‘Stephanotis – and Stephanie is Madame’s name.’ I said to myself. ‘It is the anniversary of her wedding, I know, but is it anything else?’
‘It is her fete-day,’ It said in my ear. ‘Have you forgotten? The Comte will call upon his guests to pledge his wife, and then—.’ My eyes went from the Comte’s gloomy face to the four places at the head of the first table, where, among the other glasses, stood four magnificent Venetian goblets, two trumpet-shaped and two globular.
‘Those four places are for madame and her husband, and the two cousins, I suppose,’ I said, my eyes straying back to the Comte, who was stooping over the table now, with one hand in his waistcoat pocket and one busy with a tall Venetian glass. There was the chink of glass against glass, the falling of two or three drops from a little vial into the tall goblet, and then the Comte turned quickly away, and left the room.
Turned quickly away – and in turning disarranged the trail of crimson roses which surrounded his glasses; a small thing to do, but it cost him his life – on such trifling causes do great events hinge.
Scarcely had he left the room when a grey-headed butler came quickly in, followed by a young footman. His accustomed eye saw that the flowers had been disarranged at once, and he began to replace them, grumbling the while. In so doing his hand caught M. le Comte’s Venetian goblet and overturned it; hastily calling the footman Ambroise to remove the broken glass, he moved the next tall goblet – that intended for the Capitaine with which the Comte had been meddling – into the place of the broken one, the footman bringing a tall goblet for M. le Capitaine from the last place at the table.
Hardly had the change been effected when the double doors opened wide, and M. le Comte and Madame entered, followed by the guests. They were soon seated, and the supper begins. By-and-by the Comte rises, and turning slightly towards Madame, made (I suppose) some pretty speech, while the servants were busy filling the guests’ goblets. The Comte’s speech soon ended, and as he lifted his glass, his guests arose to their feet, following suit and turning their smiling faces towards Madame. The Comte gave the toast, turned to his wife with a bow, and drank off the contents of his glass. The next minute an extraordinary spasm passed over his face, and for a second he stood fighting for breath, his eyes fixed on his wife’s horror-struck face. The guests are too startled and terrified to more than gaze in horror. Madame has sprung to her feet. With a cry of ‘You— you—’ (the first sound I had heard since the drama had re-enacted itself before me) he fell heavily across the table and lay there face downwards, crushing the roses to pieces. The cloud gathered quickly this time, and hid everything. I passed my hand across my face, and when I looked again the mist had vanished, the Face too; the ring lay, a harmless-looking thing, on the table in front of me. Surely I had been dreaming? But no; there was blood still on the ring, on the table, on the arm of the chair, where, no doubt, it had trickled from my wounded wrist.
I stepped out on the balcony. The moon had already risen, and the cool night air soon enabled me to regather my scattered senses. I had the end of the clue in my hands now, and the sooner I cleared up the whole mystery the better; I should recognise the street, the pharmacien, and his shop again directly. I would start at once for Fesonsac, and by travelling all night I might reach the chateau tomorrow. I went back into my room, took some papers and loose money from my desk, and telling the concierge I might be away some days I hailed a passing fiacre and drove to the Gare d’Orleans.
I just managed to catch the train, and tired out by the strain of my weird experience I slept soundly till we arrived at Fesonsac.
I could see the white towers of the chateau through the woods, and, yes! surely this was the road I had seen – at any rate I would try it; so I bargained for the solitary conveyance that I found at the station. ‘Whereto, Monsieur?’ ‘Ah! straight on. I will tell you when to turn.’ We had been driving for nearly two hours along a straight road and I was beginning to doubt, when quite suddenly a bend in the highway brought town walls and a gate into view. ‘Through the gate,’ I called cheerily to the cocher ‘up the Rue St-Louis-le-Grand and to the Bureau de Police.’ It was no mere vision then, no phantasy of an overwrought imagination! Here was the dark medieval gateway with its obliterated shields, here the twisting streets I had seen, the fountain with its battered saint; here, the ill-paved street of Louis-le-Grand and the pharmacien’s shop – and the very man himself peering from the open door. I sat well back in the carriage, and a few minutes more brought me to the Bureau de Police, with the familiar tricolour flapping lazily in the morning wind over the porte-cochère. ‘You may remain; I may want you for some time.’ ‘Bien, Monsieur.’ I was soon closeted with the Chief of Police, and explained my errand as briefly as possible.
