THE DOCTOR'S PROTÉGÉE.

King Country Chronicle, Volume VI, Issue 510, 19 October 1912, Page 2

THE DOCTOR'S PROTÉGÉE.

(All Rights Reserved.)

By ALBERT LEE, Author of "The Baronet in Corduroy," "The Key of the Holy House," King Stork of the Netherlands," " The Black Diec," &e.

Published By Special Arrangement.

CHAPTER XlX.—(Continued j)

The sea water poured from me, and altogether I must have appeared to any who saw me a hatless, bedraggled wretch ; but for that sort of thing I had no care. The question with me was, whether my first plan should hold, or whether I should go at once to the station, and find out what time a train would start for Paris. I could take the risk of cold while travelling in my wet clothes. On the other hand, should I go to my friend, M. de Rope, and, secure in his protection, wait a convenient season for travelling in comfort. From his home I could send a long telegram to Mrs. Dawney, to whom, as to my partner and my sister, my long absence must have been mysterious and alarming.

Standing where I was, in a silent part of the harbour, looking out to sea where the dotted lights told of ships and yachts at anchor, I was startled by the sudden sweep of a searchlight behind me, throwing my shadow long and clear. But it moved, and presently it lit up the Vallauris, which I had not seen before from without. She wa3 very beautiful, with her clear, white hull, a broad line of scarlet from stem to stern, and a band of scarlet round the white funnel. After that one view I should know her anywhere out of ten thousand, not only for her colours, but for the peculiar sweep of her bow. There was the long, steady glare of light upon her, and then she was swallowed ud in the darkness again.

Thinking over the course I should pursue now that I was actually ashore again, I was driven to the conclusion that it would be madness to travel in my present state. As for money I had sufficient to meet my expenses for the homeward journey, for I had taken care not to give that treacherous rogue, Tarsilla, all the loose money I possessed; but the wind blew in chill from the sea, and I shivered where I stood, so that I felt that I must obtain dry clothes before I ventured on the train.

"It must be De Rope," I said to myself, and turning away I walked with all the speed my still lame foot would allow to the Boulevard de la Croisette, where my friend lived. My first inquiry, however, brought a disconcerting answer from the lackey who answered the bell.

"M. de Rope no longer lives here, monsieur."

"Then where does he live?" I inquired, feeling chilled as the wind rushed past me.

One was Telamone, the other was Berens. CHAPTER XX. IN THE RUE DE PHILIPPE. The exertion involved in making my escape from the Vallauris aggravated the sprain in my ankle, so that when I reached the hotel to which I usually went when visiting Paris—in the Rue de Mason —the pain was so acute that I found it advisable to remain in the French capital for a few days.

I wrote at once to Carter, my partner, giving him a brief outline of my adventures since the night of the snowstorm, but explaining my inability to travel homewards for a little while. I also asked him to tell my sister to maintain a keen look-out, lest Teresina's whereabout should be discovered. When my letter was sent off I spent the time in nursing my lame foot, and in watching from the window the doings of those who frequented the boulevard. I tried reading, but it proved to be no distraction, for my thoughts wandered, now to the Vallauris, and then to Teresina. By the end of the second day I was so much better that I resolved to start on my homeward journey some time during the next four-and-twenty hours. But on the following afternoon, while I was reading the Paris edition of the "NewYork Herald," Bernier, ' the man who had been waiting on me, came into the room in some perturbation. "Your pardon, monsieur," he exclaimed, "I am in much distress. Mv brother has been taken ill, and I fear he is dying. Could you go and see him?"

"With pleasure," I answered, for I was now wonderfully better, and ready, I thought, for anything. "I'll go at once. What's his name? And where does he live?"

"His name is Jules Bernier, monsieur, and he lives at No. n, in the Rue de Philippe, ten minutes' ride from here." .

I had looked at my watch, and found that it was four o'clock, so that there was time to get to the Rue de Philippe, see the sick man, and be back some hours before the fast train would St&rt, by which I thought to travel.

"I will go with you, if I may, monsieur," said Bernier; and before long we were on our way.

I knew Paris fairly well, but had never seen the Rue de Philippe before. There was an old-time look about the street. Fifty years before the houses were occupied by those who moved in the best society. I might have allowed my thoughts to wander to the olden days, when women of fashion descended the steps to their coaches and sedans, or, standing at 'the windows, nodded and laughed at the richly-dressed men —the dandies of the times —who chanced to pass that way.

"I cannot tell, monsieur," the man replied, civilly enough, altftough he looked me up and down with some suspicion; for I was not such as would win one's confidence in my present condition. "Has he left Cannes?" I asked, in much disappointment. "Yes, monsieur. He went to Pisa, so I am told." I turned away. I had now but one alternative—to seek some shop where I could buy new clothes, and, if possible, catch the twelve o'clock train for Paris. There was sufficient time to do that if I could find a place, and also to have a meal at an hotel, the first good one for many a day.

But there were other things to look at now, which not merely made me think of the decadence of the neighbourhood, but caused me to wish that the anxious-looking man at my side had asked some other doctor to visit his brother. It was no longer the resort of the wealthy and high-born, but one in which squalor and misery were at their worst. Bare-armed slatterns and ragged loafers were f on the pavements or standing in the doorways, when the driver turned his horse into the Rue de Philippe, while others, in all stages of deshabil'e, were leaning out of the windows at the risk of a fatal fall into the areas below, all eyes being turned to a little crowd which had gathered in front of No. 9, two doors on this side of the house at which the driver would pull up.

