Once, when he found me alone looking forth from the window of the morning-room, he came up beside me, and, looking at me with those small quick eyes of his, said--

"This is a terrible blow for me, Kemball. I have been quite frank with you, therefore be frank with me. I've not been blind. I've noticed that you've been in love with the poor child, and--well, to tell the truth, I secretly hoped that one day you would propose marriage to her.

My own position is, as you know, one of hourly insecurity, and my keenest wish was to see her happily settled before--before the crisis."

"You guessed the truth," was my reply. "I do love her--I love her more than I can tell."

He sighed deeply, a sigh that echoed through the big silent room.

"Well," he said, "our grief must be mutual, I fear. Petherbridge has just told me that they do not believe she can live another hour."

Hardly had those words left his mouth when Mrs Howard ushered in a tall, thin, white-haired man, the eminent specialist, Sir George Mortimer.

Without delay he was taken to the poor girl's room, and then a long period of anxious waiting, while the trio of medical men remained with the door closed.

I suppose it must have been about an hour afterwards when, on pa.s.sing along the carpeted corridor near Shaw's room, next that of Asta, I saw that the door was shut, but as I pa.s.sed I heard him utter that peculiar whistle, yet so very low that it was only just audible. Twice I heard it, and halting, found myself involuntarily copying him. He was whistling so softly that it could scarcely be overheard beyond the walls of his own room.

What was the meaning of that sound? Probably it only escaped his lips when deep in thought. Some men invariably whistle softly or hum tunes while dressing. Yet in any case it was curious that he should do this while Asta lay dying.

All was chaos and disorder in that usually calm, well-ordered household.

Just about seven o'clock Redwood came to me and called me to one of the upstairs rooms, where the great specialist awaited me alone.

"I believe that a friend of yours, a Mr Nicholson, died a little time ago in somewhat similar circ.u.mstances to the present case," said Sir George, standing upon the hearthrug with his arms folded. "Now, as far as I can make out, the young lady's illness is due to brain trouble, brought on perhaps by fright. I have seen several similar cases in my experience--and I have treated them."

"But Miss Seymour--will she live?" I asked in frantic anxiety.

"Ah! That I cannot foretell," he replied calmly, in his soft-spoken voice. "I have administered two injections, and I'm glad to tell you that she is infinitely better. Indeed, I expect her very soon to regain consciousness, and we may hope for a turn."

"Thank G.o.d!--thank G.o.d!" I cried, with over burdened heart. "She is very dear to me, Sir George," I added with emotion, "and I thank you deeply for your efforts to save her."

"I understand--I quite understand, my dear sir," he said with professional calmness. "Yet, from what my two colleagues have told me, I can't help thinking that there is--well, a little mystery somewhere, eh?"

"A little mystery?" I echoed. "Ah, Sir George, there is a very great mystery, one which I intend at all hazards to investigate--now that Asta has fallen a victim."

But as I spoke the door was unceremoniously pushed open, and Shaw, who had put on a dark blue suit, and who looked unusually pale and haggard, entered, and inquired for the latest bulletin of the patient.

"I'm glad to tell you, Mr Shaw, that she will probably recover,"

replied the eminent man. "In an hour we trust to have her conscious again, and then she will, I hope, tell us what happened--what she indicated when, in her fright, she made mention of this mysterious hand."

The hand! I recollected those written words of Melvill Arnold.

"She was delirious, I suppose, poor girl!" Shaw said. "But this is real good news that she is getting better! You are quite sure that she will not be taken from us?"

"I hope not. I have treated similar cases."

"Ah! then there is nothing abnormal in this?" he cried eagerly.

"I cannot exactly say that, Mr Shaw. When the poor young lady recovers she will be able to tell us what really occurred to cause her mysterious seizure," Sir George replied gravely.

"Yes," said Shaw. "I hope she will be able to clear up the mystery.

You think in an hour or so she will be conscious again?"

"I sincerely hope so."

And then both men left the room together. Towards nine o'clock the crafty-faced butler came to inform me that Captain Cardew wished to see me, and, a few seconds later, I grasped hands with Guy Nicholson's friend.

The dining-room was empty, for, though the table had been laid, n.o.body had thought of dinner. Contrary to expectations, alas! Asta had not recovered consciousness. Only ten minutes before I had seen Redwood, who admitted that she had taken a slight turn for the worse, and that their anxiety had been considerably increased thereby.

I had then sought Shaw, but could not find him. He had gone over to the garage for a moment, Mrs Howard told me.

As soon as I got Cardew alone, however, I told him as briefly as I could what had occurred.

"Then Miss Seymour's case and Guy's are practically identical!" he cried, staring at me.

"Yes. And I want you to stay here with me and investigate," I said.

Then I related how, on the door of her room being burst in, she had, before losing consciousness, made reference to some mysterious hand.

"That's distinctly curious," Cardew declared. "I wonder what she could have meant?"

"Ah! that remains to us to discover. Will you a.s.sist me?"

"Of course," cried the Captain enthusiastically. "Only I hope the poor young lady will recover. Surely the doctors ought to be able to diagnose something!"

"They can't say anything definite. It's for you and me to furnish proofs."

"What do you suspect, Kemball?" he asked, looking straight into my face.

"Wait and see," I replied. "At eleven o'clock, if Asta is not then conscious, we will go and investigate the room in which she was lying when seized."

We ate some cold meat and drank a gla.s.s of claret, for I had touched nothing that day, while he had had a long journey from Aldershot. Then again we sought news of my beloved.

Her precarious condition had not altered, and she remained still unconscious. Afterwards I was told by Mrs Howard that Shaw was in the library, writing. He was greatly upset at the girl's continued unconsciousness, and had expressed a desire not to be disturbed. As I pa.s.sed the door I heard him speaking over the telephone to some one.

All I heard was the number--the number of the woman Olliffe! I tried to gather what he said, but was unable. He was purposely speaking in a low voice--so as not to be overheard.

When the long old grandfather's clock in the hall had chimed eleven, I ascended the wide staircase with Cardew, and with an electric torch which I had several hours ago found in the library, we gained the landing.

Redwood brushed past in haste, and in reply to my question gave but little hope of my poor love's recovery. "Mortimer is about to make a last effort with another injection," he said. "But I fear, Mr Kemball, that we must now abandon all hope."

My heart stood still. His words fell upon me as though he had struck me a blow.

"No hope?" I managed to gasp.

"No, none, Mr Kemball," replied the doctor, and he hurried away to fetch something from the servants' quarters.

I made no further remark. Mere words failed me. If Asta were lost to me, then it was my duty to avenge her death. Therefore I drew Cardew into the dark bedroom in which the dying girl had witnessed the hideous apparition of the hand, and then, with difficulty--for one hinge was broken--I closed the door.

Afterwards, I switched on the electric light and we made a minute and careful examination of the apartment. But we discovered nothing.

Before entering there I noticed that the door of Shaw's room adjoining was closed, for he was still downstairs writing.