Part 22 (1/2)
The foreman had discovered two letters. Iris read her own name on one of them. The other was addressed ”To the person who may find my body.”
She tore the envelope open. It contained one of Mr. Vimpany's cards, with these desperate words written on it in pencil: ”Take me to the doctor's address, and let him bury me, or dissect me, whichever he pleases.” Iris showed the card to the foreman. ”Is it near here?” she asked. ”Yes, Miss; we might get him to that place in no time, if there was a conveyance of any kind to be found.” Still preserving her presence of mind, f.a.n.n.y pointed in the direction of ”The Spaniards”
inn. ”We might get what we want there,” she said. ”Shall I go?”
Iris signed to her to attend to the wounded man, and ascended the sloping ground. She ran on towards the road. The men, directed by f.a.n.n.y, raised the body and slowly followed her, diverging to an easier ascent. As Iris reached the road, a four-wheel cab pa.s.sed her. Without an instant's hesitation, she called to the driver to stop. He pulled up his horse. She confronted a solitary gentleman, staring out of the window of the cab, and looking as if he thought that a lady had taken a liberty with him. Iris allowed the outraged stranger no opportunity of expressing his sentiments. Breathless as she was, she spoke first.
”Pray forgive me--you are alone in the cab--there is room for a gentleman, dangerously wounded--he will bleed to death if we don't find help for him--the place is close by--oh, don't refuse me!” She looked back, holding fast by the cab door, and saw f.a.n.n.y and the men slowly approaching. ”Bring him here!” she cried.
”Do nothing of the sort!” shouted the gentleman in possession of the cab.
But f.a.n.n.y obeyed her mistress; and the men obeyed f.a.n.n.y. Iris turned indignantly to the merciless stranger. ”I ask you to do an act of Christian kindness,” she said. ”How can you, how dare you, hesitate?”
”Drive on!” cried the stranger.
”Drive on, at your peril,” Iris added, on her side.
The cabman sat, silent and stolid, on the box, waiting for events.
Slowly the men came in view, bearing Lord Harry, still insensible. The handkerchiefs on his throat were saturated with blood. At that sight, the cowardly instincts of the stranger completely mastered him. ”Let me out!” he clamoured; ”let me out!”
Finding the cab left at her disposal, Iris actually thanked him! He looked at her with an evil eye. ”I have my suspicions, I can tell you,”
he muttered. ”If this comes to a trial in a court of law, I'm not going to be mixed up with it. Innocent people have been hanged before now, when appearances were against them.”
He walked off; and, by way of completing the revelation of his own meanness, forgot to pay his fare.
On the point of starting the horse to pursue him, the cabman was effectually stopped. Iris showed him a sovereign. Upon this hint (like Oth.e.l.lo) he spoke.
”All right, Miss. I see your poor gentleman is a-bleeding. You'll take care--won't you?--that he doesn't spoil my cus.h.i.+ons.” The driver was not a ill-conditioned man; he put the case of his property indulgently, with a persuasive smile. Iris turned to the two worthy fellows, who had so readily given her their help, and bade them good-bye, with a solid expression of her grat.i.tude which they both remembered for many a long day to come. f.a.n.n.y was already in the cab supporting Lord Harry's body.
Iris joined her. The cabman drove carefully to Mr. Vimpany's new house.
CHAPTER XVIII
PROFESSIONAL a.s.sISTANCE
NUMBER Five was near the centre of the row of little suburban houses called Redburn Road.
When the cab drew up at the door Mr. Vimpany himself was visible, looking out of the window on the ground floor--and yawning as he looked. Iris beckoned to him impatiently. ”Anything wrong?” he asked, as he approached the door of the cab. She drew back, and silently showed him what was wrong. The doctor received the shock with composure. When he happened to be sober and sad, looking for patients and failing to find them, Mr. Vimpany's capacity for feeling sympathy began and ended with himself.
”This is a new sc.r.a.pe, even for Lord Harry,” he remarked. ”Let's get him into the house.”
The insensible man was carried into the nearest room on the ground floor. Pale and trembling, Iris related what had happened, and asked if there was no hope of saving him.
”Patience!” Mr. Vimpany answered; ”I'll tell you directly.”
He removed the bandages, and examined the wound. ”There's been a deal of blood lost,” he said; ”I'll try and pull him through. While I am about it, Miss, go upstairs, if you please, and find your way to the drawing-room.” Iris hesitated. The doctor opened a neat mahogany box.
”The tools of my trade,” he continued; ”I'm going to sew up his lords.h.i.+p's throat.” Shuddering as she heard those words, Iris hurried out of the room. f.a.n.n.y followed her mistress up the stairs. In her own very different way, the maid was as impenetrably composed as Mr.
Vimpany himself. ”There was a second letter found in the gentleman's pocket, Miss,” she said. ”Will you excuse my reminding you that you have not read it yet.”