One of the gendarmes directed me to a likely place, and making explanation that I had had the misfortune to tumble into the water in the harbour, and must needs have a complete change, I was speedily in possession of warm clothing, and already felt myself a new man. The shop was one in which I was able to purchase all that I required, and had Telamone and his comrade seen me as I emerged from the shop, I think they would not have recognised me. Fortunately, my paper money was not spoilt by the water. The shopman who attended to me spread out the notes to dry while I was changing, and the warmth of his stove made them' all right, save that they were somewhat crumpled. He did not object to accept the necessary amount in payment for what he supplied to me, nor did he hesitate to give me change.

"A queer neighbourhood, Bernier," I remarked.

After I had had a good meal at a quiet hotel I was too lame to attempt the walk to the station. I hr..d money at my command now, <. nd purchased my ticket in ample t'-ne. When the train began to n ove I leant cut of my window cautiously, eager to discover whether I was being followed ; but •/hen T saw what made my heart bound, and an involuntary word of thankfulness escaped my lips. Two men hurried on to the platform and raze J after the train, wh'ch was now. moving with increasing speed. '1 hey gesticulated in token o" their annoyance at hav>.g missed : t; but for myself I was r. erscly relieved. When the train :?id le't the stntion they were still nd;ng- on Ike platform, gazing after it,

"Yes, monsieur," the man replied; "but we who are poor have no choice of neighbours. We must needs go where our means will take us."

I made no comment on what he said, for I was intent on what was going on in the narrow street. A dozen men, or thereabouts, and as many women, had gathered, forming a circle about a woman and a man. The woman, who was young and good-looking, was standing before a sailor, whose bleeding face showed that he was engaged in a fight, out of which he was not likely to emerge a victor. He had found his match in her for j courage, and she fought in the full : ■fashion of a man with her fists, j which sent home blow after blow j upon the sailor's face, and skilfully j avoided his random but vicious ' b'ows. Bernier whispered that an j Englishman had taught her how , to box, and she had profited by his i teaching. There was barely room for our coach to pass, and only then by driving on to the pavement. But everyone was too intent on the fight to take any notice of us, although a coach must have been

somewhat of a rarity in the Rue de Philippe. "I think, monsieur, it would be better to turn back," said the driver, who had jumped down from his box, and looked in at the open coach window.

"Oh, no, monsieur," urged Bernier. "Driver, my brother is dying, and this is the doctor." "Shall I wait for you monsieur?" the driver inquired, when I got out and stood on the kerbstone.

"Yes, if you dare," I answered, looking at the unpromising scene, half disposed myself to step back into the coach again and get away from the neighbourhood as quickly as possible. But Bernier, whose face was pale with anxiety, looked at me so imploringly that I determined to take the risk, and tried to convince myself that a doctor was safe even in such a place as this .

No. ii, like the others in the Rue de Philippe, was a big house, and might hold a dozen families that were content to make one room serve each for eating, drinking, wprking, perhaps, and sleeping in. There were half-a-dozen women at the door, bare-arm-ed, and screaming with laughter at the sailor's discomfiture. Not one of them troubled about me and my companion, beyond a mere glance as the coach drew up and I alighted, for even a stranger had not so much attraction just then as the fight. But at the moment when I halted at the top step, waiting for the women to part so as to admit me, which they did when Bernier told them that I was a doctor come to see his dying brother, the woman who was fighting looked up, saw me and exclaimed aloud. Then, to make short work of the encounter, she rushed in on the sailor unexpectedly, struck at him right and left, and before many moments had passed the fellow was in the gutter. The woman looked at him for a moment, picked up her skirt and wiped her face with it, then, turning on her heel, pushed through the crowd and came towards me, pulling her sleeves down over her shapely arms, and drawing her dress together at her heaving bosom.

"Henri, is monsieur the doctor?" she cried, as she placed a foot on the bottom step. "Yes, Marie."

/'Then I'll take him to my father," she exclaimed; and, brushing past me, she led the way along the passage. "That beast, monsieur, said some cruel things about my father," she exclaimed, apologetically, and in explanation of the part she had taken in the fight. The room into winch she ushered me after a long ofimb upstairs was large, but wretched in the extreme. It had once been handsome, for the walls were panelled with oak which had gone black with age. The only piece of furniture it boasted now was a rickety four-post bedstead, thrust into one of the corners, where it was so dark, what with cobwebbed and dust-covered windows, that it was difficult to see who lay upon it. Marie's father was in such a serious plight that I saw at once that I should have to stay with him for some hours if his life was to be spared, and in that strenuous fight with death which followed during the long hours of the evening Marie was invaluable.

The day died into twilight, and twilight passed into night, with nothing but the light of a flickering candle to show the changes on the sick man's face. Marie sat at her father's side on a rough wooden box and watched with me. When midnight had turned the sick man's pain had lessened, and lie settled into a restful slumber. Longing for a breath of fresh air, I stole out of the room, and descended the stairs, to stand a while at the street door.

The Rue de Philippe, which had been so full and noisy when I drove into it, was empty. 1 here was not so much as a gendarme pacing the pavement to keep order in such an unruly neighbourhood, and the only foot-passenger who came presently was Henri Bernier, the waiter, who was coming home after a long day in the hotel. He mounted the steps wearilv, but dfd not see me until I spoke. (To be Continued.) D.P. —16.