‘She is dead,’ he says, briefly, and orders them to leave the room.
‘When did this occur, Mrs Villiers?’ he asked, when the room had been cleared and only himself, Madame, and Kitty remained.
‘I can’t tell you,’ replied Madame, weeping; ‘she was all right last night when we went to bed, and she stayed all night with me because I was nervous. I slept soundly, when I was awakened by a cry and saw Kitty standing beside the bed and Selina in convulsions; then she became quite still and lay like that till you came. What is the cause?’
‘Apoplexy,’ replied the doctor, doubtfully; ‘at least, judging from the symptoms; but perhaps Miss Marchurst can tell us when the attack came on?’
He turned to Kitty, who was shivering in the chair and looked so pale that Madame Midas went over to her to see what was the matter. The girl, however, shrank away with a cry as the elder woman approached, and rising to her feet moved unsteadily towards the doctor.
‘You say she,’ pointing to the body, ‘died of apoplexy?’
‘Yes,’ he answered, curtly, ‘all the symptoms of apoplexy are there.’
‘You are wrong!’ gasped Kitty, laying her hand on his arm, ‘it is poison!’
‘Poison!’ echoed Madame and the Doctor in surprise.
‘Listen,’ said Kitty, quickly, pulling herself together by a great effort. ‘I came home from the ball between two and three, I entered the room to go to my own,’ pointing to the other door; ‘I did not know Selina was with Madame.’
‘No,’ said Madame, quietly, ‘that is true, I only asked her to stop at the last moment.’
‘I was going quietly to bed,’ resumed Kitty, hurriedly, ‘in order not to waken Madame, when I saw the portrait of M. Vandeloup on the table; I took it up to look at it.’
‘How could you see without a light?’ asked Dr Chinston, sharply, looking at her.
‘There was a night light burning,’ replied Kitty, pointing to the fragments on the floor; ‘and I could only guess it was M. Vandeloup’s portrait; but at all events,’ she said, quickly, ‘I sat down in the chair over there and fell asleep.’
‘You see, doctor, she had been to a ball and was tired,’ interposed Madame Midas; ‘but go on, Kitty, I want to know why you say Selina was poisoned.’
‘I don’t know how long I was asleep,’ said Kitty, wetting her dry lips with her tongue, ‘but I was awoke by a noise at the window there,’ pointing towards the window, upon which both her listeners turned towards it, ‘and looking, I saw a hand coming out from behind the curtain with a bottle in it; it held the bottle over the glass on the table, and after pouring the contents in, then withdrew.’
‘And why did you not cry out for assistance?’ asked the doctor, quickly.
‘I couldn’t,’ she replied, ‘I was so afraid that I fainted. I recovered my senses, Selina had drank the poison, and when I got up on my feet and went to the bed she was in convulsions; I woke Madame, and that’s all.’
‘A strange story,’ said Chinston, musingly, ‘where is the glass?’
‘It’s broken, doctor,’ replied Madame Midas; ‘in getting out of bed I knocked the table down, and both the night lamp and glass smashed.’
‘No one could have been concealed behind the curtain of the window?’ said the doctor to Madame Midas.
‘No,’ she replied, ‘but the window was open all night; so if it is as Kitty says, the man who gave the poison must have put his hand through the open window.’
Dr Chinston went to the window and looked out; there were no marks of feet on the flower bed, where it was so soft that anyone standing on it would have left a footmark behind.
‘Strange,’ said the doctor, ‘it’s a peculiar story,’ looking at Kitty keenly.
‘But a true one,’ she replied boldly, the colour coming back to her face; ‘I say she was poisoned.’
‘By whom?’ asked Madame Midas, the memory of her husband coming back to her.
‘I can’t tell you,’ answered Kitty, ‘I only saw the hand.’
‘At all events,’ said Chinston, slowly, ‘the poisoner did not know that your nurse was with you, so the poison was meant for Mrs Villiers.’
For me?’ she echoed, ghastly pale; ‘I knew it,—my husband is alive, and this is his work.’
Chapter XII.
A Startling Discovery
Ill news travels fast, and before noon the death of Selina Sprotts was known all over Melbourne. The ubiquitous reporter, of course, appeared on the scene, and the evening papers gave its own version of the affair, and a hint at foul play. There was no grounds for this statement, as Dr Chinston told Kitty and Madame Midas to say nothing about the poison, and it was generally understood that the deceased had died from apoplexy. A rumour, however, which originated none knew how, crept about among everyone that poison was the cause of death, and this, being added to by some and embellished in all its little details by others, there was soon a complete story made up about the affair. At the Bachelor’s Club it was being warmly spoken about when Vandeloup came in about eight o’clock in the evening; and when he appeared he was immediately overwhelmed with inquiries. He looked cool and calm as usual, and stood smiling quietly on the excited group before him.
‘You know Mrs Villiers,’ said Bellthorp, in an assertive tone, ‘so you must know all about the affair.’ ‘I don’t see that,’ returned Gaston, pulling at his moustache, ‘knowing anyone does not include a knowledge of all that goes on in the house. I assure you, beyond what there is in the papers, I am as ignorant as you are.’
‘They say this woman—Sprotts or Potts, or something—died from poison,’ said Barty Jarper, who had been all round the place collecting information.
‘Apoplexy, the doctor says,’ said Bellthorp, lighting a cigarette; ‘she was in the same room with Mrs Villiers and was found dead in the morning.’
‘Miss Marchurst was also in the room,’ put in Barty, eagerly.
‘Oh, indeed!’ said Vandeloup, smoothly, turning to him; ‘do you think she had anything to do with it?’
‘Of course not,’ said Rolleston, who had just entered, ‘she had no reason to kill the woman.’
Vandeloup smiled.
‘So logical you are,’ he murmured, ‘you want a reason for everything.’
‘Naturally,’ retorted Felix, fixing in his eyeglass, ‘there is no effect without a cause.’
‘It couldn’t have been Miss Marchurst,’ said Bellthorp, ‘they say that the poison was poured out of a bottle held by a hand which came through the window—it’s quite true,’ defiantly looking at the disbelieving faces round him; ‘one of Mrs Villiers’ servants heard it in the house and told Mrs Riller’s maid.’
‘From whence,’ said Vandeloup, politely, ‘it was transmitted to you—precisely.’
Bellthorp reddened slightly, and turned away as he saw the other smiling, for his relations with Mrs Riller were well known.
‘That hand business is all bosh,’ observed Felix Rolleston, authoritatively; ‘it’s in a play called “The Hidden Hand”.’