‘But yes! he knew the man well; he was of doubtful reputation. If monsieur’s information was correct it would clear up the mystery, and, yes! lift an undeserved stigma from a noble lady. How had monsieur acquired his knowledge? It was wonderful! Tiens, he would go with me himself, if I would permit.’ It was the very thing I wanted, so I ‘permitted’ it cheerfully. Confronted with the agent of the law the pharmacien confessed that, under a threat to reveal some discreditable secret of his past, the Comte had forced him to part with a certain minute portion of a deadly Eastern drug. This drug dissolved in a certain medium would immediately evaporate, leaving the poison invisibly attached to the vessel into which it had been poured, to be redissolved by any liquid poured into this same vessel. Supplied with this important link in our chain we drove thence to the chateau de Viroflay, and sought the last link – the old butler, Josef.
‘Did he remember the night of his late master’s death? Everything that occurred?’
‘But yes, perfectly.’
‘The incident of the broken and replaced glass, for instance?’
‘Ah, yes! but how does monsieur know that?’
‘Monsieur had extraneous information. Well?’
‘M. le Comte told me to use the Venetian service of glass – it was presented to one of his ancestors by the King – or something – of Venice, at whose court he had been the ambassador of Le Grand Monarque.’
‘Presented by one of the Doges. Yes! Well?’
‘M. le Comte gave me instructions that these Venice glasses were not to be filled till he rose to propose Madame’s health; and I obeyed his orders, of course. I thought it very strange, but Monsieur le Comte would brook no questions. Yes, I had a misfortune, and broke the glass laid for the Comte himself, the flowers had become disarranged—’
‘Bon jour, mon ami, that is all we want of you.’ And as we went out the chief turned to me with a look of relief, ‘Your information was correct in every detail, and I felicitate monsieur on solving a riddle that baffled us. So the Comte fell a victim to his own villainy? but, Mon Dieu! what a narrow escape for le pauvre Capitaine – what a narrow escape! Will monsieur honour me by taking déjeûner with me?’
‘A thousand thanks and a thousand apologies, but, no; I must return at once to Paris. Business calls me.’
It was not until I was once more in the train that I noticed the ring was not on my finger – nor could I remember having noticed it on my hand since I left Paris. In my haste I must have left it on the table in my rooms; but I had locked the door on leaving, so, of course, it would be safe enough. It was night when I got back to Paris, and after a hasty inquiry ‘Any letters – any visitors,’ answered in the negative by the sleepy concierge, I took my key and hurried upstairs, taking the steps two at a time in my haste.
I unlocked the door, lighted my lamp, and gave a hurried glance round my room. All was just as I had left it, even my desk, which I had omitted to lock in my haste; the spots of blood still on table cloth and chair, but look as I might, search as I would, the Ring of Knowledge was nowhere to be found.
A BEAUTIFUL VAMPIRE
Arabella Kenealy
Arabella Kenealy (1859–1938) was born at Portslade, Sussex, and was one of the eleven legitimate c
hildren of the Irish barrister Edward V. H. Kenealy. She was educated at the London School of Medicine for Women, and subsequently practised medicine in London. ‘A Beautiful Vampire’ – her only story to utilise the vampire theme – clearly draws its inspiration from the Countess Bathory legend, and is one of a series of stories chronicling the cases of an occult detective named Lord Syfret. The twelve stories in which he appears – collectively known as Some Experiences of Lord Syfret – were originally published in the Ludgate Magazine. “A Beautiful Vampire” was in November 1896 issue, and achieved book publication the following year in Belinda’s Beaux and Other Stories.
