Who? Part 26

When Cyril returned, he found Priscilla really transformed. Her yellow curls had been plastered down on either side of her forehead. A pair of tinted spectacles dimmed the brilliancy of her eyes and her dark, finely-arched eyebrows had been rendered almost imperceptible by a skilful application of grease and powder. With a burnt match the nurse had drawn a few faint lines in the girlish face, so that she looked at least ten years older, and all this artifice was made to appear natural by means of a dingy, black net veil. A nurse's costume completed the disguise.

"You have done winders, nurse. I can't thank you enough," he exclaimed.

"Don't I look a fright?" cried Priscilla a little ruefully.

"No, you don't. That is just where the art comes in. You are not noticeable one way or the other. It is admirable. And now you had better be going."

The nurse peered into the hall.

"There is no one about just now. I will take Mrs. Thompkins to the front door. If we are seen, it will be supposed that she is some friend of mine who has been calling on me. I will watch till I see her safely in the car," the nurse a.s.sured him.

"Thanks."

"By the way, as I have to pretend not to know of my patient's departure, I had better not return till you have left."

"All right. Good-bye, nurse. I shall stay here a quarter of an hour so as to give you a good start. Good-bye, my dear."

The next fifteen minutes seemed to Cyril the longest he had ever spent.

He did not even dare to follow Priscilla's progress from the window.

Watch in hand he waited till the time was up and then made his way cautiously out of the house without, as luck would have it, encountering any one.

The taxi was no longer in sight! With a light heart Cyril walked briskly to the doctor's office.

"Well, Lord Wilmersley, what brings you here?" asked the doctor, when Cyril was finally ushered into the august presence.

"I have called to tell you that my wife has left the nursing home,"

Cyril blurted out.

"Impossible!" cried the doctor. "She was quite calm this morning. The nurse would----"

"The nurse had nothing to do with it," interrupted Cyril hastily. "It was I who took her away."

"You? But why this haste? I thought you had decided to wait till to-morrow."

"For family reasons, which I need not go into now, I thought it best that she should be removed at once."

"And may I know where she is?" inquired the doctor, looking searchingly at Cyril.

"I intend to take her to Geralton--in--in a few days."

"Indeed!" The doctor's upper lip lengthened perceptibly.

"So you do not wish me to know where you have hidden her."

"Hidden her?" Cyril raised his eyebrows deprecatingly. "That is a strange expression to use. It seems to me that a man has certainly the right to withhold his wife's address from a comparative stranger without being accused of hiding her. You should really choose your words more carefully, my dear sir."

The doctor glared at Cyril for a moment, then rising abruptly he paced the room several times.

"It's no use," he said at last, stopping in front of Cyril. "You can't persuade me that there is not some mystery connected with Lady Wilmersley. And I warn you that I have determined to find out the truth."

Cyril's heart gave an uncomfortable jump, but he managed to keep his face impa.s.sive.

"A mystery? What an amusing idea! A man of your imagination is really wasted in the medical profession. You should write, my dear doctor, you really should. But, granting for the sake of argument that I have something to conceal, what right have you to try to force my confidence?

My wife's movements are surely no concern of yours."

"One has not only the right, but it becomes one's obvious duty to interfere, when one has reason to believe that by doing so one may prevent the ill-treatment of a helpless woman."

"Do you really think I ill-treat my wife?"

"I think it is possible. And till I am sure that my fears are unfounded, I will not consent to Lady Wilmersley's remaining in your sole care."

"Do you mind telling me what basis you have for such a monstrous suspicion?" asked Cyril very quietly.

"Certainly. You bring me a young lady who has been flogged. You tell me that she is your wife, yet you profess to know nothing of her injuries and give an explanation which, although not impossible, is at all events highly improbable. This lady, who is not only beautiful but charming, you neglect in the most astonis.h.i.+ng manner. No, I am not forgetting that you had other pressing duties to attend to, but even so, if you had cared for your wife, you could not have remained away from her as you did. It was nothing less than heartless to leave a poor young woman, in the state she was in, alone among strangers. Your letter only partially satisfied me. Your arguments would have seemed to me perfectly unconvincing, if I had not been so anxious to believe the best. As it was, although I tried to ignore it, a root of suspicion still lingered in my mind. Then, when you finally do turn up, instead of hurrying to your wife's bedside you try in every way to avoid meeting her till at last I have to insist upon your doing so. I tell you, that if she had not shown such marked affection for you, I should have had no doubt of your guilt."

"Nonsense! Do I look like a wife-beater?"

"No, but the only murderess I ever knew looked like one of Raphael's Madonnas."

"Thanks for the implication." Cyril bowed sarcastically.

"The more I observed Mrs. Thompkins," continued the doctor, "the more I became convinced that a severe shock was responsible for her amnesia, and that she had never been insane nor was she at all likely to become so."

"Even physicians are occasionally mistaken in their diagnosis, I have been told."

"You are right; that is why I have given you the benefit of the doubt,"

replied the doctor calmly. "This morning, however, I made a discovery, which practically proves that my suspicions were not unfounded."

"And pray what is this great discovery of yours?" drawled Cyril.

"I had been worrying about this case all night, when it suddenly occurred to me to consult the peerage. I wanted to find out who Lady Wilmersley's people were, so that I might communicate with them if I considered it necessary. The first thing I found was that your wife was born in 18--, so that now she is in her twenty-eighth year. My patient is certainly not more than twenty. How do you account for this discrepancy in their ages?"

Cyril forced himself to smile superciliously.

"And is my wife's youthful appearance your only reason for doubting her ident.i.ty?"

The doctor seemed a little staggered by Cyril's nonchalant manner.

"It is my chief reason, but as I have just taken the trouble to explain, not my only one."

"Oh, really! And if she is not my wife, whom do you suspect her of being?"

"I have no idea."

"You astonish me." In trying to conceal his agitation Cyril unfortunately a.s.sumed an air of frigid detachment, which only served to exasperate the doctor still further.

"Your manner is insulting, my lord."

"Your suspicions are so flattering!" drawled Cyril.