The Gambler Part 18

During a long interval of indescribable suspense Molyneaux made his examination. Then, without a word, he and Gallagher emerged from the room and descended solemnly into the dining-room.

While this final conference lasted Clodagh--who had returned to her vigil immediately the doctors had left the sick-room--sat silent and motionless beside the bed; outside in the corridor, Mrs. a.s.shlin wandered to and fro, weakly tearful and agitated, while Nance stood beside her father's door, afraid to enter and yet reluctant to remain outside. Downstairs in the hall, Milbanke paced up and down in nervous perturbation, awaiting his summons to the conclave.

At last the door opened, and Gallagher looked out.

"Mr. Milbanke," he said, "Doctor Molyneaux would like to see you."

With a little start of agitation Milbanke went forward.

In the dining-room a great peat fire was burning as usual, lighting up the faces of a.s.shlin's ancestors; but the candles in the silver sconces were unlighted and the window curtains had not been drawn. In the dull light from the three long windows the large, placid face of Molyneaux looked preternaturally long and solemn. Milbanke felt his heart sink.

In formal silence the great man rose and motioned him forward, and the three sat down at the centre table.

"Mr. Milbanke," he began in slow and unctuous tones, "I suppose you would like me to come to the point with as little delay as possible?

Professional details will not interest you."

Milbanke nodded mechanically.

Molyneaux hesitated, studying his well-kept hands; then he looked up with the decorous reserve proper to the occasion.

"I regret to inform you, Mr. Milbanke," he said softly, "that my visit is of little--I might say of no--avail. Doctor--er--Gallagher's diagnosis of the case is satisfactory--perfectly satisfactory. Beyond mitigating his sufferings, I fear we can do nothing for our poor friend."

"Nothing!" Milbanke felt a sudden dryness in his throat.

Molyneaux shook his head with becoming gravity.

"Nothing, Mr. Milbanke. The injuries to the ribs and hip we might have coped with, but the seat of the trouble lies deeper. The internal----"

But Milbanke held up his hand.

"I beg you to give me no details," he said weakly. "This--this is a great shock to me."

He covered his face with his hands and sat silent for a few seconds.

Molyneaux tapped lightly upon the table with his finger-tips.

"It was merely that your mind might be fully satisfied, Mr.

Milbanke----" he said a trifle pompously.

Milbanke started.

"Forgive me! I understand--I fully understand. It is only the thought of what lies before us--the thought of his children's grief----"

Molyneaux made a gracious gesture of comprehension.

"Ah, yes," he murmured. "Very distressing! Most distressing!"

He looked vaguely round the room; and Gallagher, as if antic.i.p.ating his thought, pulled out his watch.

Milbanke rose quickly.

"I thank you very much, Doctor Molyneaux," he said, "for your--your valuable opinion. I think Miss a.s.shlin wishes to know if your train will permit you to partake of some dinner before you leave us?"

Molyneaux smiled with the air of a man who has put an unpleasant duty aside.

"Ah, thank you!" he said suavely. "Thank you! If Doctor--Gallagher gives me permission I shall be charmed. He understands your local time-tables, and has promised that I shall catch the night mail to Dublin."

He smiled again and glanced genially round the firelit room.

"What interesting family portraits our poor friend possesses!" he added with pleasant affability.

But Milbanke did not seem to hear.

"If you will excuse me for a moment," he said hastily, "I will see that you are caused no unnecessary delay. You can understand that we--that we are a somewhat demoralised household."

His voice was agitated, his step uneven as he crossed the room and pa.s.sed into the hall.

Molyneaux followed him with a conventional glance of sympathy; then his eyes turned again to the pictures with the gratified glance of a dilettante.

"Do you happen to know if this is a Reynolds?" he said to Gallagher, rising and crossing the room.

CHAPTER IV

To the last day of his life, that evening, with its horde of hara.s.sing and unfamiliar sensations, remained stamped upon Milbanke's mind; and not least among the unpleasant recollections was the visit of Molyneaux, and the dinner at which he himself unwillingly played host.

It may have been that his usually placid susceptibilities had undergone a strain that rendered him over sensitive; but whatever the cause, the atmosphere diffused by the great man jarred upon him. In his eyes, it seemed little short of callous that one who had just pa.s.sed sentence of death upon his patient could so far remain unmoved as to partake with relish of the dinner set before him, and comment with affable appreciation upon the quality of the patient's wines.

Milbanke spoke little during the course of that meal. Try as he might to enact the part entrusted to him, his thoughts persistently wandered to the room upstairs, with its doomed sufferer and its anxious watchers, as yet mercifully ignorant of the verdict that had been p.r.o.nounced. But if the host was silent, the guests made conversation.

Gallagher was a.s.siduous in his attentions to the man who, in his eyes, stood for the attainment of all ambition; and Molyneaux--under the unlooked-for stimulus of good, if homely food and wines that even as an epicure he admitted to be remarkable--was graciously pleased to accept the homage of his humble colleague, and to display a suave glimpse of the polished wit for which he was noted in society.

His expressions of regret were perfectly genuine when at last the sound of wheels on the gravel of the drive broke in upon his discourse, and Gallagher deprecatingly drew out his watch.

"The way of the world, Mr. Milbanke!" he murmured as he rose. "Our pleasantest acquaintances end the soonest. I must wish you good-bye--with many thanks for your delightful hospitality. So far as our poor friend is concerned," he added, in a correctly altered tone, "Doctor Gallagher may be relied upon to do everything. In a case like this, where physical pain is recurrent and violent, we can only have recourse to narcotics. We have already allayed the suffering consequent on my examination and you may rely upon some hours of calm; for any subsequent contingency Doctor Gallagher has my instructions. Of course, if you wish me to have one more glimpse at him before I go----"

But Milbanke, who had also risen, held out his hand mechanically.

"Oh no," he said quietly. "No, thank you! I don't think we will trouble you any further. It has been a great satisfaction to have obtained your--your opinion."

Molyneaux waved his hand magnanimously.

"Do not mention it!" he murmured. "My regret is deep that I have been of so little avail. Good-bye again, Mr. Milbanke! It has been an honour as well as a pleasure to meet you."

He smiled blandly, and added the last remark as Gallagher solicitously helped him into his furlined travelling coat. Then, still suavely genial, he pa.s.sed out of the dining-room towards the hall door.

Gallagher hurried after him, but, in pa.s.sing Milbanke, he paused.