CHAPTER I.—THE PATIENT AND HIS DOCTOR.

Otago Witness, Issue 2895, 8 September 1909, Page 69

CHAPTER I.— THE PATIENT AND HIS DOCTOR.

ECEMBER 25, 1907 ! A thin yellow fog, -that pushed its ■ way under the eyelids, into the penetralia of ears and nose, and deposited superfluous matter on lungs, larynx, and linen. An abundance of artificial light, - r artificial holly, arid commercially - conceived festivity- la overstocked ■ shop- fronts! Gaunt lines of assassinated turkeys displaying sallow nudities in indecent 'profusion to the vulgar gaze-! In a word^, the festive season. In two days domesticity ■would hold high, carnival, and cynicism forget itself in a surfeit of gallinaceous food and crude sweetmeats. Down Brooke street walked a young man well dressed in fur coat and top hat. In the tinted adr his face looked white and almost ghastly. His, gait, despite the heavy overcoat, was extraordinarily rapid. He entered a doorway on the north side of the thoroughfare, mounted at a run to the first floor, entered as moderate-sized ' room, and threw his irreproachable hat recklessly on to a sofa. For a moment lie stood at the window^ gazing out at the sea of fog before drawing- the curtain Against the sullen gamboge of the December evening. And his countenance was at once fierce and inexpressibly sad. The fierceness was habitual, the resultant of bold features, a straight nose, which made^ a sharp angle with the steep brow, bushy eyebrows, and a' wiry, brushed-back moustache that sprouted aggressively from his upper lip. It was certainly a striking face, if not a strictly Handsome one, but its pallor was extreme, and the lines of expression deeply scored by mouth and brow. And the mould of the head would lave furnished study for the skilled craniologist. Ihe ears were low down, the forehead broad, low, and beetling, the skull rising rapidly to its apex. It was a head that was as conspicuous for its defects as for its qualities — a head that bespoke a big uncontrolled brain, a lack of proportion, and a terrifying absence of . common sense. It might have been the lvead of a poet, a philanthropist, or a madman. As a matter of fact, it belonged to George • Trafford, but into which ,of these categories he should be put, if into any, the reader must d<ebide later. Throwing open his coat. he fumbled in his waistcoat pocket for a key. A moment later he was opening a small mahogany medicine cupboard that was fixed against the wall over his bookcase. His searching hand groped for a moment iv its recesses, and then brought out — something. For a second he hdd this "something" at arm's length, conning it » with anxious eyes, as a dilettante might study, a precious cameo or a bit of rare porcelain. Then he put it carefully on the table. The electric light shone on a small, compact object, dark of colour and sinister of shape — a revolver! George Trafford took his pen and paper and wrote ; and. as he wrote a curious light grew into has wild eyes-, and, a sad smile played about his twitching mouth. "Dearest," he began, "you shy you can never lov-e me. I say that I can never cease to love you. You have spoken a lie, even as I have spoken the truth, for •when th# mists of' life- are dispelled by the glorious radiance beyond the grave you "will love me "as I love you — perfectly, entirely, with the triple majesty of soul, mind, and spirit. Till tlien, farewell, "Yours, as you are mine, George Traffobd." He Te-read the curious epistle, put it in an envelope, addifeeeed it to the Hon. Miss Knox, 11 Gxosvenor square, and took up the object from the table. For a moment he looked before him, into vacancy. His face was literally bloodless ; bis pupils , infinitesimal black dots, gazing searcbingly through the walls of his Tooro to the gTeat beyond, where all questions are answered, all doubts set at rest. JTor a moment he stood thus in vibrant silence. Then, as if his mute searching had received its dumb response, his lips breathed a woman's name, the muzzle of his revolver was raised head-high', there •was a click — and nothing more than a click! Trafford's arm well limp to his side, and a. look of sick pain shuddered across his face. Then an idea, a wafted air of recollection, fanned the light of understanding into his dull eyes. A ghost of a smile hovered at the corner of his lips, and again the cold hand raised the deadly mechanism to his pulsing temple. Even as it did so the door of his room was opened, and with a gesture of annoyance •Trafford tossed the unused weapon on to <the table and faced the 'intruder. "Who on 'earth " "Hullo, George! " The newcomer was & big man, clean-shaved, about 30 years of age, and dressed seasonably and faultlessly in a dark astrachan-trimmed overcoat. His great frame, smiling features, and irreproachable attire -seemed to bring into the tragic atmosphere a most desirable air of commonplace. "Robert Saunders!" ejaculated Trafford. "The same," affirmed the other, seating himself in the most comfortable chair. Robert Saunders, old cricket Blue, Oxford street milliner, devoted husband of a peerless jrife, thg friend of kings and the

