HIS MIDNIGHT PATIENT.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXVI, Issue 20236, 22 April 1929, Page 20

HIS MIDNIGHT PATIENT.

BY ANNIE 0. .TIBBITS

It was getting late. Somcwhore a clock Struck midnight and all Elmchester seemed to be in bed. The lights had disappeared from the sedate houses round about, and only Dr. Cloment's lamp burnt brightly, throwing a streak of red across the wet, empty and wind-swept street.

It was an ugij night, and Dr. Clement put down paper to listen. A fierce sleet beat and hissed against the windowpane, and the wind drove blusteringly round the house.

It was an ugly night, and it was going to be worse, and Dr. Clement hoped fervently that no one would call him out again. He had had a hard day, and his room was cosy and ho was warm. He picked up his paper again. It was full of stories of an absconding solicitor and of rumours of his whereabouts. He had disappeared and ruined hundreds of his clients. One of them was in Elmchester, and Dr. Clement frowned as he thought of him, worried and broken and ill.

" They ought to shoot him when they catch him," lie muttered. "Ho is worse than a murderer." To-night the papers stated confidently that he was in Spain, and that the police were following hard on his track. Yesterday ho had been in Manchester, the day before in New York. To-morrow he would be in a new neighbourhood altogether no doubt, and meanwhile ho was probably somewhere close at hand—perhaps even in Elmchester itself. Dr. Clement threw aside his paper, and rose to his feet. After all, very likely the police would never find him, and even if they did it would not do much toward healing the hearts and lives' thai he had broken and mined. Nothing .would do that; and the old man in Elmchester who had believed he had sufficient money to last him and his wife the rest of their lives would be penniless all the same.

Dr. Clement crossed the room with a sigh, and then stood still. A faint tinkle had sounded in the hall outside, a tinkle like the bell of his front door. He listened. The sleet whipped the windowpanes, and the wind blustered on. There was n.o other sound, and for a moment he! hesitated before he passed out to open the door. Who could be calling him out on a night like that ? He had no one so seriously ill as to need him { ,in such haste, and if it was Lady Lymvood again he decided that he would refuse to go. Her " nerves " were too irritating for anything. He flung open the door impatiently, convinced that he should see her tall footman on the step and hear the wellknown formula, " Lady Lynwood's comjjliments, and she is very much worse." . But when he looked only the darkness of the night lay before him. Only his own wet steps and the muddy road. He stared and then retreated backwards hurriedly as the cold wind tore pasA, but as he did so someone started from out of the shadow—someone thin and white, with the face of a ghost, and wide, girlish blue eyes. He stared down at her. She seemed breathless, and as the light fell full on her 7 lie saw that her lips were quivering. " Come in," he said quicklj-, " and tell me what I can do for you." She stepped, shivering cold and wet into the hall, and looked into his face. He closed the door, and for a moment she stood before him in silence —looking eagerly into his face, into his handsome, clear-cut face as if she had a special interest in watching him closely. " You are Dr. Clement?" she asked at last, slowly, and as he bowed she added, " I -—I thought you were an old man—not a young man, and " She stopped, and Dick Clement moved so that he could see her face more clearly. " Well, did you want an old man ?" he asked. " But tell me what I can do for you." She hesitated again, her eyes looking almost wildly across the hall with its pictures and statuary and heavy curtains.

" Oh," she cried at last, suddenly. " I want you to come at once—lo my father. He is' ill. H " She looked quickly into Jiis face, and somehow, strangely enough, a thrill ran through Dr. Clement as he met her eyes. ' He looked quickly at her shabby coat and hat, and decided as /quickly that she would be a beautiful woman if she was properly dressed and taken care of.

" i'cs," he said. "Tell me what is the matter with him ?" The girl stepped back deliberately into the shadow.

" I don't know," she said, " but he has had a lot of worry lately, and —and —whoever comes to him must ask him no questions—must bo secret and quick. Bo you understand ? He is—queer." Her voice choked a little, and once more there came to Dr. Clement an odd feeling that he-wanted to help her—protect her

—,' n spite of the odd air of mystery that seemed to bo springing up about her.

