Tales of Terror and Mystery
His vices were as magnificent as his virtues, and infinitely more
picturesque. Large as was his income, and it was the third largest of
all professional men in London, it was far beneath the luxury of his
living. Deep in his complex nature lay a rich vein of sensualism, at
the sport of which he placed all the prizes of his life. The eye, the
ear, the touch, the palate, all were his masters. The bouquet of old
vintages, the scent of rare exotics, the curves and tints of the
daintiest potteries of Europe, it was to these that the quick-running
stream of gold was transformed. And then there came his sudden mad
passion for Lady Sannox, when a single interview with two challenging
glances and a whispered word set him ablaze. She was the loveliest
woman in London and the only one to him. He was one of the handsomest
men in London, but not the only one to her. She had a liking for new
experiences, and was gracious to most men who wooed her. It may have
been cause or it may have been effect that Lord Sannox looked fifty,
though he was but six-and-thirty.
He was a quiet, silent, neutral-tinted man, this lord, with thin lips
and heavy eyelids, much given to gardening, and full of home-like
habits. He had at one time been fond of acting, had even rented a
theatre in London, and on its boards had first seen Miss Marion Dawson,
to whom he had offered his hand, his title, and the third of a county.
Since his marriage his early hobby had become distasteful to him. Even
in private theatricals it was no longer possible to persuade him to
exercise the talent which he had often showed that he possessed. He
was happier with a spud and a watering-can among his orchids and
chrysanthemums.
It was quite an interesting problem whether he was absolutely devoid of
sense, or miserably wanting in spirit. Did he know his lady's ways and
condone them, or was he a mere blind, doting fool? It was a point to be
discussed over the teacups in snug little drawing-rooms, or with the
aid of a cigar in the bow windows of clubs. Bitter and plain were the
comments among men upon his conduct. There was but one who had a good
word to say for him, and he was the most silent member in the
smoking-room. He had seen him break in a horse at the University, and
it seemed to have left an impression upon his mind.
But when Douglas Stone became the favourite all doubts as to Lord
Sannox's knowledge or ignorance were set for ever at rest. There was no
subterfuge about Stone. In his high-handed, impetuous fashion, he set
all caution and discretion at defiance. The scandal became notorious.
A learned body intimated that his name had been struck from the list of
its vice-presidents. Two friends implored him to consider his
professional credit. He cursed them all three, and spent forty guineas
on a bangle to take with him to the lady. He was at her house every
evening, and she drove in his carriage in the afternoons. There was
not an attempt on either side to conceal their relations; but there
came at last a little incident to interrupt them.
It was a dismal winter's night, very cold and gusty, with the wind
whooping in the chimneys and blustering against the window-panes. A
thin spatter of rain tinkled on the glass with each fresh sough of the
gale, drowning for the instant the dull gurgle and drip from the eaves.
Douglas Stone had finished his dinner, and sat by his fire in the
study, a glass of rich port upon the malachite table at his elbow. As
he raised it to his lips, he held it up against the lamplight, and
watched with the eye of a connoisseur the tiny scales of beeswing which
floated in its rich ruby depths. The fire, as it spurted up, threw
fitful lights upon his bald, clear-cut face, with its widely-opened
grey eyes, its thick and yet firm lips, and the deep, square jaw, which
had something Roman in its strength and its animalism. He smiled from
time to time as he nestled back in his luxurious chair. Indeed, he had
a right to feel well pleased, for, against the advice of six
colleagues, he had performed an operation that day of which only two
cases were on record, and the result had been brilliant beyond all
expectation. No other man in London would have had the daring to plan,
or the skill to execute, such a heroic measure.
But he had promised Lady Sannox to see her that evening and it was
already half-past eight. His hand was outstretched to the bell to
order the carriage when he heard the dull thud of the knocker. An
instant later there was the shuffling of feet in the hall, and the
sharp closing of a door.
"A patient to see you, sir, in the consulting room," said the butler.
"About himself?"
"No, sir; I think he wants you to go out."
"It is too late," cried Douglas Stone peevishly. "I won't go."
"This is his card, sir."
The butler presented it upon the gold salver which had been given to
his master by the wife of a Prime Minister.
"'Hamil Ali, Smyrna.' Hum! The fellow is a Turk, I suppose."
"Yes, sir. He seems as if he came from abroad, sir. And he's in a
terrible way."
"Tut, tut! I have an engagement. I must go somewhere else. But I'll
see him. Show him in here, Pim."
A few moments later the butler swung open the door and ushered in a
small and decrepit man, who walked with a bent back and with the
forward push of the face and blink of the eyes which goes with extreme
short sight. His face was swarthy, and his hair and beard of the
deepest black. In one hand he held a turban of white muslin striped
with red, in the other a small chamois-leather bag.
"Good evening," said Douglas Stone, when the butler had closed the
door. "You speak English, I presume?"
"Yes, sir. I am from Asia Minor, but I speak English when I speak
slow."
"You wanted me to go out, I understand?"
"Yes, sir. I wanted very much that you should see my wife."
"I could come in the morning, but I have an engagement which prevents
me from seeing your wife tonight."