king of friends.'/TJut yon don't look 'well," he went on, noticing at length the exceptional pallor of his friend's face. look rotten. What's up? Liver, money V Trafford pointed to the table. At the sight of the revolver Saundere's face grew gray«. , "As bad as that?" he asked. He was genuinely shocked, but his tone was commonplace, almost casual. "As bad as that," breathed Trafford. Saunders caught eight of the envelope, glanced at the address, and proceeded to open it. " Stop ! " cried Trafford imperiously. " That is not for your eyes." " Oh, yes it is," said Saunders bluntly, extracting the letter from its envelope. " Sit down, sick man, and wait till I've diagnosed your case." Trafford watched his friend with fascinateds eyes. Saunders' s leading chaj"acteristic, ever since Trafford had first known him at college, had always been self-assurance. And though the selfassurance had often irritated inexpresI sibly it had ever been backed by real j Ability and weight, and^now. in the hour of deep darkness tlie -smiling,- confident, almost too well-dressed embodiment of prosperity ssemed strangely comforting and- Teposeful. 1 As Saunders Tead a smile eloquent of contemptuous astonishment overspread hds face. "Angela Knox !" he ejaculated. "My deaT, demenfcsd friend, what a betisse ! " " The purest, most perfect specimen of womanhood " "Angela Knox!" repeated Saunders cruelly. " A big, buxom olonde, with the intellect of a sparrow. Tissue, tissue, my boy, and no 6oul. Features, I concede, but no sense of humour. In six weeks she would bore you, in six months you would bore her, in a year the machinery of the law " "Silence!" screamed Trafford. "You would poke fun at the holiest corner of a man's heart.- I tell you I so loved this woman that had it not been for a miracle I should have died five minutes ago with her name on my lips." "Ar.d I am the miracle?" questioned Saunders tapping himself lightly on his faultless waistcoat. "The &scond miracle," said Trafford, sinking into a chair' " That revolver ! there I kept in my medicine cupboard in i case of burglary. Acting on. advice, and to preclude all possibility of an accident through mishandling, 1 kept the first chamber empty. Forgetting that precaution, I just now pressed the trigger, pointing the ba-rrcJ towards my brain. A j second' and doubtless more successful attempt would have been made bad not you interposed on the scene. "^ " Ajnid for Angela Knoi ! " muttex-ad. Saun-ders. "Now, had it been a bru- " Can you never be serious? " " When you are sensible — yes." Saunders brushed a 6peck of mud off his patent leather boots, and continued : " Your grand-father, my friend, died in a madhouse. You, j-ourself, have always been known at school and college as ' Looney ' Trafford — aod with reason. And j r ou ask me to take you seriously ! Listen, my dear irresponsible and melodramatic friend 1 . Love is a very wonderful thing. It is, rightly considered, the beginning and the end of all things. I say so, moi, gui vous parle, though I have been married nearly two years. But the calf love of a congenital looney for a hypertrophded blonde with the conversational powers of a turnip is, ipso facto, ridiculous. You will love som-e day, friend of my youth, but if your love ie unrequited- Y ou vmU not turn to the revolver for solace." "What do you mean?" asked the bewildered Trafford. A powerful reaction had left him weak — weak in voice aixl 1 w-eak in spirit. "I mean." said Saunders with slow emphasis, "that if you demand what your heart truly dissires an<" the response is ' no.' you will, in the words of j the pra-hdstoric doggerel, try, try again. Lov-3 that accents itef-eat is &v unhealthy passion. Lovo that tries to find relief in death is a di- r--e. You are diseased, cher ami. Buck up, and listen to the words of your good doctor." . "I am listening." said Trafford wearily. " Good ! You are suffering from a nervous temperament and hereditary instability. Physically you are sound. Your muscles are firm, your energy splendid, your tongue would quite probably shame a hothouse geranium. But your psychic self is out of gear. The wheels are racing |in your poor old brain. Little troubles j become great tragedies. Vital things seem small and insignificant. You need ' a potent remedy." i " And the potent remedy ? " demanded , Trafford chilly. i " Sunshine and perfect air." ) " Fiddlesticks ! " came a thin, petulant, disappointed voice. " No, not fiddlesticks, but G-rimland, a j little country on the borders of Austria and Russia. Visit it." went on Saunders ! in rousing tones. " Its highlands furnish 1 the finest scenery in Etirop-3. The air of its mountains is sparkling champagne! Its skies are pureet sapphire, its snows whiter than sheets of finest lawn ! To dwell there is to be a giant refreshed' with wine, a sane man with a sane mind, and a proper contempt for amorous contretemps. Pack up at once and catch the 2.20 from Charing Cress. Ido not advise, I command." Trafford appeared half persuaded by the other's mastery. He sat upright, and looked more or less alive aaain. "I should be bored," h-e objected. " Pardon me, you will forget the meaning of tie word borod,om. You ar-e a skater. Enter for the King's Cup. which it. skated for on New Year's Doy at Weid-?nbrutk. If you are boaten, a^ is probable, for the Grimlar.d-ers are a rition of skaters, there are other win'tr sprct*. to engross your mmd — toboj^anin^, curlirig, «ki-ing, and hockey on tlis ice. All are exhilaiating, most are dangerous.

Furthermore, you will have my society. In foui days my wife and I start as King Kairl'6 guests for the Neptunberg at Weidenbruck. For you, since you have not my advantages, I recommend the Hotel Concordia, a most excellent hostelry, with a decent cuisine and- recently i installed sanitation. You will accompany us on our journey." Trafford made a gesture of resignation. "I will give the place a trial," he said, " but honestly, I Temain sceptical as to its attractions. When the hammer of that revolver clicked against my forehead something seemed also to click inside my brain. Up to that point love had seemed the meaning of this world and the next. Now I feel that there is no meaning to anything." "Wait till you've got a pair of ekates on your feet and the breath of zero in your nostrils ! Wait till you've had a toss or two ski-ing, sund a spill on the ' Kastel ' toboggan tud ! There will be meaning enough in things then." '* So be it," ea.id Trafford resignedly. " I will come with you." Satindere rose, a look of genuine relie-i in his face.' - "Charing Cross, Tuesday next, 2.20 p.m.," he_said in fax heartier tones than ne- haH yet employed. " Till then " he held -the others- hand in a Jong grip. "Aad you are not afraid of leaving me with tbat?" Trafford pointed with a pale smile to .the- revolver on the table. "Not in the least," laughed Saunders. " Take it abroad with you. Only get out of the habit of leaving the first .chamber empty. Such ; practice might be fatal in Gr-mland."