The Wiles of the Wicked

by William Le Queux

discover them, and at last hit uponthe expedient of making them into a bundle and going forth one nightwhen she was over at Kennington with her daughter Lily, thedancing-girl, and casting them into the Thames from the Embankment. Itwas a risky operation, for that part of London is well guarded by policeafter dark; nevertheless I accomplished it in safety, and was muchamused a few days later by reading in an evening paper that they hadbeen found near London Bridge and handed over to the river police, who,of course, scented a mystery. The blood-stains puzzled them, and thejournal hinted that Scotland Yard had instituted inquiries into theownership of the discarded suit of clothes. The paragraph concludedwith that sentence, indispensable in reporting a mystery, "The policeare very reticent about the matter."

  Fortunately, having cut out the maker's name, and taken everything fromthe pockets which might serve as a clue to ownership, I felt perfectlysafe, and eagerly read the issue of the same journal on the followingevening, which told how the stains had been analysed, and found to bethose of human blood.

  A little more than a week had passed since my remarkable midnightadventure, when one morning I received a brief note by post, whichParker read to me. It consisted of only two typewritten lines statingthat at mid-day I would receive a visitor, and was signed with thestrange word "AVEL."

  It was, I knew, a message from Edna, and I dressed myself with greatercare in expectation that she herself would visit me. In this, however,I was disappointed, for after existing some three hours on tiptoe withanxiety I found my visitor to be a well-spoken, middle-aged man, whoseslight accent when introducing himself betrayed that he was an American.

  When we were alone, with the door closed, he made the followingexplanation--

  "I have called upon you, Mr Heaton, at the request of a lady who is ourmutual friend. You have, I presume, received a letter signed `Avel'?"

  "Yes," I said, remembering how that I had promised to blindly andobediently render my protectress whatever assistance she desired. "Ipresume you desire some service of me. What is it?"

  "No," he said. "You are mistaken. It is with regard to the terribleaffliction from which I see you are suffering that I have been sent."

  "Are you a medical man?" I inquired, with some astonishment.

  "I am an oculist," was his reply.

  "And your name?"

  "Slade--James Slade."

  "And you have been sent here by whom?"

  "By a lady whose real name I do not know."

  "But you will kindly explain, before we go further, the circumstance inwhich she sought your aid on my behalf," I said firmly.

  "You are mutual friends," he answered, somewhat vaguely. "It is nounusual thing for a patient to seek my aid on behalf of a friend. Shesent me here to see you, and to examine your eyes, if you will kindlypermit me."

  The man's bearing irritated me, and I was inclined to resent thisenforced subjection to an examination by one of whose reputation I knewabsolutely nothing. Some of the greatest oculists in the world hadlooked into my sightless eyes and pronounced my case utterly hopeless.Therefore I had no desire to be tinkered with by this man, who, foraught I knew, might be a quack whose sole desire was to run up a longbill.

  "I have no necessity for your aid," I answered, somewhat bluntly."Therefore any examination is entirely waste of time."

  "But surely the sight is one of God's most precious gifts to man," heanswered, in a smooth, pleasant voice; "and if a cure is possible, youyourself would, I think, welcome it."

  "I don't deny that," I answered. "I would give half that I possess--nay, more--to have my sight restored, but Sir Leopold Fry, Dr Measom,and Harker Halliday have all three seen me, and agree in their opinionthat my sight is totally lost for ever. You probably know them asspecialists?"

  "Exactly. They are the first men in my profession," he answered. "Yetsometimes one treatment succeeds where another fails. Mine is entirelyand totally different to theirs, and has, I may remark, been successfulin quite a number of cases which were pronounced hopeless."

  Mere quackery, I thought. I am no believer in new treatments and newmedicines. The fellow's style of talk prejudiced me against him. Heactually placed himself in direct opposition to the practice of thethree greatest oculists in the world.

  "Then you believe that you can actually cure me?" I remarked, with anincredulous smile.

  "All I ask is to be permitted to try," he answered blandly, in no wayannoyed by my undisguised sneer.

  "Plainly speaking," I answered, "I have neither inclination norintention to place myself at your disposal for experiments. My case hasbeen pronounced hopeless by the three greatest of living specialists,and I am content to abide by their decision."

  "Oculists are liable to draw wrong conclusions, just as other personsmay do," he remarked. "In a matter of this magnitude you should--permitme to say so--endeavour to regain your sight and embrace any treatmentlikely to be successful. Blindness is one of man's most terribleafflictions, and assuredly no living person who is blind would wish toremain so."

  "I have every desire to regain my sight, but I repeat that I have nofaith whatever in new treatment."

  "Your view is not at all unnatural, bearing in mind the fact that youhave been pronounced incurable by the first men of the profession," heanswered. "But may I not make an examination of your eyes? It is, ofcourse, impossible to speak with any degree of authority without adiagnosis. You appear to think me a charlatan. Well, for the present Iam content that you should regard me as such;" and he laughed as thoughamused.

  He seemed so perfectly confident in his own powers that I confess myhastily formed opinion became moderated and my prejudice weakened. Hespoke as though he had detected the disease which had deprived me ofvision, and knew how to successfully combat it.

  "Will you kindly come forward to the window?" he requested, withoutgiving me time to reply to his previous observations. I obeyed hiswish.

  Then I felt his fingers open my eyelids wide, and knew that he wasgazing into my eyes through one of those glasses like other oculists hadused. He took a long time over the right eye, which he examined first,then having apparently satisfied himself, he opened the left, felt itcarefully, and touched the surface, of the eyeball, causing me a twingeof pain.

  "As I thought!" he ejaculated when he had finished. "As I thought! Aslight operation only is necessary. The specialists whom you consultedwere wrong in their conclusions. They have all three made an errorwhich is very easy to make, yet it might have deprived you of sight foryour whole life."

  "What!" I cried, in sudden enthusiasm. "Do you mean to tell mesolemnly that you can perform a miracle?--that you can restore my sightto me?"

  "I tell you, sir," he answered quite calmly, "that if you will undergo asmall operation, and afterwards subject yourself to a course oftreatment, in a fortnight--or, say three weeks--you will again open youreyes and look upon the world."

  His words were certainly startling to me, shut out so long from all thepleasures of life. This stranger promised me a new existence, a worldof light and movement, of colour, and of all the interests which combineto make life worth living. At first I was inclined to scorn thisstatement of his, yet so solemnly had he uttered it, and with such anair of confidence, that I became half convinced that he was more than amere quack.

  "Your words arouse within me a new interest," I said. "When do youpropose this operation?"

  "To-morrow, if you will."

  "Will it be painful?"

  "Not very--a slight twinge, that's all."

  I remained again in doubt. He noticed my hesitation, and urged me tosubmit.

  But my natural caution asserted itself, and I felt disinclined to placemyself in the hands of one of whose _bona fides_ I knew absolutelynothing.

  As politely as I could I told him this, but he merely replied--

  "I have been sent by the lady whom we both know as Edna. Have you noconfidence in her desire to assist you?"

  "Certainly I have."


  "She has already explained to me that you have promised to carry out herwishes. It is at her urgent request that I have come to you with theobject of giving you back your sight."

  "She wishes me to submit to the experiment?"

  "Pardon me. It is no experiment," he said. "She desires you to submityourself to my treatment. If you do, I have entire confidence that in aweek or so you will see almost as well as I do."

  I hesitated. This stranger offered me the one great desire of my life--the desire of every person who is afflicted with blindness--in returnfor a few moment's pain. Edna had sent him, prefaced by the mysteriousletter signed "Avel."