I
THERE was a flutter indeed in the little town of Argles, when it became known that Dr Andrew had made an attempt upon the life of Lady Deverish. Andrew was a youngish, good-looking fellow, junior partner in the firm of Byrne & Andrew, the principal doctors in the place. Everybody liked him. He was as clever as he was kind. He would take equal pains to pull the ninth child of a navvy through a croup seizure as he would have done had it been heir to an earldom. Some people thought this mistaken kindness on the doctor’s part – the navvy’s ninth could well have been spared, especially as the navvy drank, and in any case was unable to provide properly for eight. Some went so far even as to assert that Andrew was flying in the face of Providence – to say nothing of the ratepayers – when he brought this superfluous ninth triumphantly through its fifth attack of croup. Otherwise, he was as popular as a man may be in a world wherein flaws and scandal lend to tea and bread-and-butter a stimulating quality denied to blamelessness and good repute.
‘The butler says he heard raised voices,’ it was whispered over dainty cups, ‘and then Lady Deverish shrieked for help, and he ran in and found the doctor clutching her round the throat.’
‘And only just in time. Her face was perfectly black!’
‘Isn’t it awful? Such a kind man as he has always seemed. Is there any madness in the family?’
‘It is not certain. They say his mother was peculiar. Wrote books, and did other extraordinary things. Always wore very large hats with black feathers. Quite out of fashion, Mrs Byass tells me. She knew her.’
‘What have they done with him?’
‘That is the strangest part of it. She wouldn’t charge him – said it was all a mistake. So he just got into his carriage, and continued his rounds.’
‘Gracious! Strangling everybody?’
‘Oh, I believe not.’
‘Her throat was bruised black and blue. Old Dr Byrne went at once and saw to her. He got a new nurse down from London. They say it was a nurse they quarrelled about, you know.’
‘Well, they won’t get anyone to believe that, my dear.’
‘No, because she was as plain as could be. And Lady Deverish’s groom told cook that Dr Andrew scarcely looked at her.’
‘And I never heard that he admired Lady Deverish.’
‘Ah! well, most men do.’
‘I don’t see what she wants a nurse at all for. She’s the picture of health.’
‘She says she suffers from nerves.’
‘If all of us who suffer from “nerves” were to have trained nurses looking after us, there wouldn’t be enough trained nurses to go round.’
‘No, but all of us are not widows with the incomes of two rich dear departeds at our bankers, my dear.’
Now, knowing both her charming ladyship and Andrew, I was naturally interested as to why he had put hands about her beautiful throat in anything other than loving kindness. Therefore, I made a point of drinking tea with a number of amiable and gracious persons of my acquaintance during the week following this most notable attempt. All the information I got for my pains has been condensed into the foregoing gossip, and since it was insufficient for my purposes I set about seeking more. I called early at the Manor. I did not entirely credit rumour’s whisper concerning the victim’s mangled throat, but I knew Andrew’s muscular lean hands, if he had been in earnest, would, to say the least of it, have rendered prudent her retirement for the space of some days, so that I did not expect to see anybody but her companion, Mrs Lyall.
‘Gracious, how ill you look!’ I could not help exclaiming, as she entered.
I had known her some months earlier as a buxom matron. Now she was a haggard old woman. Her features worked and twisted. She slid into a chair, her hands and members shaking like those of one with palsy. For several minutes she could not speak.
‘You must have been sadly troubled,’ I said.
She was a mild and somewhat flaccid person, one of those plump anaemic women who give one the impression that in their veins run milk. But as I spoke her face became contorted. She struggled up and brandished a trembling, clenched hand.
‘If he had only done it!’ she cried passionately, ‘if by some mercy of Providence he had only done it!’
She was transformed – distorted. It was as though some mild and milky Alderney had suddenly developed claws. She slid trembling again into her chair.
‘My dear Mrs Lyall,’ I remonstrated, ‘if he had only done it, the world would have lost a beautiful and accomplished member of your sex – and poor Andrew’s career would have come to a summary and lamentable end.’
‘No jury would have convicted him,’ she protested, ‘not when they knew.’ She dropped her voice and searched the room with apprehensive eyes. Then she whispered, ‘She is a devil.’
Now I was aware that some plain and very good women are in the habit of regarding every comely member of their sex as allied in one or another way with the Father of Evil, but it was clear that some sentiment stronger than general principles was moving Mrs Lyall.
