At the end of the room I noticed, for the first time, a pair of heavy oaken folding-doors communicating with the adjoining apartment, and as I sat there I fancied I heard a woman’s shrill but refined voice — the voice of a well-bred young woman, followed by a peal of light, almost hysterical, laughter, in which a man joined.
My adventure was certainly a strange one. I had started out to visit my prosaic old uncle — as I so often did — and I had anticipated a very boring time. But here I was, by a most curious circumstance, upon friendly terms with one of the richest men in England.
Further, he seemed to have taken an unusual fancy to me. Probably because I had been sympathetic regarding the rescue of little Oswald De Gex. But why he should have confided all this to me I failed to realize.
As I sat there by the cheerful fire I heard the voices again raised in the adjoining room — the voices of a man and a woman.
Suddenly a sweet perfume greeted my nostrils. At first it seemed like that of an old-fashioned pot-pourri of lavender, verbena and basalt, such as our grandmothers decocted in their punch-bowls from dried rose-leaves to give their rooms a sweet odour. The scent reminded me of my mother’s drawing-room of long ago.
Gradually it became more and more pungent. It seemed as though some pastille were burning somewhere, for soon it became almost sickening, an odour utterly overbearing.
At the same time I felt a curious sensation creeping over me. Why I could not tell.
I was both agitated and annoyed. I had only half finished my drink, and it was certainly not alcohol that was affecting me. Rather it seemed to be that curious old-world perfume which each moment grew more pungent.
I struggled against it. What would my newly-found friend think if he returned to find me overcome?
I gained my feet with difficulty and managed to walk across the carpet, holding my breath.
Certainly my night’s adventure was, to say the least, a curious one.
Yet in our post-war days in London the man who ventures about town after dark can easily meet with as strange occurrences and narrow escapes as ever were described by the pioneers of Central Africa. The explorer Stanley himself declared that the African jungle was safer than the crossing of the Strand.
I suppose I must have remained in the chair into which I again sank for a further ten minutes. My head swam. My mental balance seemed to have become strangely upset by that highly pungent odour of lavender and verbena. I could even taste it upon my tongue, and somehow it seemed to paralyse all my senses save two, those of sight and reason.
I had difficulty in moving my mouth, my fingers, and my shoulders, but my sense of smell seemed to have become extremely acute. Yet my muscles seemed rigid, although my brain remained perfectly clear and unimpaired.
It was that scent of verbena — now terrible and detestable — a million times more potent than any bath soap — which filled my nostrils so that it seemed to choke me. I longed for fresh air.
By dint of persistent effort I rose, dragged myself across the room, drew aside the heavy silken curtain, and opening the window leaned out into the cold air, gasping for breath.
Where was Mr. De Gex?
For about five minutes I remained there, yet even the night air gave me little relief. My throat had become contracted until I seemed to be choking.
By the exercise of greater effort I staggered back, aghast at the sudden and unaccountable attack, and pressed the electric bell beside the fireplace to summon my host or the estimable Horton. Then I sank back into the arm-chair, my limbs paralysed.
How long I remained there I cannot tell for that pungent odour had, at last, dulled my brain. I had heard of cocaine, of opium, and of other drugs, and it occurred to me that I might be under the influence of one or the other of them. Yet the idea was absurd. I was Mr. De Gex’s guest, and I could only suppose that my sudden seizure was due to natural causes — to some complication of a mental nature which I had never suspected. The human brain is a very complex composition, and its strange vagaries are only known to alienists.
I seemed stifled, and I sat clutching the arms of the big leather chair when my host at last entered, smiling serenely and full of apologies.
“I’m awfully sorry to have left you, Mr. Garfield, but my agent called to do some very urgent business. Pray excuse me, won’t you?”
“I — I’m awfully sorry!” I exclaimed. “But I — I don’t feel very well. I must apologize, Mr. De Gex, but would you ask your man to order me a taxi? I — well, I’ve come over strangely queer since you’ve been out.”
“Bah! my dear fellow,” he laughed cheerily. “You’ll surely be all right in a few minutes. Stay here and rest. I’m sorry you don’t feel well. You’ll be better soon. I’ll order my car to take you home in half an hour.”
Then he crossed to the telephone, rang up a number, and ordered his car to be at the house in half an hour.
Then he rang for Horton, who brought me a liqueur glass of old brandy, which at my host’s suggestion I swallowed.
Mr. De Gex, standing upon the thick Turkey hearthrug with his cigar between his lips, watched me closely. Apparently he was considerably perturbed at my sudden illness, for he expressed regret, hoping that the brandy would revive me.
It, however, had the opposite effect. The strong perfume like pot-pourri had confused my senses, but the brandy dulled them still further. I felt inert and unable to move a muscle, or even to exercise my will power. Yet my sense of sight was quite unimpaired.
I recollect distinctly how the dark keen-faced aristocrat-looking man stood before me alert and eager, as he gazed intently into my face as though watching the progress of my seizure which had so completely paralysed me.
Of a sudden a loud shriek sounded from the adjoining room — a woman’s wild shriek of terror.
My host’s thin lips tightened.
The scream was repeated, and continued.
“Excuse me,” he exclaimed as he left the room hastily.
I sat with ears alert. It was surely most strange that the well-known millionaire, whose name was on everyone’s lips, had confided in me as he had done. Why had he done so?
The screams of terror continued for about half a minute. Then they seemed stifled down to heavy sobbing. They seemed to be hysterical sobs, as of someone who had suffered from some great shock.
I was full of wonderment. It was unusual, I thought, that such noises should be heard in a sedate West End mansion.
There was a long-drawn-out sob, and then silence. A dead silence!
A few moments later Mr. De Gex came in looking very flushed and excited.
“My troubles are ever on the increase,” he exclaimed breathlessly. “Come, Mr. Garfield. Come with me.”
He assisted me to my feet and led me out into the corridor and into the adjoining room.
To my surprise it was a great handsomely furnished bedroom with heavy hangings of yellow silk before the windows, and a great dressing-table with a huge mirror with side wings. Along one side were wardrobes built into the wall, the doors being of satinwood beautifully inlaid.
In the centre stood a handsome bed, and upon it lay a young and beautiful girl wearing a dark blue serge walking dress of the latest mode. Her hat was off, and across her dark hair was a band of black velvet. The light,