THE DETECTIVE AND THE POISONER.

Auckland Star, Volume XXIX, Issue 177, 29 July 1898, Page 6

THE DETECTIVE AND THE POISONER.

BY ST. GEORGE RATHBORNE,

Attfchqr of "Doctor Jack," "Captain

Tom," etc.

CHAPTER NIX. ' CLOSE TO DEATH. As I stand there looking out of my window tovA'ard the east, I notice that the sky is covered with clouds that seem to be hurrying up from the south in battalions, as though advancing to battle. It will indeed be a Avar of the elements if this tempest is the forerunner of the hurricane reported doAvn the coast below Hatteras, in the morning papers. Fortune has never yet allowed me to witness a terrible storm on the coast, and for this reason I rather glory in the prospects ahead, anticipating something of a treat when the great Avaves break and rush np the strand like roaring lions searching for their prey. A storm terrifies most people,, but it holds me spell-bound.. There is a force and majesty in the wind that rushes along, in the flash of the electric current and crash of the heavenly artillery, that awes me, and yet I never avoid the spectacle; indeed, I Hence it can readily be understood that I am on the gui Vive re-o-ardiiig the shoAv that may soon be liven, and expect to make the most Sf the opportunity, little suspecting under what peculiar circumstances I will Avitness it. ' , Then my thoughts leave that subject. There Is much more to portder upon —poor Joe and the troubles that have clustered about him, tearing at his heart even as the filthy loavls of the air did at' tlie vitals of Prometheus, chained to the rock. . I have, I confess, in the past envied him his good fortune in possessing health, Avealth, and so lovely a wife. No longer does this feeling burn AVithin mv heart—his troubles have cured me. 'True, I am only an old bachelor of fifty, and there are occasions Avhen this fact awakens many keen regrets, but at any rate, thank heaven, I have no such "burdens hanging OA-er my head and suspended by a single thread, like the sword of Damocles, ready to end me. ' . _~_._, I glory in my state of single blessedness iioav, and exult in the thought that I am free to help my friends. That is the best of it. / . Looking at my Avatch, I find it is half-past twelve, and am conscious of a feeling of hunger, the first felt on this dark day. In half an hour dinner avill be ready, for I presume that even the occurrence of a death in the house will not disarrange the regular custom of the domestics. In all probability, from force of ..'habit, a plate will be laid for Miss; Edith.,./ .■■:"■. -__--" I can wait that long, and my thoughts again go out to the gloomy Is "nature about to Aveep over the cruel deed done at Bryn Mawr—will the wind howling- about the house chant her sad requiem, and the deeptoned thunder serve in place of. the artillery salute for the dead? There is something awe-inspinng in the very thought, and it is such subjects I most delight in conjuring "UPWhile standing thus, looking upon the sullem frowning face of Nature, I hear my hall-door open, and turning, see a sight I shall never forget to my dying day . Joe is entering the room. He totters rather than Avalks—lns hair is dishevelled, his face as white as chalk, and his eyes burning with an unnatural glare. My soul! has Joe gone mad? buch is the thought that rushes into my mind as I first view his face. Then I leap foi-Avard and catch his arm, leading him to a chair, into which he sinks with a sigh or a groan, I know not which. Another sensation hovers over me—l feel it in the very atmosphere. 'Heavens, Joe! what ails you, man? Tell me, what can I do for you?' 1 gasp. ,■■'-.., He looks up with a forced smile. 'Canst minister to a mind diseased, doctor? I feel as though my brain would burst—l must have relief or 1 will die, or go mad. Besides, there is something—close the door and lock it, doctor. If Muriel calls for me tell her you are treating me, and cheer her np; but I am afraid it's all over \\\i.i me.' ;- I 'am alarmed at his words. Without a doubt Joe is threatened with brain fever, or some such trouble, and his breaking down at this time will aggravate the case. As it is his wish—and I never irritate a patient by refusing some trifling request that can do no harm—l close the door and lock it. Then I return to Joe again

The change in his appearance since last I saw him has been startling. His eyes roll in their sockets, and I see by the expression of them that the man is suffering from bodily pain as Avell as mental. Several suspicions flash through my mind. Can Joe have taken something to quiten his nerves, chloral, for instance, ahd made a mistake, swallowing an overdose? There are symptoms present that lead me to suspect this. I Avill question him, as in an event of this kind the sooner the truth is known, the easier control is regained over the system. 'Noav, what ails you, Joe—what have you been doing — taking any medicine?'

He shakes his head slowly. 'Nothing, doctor.' 'Where do you feel the pain ?' I ask. He places his hand upon his stomach.

