Vera, the Medium Part 17

"You don't know?" demanded Winthrop. "Well, I know. I know if he goes through this thing tonight, he'll have another collapse. I saw one this morning. Why don't you forbid it? You're his medical adviser, aren't you?"

Rainey remained sullenly silent.

"Answer me!" insisted the District Attorney. "You are, aren't you?"

"I am," at last declared Rainey.

"Well, then," commanded Winthrop, "tell him to stop this. Tell him I advise it."

Through his gla.s.ses Rainey blinked violently at the District Attorney, and laughed. "I didn't know," he said, "that you were a medical man."

Winthrop looked at the Doctor so steadily, and for so long a time, that the eyes of the young man sought the floor and the ceiling; and his sneer changed to an expression of discomfort.

"I am not," said Winthrop. "I am the District Attorney of New York." His tones were cold, precise; they fell upon the superheated brain of Dr.

Rainey like drops from an icicle.

"When I took over that office," continued Winthrop, "I found a complaint against two medical students, a failure to report the death of an old man in a private sanitarium."

Winthrop lowered his eyes, and became deeply absorbed in the toe of his boot. "I haven't looked into the papers, yet," he said.

Rainey, swaying slightly, jerked open the door of the bedroom. "I'll tell him," he panted thickly. "I'll tell him to do as you say."

"Thank you, I wish you would," said Winthrop.

At the same moment, from the hall, Garrett announced, "Mrs. Vance, sir."

And Mabel Vance, tremulous and frightened, entered the room.

Winthrop approached her eagerly.

"Ah! Mrs. Vance," he exclaimed, "can I see Miss Vera?"

Embarra.s.sed and unhappy, Mrs. Vance moved restlessly from foot to foot, and shook her head.

"Please, Mr. District Attorney," she begged. "I'm afraid not. This afternoon upset her so. And she's so nervous and queer that the Professor thinks she shouldn't see n.o.body."

"The Professor?" he commented. His voice was considerate, conciliatory.

"Now, Mrs. Vance," he said, "I've known Miss Vera ever since she was a little girl, known her longer than you have, and, I'm her friend, and you're her friend, and--"

"I am," protested Mabel Vance tearfully. "Indeed I am!"

"I know you are," Winthrop interrupted hastily. "You've been more than a friend to her, you've been a sister, mother, and you don't want any trouble to come to her, do you?"

"I don't," cried the woman. "Oh!" she exclaimed miserably, "I told them there'd be trouble!"

Winthrop laughed rea.s.suringly.

"Well, there won't be any trouble," he declared, "if I can help it. And if you want to help her, help me. Persuade her to let me talk to her.

Don't mind what the Professor says."

"I will," declared Mrs. Vance with determination, "I will." She started eagerly toward the hall, and then paused and returned. Her hands were clasped; her round, baby eyes, wet with tears, were fixed upon Winthrop appealingly.

"Oh, please," she pleaded, "you're not going to hurt him, are you? Paul, my husband," she explained, "he's been such a good husband to me."

Winthrop laughed uneasily.

"Why, that'll be all right," he protested.

"He doesn't mean any harm," insisted Mrs. Vance, "he's on the level; true, he is!"

"Why, of course, of course," Winthrop a.s.sented.

Unsatisfied, Mrs. Vance burst into tears. "It's this spirit business that makes the trouble!" she cried. "I tell them to cut it out. Now, the mind reading at the theatre," she sobbed, "there's no harm in that, is there? And there's twice the money in it. But this ghost raising"--she raised her eyes appealingly, as though begging to be contradicted--"it's sure to get him into trouble, isn't it?"

Winthrop shook his head, and smiled.

"It may," he said. Mrs. Vance broke into a fresh outburst of tears. "I knew it," she cried, "I knew it." Winthrop placed his hand upon her arm and turned her in the direction of the door.

"Don't worry," he said soothingly. "Go send Miss Vera here. And," he called after her, "don't worry."

As Mabel departed upon his errand, Rainey reentered from the bedroom.

He carefully closed the door and halted with his hand upon the k.n.o.b, and shook his head.

"It's no use," he said, "he will go on with it. It's not my fault," he whined, "I told him it would kill him. I couldn't make it any stronger than that, could I?"

Rainey was not looking at Winthrop, but, as though fearful of interruption, toward the door. His eyes were hara.s.sed, furtive, filled with miserable indecision. Many times before Winthrop had seen men in such a state. He knew that for the sufferer it foretold a physical break down, or that he would seek relief in full confession. To give the man confidence, he abandoned his att.i.tude of suspicion.

"That certainly would be strong enough for me," he said cheerfully. "Did you tell him what I advised?"

"Yes, yes," muttered Rainey impatiently. "He said you were invited here to give advice to his niece, not to him." For the first time his eyes met those of Winthrop boldly. The District Attorney recognized that the man had taken his fears by the throat, and had arrived at his decision.

"See here," exclaimed Rainey, "could I give you some information?"

"I'm sure you could," returned Winthrop briskly. "Give it to me now."

But Rainey, glancing toward the door, shrank back. Winthrop, following the direction of his eyes, saw Vera. Impatiently he waved Rainey away.

"At the office, tomorrow morning," he commanded. With a sigh of relief at the reprieve, Rainey slipped back into the bedroom.

Winthrop had persuaded himself that in seeking to speak with Vera, he was making only a natural choice between preventing the girl from perpetrating a fraud, or, later, for that fraud, holding her to account.

But when she actually stood before him, he recognized how absurdly he had deceived himself. At the mere physical sight of her, there came to him a swift relief, a thrill of peace and deep content; and with delighted certainty he knew that what Vera might do or might not do concerned him not at all, that for him all that counted was the girl herself. With something of this showing in his face, he came eagerly toward her.

"Vera!" he exclaimed. In the word there was delight, wonder, tenderness; but if the girl recognized this she concealed her knowledge. Instead, her eyes looked into his frankly; her manner was that of open friendliness.

"Mabel tells me you want to talk to me," she said evenly "but I don't want you to. I have something I want to say to you. I could have written it, but this"--for an instant the girl paused with her lips pressed together; when she spoke, her voice carried the firmness and finality of one delivering a verdict--"but this," she repeated, "is the last time you shall hear from me, or see me again."

Winthrop gave an exclamation of impatience, of indignation.

"No," returned the girl, "it is quite final. Maybe you will not want to see me, but--"