The Classic Mystery Collection - Arthur Conan Doyle [5669]
Dark forces seemed to be stirring, and some unseen menace crept near to him out of the darkness.
The house was of early Victorian fashion and massive folding shutters were provided to close the French windows. He never used them, as a matter of fact, but now he tested the fastenings which kept them in place against the inner wall and even moved them in order to learn if they were still serviceable.
Of all the mysteries which baffled him, that of the piece of cardboard in the envelope sealed with a Chinese coin was the most irritating. It seemed like the purposeless trick of a child, yet it had led to the presence of the cowled man--and to the presence of Mlle. Dorian. Why?
He sat down at his table again.
"Damn the whole business!" he said. "It is sending me crazy."
Selecting from the heap of documents a large sheet of note-paper bearing a blue diagram of a human bust, marked with figures and marginal notes, he began to read the report to which it was appended--that of Dr. Halesowen. It stated that the late Sir Frank Narcombe had a "horizontal" heart, slightly misplaced and dilatated, with other details which really threw no light whatever upon the cause of his death.
"_I_ have a horizontal heart," growled Stuart--"and considering my consumption of tobacco it is certainly dilatated. But I don't expect to drop dead in a theatre nevertheless."
He read on, striving to escape from that shadowy apprehension, but as he read he was listening to the night sounds of London, to the whirring of distant motors, the whistling of engines upon the railway and dim hooting of sirens from the Thames. A slight breeze had arisen and it rustled in the feathery foliage of the acacias and made a whispering sound as it stirred the leaves of the privet hedge.
The drone of an approaching car reached his ears. Pencil in hand, he sat listening. The sound grew louder, then ceased. Either the car had passed or had stopped somewhere near the house. Came a rap on the door.
"Yes," called Stuart and stood up, conscious of excitement.
Mrs. M'Gregor came in.
"There is nothing further you'll be wanting to-night?" she asked.
"No," said Stuart, strangely disappointed, but smiling at the old lady cheerfully. "I shall turn in very shortly."
"A keen east wind has arisen," she continued, severely eyeing the opened windows, "and even for a medical man you are strangely imprudent. Shall I shut the windows?"
"No, don't trouble, Mrs. M'Gregor. The room gets very stuffy with tobacco smoke, and really it is quite a warm night. I shall close them before I retire, of course."
"Ah well," sighed Mrs. M'Gregor, preparing to depart. "Good-night, Mr. Keppel."
"Good-night, Mrs. M'Gregor."
She retired, and Stuart sat staring out into the darkness. He was not prone to superstition, but it seemed like tempting providence to remain there with the windows open any longer. Yet paradoxically, he lacked the moral courage to close them--to admit to himself that he was afraid!
The telephone bell rang, and he started back in his chair as though to avoid a blow.
By doing so he avoided destruction.
At the very instant that the bell rang out sharply in the silence--so exact is the time-table of Kismet--a needle-like ray of blue light shot across the lawn from beyond and above the hedge and--but for that nervous start--must have struck fully upon the back of Stuart's skull. Instead, it shone past his head, which it missed only by inches, and he experienced a sensation as though some one had buffeted him upon the cheek furiously. He pitched out of his chair and on to the carpet.
The first object which the ray touched was the telephone; and next, beyond it, a medical dictionary; beyond that again, the grate, in which a fire was laid.
"My God!" groaned Stuart--"what is it!"
An intense crackling sound deafened