The Turk's answer was a singular one. He pulled the string which
closed the mouth of the chamois-leather bag, and poured a flood of gold
on to the table.
"There are one hundred pounds there," said he, "and I promise you that
it will not take you an hour. I have a cab ready at the door."
Douglas Stone glanced at his watch. An hour would not make it too late
to visit Lady Sannox. He had been there later. And the fee was an
extraordinarily high one. He had been pressed by his creditors lately,
and he could not afford to let such a chance pass. He would go.
"What is the case?" he asked.
"Oh, it is so sad a one! So sad a one! You have not, perhaps heard of
the daggers of the Almohades?"
"Never."
"Ah, they are Eastern daggers of a great age and of a singular shape,
with the hilt like what you call a stirrup. I am a curiosity dealer,
you understand, and that is why I have come to England from Smyrna, but
next week I go back once more. Many things I brought with me, and I
have a few things left, but among them, to my sorrow, is one of these
daggers."
"You will remember that I have an appointment, sir," said the surgeon,
with some irritation; "pray confine yourself to the necessary details."
"You will see that it is necessary. Today my wife fell down in a faint
in the room in which I keep my wares, and she cut her lower lip upon
this cursed dagger of Almohades."
"I see," said Douglas Stone, rising. "And you wish me to dress the
wound?"
"No, no, it is worse than that."
"What then?"
"These daggers are poisoned."
"Poisoned!"
"Yes, and there is no man, East or West, who can tell now what is the
poison or what the cure. But all that is known I know, for my father
was in this trade before me, and we have had much to do with these
poisoned weapons."
"What are the symptoms?"
"Deep sleep, and death in thirty hours."
"And you say there is no cure. Why then should you pay me this
considerable fee?"
"No drug can cure, but the knife may."
"And how?"
"The poison is slow of absorption. It remains for hours in the wound."
"Washing, then, might cleanse it?"
"No more than in a snake bite. It is too subtle and too deadly."
"Excision of the wound, then?"
"That is it. If it be on the finger, take the finger off. So said my
father always. But think of where this wound is, and that it is my
wife. It is dreadful!"
But familiarity with such grim matters may take the finer edge from a
man's sympathy. To Douglas Stone this was already an interesting case,
and he brushed aside as irrelevant the feeble objections of the husband.
"It appears to be that or nothing," said he brusquely. "It is better
to lose a lip than a life."
"Ah, yes, I know that you are right. Well, well, it is kismet, and it
must be faced. I have the cab, and you will come with me and do this
thing."
Douglas Stone took his case of bistouries from a drawer, and placed it
with a roll of bandage and a compress of lint in his pocket. He must
waste no more time if he were to see Lady Sannox.
"I am ready," said he, pulling on his overcoat. "Will you take a glass
of wine before you go out into this cold air?"
His visitor shrank away, with a protesting hand upraised.
"You forget that I am a Mussulman, and a true follower of the Prophet,"
said he. "But tell me what is the bottle of green glass which you have
placed in your pocket?"
"It is chloroform."
"Ah, that also is forbidden to us. It is a spirit, and we make no use
of such things."
"What! You would allow your wife to go through an operation without an
anaesthetic?"
"Ah! she will feel nothing, poor soul. The deep sleep has already
come on, which is the first working of the poison. And then I have
given her of our Smyrna opium. Come, sir, for already an hour has
passed."
As they stepped out into the darkness, a sheet of rain was driven in
upon their faces, and the hall lamp, which dangled from the arm of a
marble Caryatid, went out with a fluff. Pim, the butler, pushed the
heavy door to, straining hard with his shoulder against the wind, while
the two men groped their way towards the yellow glare which showed
where the cab was waiting. An instant later they were rattling upon
their journey.
"Is it far?" asked Douglas Stone.
"Oh, no. We have a very little quiet place off the Euston Road."
The surgeon pressed the spring of his repeater and listened to the
little tings which told him the hour. It was a quarter past nine. He
calculated the distances, and the short time which it would take him to
perform so trivial an operation. He ought to reach Lady Sannox by ten
o'clock. Through the fogged windows he saw the blurred gas lamps
dancing past, with occasionally the broader glare of a shop front. The
rain was pelting and rattling upon the leathern top of the carriage,
and the wheels swashed as they rolled through puddle and mud. Opposite
to him the white headgear of his companion gleamed faintly through the
obscurity. The surgeon felt in his pockets and arranged his needles,
his ligatures and his safety-pins, that no time might be wasted when
they arrived. He chafed with impatience and drummed his foot upon the
floor.
But the cab slowed down at last and pulled up. In an instant Douglas
Stone was out, and the Smyrna merchant's toe was at his very heel.
"You can wait," said he to the driver.
It was a mean-looking house in a narrow and sordid street. The
surgeon, who knew his London well, cast a swift glance into the
shadows, but there was nothing distinctive--no shop, no movement,
nothing but a double line of dull, flat-faced houses, a double stretch
of wet flagstones which gleamed in the lamplight, and a double rush of
water in the gutters which swirled and gurgled towards the sewer