Part 45 (1/2)

”I can't think where I put it; those brutes can't have had it. I had it myself last night, I know. Where did I put it? I can't wait to think--I can't wait; besides it doesn't matter. Anything will do to open it.”

She took a polished bra.s.s poker. With it she made a hole in the lid of the case large enough to enable her to insert her fingers. Then, with her hands, she tore the lid away--a sufficiently easy task, since the wood proved to be less than an eighth of an inch in thickness. The case contained six bottles.

She took out one; it was labelled ”Pure Ether--Poison”.

Withdrawing the stopper, paying no attention to the statement on the label, she poured out nearly a winegla.s.sful, which she instantly swallowed, coupling with it, as it were, a somewhat gruesome sentiment. ”Here's to Isaac Luker! I wish he was in reach; I'd like to kill him.”

Scarcely were the words out of her lips than the door opened to admit her husband. He stared at her.

”Belle, there doesn't seem to be a servant in the place--not a creature. Where are they all off to? What's it mean?”

She replied to his question with another.

”Gregory, doesn't there seem to you to be something singular about this bedroom?”

”Bedroom? It's not a bedroom; it's a boudoir. What do you mean?

Belle, what's the matter with the house? What have you got in your hand? What are you drinking?”

Mrs. Lamb was looking round her in a fas.h.i.+on which induced her husband to draw back, as if in doubt.

”Have you ever seen it before--anywhere? Isn't there something strange about it?--especially the bed?”

Mr. Lamb seemed to be of opinion that his wife's manner was distinctly disagreeable; apparently he did not know what to make of it.

”Bed?--what bed? There's no bed here. You're--you're not well.

Don't talk like that; you make me go all over creeps. I say, Belle, I do wish you'd give me some coin--if it's only a tenner.

I'm broke to the wide.”

”Gregory!”

”Well?”

”Come here; I want to speak to you.”

”Thank you, I'm awfully sorry, but I've got an appointment with a man; I can't stop. About that money--Belle! now, what's up?”

With a swift, unexpected movement, interposing herself between him and the door, his wife had slipped her arm through his, and was looking at him with something in her big black eyes which made him more uncomfortable than he would have cared to admit.

Considering the bold, ringing, almost bl.u.s.terous tones in which she was wont to speak, there was something unpleasantly significant in the half-whisper in which she addressed him now.

”Gregory, you must stop--you mustn't go. There's something which I wish to say to you--a great deal which I wish to say to you, and I must say it to you now--here”--her voice sank still lower--”in Cuthbert Grahame's bedroom.”

CHAPTER XXVIII

MR. LAMB IN A COMMUNICATIVE MOOD

In the evening of that day Margaret Wallace and Harry Talfourd dined with Dr. Twelves. The young lady, who throughout the day had remained in a curious mood, was indisposed to avail herself of the doctor's hospitality; but she was over-persuaded by the doctor, who was insistent, and by Mr. Talfourd, who was on his side. Throughout the day they had talked and talked and talked.

Harry was of opinion that, on a certain theme, they had talked too much. There was something about Margaret which was new to him; which he did not understand. It troubled him. So when the doctor changed the subject by asking them to dine with him he accepted, for himself, at once; and when Margaret hummed and hawed, and began to make excuses, for her also. He told her that she would have to dine with the doctor--and she had to. The two men bore her off with them in triumph.