The Mynns' Mystery

“Your plan won’t work, Hampton,” said the doctor to himself. “She’s fond of him, after all;” and he followed the others into the hall.

Chapter Thirteen

George Harrington’s Accident

“Don’t be alarmed,” said Saul Harrington, confronting them. “Perhaps you ladies had better go back to the drawing-room.”

“What is the matter?” said Gertrude quickly.

“Oh, nothing much. Harrington was taken ill, and I got him to lie down, but he didn’t seem to get any better, so I thought it better to order a fly and have him driven home. But, my dear Miss Bellwood, you had better retire.”

There was a tone in his voice which seemed to say, “For goodness sake don’t,” and he hugged himself as Mrs Hampton said shortly:

“I always thought women were most useful when anyone was ill.”

“Here! Hi! Somebody! Curse you! Let go, will you!” came from down by the gate.

“He’s a little delirious, I think,” said Saul hastily. “The fly-man is holding him back on the seat. Mr Hampton, are there any men about? We want help.”

“Yes, two old men and a young man, Mr Saul. Come along, Lawrence; let’s get him in.”

Gertrude gave the doctor a piteous look.

“Don’t be alarmed, my dear,” he said kindly. “I’ll soon bring him round. Leave him to us.”

He followed the lawyer down to the gate, as Saul lingered for a moment to whisper to Gertrude:

“He’s right, don’t be alarmed. It is not serious,” and he smiled to himself as he hurried after the others.

“What a kind, considerate man Mr Saul is,” said Mrs Hampton sarcastically. “Humph!”

She stopped to listen, as quite a disturbance came from the gate.

“Is – is it an accident, Mrs Hampton?” whispered Gertrude.

“Yes, my dear. I don’t think there is any doubt about that.”

“Look sharp, please,” came in a voice full of remonstrance, as the gentlemen hurried down to the gate, to find a desperate struggle going on in the fly, where the driver was seated with his head tucked down upon his chest to avoid blows, while he held his fare tightly round the waist. “Ah, that’s better. Take hold of his fisties, somebody. He’s reg’lar mad.”

“Poor fellow!” exclaimed Saul, seizing one of the struggling man’s arms, while Doctor Lawrence got hold of the other, and between them they drew the sufferer out of the fly on to his knees by the gate.

“That’s better,” said the fly-man. “Lucky I’ve got my quiet old mare. He gave such a jump once, he startled even her.”

“Here, lend a hand,” said the doctor sharply, as his patient began to struggle furiously, and tried to fling them off, “all of you. We’re four. We’ll take a wrist each, Hampton. You two young men take an ankle apiece.”

“Why, that’s same as they does the sojers when they’re a bit on,” said the fly-man.

“No, no,” cried the doctor. “The other way. Not face downwards.”

The patient was in a sitting position on the gravel, laughing idiotically, and trying to troll out portions of a song, but as he felt himself seized and lifted from the ground his whole manner changed: he struggled furiously, his face became distorted, and he burst forth into a tirade of oaths and curses directed at all in turn.

“Steady, guv’nor!” said the fly-man, as he held on tightly to one leg. “Steady, you ain’t a swimming. Kicks out like a frog.”

“Don’t let go, whatever you do,” said the doctor.

“Not I, sir. I’ll hold on. My! he have had his whack. We can do a bit of a swear here in England, but these American gents could give any of us fifty out of a hundred.”

“Be silent, man!” said the lawyer sternly, as they neared the flight of stone steps leading up to the front door. Then aloud, “Rachel, take Miss Bellwood to the dining-room and stay there.”

Mrs Hampton took Gertrude’s hand, but she was quietly repulsed, and the girl stood just inside the hall, as the sick man was carried up the stone steps, and then into the study, where they placed him on a couch, from which he tried to struggle up, cursing and blaspheming all the time.

“Had you not better go, Gertrude?” whispered Saul, as he left the other three holding his companion down.

She paid no heed to his words, but stood holding Mrs Hampton’s wrist, gazing down at the struggling brute.

“Here you, Mr Saul, get something – a table cover will do, or a rope. We must tie him down. Better go, Miss Gertrude. I’ll get him calm after a bit.”

Gertrude made no reply even to this, but stood gazing as if fascinated, and shuddering slightly as she heard the coarse, ruffianly language and blasphemies directed at all in turn.

“This settles it,” said Mrs Hampton to herself, as, in obedience to a summons, Mrs Denton brought in a couple of sheets, and then stood weeping silently and wringing her hands, as she saw the doctor deftly fold the sheets, and passing one across the struggling man’s chest, give place to Saul, who knelt upon his friend, while the broad bandage was tightly secured right under the couch.

A second band was fastened across his legs, and then Mr Hampton turned to the fly-man, who stood smiling at the scene.

“Thankye, sir,” he said, touching his forehead. “Like such a job every day. Lor’,” he said to himself, as he went down the gravel path to the iron gates, “when gents does go it, they does go it and no mistake. That must be champagne, that must; beer and gin wouldn’t never make me like him.”

“Now,” said the doctor, as soon as the fly-man had driven off, “I must have this got from the nearest chemist’s. Under the circumstances, Mr Saul, I must ask you to go and fetch it. They’ll be shut up for the night, but I must have the drugs.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Doctor Lawrence, by ‘under the circumstances.’ If you think I am to blame for my friend, George Harrington’s illness, you are sadly mistaken. It is an attack of Western or swamp fever, I presume.”

“Undoubtedly,” said the doctor drily.

“Bring the whiskey,” shouted the prisoner, in a hoarse yell.

“May I ask you to fetch this medicine, Mr Saul?” said the doctor again.

“Certainly,” replied Saul; and as he took the paper, he gave Gertrude an imploring look, that changed to one of sympathy as he passed out.

The look was lost upon Gertrude, whose eyes were fixed upon the struggling, blaspheming man bound on the couch, and who could only be kept in his place by Mr Hampton sitting upon him. She had been entreated, again and again, to leave the room, but had refused as if determined to see all.

“Nasty fit,” said the doctor coolly, as he gave the lawyer a peculiar look.

“Yes. I never saw a worse.”

“Here,” cried the patient, with a hoarse roar. “Get some whisk’. Throat’s like – like – what you call it. Hullo, old mother ’Ampton, you there! Where’s old Saul?”

He burst out into an idiotic fit of laughter, and looked from one to the other.

“Where’s Gertie?” he cried at last; “where’s little lassie? Fesh her here. Got t’headache. She’s good f’readache. Curse you, what are you doing. Let’s get up.”