" Yes," he said. " I understand. But if it is an urgent case oughtn't wo to go at once "■ " Wait." She put her hand on his arm. " I want someone I can trust. 1 want someone, who, whatever comes, can keep a secret." She stopped, and afterwards Dr. Clement wondered what madness it was that at that moment prompted him to cast caution to the winds and promise her all she wished. Perhaps it was her thin, girlish face, the anxious look in her eyes, the pitiful droop of her mouth, but at any rate he put his hand on hers and looked into her eyes. " I'll do everything I can," he said. •" You can trust me." " Then come," she cried. "My name is Waterer, and it is my father who has taken the Red House." Dr. Clement looked at her with some curiosity. 'lhe Red House had been let for nearly a year. It had been furnished and made habitable more than six months but it was onJy lately that the tenant had taken possession, and even now be had not been visible to anyone in Elinrhester. Now—he was ill, and to Dr. Clement bis' daughter was the most beautiful girl he, had ever seen.

lie pulled on his mackintosh, and opened the door again with a quick glance at her dripping coat. She looked ill herself—ill and worried and wet

through, and the strange longing to help . her, to be of use to her came back with ' sudden swiftness as they stepped out into the dark and muddy road. Hi; held out his arm to her. " Let me help you," ho said. "It is Eo dark." But to his surprise she shrank away from him. "No no," she said with white lips. •" I am best by myself." They hurried on, and at last Dr. Clement found himself bending to open the rusty gate of the lied House. It was a small gate in a high wall, ami the house lay well hidden. ■" Promise," she said, quickly and breathlessly, " that you a.sk him no questions? I only want you to prescribe. We—we—have been abroad—on the Continent for the—for the last six months and—and—he is ill—and worried and—oh! for God's sake, don't question him. iY<ou promise?" Iler hand held his arm, and Dr. Clement looking down into her strange beautiful face felt himself curiously powerless. He thought of all the that were abroad concerning the Red House—curious whispers about tho tenant who had taken and furnished it and not inhabited.it, and everything vanished before * girl's blue eyes.

(COPYRIGHT.)

" I'll ask nothing," he said. " I'll do all I can."

She looked at him stoadily, and thon turned and walked quickly up the gravel path to the house. As they went Dr. Clement fancied ho heard footsteps behind him—pattering footsteps like a dog, but ho was not sure, and when ho stopped to listen they ceased.

The girl went on, and on reaching the door knocked on it sharply with her knuckles. It was opened instantly by an old woman who peered out at them. "Have >ou got him, Miss Ida?" she asked. "Is it all right?" Ida went forward, and Dr. Clement followed her into a lighted room, and there she faced him suddenly. "Doctor, do your best—oh! for heaven's sake, do your best for my father, and—and—believe in me—believe in us both."

She broka off, and a strange quiver passed over her face. Dr. Clement held out his hand, against all caution, and in spite of the feeling of mystery which had sprung up in his heart. " I'll do what T can." he said, slowly. " Let mo go to him."

She looked into his face, and drew a deep breath, and then walked slowly toward a door communicating with an inner room. As she reached it she fell back. "Hark!" sho cried, sharply, "what was that ?" They both listened, and for a moment there was nothing to he heard except the soughing of the wind. Then suddenly came a sharp sound—a quick, harsh click, and then suddenly following it, the sound of a window being opened. Ida Waterer fell back clutching Dr. Clement's arm.

"Hark!" she cried. "Oh, my God, they've found him out—they've followed. Oh! my poor father." She ran forward instantly, and flinging open the door dashed across toward an old man who sat listless and bent over the fire.

Sho ran swiftly, but she was too late. Even as she reached him a revolver shot rang out, and the old and bent and huddled figure dropped forward into her arms.

" My father," she cried hoarsely. " Dr. Clement, for God's sake save him —oh! save him!" Dr. Clement was at her side in an instant, but one glance told him all he wanted to know. He took the old man out of the girl's arms, and put him back gentlv on the floor. " Water and brandy," he said quickly, " and the police—quick." Tho word seemed to rouse the old man, and to arrest Ida's fingers on the way to the bell. " The police?" she whispered.

