The Gates Between Part 4

"And I maintain," I cried, tempestuously, "that this hospital cannot bear to do either! If the gentlemen gathered here to-night--the members of this staff, representing, as they do, the wealthiest and most influential _clienteles_ in the city--if we cannot among us pledge from our patients the sum needed to put this thing through, I say it is a poor show for ourselves. I, for one, am ready to raise fifteen thousand dollars within three months. If the rest of you will do your share in proportion"--

"Dr. Thorne has always been a little too personal, in this matter,"

said Gazell, reddening; he did not look at me, for embarra.s.sment, but addressed the chairman of the meeting with a vague air of being in earnest, if any one could be got to believe it.

"No doubt about that," said one of the staff in an undertone. "Thorne is"--I thought I caught the added words, "unreasonable fellow," but I would not give myself the appearance of having done so.

"But we can't afford to quarrel with him altogether," suggested Chirugeon, still in a tone not meant for me to overhear. And with this they went at it again, till the discussion reached such warmth, and the motion to leave the subject with the trustees, such favour, that, in disgust, I seized my hat and strode out of the room.

Smarting, I rushed away from them, and angrily out-of-doors again. I was exceedingly angry; but this gave me no more, perhaps (though I thought, a little), than the usual discomfort.

From the hospital I hurried to the consultation; where I was now well over-due. I found the attendant physician about to leave; in fact, I met him on the stairs, up which I had run rapidly, as soon as my ring was answered in the familiar house. This man was followed by old Madam Decker's daughter, who was weeping.

"She died at six o'clock, Dr. Halt," Miss Decker sobbed, "at six precisely, for I noticed. We didn't expect it so soon."

"Nor I, either," said Halt, soothingly, "I did not antic.i.p.ate"--

"Dead!" I cried. "Mrs. Decker dead? I did my best--I have met with an accident. I could not come till now. Did she ask for me?"

"She talked of Dr. Thorne," sobbed Miss Decker, "as long as she could talk of anything. She wondered if he knew, she said, how sick she was."

I hastened to explain, to protest, to sympathize, to say the idle words with which we waste ourselves and weary mourners, at such times; but the daughter paid little attention to me. She was evidently hurt at my delay; and, thinking it best to spare her my presence, I bowed my head in silence, and left the house.

Halt followed me, and we stood together for a moment outside, where his carriage and driver awaited him.

"Was she conscious to the end?" I asked.

"Yes," he murmured. "Yes, yes, yes. It is a pity. I'm sorry for that girl."

Nodding shortly in my direction, he sprang into his coupe, and drove away.

I had now begun to be very restless to get home. It seemed suddenly important to see Helen. I felt, I knew not why, uneasy and impatient, and turned my steps toward town.

"But I must stop at Brake's," I thought. This seemed imperative; so much so that I went out of my course a little, to reach his house, a pretty, suburban place. I remember pa.s.sing under trees; and the depth of their shadow; it seemed like a bay of blackness into which the night flowed. I looked up through it at the sky; stars showed through the ma.s.sed clouds which the wind whipped along like a flock of t.i.tanic celestial creatures. I had not looked up before, since the accident.

The act gave me strange sensations, as if the sky had lowered, or I had risen; the sense of having lost the usual scale of measurement. This reminded me that I was still not altogether right.

"I have really hurt my head," I thought, "I ought to get home. I must hurry this business with Brake. I must get to Helen."

But Brake was not at home. As I went up the steps, his servant was ushering out some one, to whom I heard the man say that Mr. Brake had left word not to expect him to-night.

"Does he ever stay late at the office?" I asked, thinking that the panic might render this possibly.

The man turned the expressionless countenance of a well-trained servant upon me; and repeated:--

"Mr. Brake is not at home. I know nothing further about Mr. Brake's movements."

This reply settled the matter in my own mind, and I made my way to Stock Street as fast as I might. I could not make it seem unnecessary to see Brake. But Helen--Helen-- The sooner this wretched detention was over, the sooner to see her. I had begun to be as nervous as a woman; and, I might add, as unreasonable as a sick one. I had got myself under the domination of one of those fixed ideas with which I had so little patience in the sick. I could not see Helen till I had seen Brake: this was the delusion. I succ.u.mbed to it, and knew that I succ.u.mbed to it, and could not help it, and knew that I could not help it, and did the deed it bade me. As I hurried on my way, I thought:--

"There has been considerable concussion. But Helen will take care of me. It's a pity I spoke so to Helen."

Stock Street, when I reached it, had a strange look to me. I was not used to being there at such an hour; few of us are. The relative silence, the few pa.s.sers, the long empty s.p.a.ces in the great thoroughfare, told me that the hour was later than I thought. This added to my restlessness, and I sought to look at my watch, for the first time since the accident; it was gone. I glanced at the high clock at the head of the street; but the light was imperfect, and with the vertigo which I had I did not make out the hour. It might, indeed, be really late. This troubled me, and I hastened my steps till I broke into a run.