My interest was roused. But she had come to the end of her remarks. She glanced round timorously.
‘For Heaven’s sake, Lord Syfret, do not mention a word of this,’ she stammered. ‘I am sadly unnerved. I scarcely know what I say. Poor Lady Deverish has been rather trying.’ She shut her weak lips obstinately. I assured her of my discretion. I expressed sympathy, and went my way.
Byrne had nothing to tell. ‘Andrew will not say a word,’ he said. ‘He was over-taxed. Been up several nights. She must have exasperated him somehow. Shouldn’t have thought he had it in him. He has always been the kindest of fellows.’
‘What does she say?’
‘Laughs it off, though she don’t seem amiable. Looks as if she don’t want things to come out.’
‘You don’t mean—?’
‘My dear fellow, whatsoever I mean, I do not say.’
It has always been my habit in life to take the bull by the horns whensoever circumstances have rendered this feat at the same time possible and prudent. I determined to attempt it now. Andrew, after all, was a very mild and tractable bull, despite his recent outbreak.
‘I will not disguise the object of my visit,’ I informed him. ‘You know my weakness. Anything you tell me will go no further. The ball of Argles’ scandal will get no push from me. But I like to probe human motive; and you must admit the situation is suggestive.’
He smiled – a nervous smile. I had never seen him so careworn. He shook his head. ‘She has tied my hands,’ he said. ‘If they had let me I would have strangled her.’
‘I do not wonder you are hard hit,’ I adventured, watching him. ‘She is certainly a siren of the first water.’
He burst out laughing. ‘Great Scott!’ he said. ‘Is that what they say? Do they think I am aspiring to the Deverish’s hand and acres? No, no; I am not altogether a fool.’
At this moment somebody ran up the stairs and after a preliminary knock, burst into the room.
‘Please, doctor, come quick,’ a pageboy blurted. ‘There’s Lady Deverish’s nurse has fallen down in the road, and they says she’s dying.’
The same change came over Andrew that had come over Mrs Lyall. His face became contorted. He held a clenched fist in the air. ‘Damn her!’ he cried, and rushed out.
Now this ejaculation had every appearance of applying to
her ladyship’s nurse, and would point to an amount of callousness on Andrew’s part – considering the moribund condition of that unfortunate young person – whereof I am sure he was incapable. I hasten, therefore, to inform the reader that it was intended solely and absolutely for her ladyship’s bewitching self. It was as fervid and whole-souled a fulmination as I remember to have heard. It left no doubt in my mind whatsoever as to the fact of her ladyship owing her life to that timely advent of her butler. My interest was not abated. I followed Andrew out. In the next street a knot of curious persons were assembled.
‘Stand back,’ the doctor called as we went up. ‘Give her air.’
The circle widened, disclosing the figure of a young woman in nursing dress, lying senseless on the pavement. Her upturned face was curiously pinched, though the conformation was young, and her hair fallen loose about her cheek hung in girlish rings.
‘She does not look strong enough for nursing,’ I remarked to Byrne, who came up at the moment.
‘Strong enough,’ he echoed testily. ‘A week ago she was sturdy and robust. The Deverish takes care of that. Can’t stand sickliness about her.’ He added half to himself, ‘Must be something wrong with the house. Ventilation bad or something. One after another they’ve gone off like this.’ The girl now began to show signs of consciousness. She opened her eyes, and seeing Andrew, smiled faintly. Presently she sat up.
‘When you feel equal to it, my dear,’ Dr Byrne said, ‘we will help you to my carriage, and you can drive straight back.’
‘Back,’ she repeated wildly, ‘where?’
‘Why, to the Manor. You must—’
She interrupted him; she caught his hand. ‘No, no,’ she gasped, ‘not there, never there. I cannot stand another hour of it.’
‘The beautiful Deverish must be something of a vixen,’ I reflected, seeing the expression on the girl’s face.
Andrew was helping her to her feet. ‘Don’t be afraid,’ he said quietly, ‘I will see that you do not go back.’
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