A Queen's Error Part 5

No, there was nothing there; the bed looked rather rumpled, but there was no sign whatever of the old lady.

"Well," remarked the doctor sharply--he had followed closely at my heels--"where is your murdered old lady?"

I looked round the bedroom helplessly.

"I would take the most solemn oath," I said steadfastly, "that I left the old lady lying on that bed with her throat cut, and her clothes and the bed appeared soaked in blood."

The doctor walked to the bed and examined it closely, turning back the bedclothes.

"There is not a spot of blood on it," he remarked savagely, "you are dreaming."

But my eyes were sharper than his.

"Look here," I said, and pointed to a small red mark on the wall on the farther side of the bed, "what do you call that?" He leaned over the bed and looked at the little stain through his gla.s.ses as I held the light.

"Yes," he said after a close scrutiny, "that _might_ be blood, and, strange to say, it seems wet."

He looked at his finger which had just touched it, and it had a slight smear of blood on it.

I had told him on the staircase that I had been attacked by a man who had fired at me, and indeed the smell of powder even on the landing above was very apparent.

"Now come back into the next room," I said, "and see the body of the man who a.s.sailed me and whom I knocked down."

He followed me into the boudoir, and I went straight to the corner where I had last seen Saumarez lying.

_There was nothing there!_

I gave a great gasp of astonishment.

"I left the man lying there!" I exclaimed, pointing to the floor.

The doctor took the candle lamp from my hands and held it close to my face, scrutinising me earnestly meanwhile through his gla.s.ses; then he leant forward and sniffed suspiciously.

"Do you drink?" he asked abruptly.

Then, noticing my look of growing indignation, he altered his tone slightly.

"Excuse my asking the question," he explained. "But it is the only way in which I can account for your symptoms. Do you see things?"

"Things be d----," I replied hotly. "I would answer with my life that I left that poor old lady lying on her bed grievously wounded not half an hour ago, and the villain who a.s.saulted me insensible in this corner!"

The doctor went to the corner and held the candle in such a way as to shed its light upon the floor.

Then he stooped and picked up something.

"What's this?" he exclaimed, holding it close to the candle. "A gla.s.s eye," he continued in astonishment, "a gla.s.s eye, as I live!"

"There!" I said triumphantly, "the man who fired at me had a gla.s.s eye.

Is it not a brown one, shot with blood?"

"Right!" he answered after another glance at it, "a bloodshot brown eye it undoubtedly is."

He handed it to me, and I put it in my pocket.

"You had better take care of it," he said. "But I really don't know what to say about your story."

"Perhaps you will deny the evidence of your eyes?" I asked; "look at this."

I pointed to where the bullet from the revolver had struck the looking-gla.s.s over the mantelpiece and starred it.

"No," he answered, "that certainly looks as if it had been smashed by a bullet. There is the little round hole where the bullet entered. And there is another point too," he continued, "you say you left the old lady lying on the bed bleeding, not half an hour ago?"

"Certainly."

"Then the bed ought to be warm; let us come and see."

We walked back into the bedroom and examined the bed again.

It was very evident to me that a fresh coverlet had been put on the bed and fresh sheets. How it could have been done in so short a time was a marvel to me.

The doctor put his hand on the coverlet.

"That is quite cold," he reported, "there can be no question of a doubt about that."

"Let me try inside the bed," I suggested; "that may tell a different tale."

I turned down the bedclothes, and put my hand into the bed. It was distinctly warm!

"Now," I said, turning to the doctor, "do you believe me or not?"

He put his hand into the bed.

"Yes," he answered, "it is certainly warm. I don't know what to make of it."

I thrust my hand once more deep beneath the clothes, and this time it encountered something and closed on it. I glanced at it as I drew it out.

It was a lady's handkerchief.

I don't know what moved me to do it, but an impulse made me put it in my pocket, without showing it to the doctor.

"I don't know what to make of it at all," repeated Dr. Redfern, stroking his chin, "but one thing is certain, we must acquaint the police."

"Certainly," I answered. "I think we ought to have done that long ago."

"Well, will you promise me to remain here, Mr.--Mr.--?" he queried.

"Anstruther," I suggested. People in the middle cla.s.s of life always a.s.sume that you are a "Mr." I might have been a Duke!