Part 46 (2/2)
This matter is pressing, and delay useless.”
This he placed in an envelope which he took from a desk that stood open, and then he touched a gong, which summoned a servant.
”Hand this to Dr. Medjora, immediately. I will await a reply here.”
Ten minutes elapsed, and then the servant returned, and bidding Mr.
Barnes follow him, led the way to the laboratory. Here Dr. Medjora received the detective, as though he were a most welcome visitor.
”So, Mr. Barnes,” said the Doctor, opening the conversation, ”you have attained your ambition, and are now a full-fledged detective. I have read something of your achievements, and have watched your progress with some interest. I congratulate you upon your success.”
”Dr. Medjora,” said the detective, with much dignity, ”the object of my visit is so serious that I cannot accept flattery. We will proceed to business, if you please.”
”As you choose! Let me see! From your card, I judge that you fancy that there is some suspicious circ.u.mstance about my late wife's death.
You speak of a coincidence which connects hers with that of my first wife. What is it?”
”Both died of diphtheria,” said Mr. Barnes, impressively.
”You are entirely mistaken, sir,” said the Doctor, with a touch of anger. ”My first wife, Mabel, died of morphine, self-administered, and fatal because of other organic disease from which she suffered. She did not die of diphtheria.”
”A physician so testified, and signed a death certificate to that effect.”
”He did, but he was mistaken. Physicians are mortal as other men are, and as liable to errors of judgment. I repeat, Mabel died of poison.”
”Well, we will pa.s.s that for a moment. Your last wife died of diphtheria, and she did not contract that disease legitimately.”
”No? You interest me. Pray then how did she contract it?”
”By inoculation with the bacillus of diphtheria, Dr. Medjora, and you administered this new form of poison, which an autopsy does not disclose.”
”Quite an ingenious theory, Mr. Barnes, and I admire your skill in evolving it. It shows what an enterprising detective you are. You think that if you make a discovery of this nature, you will cover yourself with glory. Only you are wrong. I did not do what you charge.
Why should I wish to kill my wife?”
”Because she had discovered your secret!”
”What secret?”
”That Leon is the child of Mabel Sloane and yourself!”
”Mabel Medjora, you mean,” said the Doctor, sternly. ”When a woman marries, she a.s.sumes her husband's name.”
The Doctor was apparently very jealous of the good name of his first wife. Mr. Barnes was amazed at this exhibition of feeling. The Doctor continued, as though soliloquizing:
”So you are the detective that my wife engaged? Strange fatality! Very strange!” He walked up and down the room a few times, and then confronted the detective.
”Mr. Barnes,” said he, ”it is evident that you and I must have a serious and uninterrupted conversation. Leon may come in here at any moment. Will you accompany me to a room below, where we will be safe from intrusion?”
”Certainly!”
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