Part 6 (1/2)
”I will obey. I will remember what you tell me!”
”You left your office this afternoon to follow Dr. Medjora?”
”Yes! I followed Dr. Medjora!”
”He took a car, and you took another?”
”He took a car, and I took another!”
”He left the car, and you followed him to a house and saw him enter?”
”I saw him enter a house!”
”Then there was a fire and you watched the house burning?”
”I saw the house burning!”
”Then you rushed forward and fell into this well?”
”I rushed forward and fell into the well!”
”You will remember all this?”
”Yes, I will remember!”
”Everything else you have forgotten? Nothing else occurred?”
”Nothing else occurred!”
”Now sleep!” The Doctor pa.s.sed his hands over the eyes and the deep sleep was resumed. The Doctor pressed his lips near the sleeper's ears, and said:
”You will awaken completely in two hours, climb out of this place, and return to your home!”
To this there was no reply, but the Doctor had no doubt that the injunction would be followed. He laid Barnes down upon the bottom of the cistern so that his opening eyes would gaze directly at the orifice above, and then, climbing upon a lot of loose rubbish, he easily reached the edge of the hole, and clutching it with his strong hands drew himself out.
Exactly two hours later, Barnes opened his eyes and slowly awakened to a sense of stiffness and pain in his limbs. He staggered up, and soon was sufficiently aroused to see that he must climb out of the place where he was. This he did with some difficulty, and after wandering about for nearly an hour he found his way to the bridge and crossed the river. Thence he went home, threw himself on his bed, and was soon wrapped in deep, but natural slumber.
In the morning he wondered why he had slept in his clothing. His head ached, and his limbs felt bruised. Slowly he seemed to recall his following Dr. Medjora, his tracking him across the bridge, the house afire, and his tumble into a well, from which he had climbed out late at night. In fact nothing remained in his recollection except what had been suggested by Dr. Medjora whilst he had been hypnotized. Still in a vague way he half doubted, until at breakfast he found seeming corroboration in the newspaper account, which told that the suspected man had been burned to death. How could he reject so good an authority as his morning paper?
CHAPTER IV.
DR. MEDJORA SURRENDERS.
Madam Cora Corona watched the destruction of the old mansion in which she had last seen her lover, with mingled feelings of horror and of hope. At one moment it seems impossible that the Doctor could find a means of escaping from the flames, whilst at the next she could but remember the manner of man that he was, and that having told her of his intention to surrender to the police, he would scarcely have chosen so horrible a death whilst immediate safety was attainable by simply opening the door of the pa.s.sageway before the flames enveloped the whole building. Besides, how did the fire occur? He must have started it himself, and, if so, with what object, except to cover up his escape? But love, such as she bore this man, could never be entirely free from its anxiety, until the most probable reasoning should become a.s.sured facts. So, with a dull pain of dread gnawing at her heart, she drove her horses home, holding the reins herself, and las.h.i.+ng the animals into a swift gait, which made their chains clank as they strained every nerve to obey their mistress's behest.
Reaching her sumptuous home on Madison Avenue, she hurried to her own room, pa.s.sing servants, who moved out of her way awed by her appearance, for those who dwelt with her had learned to recognize the signs which portended storm, and were wise enough to avoid the violence of her anger.
Tossing aside her bonnet and mantle, regardless of where they fell, Madam Corona dropped into a large, well-cus.h.i.+oned arm-chair, and gazed into vacancy, with a hopeless despair depicted on her features. The death of Dr. Medjora would mean much to this woman, and as the minutes sped by, the conviction that he must have perished, slowly burned itself into her brain.
She was the widow of a wealthy Central American. Her husband had been shot as a traitor, having been captured in one of those ever-recurring revolutions, whose leaders are killed if defeated, but made governors if they succeed; rulers until such time when another revolutionary party may become strong enough to depose the last victors. Thus the chance of a battle makes men heroes, or criminals.