. Then, noticing mypillows, and perhaps the paleness of my countenance, she asked. "What?You are surely not ill, Mr. Urwin?"

  "Yes," I answered. "I've been rather queer for a week past. The heat,or something of that sort, I suppose. Nothing at all serious."

  "I'm so glad of that," she said. "I only called because I was passing.I've been matching some silk at the wholesale houses in the City, and asI wanted to give Mr. Cleugh a message I thought I'd leave it with Mrs.Joad."

  "A message?" I repeated. "Can I give it?"

  She hesitated, and I saw that a slight blush suffused her cheeks.

  "No," she faltered. "You're very kind, but perhaps, after all, it wouldbe better to write to him."

  "As you like," I said, smiling. "You don't, of course, care to trustyour secrets in my keeping--eh?"

  She looked at me seriously for a moment, her lips quivered, and she drewa long breath.

  "You've always been extremely kind," she said in a low voice,half-choked with emotion. "And now that I find you alone, I feelimpelled to confide in you and seek your advice."

  "I'm quite ready to offer any advice I can," I answered, quicklyinterested. "If I can render you any assistance I will certainly do sowith pleasure."

  "Ah!" she exclaimed, sighing again, "I knew you would. I am introuble--in such terrible trouble."

  "What has happened?" I inquired quickly, for I saw how white and wanshe was, and of course attributed it to Dick's action in renouncing hispledge.

  "You, of course, know that Mr. Cleugh and I have parted," she said,looking up at me quickly.

  "He has told me so," I responded gravely. "I regret very much to hearit. What is the reason?"

  "Has he not told you?" she asked, her eyes filled with tears.

  "No," I answered. "He gave no reason."

  "Well," she explained, "he has judged me wrongly. I am entirelyinnocent, I assure you. In a place of business like ours we arecompelled to be on friendly terms with the male assistants, and theother evening, as I was leaving the shop to go to the ho
use where wegirls live, at the other end of Rye Lane, one of the men--aninsufferable young fellow in the hosiery department--chanced to be goingthe same way and walked with me.

  "On the way, Dick--Mr. Cleugh, I mean--passed us, and now he declaresthat I've been in the habit of flirting with these men. It is notpleasant for any girl to walk alone along Rye Lane at ten o'clock atnight, therefore this young fellow was only escorting me out ofpoliteness. Yet I cannot make Dick believe otherwise than that he is mylover."

  "He's jealous of you," I said. "Is not jealousy an index of true love?"

  "But if he loved me