Part 25 (1/2)
”Well,” said Mr Girtle, ”we will not communicate with the police at present.”
The doctor came in at one, and again at five; and, on leaving, looked rather serious.
”If he is not different to this at about nine, when I come in again, I'll get Sir Ronald Mackenzie to see him. I'll warn him at once that he may be wanted.”
”Then you think his case serious?”
”Brain injuries always are.”
At nine o'clock, when the doctor came, his manner startled Lydia, who had patiently watched the sufferer all day.
”Yes,” he said; ”I will have Sir Ronald's opinion. I shall be back in half-an-hour.”
He left the room and hurried down-stairs, while Lydia bent down and laid her cheek against the patient's burning hand. He was delirious now, and talking loudly and rapidly.
”Yes, it is there,” he kept on saying. ”Count four stones from the left, press on the fifth, and it will swing around. I have it safely-- do you hear?--safely.”
This went on over and over again, and as Lydia listened, something, she knew not what, made her turn her head, when it seemed to her that one of the bed curtains trembled, and that, in the gloom, a hand was softly drawing one back, that the sick man's words might be more plainly heard.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.
HIGH WORDS.
Looking again in the direction of the hand, but telling herself that it was fancy, Lydia sat down to wait anxiously for the doctor's return, while Capel went on, talking more or less incoherently.
”You know I love you,” he said softly. ”Katrine--darling--you will be my wife. Let the world go its own way, what is it to us?”
Lydia's head sank lower, as the tears of misery began to fall fast.
”The treasure,” he cried, suddenly. ”Ha--ha--ha! Let them search for it--months--years. They will never find it. I have it safely. Here.
I'll tell you.”
He beckoned with his finger as he talked on, rapidly; and as Lydia raised her saddened countenance, she saw that he was gazing at vacancy and gesticulating with his free hand.
”Yes; I'll tell you,” he said. ”Let the fools hunt. They'll never find it. Well? Why not? It is mine. Look. You count along here--do you see--one, eight, six, now press in the key. There is a spring. Press it home and turn. The door opens and there it is. For you, dearest-- the jewels are all your own.”
As he went on talking rapidly, the curtain moved softly again, and this time Lydia felt that it was no trick of the light or wind, and, rising from her seat, she went softly round to the other side of the bed, took hold of the curtain and swept it aside, to leave Katrine standing there in the faint light shed by the shaded lamp.
”What are you doing here?”
”I came to see if I could help you.”
”And glided in like a thief, to hide there, listening to his words.
What is it you want to know? Was it to hear him say he loved you?”
whispered Lydia, with her face full of scorn.
”I do not understand you.”