The mystery of Angelina Frood
think of it, Doctor?”
“It seems quite a sound claret,” said I, inwardly wishing my volatile
friend at the devil, for I felt compelled, by way of soothing the wine
merchant’s wounded feelings, to order twice the quantity that I had
intended. We had just completed the transaction, and were crossing the
outer shop when the doorway became occluded by two female figures, and
Bundy uttered a half-suppressed groan. I drew aside to make way for
the newcomers--two ladies whom polite persons would have described as
middle-aged, on the assumption that they contemplated a somewhat
extreme degree of longevity--and I was aware that Bundy was
endeavouring to take cover behind me. But it was of no use. One of
them espied him instantly and announced her discovery with a little
squeak of ecstasy.
“Why, it’s Mr. Bundy. I do declare! Now, where _have_ you been all
this long time? It’s ages and ages and ages since you came to see us,
isn’t it, Martha? Let me see, now, when was it?” She fixed a
reflective eye on her companion, while Bundy smiled a sickly smile and
glanced wistfully at the open door.
“I know,” she exclaimed, triumphantly. “It was when we had the
feeble-minded children to tea, and Mr. Blote showed them the gold fish
trick--at least he tried to, but the glass bowl stuck in the bag under
his coat-tails and wouldn’t come out; and when he tried to pull it out
it broke----”
“I think you are mistaken, Marian,” the other lady interrupted. “It
wasn’t the feeble-minded tea. It was after that, when we helped the
Jewbury-Browns to get up that rumble sale----”
“Jumble sale, you mean, dear,” her companion corrected.
“I mean rummage sale,” the lady called Martha insisted, severely. “If
you will try to recall the circumstances, you will remember that the
jumble sale took place after----”
“Not after,” the other lady corrected. “It was before--several days
before, I should say, speaking from a somewhat imperfect memory. If
you will try to recollect, Martha, dear----”
“I recollect quite distinctly,” the lady called Martha interposed, a
little haughtily. “There was the feeble-minded tea--that was on a
Tuesday--or was it a Thursday--no, it was a Tuesday, or at
least--well, at any rate, it was some days before the jum--rum----”
“Not at all,” the other lady dissented emphatically.
At this point, catching the eye of the lady called Marian, I crept by
slow degrees out on the threshold and turned an expectant eye on
Bundy. The rather broad hint took immediate effect, for the lady said
to her companion: “I am afraid, Martha, dear, you are detaining Mr.
Bundy and his friend. _Good_-bye, Mr. Bundy. Shall we see you next
Friday evening? We are giving a little entertainment to the
barge-boys. We are inviting them to come and bring their mouth-organs
and get up a little informal concert. _Do_ come if you can. We shall
be _so_ delighted. _Good_-bye.”
Bundy shook hands effusively with the two ladies and darted out after
me, seizing my arm and hurrying me along the pavement.
“Bit of luck for me, Doctor, having you with me. If I had been alone
and unprotected I shouldn’t have escaped for half-an-hour; and I
should have been definitely booked for the barge-boys’ pandemonium.
Hallo! What’s Japp up to? Oh, I see. He’s sticking up the notice about
that key. I ought to have done that. Japp writes a shocking fist. I
must see if it is possible to make it out.”
As we approached the office I glanced at the sheet of paper which Mr.
Japp had just affixed to the window, and was able to read the rather
crabbed heading, “Ten Shillings Reward.” The rest of the inscription
being of no interest to me, I wished Bundy adieu and went on my way,
leaving him engaged in a critical inspection of the notice. Happening
to look back a few moments later, I saw him still gazing earnestly at
the paper, all unconscious of a lady in a pink hat who was tripping
lightly across the road and bearing down on him with an alluring
smile.
Threading my way among the foot-passengers who filled the narrow
pavements, I let my thoughts ramble idly from subject to subject; from
the expected visit of my two friends on the following Monday to the
alarming character of the local feminine population. But always they
tended to come back to my patient, Mrs. Frood. I had seen her on the
preceding night and had been very ill-satisfied with her appearance.
She had been paler than usual--more heavy-eyed and weary-looking; and
she had impressed me as being decidedly low-spirited. It seemed as
though the continual uncertainty and unrest, the abiding threat of
some intolerable action on the part of her worthless husband, were
becoming more than she could endure; and unwillingly I was beginning
to recognize that it was my duty, both as her doctor and as her
friend, to advise her to move, at least for a time, to some locality
where she would be free from the constant fear of molestation.
The question was: when should I broach the subject? And that involved
the further question: when should I make my next visit? Inclination
suggested the present evening, but discretion hinted that I ought to
allow a decent interval between my calls; and thus oscillating between
the two, I found myself in a state of indecision which lasted for the
rest of the day. Eventually discretion conquered, and I decided to
postpone the visit and the proposal until the following evening.
The decision was reached about the time I should have been setting
forth to make the visit, and no sooner had that time definitely passed
than I began to regret my resolution and to be possessed by a
causeless anxiety. Restlessly I wandered from room to room; taking up
books, opening them and putting them down again, and generally
displaying the typical symptoms of an acute attack of fidgets until
Mrs. Dunk proceeded with a determined air to lay the supper, and drew
my attention to it with an emphasis which it was impossible to
disregard.
