MARCUS QUAYLE, M.D.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LIX, Issue 18025, 25 February 1922, Page 3 (Supplement)

MARCUS QUAYLE, M.D.

BY E. EVERETT-GREEN.

iolhor of "The Mnster of Marshlands," etc COPYIUGHT. . CHAPTER I. '•J'ls that tho last, Bolton!" spoke Marcus Quayle. "The last on tho slate, sir. Lady McCorquodale did not keep her appointment." The man made a little pause, and discreetly coughed behind his hand. "But there's a lady still waiting. She asked me if she coiild see you if she waited till the last—"

"You know I never see any patienl

without an appointment." "Yes, sir, so 1 told the young lady. But she sat on and on. Sho bid me say that she was particularly anxious to see ■ you. She is u very young lady, sir, and she told me it hud been very hard to get away, and sho hoped you would sco her if you could. I dared not give her much encouragement. I told her the rule was most particular." " But sho did not go V "No, sir. She wrung her hands together and sat still. Sho is in there now, waiting. She would bo very much obliged if you would see her, if it's only for a few minutes. You've done in good time this morning, sir. The earriago won't be here for another half-hour." Marcus Quaylo was possessed of a square, firmly-moulded faco, grey eyes of an exceedingly penetrating caubre, set somewhat deep beneath the shelter of a massive brow, clean-shaven features, lean and decisively cut, and an expression which was often described as "enigmatic," and could l be sardonic or humorous," intent or casual, according to circumstance. But what msst struck the observer with respect to him was a personality almost violent in its individuality, a grip or essence- in the man which impressed itself like J concrete thing upon those who carco into personal contact with him. It often mads his patients fear himj but it had probably been a strong factor in tho very remarkaale success which he was aehievirv among his patients in the world of fashionable London. His caustic and thinly-veiled contempt for imaginary ailments might offend and pique. Nevertheless it was the tmart thing to take Dr. Quaylo's ratings and poignant, stabbing speeches and let them go the round of each fashionable patients particular friends. His quickly-roused interest in all res! suffering, his remarkable and swift powers of diagnosis, and his original methods in the treatment of disease were much canvassed, while his cures of " incurable" cases without the aid of surgery v?ere arousing much speculation and interested discussion in many circles. His hours for consultation were always full, and persons coming without appointment were strictly turned away. That Bolton should ha'io ventured to transgress his master's rule was in itself something ■a little remarkable, and Marcus Quaylc regarded his faithful servitor with a queer twinkle of his deep-set eyes. " I suppose the young lady is pretty— lei, Bolton,?" " She's as pretty as paint, sir—about as pretty as tbey turn 'cm out nowadays. But it wasn't that, sir, as stopped me hustling her out. It was the look in her eyes. She's been badly scared, sir; that's what's the matter with her. You seo ihat look in the eyes of a young dog as doesn't know what is going* to happen to him next. You feel you can t turn against him. You've got to > help him somehow."

Bolton was a true animal-lover, like his master. In the back regions of that London house and in the garden behind dwelt a menagerie of creatures cured of pain and woe, waiting for transference to good homes. Marcus Quaylo was accused by fanatics of keeping these creatures for purposes of secret orgies of vivisection. Bolton was furious when these whispers reached him; but Quaylo only smiled. He was the preacher—or, rather; the practical leader—of a crusade against the reckless methods of modern surgery, and the exponents of the kniia theory of the treatment of disease whore no lovers of this young physician whose methods were pronounced unorthodox or revolutionary, yet whose successes were so remarkable.

" Send the young lady in, then, and don't keep me waiting,' he said in his sharp, dictatorial way. i'You have her name, of course?" Bolton presented his master with a correspondence card upon which the importunate patient had, at his request, inscribed her name in a delicate hand full of character—" Lorraine Dumaresq." Marcus stood with his back to the light ejj his new patient was ushered in. He had assumed his favourite attitude. Hi? left arm, with its bent elbow, formed n rest for the right, and he grasped L.s chin with the long, flexible fingers of his strong right hand, his eyes firmly fixed uponthe advancing patient. He generally remained in this attitude until the former had traversed full half the space between them, after which he was wont to advance, offer hig hand in a brief, firm clasp, and point to the chair standing well t. the light of the window, which the consultant was invited to occupy. To-day the strong March sunlight was shining full into this cheerful south room. Its beams fell upon the advancing figure of a young girl, slender of form and flower-like of face, who came forward with a fawn-liko timidity and grace which blended with a visible shy eagerness and appeal that went far to explain Bolton's attitude toward this importunate intruder. The eyes of a golden-hazel tint were eloquently beseeching, and the lips, so delicately cut and curved, quivered like those of a child who fears reproof or punishment.