Dr. Clement nodded. There was no time to waste.

" Yes, at once," he said. Ida looked into his eyes and touched his arm. He looked back at her. " The truth ?" she said, slowly, in a whisper. Must it be—the police?" Dr. Clement was busy, but he stopped to look up at her in surprise. " Someone has shot your father," he began, sharply; "surely " She stopped him. " Not the police," she whispered, harshly. " Oh, not the police." Dr. Clement stared. " The man who did it," he said quickly, " must be caught." She shook her head, and then with sudden haste bent over her father. He had dropped back, his head lolling on Dr. Clement's arm, his eyes looking up, and Dr. Clement, bending hastily, caught his last words. " Not the police," he whispered, " not vet;—keep me safe—for a little while—until I am dead." His voice stopped. Dr. Clement looked at him curiously, and then Ida flung herself to the floor beside him. " Oh. father, father, what shall I do ?" she cried. The old man stretched out a feeble hand. " Try to explain," he said slowly. " I —am not—quite as bad —as they think. I didn't mean—" His feeble voice died away. Ida crouched beside him. holding his hand. "Oh, father!" she sobbed. A little later Dr. Clement was looking into the eyes of a girl which were always the most wonderful eyes in the world to him. "Tell me what it means?" he asked. She faced him bravely. "It means," she said, " that—that father was the missing solicitor—the man who absconded the other day." Dr. Clement started, and his face grew stern. Ida put out her hand. " Hear me," she cried. "He failed, and ruined people, and ran away, but, oh. hear me. He wasn't quite as bad as they made out. He didn't do it from carelessness or on purpose. It all began two years ago. You know from the newspaper accounts that he was trustworthy and honourable then—you know that he had a good practice and that everything was all right then ? But two years ago he joined a company that turned out to be a swindle. Ho didn't know it at the <ime—he didn't dream of it. vf 1 ' big men's names on the board—it seemed all straight and honourable, and he put a lot of money—clients' money into it; but a year afterwards it began to go wrong—he began to see what was going to happen. At first he thought he could ward it all off—he thought he could pet himself, and his clients out, but he couldn't, and it ended by his losing everything—and coming here. Do you understand ?"

" He ran away," she whisnered, " Oh' yes, he ran away, but lie did it for me. He thought if I and he could hide until I had learnt how to earn my living it would not matter, and so we came her** for me to learn to paint. I could do a little, and in a little while I thought I could do more, but I have had no chance. A week after we got hero wo found we were dogged. Someone, had followed us —one of my father's creditors had found out where wo were, and waited, and tonight he managed to got in and —" Her voice broke and faltered, and Dr Clement, foolishly perhaps, held out his hands to her. " I understand," lie cried. " I understand it all, and now, you must come home with mo. My sister will look after you for a bit. Your old housekeeper can come, too, if you like. But you must come away from this house." " Oh, it is good of you," cried Ida. Dr. Clement looked at her for a moment with a curious expression in his eyes. " You will ?" he said. Ida lifted her head quickly. " You will come for a while," he added, " and afterwards—" Who cared for afterwards ? Tho word died in his throat. For the present it was sufficient that a girl's eyes wore looking into his, and a girl's hand lay on his arm. For the present it was sufficient that ho was blind to everything else.

Afterwards—a few days afterwards—when Dr. Clement visited tho old man who had believed himself ruined he found him jubilant. Ho had that morning received a sum of money representing half what he had lost.

"Bless you," he cried; "we can manage on that, my wife and I. We can manage, thank God. And, he couldn't have been as bad as we thought," he added. " After all he meant well, or ho couldn't have sent me back this." He tapped the roll of bank notes, and Dr. Clement looked at him curiously, remembering tho hole those same'banknotes had made in his own banking account. " No," he said, " perhaps not."

And afterwards, at the Elmchester Parish Church, a quiet wedding. And no one dreamt that the. bride was the absconding solicitor's daughter, and everyone congratulated Dr. Clement*