Part 41 (1/2)

In the new-made study of his Remsen road cottage, Ferris Stanhope, Hunston's returned celebrity, sat under a green-shaded lamp and frowned down at a sheaf of his own neat ma.n.u.script. Behind him, in a corner, books and various knick-knacks lay spilled over the floor around an open trunk. The room was, in fact, in the litter incident to getting to rights. But this did not act as a stay on the great man's habit of industry, which happened to be of the most persistent variety.

The study blinds were drawn, and the rest of the house was in darkness.

The author noted three emendations upon his ma.n.u.script, made three more.

Then, with a muttered exclamation, he stripped off the interlined sheet altogether, tore it into shreds, threw the shreds on the floor and reached for a pad of white paper. At that moment he became aware of footsteps and heavy breathing in the hall, and looked up inquiringly.

His man-servant, Henry, was standing in the doorway, the long limp body of a man in his arms.

Mr. Stanhope sprang hurriedly to his feet. In his face the servant saw that same odd look of fleeting anxiety which he had noted there when they descended from the train that morning.

”In the name of heaven--what have you there?”

”Harskin' your pardon, sir,” gasped Henry, staggering into the room, ”I'm honcertain whether 'e 's kilt or not. Struck down from behind by an old codger with long 'air and gray whiskers. Hi was at the gate--”

”But what do you mean by hauling the carca.s.s in here? Do you think I'm running a private morgue?”

Henry, who had been in his present employment a bare month, came to a wobbly pause, surprised. The body grew very heavy in his stout arms. Now the man's head slid off Henry's shoulder and tumbled backwards, hanging down in the full glow of the lamp.

”Hi thought, sir--” began the servant with panting dignity.

”O my G.o.d!” said the author suddenly.

Henry, who had not had a look at his burden, misunderstood.

”Ghastly sight, hain't it, sir--that b.l.o.o.d.y gash on 'is 'ead?”

”Quick! Put him on the sofa.--Now some water.”

The servant, whose limbs were numb from the long carry, obeyed with alacrity. But returning hurriedly with the water, he was met at the door by his perverse master, who took the gla.s.s from his hands with the curt announcement that that would do.

Henry looked as displeased as his subservient position made advisable.

”Hif you please, sir, I have quite a 'and with the hinjured and--”

”He's only stunned,” said his master impatiently. ”I 'll attend to him myself.”

And he banged the door in the servant's face.

The man lay on the lounge precisely as Henry had happened to place him, his averted face half buried in the pillows. Investigation showed that he had no b.l.o.o.d.y gash on his head: that was Henry's imagination. There did not, in fact, seem to be a mark on him beyond three small scratches on his forehead.

Stanhope put his hand under the chin and turned it toward him, none too gently. For a full moment he stood motionless, staring down at that white face so like his own. Then he dipped his hand in the gla.s.s, and splashed a handful of water upon the closed eyes.

At the first touch of it, the still figure of the injured man stirred with faint signs of returning consciousness. Far down in a black and utter void, he sensed the first glimmer of distant light. Slowly, slowly, the glimmer grew. The silence within gave place to a vast roaring in his ears and indescribable pain in his head; and the dull glow which had seemed to him the s.h.i.+ning frontier of some far new world whither he was gratefully journeying, resolved itself into a circle of greenish light.

”Drink this,” said a soft but peremptory voice.

He drank, incuriously; and the fiery liquid ran to his head and heart and shot new life into his dead limbs. But the more his lost strength came back to his body, the more he was aware of the terrible pain in his head. It occurred to him vaguely that when once he opened his eyes, which he would have to do some time, there would be a horrible explosion and his head would go off like a sky-rocket.

”You feel better now,” a.s.serted rather than inquired the voice.

”Much. Thanks to you. It's only--my head. Something seems to be wrong with it, a little.”