I had just drawn the cork of a bottle of Mr. Tucker’s claret when the
door-bell rang, an event without precedent in my experience. Silently
I replaced the newly-extracted cork and listened. Apparently it was a
patient, for I heard the street door close and footsteps proceed to
the consulting-room. A minute later Mrs. Dunk opened the dining-room
door and announced:
“Mrs. Frood to see you, sir.”
With a slight thrill of anxiety at this unexpected visit, I strode
out, and, crossing the hall, entered the somewhat dingy and
ill-lighted consulting-room. Mrs. Frood was seated in the patients’
chair, but she rose as I entered and held out her hand; and as I
grasped it, I noticed how tall she looked in her outdoor clothes. But
I also noticed that she was looking even more pale and haggard than
when I had seen her last.
“There is nothing the matter, I hope?” said I.
“No,” she answered; “nothing much more than usual; but I have come to
present a petition.”
I looked at her inquiringly, and she continued:
“I have been sleeping very badly, as you know. Last night I had
practically no sleep at all, and very little the night before; and I
feel that I really can’t face the prospect of another sleepless night.
Would you think it very immoral if I were to ask you for something
that would give me a few hours’ rest?”
“Certainly not,” I answered, though with no great enthusiasm, for I am
disposed to take hypnotics somewhat seriously. “You can’t go on
without sleep. I will give you one or two tablets to take before you
go to bed. They will secure you a decent night’s rest, and then I hope
you will feel a little brighter.”
“I hope so,” she said, with a weary sigh.
I looked at her critically. She was, as I have said, pale and haggard;
but there seemed to be something more; a certain wildness in her eyes
and a suggestion of fear.
“You are not looking yourself at all to-night,” I said. “What is it?”
“I don’t know,” she answered. “The same old thing, I suppose. But I do
feel rather miserable. I seem to have come to the end of my endurance.
I look into the future and it all seems dark. I am afraid of it. In
fact, I seem to have--you’ll think me very silly, I know--but I have
a sort of presentiment of evil. Of course, it’s all nonsense. But that
is what I feel.”
“Is there any reason for this presentiment?” I asked uneasily; for my
thoughts flew at once to that ill-omened figure that I had seen on the
bridge. “Has anything happened to occasion these forebodings?”
“Oh, nothing in particular,” she replied. But she spoke without
looking at me--an unusual thing for her to do--and I found in her
answer something ambiguous and rather evasive. Could it be that she
had seen her husband on that day when I had followed him? Or had he
been in the town again--this very day, perhaps? Or was there something
yet more significant, something even more menacing? That this deep
depression of spirits, these forebodings, were not without some
exciting cause I felt the strongest suspicion. But whatever the cause
might be, she was evidently unwilling to speak about it.
While I was speculating thus, I found myself looking her over with a
minute attention of which I was not conscious at the time; noting
little trivial details of her appearance and belongings with an odd
exactness of observation. My eyes travelled over the little hand-bag,
stamped with her initials, that rested on her lap; her dainty,
high-heeled shoes with their little oval buckles of darkened bronze;
the small brooch at her throat with the large opal in the middle and
the surrounding circle of little pearls, and even noted that one of
the pearls was missing and that the vacant place corresponded to the
figure three on a clock-dial. And then they would come back to her
face; to the set mouth and the downcast eyes with their expression of
gloomy reverie.
I was profoundly uneasy and was on the point of opening the subject of
her leaving the town. Then I decided that I would see her on the
morrow and would go into the matter then. Accordingly I went into the
surgery and put a few tablets of sulphonal into a little box, and
having stuck one of Dr. Partridge’s labels on it, wrote the directions
and then wrapped it up and sealed it.
“There,” I said, giving it to her, “take a couple of those tablets and
go to bed early, and let me find you looking a little more cheerful
to-morrow.”
She took the packet and dropped it into her bag. “It is very good of
you,” she said warmly. “I know you don’t like doing it, and that makes
it the more kind. But I will do as you tell me. I have just to go in
to Chatham, but when I get back I will go to bed quite early.”
I walked with her to the door, and when I had opened it she stopped
and held out her hand. “Good night,” she said, “and thank you so very
much. I expect you will find me a great deal better to-morrow.” She
pressed my hand slightly, made me a little bow, smiled, and, turning
away, passed out; and I now noticed that the haze which had hung over
the town all the afternoon had thickened into a definite fog. I
stepped out on to the threshold and watched her as she walked quickly
down the street, following the erect, dignified figure wistfully with
my eyes as it grew more and more shadowy and unsubstantial until it
faded into the fog and vanished. Then I went in to my solitary supper,
with an unwonted sense of loneliness; and throughout the long evening
I turned over again and again our unsatisfying talk and wondered
afresh whether that presentiment of evil was but the product of
insomnia and mental fatigue, or whether behind it was some sinister
reality.
CHAPTER VII.
MRS. GILLOW SOUNDS THE ALARM
Nine o’clock on the following morning found me still seated at the
breakfast table, with the debris of the meal before me and the Sunday