" It is so good of you to see me, Dr. Quayle. I know I ought not to bo here without an appointment. Your man told me ?o."

" It was his business to turn you away till you had one," said Marcus; but the enrtness of the words was redeemed from harshness by a certain twinkle of the /syes. '•'" And I think that you are very young to be here by yourself. Are you ono of the modern emancipated women who claim full control over their lives and actions ?"

She looked up at him from the chair in which he had placed her with that expression that Bolton had described after his own fashion. Marcus instantly recognised that his servant had been right in his surmise. This very lovely young girl, dressed in soft raiment and costly sables, a creature obviously from a home of wealth and of luxury, was obsessed by that most painful and paralysing of emotions—a very real and lively fear, a fear which looked forth from the long-lashed eyes and set the exquisite features in lines of quivering tension. "I am an orphan," she answered in the clear, silvery tones which had struck him the first moment she opened her lips. "If I had a mother or a father, oh! it ttould be all so different," Marcus made' a slightly forward movement, and took the slender wrist between his fingers. "You are frighlened about something. Can you tell me what it is '!" She looked up at him, and the appeal fc her eyes deepened. " 1 want you to tell me if there is any£, thing Vo be afraid of." " Is that why you are here to-day ?" " Yes. I have "heard people talk about you. 1 wondered whether you could tell toe. You find out things that other doctors can't."

He took a chair opposite to hers, and looked searchingly into the young face which was turned to him with such shy jet confident appeal. ■ " Do you think that you are threatened hv some obscure malady which would defy 'he penetration of the ordinary practitioner '! 1 suppose you have some doctor attending the house where r you live ? " Oh, yes! My sister 'has her doctor, »f'd my brother-in-law thinks that he is half a dtHtor himself. Ho has travelled a .great deal, and he knows all sorts of tilings." Here came a little pause. The teen eyes of tho 'ohysiciari detected a nioro inward shudder as of chill or of 'ear. He W as conscious at this moment °f a more keenly-woused interest. It »»as as though ho had his finger a P on i ?ome delicate meciianism which was giv)ng out messages in eoine code to which lie had yet to find the key, but that they tfero messages of distress he was Perfectly certain, "You live, then, with your sister and Wr husband!"- , -

