Part 33 (2/2)
”Never before the entrance of that strange woman?” I suggested.
”Exactly! It is an absolute mystery.”
”And you have no knowledge of whom that person was?”
”None whatever.”
”Not even a surmise?” I inquired rather dubiously.
My thoughts reverted to what I had overheard regarding the unwelcome presence in London of that woman known as ”La Gioia.”
”No, not even a surmise,” she answered.
Should I tell her of my own suspicions? No. To keep my knowledge to myself and seek to discover the key to the problem was my best course.
”And your cousin was with her for twenty minutes, you say?”
”Yes, about that time,” she replied. ”I did not hurry to finish my dinner as I believed Beryl was talking with the dressmaker regarding some alterations to an evening bodice which she had mentioned to me.
They did not interest me, therefore I sat awaiting her return.”
”And by that time this woman, whoever she was, had already slipped out of the house.”
”She must have done so. No one heard her leave.”
”Let us hope that Hoefer will solve the enigma. If any one is able, he is.”
”But first urge him to bring poor Beryl back to consciousness,” she said, turning to gaze upon the still inanimate form of the woman I adored.
At that moment the German returned, puffing and grunting, for he had hurried, and the perspiration was rolling off his brow.
He took several little packets from his pocket, and, seating himself at the table, commenced to carefully prepare another solution, the ingredients of which were unknown to me. Some of the drugs I knew by their appearance, of course, but others were white powders, impossible to recognise.
Again he administered an injection into the arm of my prostrate loved one, and then we all three stood in silence watching for the effect.
Hoefer gave vent to a further grunt of confidence, glanced at his watch, and turned back to the table to rearrange his array of drugs. I saw that the little pocket-case lying on the table contained about twenty tiny tubes about an inch and a half long; each contained very small pilules of tabloids, coloured brightly to render them more easily distinguishable, and not much larger than ordinary shot. Each tube was marked, but by mysterious signs unknown in British pharmacology.
The action of this last prophylactic was slow, but signs were nevertheless not wanting that its effect was to reanimate, for by degrees the deathly pallor of the sweet face I adored became less marked, and the lips showed red instead of that ashen hue which had told us of her nearness to death.
The German returned to her, and, feeling her pulse, counted the seconds upon his watch, while at the same time I listened to the respiration.
”Good?” exclaimed the old fellow, beaming through his gla.s.ses. ”The diagnosis is correct, and the refocillation is more rapid than I should have expected. She will recover.”
Suddenly the pallid cheeks became flushed. Life was returning. The liquid injected into the blood bad at last neutralised the effect, stimulated the circulation, reanimated the whole system, and revived the flickering spark of life. The hand I held grew warmer, the pulse throbbed more quickly, the breathing became regular, and a few minutes later, without warning, she opened her eyes and looked wonderingly around. A loud cry of joy escaped my lips. My love was saved.
”You know me, I think?” I said, bending down to her. ”My name is Colkirk.”
”Yes, I know you quite well,” she responded very faintly. ”But what has happened? Where is she?”
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