It occurred to me, indeed, that I might be arrested for the suspicions under which such a pace, at such an hour and in such a street, would place me. But as I knew most of the members of the force in that region more or less well, this did not trouble me. I ran on, undisturbed, pa.s.sing a watchman or two, and came quickly to Brake's place. It was locked.

This distressed me. I think I had confidently expected to find him there. It did not seem to me possible to go home without seeing my broker. I stood, uncertain, rattling at the heavy door with imbecile impatience. This act brought the police to the spot in three minutes.

It was Inspector Drayton who came up, the well-known inspector, so long on duty in Stock Street; a man famed for his professional shrewdness and his gentlemanly manner.

"I wish," I said, "Mr. Inspector, that you would be good enough to let me in. I want to see Brake. I have reason to believe he is in his office. I must get in."

"It is very important," I added; for the inspector did not answer immediately, but looked at me searchingly.

"There was certainly some one meddling with this lock," he said, after a moment's hesitation, looking stealthily up and down and around the street.

"It was I," I replied, eagerly. "It was only I, Dr. Thorne. Come, Drayton, you know me. I want to see Brake. I must see Brake. It is a matter brought up by this panic--you know--the Santa Ma. He sent for me. I absolutely must see Brake. It is a matter of thousands to me.

Let me in, Mr. Inspector."

"Come," for he still delayed and doubted, "let me in somehow. You fellows have a way. Communicate with his watchman--do the proper thing--anyhow--I don't care--only let me in."

"I will see," murmured the inspector, with a perplexed air; he had not his usual cordial manner with me, though he was still as polished as possible, and wore the best of kid gloves. I think the inspector touched one of their electric signals--I am not clear about this--but at any rate, a sleepy watchman came from within, holding a safety lantern before him, and gingerly opened the huge door an inch or two.

"Let me come in," said the inspector, decidedly. "It is I--Drayton. I have a reason. I wish to go to Mr. Brake's rooms, if you please."

The inspector slipped in like a ghost, and I followed him. Neither of us said anything further to the watchman; we went directly to Brake's place. He was not there.

"I will wait a few minutes," I said. "I think he will be here. I must see Brake."

The inspector glanced at me as one does at a fellow who is behaving a little out of the common course of human conduct; but he did not enter into conversation with me, seeing me averse to it. I sank down wearily upon Brake's biggest brown leather office chair, and put my head down upon his table. I was now thoroughly tired and confused. I wished with all my heart that I had gone straight home to Helen. The inspector and the watchman busied themselves in examining the building, for some purpose to which I paid no attention. They conversed in low tones, "I heard a noise at the door, sir, myself," the watchman said.

"Why don't you tell him it was I?" I called; but I did not lift my head. I was too tired to trouble myself. I must have fallen into a kind of stupor.

I do not know how long I had remained in this position and condition, whether minutes or hours; but when at last I roused myself, and looked about, a singular thing had happened.

The inspector had gone. The watchman had gone. I was alone in the broker's office. And I was locked in.

CHAPTER VI.

So often and so idly it is our custom to say, I shall never forget!

that the words scarcely cause a ripple of comment in the mind; whereas, in fact, they are among the most audacious which we ever take upon our lips. How know we what law of selection our memories will obey in that system of mental relations which we call "forever"?

I, who believe myself to have obtained some especial knowledge upon this point, not possessed by all my readers, and to be more free than many another to use such language, still retreat before the phrase, and content myself with saying, "I have never forgotten." Up to this time I have never been able to forget the smallest detail of that night whose history I am now to record. It seems to me impossible in any set of conditions that memory could blot that experience from my being; but of that what know I? No more than I know of the politics of a meteor.

Upon discovering my predicament I was, of course, greatly disturbed. I tried the door, and tried again; I urged the latch violently; I exerted myself till the mere moral sense of my helplessness overcame my strength. I called to the watchman, whose distant steps I heard, or fancied that I heard, pacing the corridors. There was a Safe Deposit in the bas.e.m.e.nt, and the great building was heavily guarded. I shouted for my liberty, I pleaded for it, I demanded it; but I did not get it.

No one answered me. I ran to the barred windows and shook the iron cas.e.m.e.nt as prisoners and madmen do. n.o.body heard me. I bethought me of the private telegraph which stood by Brake's desk, mute and mysterious, like a thing that waited an order to speak. I could not help wondering, with something like superst.i.tion, what would be the next words which would pa.s.s the lips of the silent metal. It occurred to me, of course, to telegraph for relief; but I did not know how, and a kind of respect for the intelligence and power of the instrument deterred me from meddling with it to no visible end. Suddenly I remembered the electric signal which so often communicates with watchman or police in places of this kind. This, after some search, I found in a corner, over the desk of Brake's a.s.sistant, and this I touched. My effort brought no reply. I pressed the b.u.t.ton again with more force and more desperation; I might say, with more personality.

"Obey me!" I cried, setting my teeth, and addressing the electric influence as a man addresses a menial.