' Yes. She is my half.sister.; but we always .seem like sisters. She married after my mother died, I never liked Adrian, but our father did. Ho was a sort of friend of father's and when he died —two years ago—of course, I .went to thenu Adrian is my guardian. I shall not be of ago for another year." " Do you mean that you would rather not live with them if you choice ? Is it this man yoin call Adrian of whom you are,afraid!" f She dallied for a moment with the question before giving response. "His name is Marmol—Adrian Marmol. I have heard it is a Spanish name. I don't know. His mother was half a Greek, I know. He does not look like an Eng. lishman. Ho is very handsome; but ho always mado me shiver, even when I was quite ( a littlo child. Ho makes roe shiver still—very often." ; "Marmol! I know the name- I have met the man occasionally at clubs. He is reputed something of a scientist. A traveller with letters to his name and a reputation for wido and miscellaneous learning. So he is your brother-in-law, and you live under his roof and under his care?" "Yes. He is away for two days, and my sister is very busy with, her dressmaker. But there was not time to write to you; and i dared uot either. I just decided to come and beg that I might seo you." " You wished to make an appointment with mo, but did not dare to say so openly ?" The quick, nervous glance of the wistful, golden-tinted eyes seemed in itsolf an answer of a sort. The eyes rested at last upon tho calm, strong face opposite to her, and the fear passed out of them. " I know they would never let me come. Georgina would say it was nonsense—that Adrian would know if anything wag the inattor. And I could not ask Adrian. Oh! I know how he would look at me, how he would smile. He is always saying 6trango things as it is." In full measure now the fear came back, flooding tho appealing eyes and setting the child's lips all »• quiver. " That is why I had to come to somebody—somebody who would Lnow v Dr. Quayle, please tell me "the.truth. I going madi" Ilis intent gwe met hers very steadily and quietly. It seemed once more to steady her nerve and to quiet the tingling quiver of her pulses. "Has auyono suggested such a thing to you, Miss Dumaresq?" She clasped her hands together. She spoke quietly, " Not in so many words. It is something in Adrian's manner. I cannot explain how ho makes mo feel so often as though there t was something odd ab<m( me. And lately I have begun to hav- odd feelings. That is what really frightens me. It is more in the night than by day " "Can you describe to me the kind of feeling you experience?" "It is so difficult, because it is all so vague. But lately I have begun to awake in tho night .with a feeling of not being alono in my room, though, of course, I always am. I have a feeling of being watched. And then I lie still, staring oUt to sec if anything is there, and it seems sometimes as though hands touched me and lifted me up, as though I was ' floating away' somewhere. I don't know how else to describe it. When that comes it is rather delicious. You seem to go up, up, up—right amongst the stars. And yet you know all the time you are in your own bed at home. Then by-and-by the feeling goes, and you feel very, very'tired, as though you had been on. a lcig journey somewhere, and you go fast asleep. The next day you have a tired, good-for-noth-ing feeling. And I see Adrian looking at me. Sometimes I get neirvouß and excited, though I caanot tell why.. Then he comes and looks at me, and strokes my hands and says gentle things which* mako me feel creepy all down my spine. At last I felt I could not bear it any more. I must come and tell somebody who would not laugh, as Georgina docs if I try to speak to her." " Your sister does not take you seriouely?" " No. She says lam silly and nervous, and tbat Adrian would know if there was anything the matter. I could not write to you. All the letters pass through Adrian'u hands. He would have suspected directly. I have so few letters, and the address is so often on the envelop© now. I did not dare. I waited till I could bo sure of a few hours with nobody watching me. Then I came. I had to see you. I would not go away.'J- '"' Quite right. The secret of success in life is never to take ' No' for an answer. What made you wish to come to see me in particular?" . "I have heard people talking about you. lady Lindislea was having tea with my sinter a few dayß ago, and telling us things about you: I wanted somebody who would tell me the truth, even if tho truth were a dreadful thing to hear, I thought that you would be like that." " Your fear is that your train may be disturbed in some way?" " I always feel that Adrian thinks that, and he knows a great deal." " Do you know of any insanity in your family—on either, side?" " No. I do not believe there is any. For a quarter of an hour Marcus Quayle questioned and examined, and Lorraine Dumaresq replied with eager responsiveness and quick apprehension. " Como to me again any day that yon can get away. I wilj see you at the end of any morning without appointment. My servant shall have instructions. Live as much as you can out of doors. Live simply. Avoid rich dishes. Take no drugs or draughts of any kind, even if prescribed bv Mr. Marmol for your nerve* Eschew late" hours, but get up as early as you like for a morning walk. Sometimes I ride early in the Park if I get time. In any case, I will see you again before long. And-meantime I give you this watchword to repeat. every day to yourself, 'Do not be afraid.' "

' CHAPTER 11, Lady Lindislea's last caller had departed. She herself, with a sigh of satisfaction, settled herself back amongst her amber cushions. She had sent for fresh tea, and her instructions to her cervant were, " Not at. home, except to Dr. Quayle." , , , Marcus Quayle had rung her up some hours earlier to ask if she would be able to give him half an hour's private talk at six o'clock in the afternoon. The message had caused her a curious thrill of satisfaction and expectancy. Marcus came too .seldom now. Of course, he was frightfully busy. He was coming to the front by leaps and bounds. Still, the claim of an old friend was hers. Had she not helped to push him to the front? Had she not picked him out as a remarkable personality when her lato husband, the noted physician, Sir Peter' Lindisloa, had brought promising young students or practitioners? Wa 8 it not greatly due to her influence that Sir Poter had taken tho young .man into his house as his assistant, thus laying tho foundation-stone of his subsequent success. i To be sure, Marcus Quayle had not occupied this' subordinate position for very long. Tho brilliance with which he had passed his examinations had been justified by the brilliance of his subsequent powers of diagnosis and hi s extraordinary success as a, healer of disease without recourse to surgical aid. Ho had studied in Italy, Germany, and America, •as woll as in England. Ho had methods '■ of his own which were little understood by the average pracleges of Surgeons and Physicians. But they succeeded, ana patients flocked to his doors. As an inmate of Sir Peter's house tor a brief term, he had lived on terms of intimacy with the. beautiful young wife, who was not many years his senior. On the death of Sir Peter, Marcus Quayle had rendered her many valuable services, and the tie had been drawn somewhat-close between them. She still regarded him in the light of a friend with whom she could assume the airs of intimacy and friendship. Truth to tell, there was. springing up in Beatrice Lindisleas heart something more than mere friendship lor the strong and successful man whoso career she had dosoly watched. In his presence she was aware of a strange power of attraction which he exercised over her. In his absence sbo had begun to think of him with something of persistency. She found herself devising excuses for summoning him to her house, or for meeting him where ho wan likely to be found. LTa- i>e continued, op S»twd»j sex)),