'Wake him up. Shake him by the shoulder. Do as I tell you,' said the doctor, roughly. 'He will go to sleep again. It is one of the finer qualities of my medicine that it sends people to sleep. It is a most soothing medicine. It causes a deep—a profound sleep. Wake him up, I say.' he went to the cupboard in which the medicines were kept. Lord Harry with some difficulty roused the sick man, who awoke dull and heavy, asking why he was disturbed.
'Time for your medicine, my good fellow,' said the doctor. 'Take it, and you shall not be disturbed again—I promise you that.'
The door of the cupboard prevented the spy from seeing what the doctor was doing; but he took longer than usual in filling the glass. Lord Harry seemed to observe this, for he left the Dane and looked over the doctor's shoulder. 'What are you doing?' he asked in a whisper.
'Better not inquire, my lord,' said the doctor. 'What do you know about the mysteries of medicine?'
'Why must I not inquire?'
Vimpany turned, closing the cupboard behind him. In his hand was a glass full of the stuff he was about to administer.
'If you look in the glass,' he said, 'you will understand why.'
Lord Harry obeyed. He saw a face ghastly in pallor: he shrank back and fell into a chair, saying no more.
'Now, my good friend,' said the doctor, 'drink this and you'll be better—ever so much better, ever so much better. Why—that is brave——' he looked at him strangely, 'How do you like the medicine?'
Oxbye shook his head as a man who has taken something nauseous. 'I don't like it at all,' he said. 'It doesn't taste like the other physic.'
'No I have been changing it—improving it.'
The Dane shook his head again. 'There's a pain in my throat,' he said; 'it stings—it burns!'
'Patience—patience. It will pass away directly, and you will lie down again and fall asleep comfortably.'
Oxbye sank back upon the sofa. His eyes closed. Then he opened them again, looking about him strangely, as one who is suffering some new experience. Again he shook his head, again he closed his eyes, and he opened them no more. He was asleep.
The doctor stood at his head watching gravely. Lord Harry, in his chair, leaned forward, also watching, but with white face and trembling hands.
As they watched, the man's head rolled a little to the side, turning his face more towards the room. Then a curious and terrifying thing happened. His mouth began slowly to fall open.
'Is he—is he—is he fainting?' Lord Harry whispered.
'No; he is asleep. Did you never see a man sleep with his mouth wide open?'
They were silent for a space.
The doctor broke the silence.
'There's a good light this morning,' he said carelessly. 'I think I will try a photograph. Stop! Let me tie up his mouth with a handkerchief—so.' The patient was not disturbed by the operation, though the doctor tied up the handkerchief with vigour enough to awaken a sound sleeper. 'Now—we'll see if he looks like a post-mortem portrait.'
He went into the next room, and returned with his camera. In a few minutes he had taken the picture, and was holding the glass negative against the dark sleeve of his coat, so as to make it visible. 'We shall see how it looks,' he said, 'when it is printed. At present I don't think it is good enough as an imitation of you to be sent to the insurance offices. Nobody, I am afraid, who knew you, would ever take this for a post-mortem portrait of Lord Harry. Well, we shall see. Perhaps by-and-by—to-morrow—we may be able to take a better photograph. Eh?' Lord Harry followed his movements, watching him closely, but said nothing. His face remained pale and his fingers still trembled. There was now no doubt at all in his mind, not only as to Vimpany's intentions, but as to the crime itself. He dared not speak or move.
A ring at the door pealed through the house. Lord Harry started in his chair with a cry of terror.
'That,' said the doctor, quietly, 'is the nurse—the new nurse—-the stranger.' He took off the handkerchief from Oxbye's face, looked about the room as if careful that everything should be in its right place, and went out to admit the woman. Lord Harry sprang to his feet and passed his hand over the sick man's face.
'Is it done?' he whispered. 'Can the man be poisoned? Is he already dead?—already? Before my eyes?'
He laid his finger on the sick man's pulse. But the doctor's step and voice stopped him. Then the nurse came in, following Vimpany. She was an elderly, quiet-looking French woman.
Lord Harry remained standing at the side of the sofa, hoping to see the man revive.
'Now,' said Vimpany, cheerfully, 'here is your patient, nurse. He is asleep now. Let him have his sleep out—he has taken his medicine and will want nothing more yet awhile. If you want anything let me know. We shall be in the next room or in the garden—somewhere about the house. Come, my friend.' He drew away Lord Harry gently by the arm, and they left the room.
Behind the curtain Fanny Mere began to wonder how she was to get off unseen.
The nurse, left alone, looked at her patient, who lay with his head turned partly round, his eyes closed, his mouth open. 'A strange sleep,' she murmured; 'but the doctor knows, I suppose. He is to have his sleep out.'
'A strange sleep, indeed!' thought the watcher. She was tempted at this moment to disclose herself and to reveal what she had seen; but the thought of Lord Harry's complicity stopped her. With what face could she return to her mistress and tell her that she herself was the means of her husband being charged with murder? She stayed herself, therefore, and waited.
Chance helped her, at last, to escape.
The nurse took off her bonnet and shawl and began to look about the room. She stepped to the bed and
