The Mynns' Mystery

“He’s done,” panted the young man. “Do you give in, sir?”

The dog uttered a low whine, that sounded like a remonstrance, and lay quite still.

“Get that gentleman out of the room quickly. Or no. Here, Gertrude, show me where I can lock up the dog. A room, outhouse – anywhere.”

“Better shoot him. The dog’s mad,” cried Mr Hampton excitedly.

“Oh!” ejaculated Gertrude.

“The dog’s not mad,” panted George. “You lead the way.”

“Yes, yes,” cried Gertrude.

“I think I can hold him. Stand on one side, and be ready to shut the window to as soon as I get him outside.”

“I’m ready,” said Gertrude, with a calm display of courage which brought forth an admiring glance.

“Then stand clear.”

Removing his knee, George Harrington dragged the dog quickly along the carpet, and out on to the lawn. The window was closed, and Gertrude ran to his side.

“This way,” she cried; and running to the side of the house she drew open a door in the wall, through which, after another fierce struggle, the dog was dragged, the door banged to, and then Gertrude ran across the yard and opened the stable door.

“Pray, pray, mind he doesn’t bite you,” she cried in agony.

“No fear; I’ve got him too tightly; besides he hasn’t tried. By Jove! he has got his strength again, and no mistake. There, sir, you’re mastered.”

As he spoke, he gave his captive a swing forward, dashed back, and closed the door, just as the dog bounded at it, and tore at the panel, baying furiously.

“Well, I’m in a nice state. But that Saul Harrington! He and the dog must be bad friends.”

“Yes,” said Gertrude, with her voice trembling and deep from agitation, “but you – you are hurt.”

“Not in the least,” he said, catching the hands extended to him in an imploring way. “No, not hurt. So full of happiness to hear you speak like that.”

“Mr Harrington!” she faltered.

“Yes, George Harrington, indeed, indeed,” he cried, with his voice sounding deep and emotional.

“Let us make haste back,” she cried, hurriedly opened the door in the wall, trembling, troubled, pleased – she could not define her sensations; and it was with a sense of relief that she found Mrs Hampton coming toward them.

“Is that dreadful dog locked up safely?” she cried.

“Yes, quite safe; but I had a terrible fight with his lordship,” said George Harrington, coming to his companion’s help. “No fear of his getting well now.”

“He must have gone mad.”

“No; only towards Mr Saul Harrington, I’m afraid.”

They hurried back to the drawing-room, to become conscious of a hoarse, panting sound, and a low angry muttering from the couch, where the two old men were feebly struggling with Saul Harrington.

“Quick! Help here!” said the old lawyer.

George Harrington sprang to them, and pinned Saul down to the couch, from which he vainly struggled to rise.

“You had better go, ladies,” cried the young man.

“Can I be of any use?” said Gertrude calmly. “Doctor Lawrence knows how I can help.”

“Yes, help me,” said the old man. “Can you hold him?”

“Oh, yes; I have him fast for the present.”

Doctor Lawrence hurried to a table, took out his pocket-book, and wrote a prescription, tore out the pencilled leaf, and gave it to Gertrude.

“Send and get that made up for me,” he said hastily.

Gertrude flew from the room, and the doctor hastened to help keep the patient within bounds.

“It was utter madness to leave his bed,” he said.

“Perhaps he came in search of you.”

“Impossible. He could not have known I was coming down here. Great heavens! what a state he is in.”

For at that moment, as the sick man struggled in his delirium, he heaved himself till his body formed an arch, and it was all that the three men could do to keep him upon the couch.

“Like anyone suffering from a powerful dose of strychnia,” muttered the doctor.

“What are you going to do, Lawrence?” whispered the lawyer. “Can’t you give him some narcotic that will last till you get him back to his chambers?”

“What I have sent for,” said the doctor, in a quiet, business-like way. “Mrs Hampton, we want something to form a long broad band to hold him down to the couch, without doing any harm.”

“Why not one of those long curtains?” said George Harrington, pointing to an alcove full of books.

“Yes, the very thing,” cried the doctor, looking in the indicated direction.

George Harrington waited until a paroxysm was over, and the patient had for the moment ceased to struggle, before leaping upon a table and rapidly unhooking the piece of drapery, which was formed into a broad band, and tightly secured across the patient’s chest before being fastened below the couch.

“Half an hour to wait before we can get the medicine, I’m afraid,” said the doctor. “I want to get him composed, and then we might put him in a fly and drive up to his chambers.”

“You’ll never get him away to-night,” said George Harrington bluntly. “Rather hard on the ladies; but he is a relative, and it seems to me that you ought to keep him here.”

“I’m afraid he is right, Hampton,” said the doctor. “Good heavens! what a paroxysm.”

There was a long struggle, during which the delirious man made desperate efforts to get free.

“Down, beast!” he literally growled; and in his terrible fit he seemed to be struggling with the dog. “Down, brute! I’ll dash your brains out! Curse him! how strong he is?”