The Argosy, Volume XLIV — page 278: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

214 “A nurse! Surely there is no need for that! Think—l am here living in rooms by myself. What a scandal there would be if this leaked out—the girl’s presence under my root.” “Oh! A scandal! ~ He uttered the words with a world of contempt in his voice. Rose to his feet, in token of his intention to ter- minate the interview. “ Of course it is not for me,” he con- tinued severely, “to see that you carry out my instructions. In giving them my duty i is fulfilled. But I have ‘warned you. The consequences of any neglect will be on vour head.” “ T wish—oh, I wish I knew what was best.” ° “ As I have said, I have no knowledge of the relationship existing between you and the girl—you don’t tell me.” “Tell you, doctor! What can I tell you—that you will believe?” “The truth.” “T have told you that—tricd to tell you—and you refuse to listen. You prefer drawing your own inferences.” Ce Ah! > Pd “TI never set eyes on the girl till to- night—never spoke with her before. She walked uninvited into mv rooms.” He paused in front of me. Looked me straight in the face and said: “Tell me now—I am curious—do | look a very large-sized fool ? ” “On the contrary.” “Then at the bottom of this assumed simplicity of yours, there must lie a desire to insult my intelligence! ” “Why do you say that?” “ Because vou could not ppssibly ex- pect any sane man to give a moment’s credence to so absurd a story as the one you shape.” “You won't believe it?” “Believe it! What you have told me?” He laughed shortly—scornfully. “Not for the smallest fraction of a second! ” It was incomprehensible to me, this dishelief of his. The truth seemed to me as palpable as if it were emblazoned on the walls; as clear as the light of day itself. In despair I cried: “What am I to do?” “T have given you my advice, my warning. It is for you to take er dis- fore gle THE ARGOSY. regard it, as you think fit. The latter, at your peri.” “The question of the nurse,” I said. “Let us leave it, anyway, till the morning. You say the girl is not lkely to wake during the whole night? Will you come in the morning first thing, and then whatever you tell me to do I will do.” ° * And during the night? ” “Oh, Pil watch by her bedside, doc- tor, faithfully, 1 promise you.” “And if she wakes and finds you there, perhaps—who knows ?—i lear of you “Tear of me, doctor! She will have none! J] can reassure her, believe me.” He looked at me doubtingly; but evi- dently his confidence in the efficacy of the sleeping draft was a guarantec against his distrust of myself. ‘““What a horrible, horrible thing it is,’ I cried, “ that I can’t convince you. And I admit that you have good grounds for your want of belief. That is what makes it more terrible for me: this hopeless misunderstanding.”’ ‘“T don’t think I misunderstand! ”’ “T know you don’t think so, doctor— that is just the awful part of it. Be- cause if vou don’t believe my story, who will?” * Not a living soul, [ should imagine —outside a lunatic asylum.” “I won't again essay the hopeless task of convincing vou that I am not what you think I am 7 “That’s sensible!” ‘Only give me your assurance that you will come in the morning—the first thing.” “T can promise that.” ‘* If you order a nurse then, your in- structions shall be carried out. One shall be got, regardless of the conse- auences to myself.” “Good! On those conditions I will continue to attend the case.” He walked to the door. I opened it for him, and, disregarding my out- stretched hand, he said—or snapped: “ Good-night.” So he passed out and away. . I stood there holding the door open, listening to his footsteps descending the stairs until they died away in the distance as he walked briskly along DOO Cy COLIMIG SS) (GO) awa in