'If you had poured hot lead down taie I could not feel Avorse. You see, doctor, I felt bad two'hours ago, after those men went aAvay, and told Muriel I would lie down for dizziness. After a while I had the queerest sensations —seemed drawn up in a knot, as if

my.stomach were endeavouring to become fastened to my backbone. ... It was simply terrible for a time, and Icould hardly keep from groaning aloud when %he spasms occurred. At last the feeling changed, and there came over me, as I have said, a sensation as 'tlipugh my' body were suffering with a burning fever that began in my stomach.' "Good heavens, man! I believe you are poisoned!' ± burst out, the cold perspiration starting in clammy beads from my forehead. 'Nonsense, doctor, lioav could I be poisoned ?' 'That I can't tell, but you have every symptom of it. AiiSAver me, Joe.'hoAV long have you felt so —that is, when did this flush come on?' 'About a quarter of an hour ago, perhaps less, but the chances are, more,' he replies, Avearily. 'Are you sure you have partaken of nothing between breakfast and now?'I demanded. 'Not a morsel Of food has passed my lips since last night.' 'Then drink?' I inquire, hastily, for his symptoms alarm me. T SAvallowed a cup of coffee.' 'For breakfast?' 'Yes.^ 'It was not that, Aye all drank the same. HaA'e you taken anything else since?' 'No, doctor, nothing except a drink of Avater.' 'Tell me, AVhere did you take that?' Tt was seltzer-water.' , 'Where did you get it?' I repeat. He passes ohe hand Avearily over his head, as though it is an effort to collect his thoughts. 'Heavens! how it burns! it was in her room, doctor.' 'Her room —Miss Morrison's?' I gasp, Wildly. He nods. 'You took a. drink from the bottle of seltzer on the table —there Avas already a small quantity in the tumbler —think man, for God's sake, did you pour that out of the glass before drawing more, or did you turn the siphon upon it?' T supposed the new acid would generate the whole, so I did ndt pour it away, but filled the glass and drank it all, as I was burning Avith thirst. But Avhat harm avus there in that, doctor—why should the combination affect me?' 'Why—because, man, I believe that glass contained the poison that took Edith Morrison's life—l thought Doctor Beard took the liquid with him for analysis. Your symptoms are most alarming, for I recognise them hoav--you are nearing the last stage of poisoning. Once that burning sensation turns to coldness, nothing on earth can save you!' I am horrified, appalled at the truth. It is a thousand times more terrible than I have ever suspected it could be. Must I see my dear friend pass away, also a victim to the same dreadful fate that has already overtaken one inmate of Bryn Mawr? How my thoughts • fly through my heated brain like race horses striving' for the goal. The symptoms—-yes, he has them all, just as my strange patient on that night months ago described them— the nausea or goneness at the pit of the stomach, folloAved by the frightful burning sensation that paralyzes the system. This last has continued for more than tAventy minutes now —when half an hour has elapsed the sensation as of ice being put doAvn his back will succeed it, and then death. If I can only collect my thoughts enough to see my way clear. Can anything be done? This honest, manly felloAV, this dear friend of mine, must not be allowed to tlie thus, if energy on my part can save him. Alas! I know too well how useless every ordinary effort of mine must be. A poison like this is powerful, and will succumb to only one known antidote. A thought flashes into my mind—it is like a blazing torch hurled into a black pit, which, for the moment, becomes illumined. What manner of poison is this? Every minute symptom seems to point to the identical deadly Egyptian drug with which I have experimented so often—the same that my night visitor, Leon Gabrielle, as he called himself, imbibed when he took the wrong glass. I cannot unclertsantl, of. course, lioav such a thing could come here—just now that has nothing to do with the question. If it should prove that Joe has imbibed some of that fearful stuff, he. is a doomed man, unless he partakes immediately of the antidote. A cold chill passes over me. Where is that antidote? If calmly reposing on a shelf in my laboratory, it might as well lie in Guinea—Joe will be stone dead before I could get- half Avay there. Stay! I have a half-defined recollection of seeing it in my case—by chance I had put it in one of the phial's made especially for the trav-elling-box, intending some day to change, it. Have I done so? I cudgel my brain, but. cannot remember. Less than sixty seconds have passed since I put the 'last question to Joe— these thoughts have trooped through my mind in far less time than it takes to read them. My eyes turn in the direction where my medicine-case reposes—l remember having glanced that way Avhen Peters spoke about- asking my advice. It rests upon a side table. At any rate I can quickly knoAV the worst—if the antidote is there, well and good—if not, I must tell poor Joe the vvorst. I spring for the table. With trembling hands and suspended breath I press the spring that opens the case. It is a question ot life and death now—Joe's existence hangs in the balance. Eagerly I gaze along the rows ot phials—the cork of each is marked, as well as the bottle. A mist comes before me as I near the end of the third and last line—a lump seems to rise in my throat. Poor Joe! it is all over. Stay! what is this—the very last phial, away down in the corner, is marked: 'Antidote!' Thank God! there is a chance to save him yet! (To be Continued.)