THE DOCTOR'S DISCOVERY

Taranaki Daily News, Volume L, Issue 61, 26 October 1907, Page 3

THE DOCTOR'S DISCOVERY

The physician released his hold on the wrist of Magnus Weatherman, the banker, whose sudden seizure, just as he arose from the breakfast table, had so alarmed his family. It was two hours since the man now stretched upon the bed had groaned, whirled, and fallen to the floor. At the side of the coueh was Dr Raymond, Mrs Weatherman, a nervous maid, aud the little child whose presence was overlooked, or forgotten. Dr Raymond laid his hand on the cover." "He is dead," he said slowly. If he had expected the wife to make an outcry, or to faint, his caution was needless. She bit her lip, rose unsteadily, and rather wildly tried to say something. But there was no overwhelming sorrow in her face. The silence grew oppressive, and the child began to cry, not from realisation, I but from the strangeness. The maid hastily picked him up and fled from the roem, sobbing as she stumbled out. Mrs Weatherman turned again to the bed, where lay the quiet and massive flgur*, "He—he is dead," she repeated, as though to impress the fact upon her brain. "It is hard to comprehend." Dr. Raymond looked at her gravely, with no touch of sympathy. It was evidently not needed.

H« noticed that she even remembered to hold Uer handsome head at the angle at which she had been so much admired in her portrait exhibited at the Acadrmy, and there was a delicate pink flush coming back to her lovely girlish face. He moved towards the door. "1 must send for someone." she said, unevenly. "I will telegraph for Gerald Weatherman, his brother, at Hyde Park. WW you take the message, Dr. Raymond?" "Certainly," said the doctor.

He glanced at the still figure on the bed, with its set face, and followed Mrs Weatherman down the broad stairs. She led the way to the librarv, bat the physician paused in sudden remembrance.

"Pardon me," he said; "I'll be back when you have the message written. I left my gloves and case in the dining room."

He rapidly walked down the hall Into the big, sunny room, which had witness cd the beginning of the tragedy. The disorder of the table, "and the cloth half-pulled off, together with the added touch of the upset chair, told the. story.

It had been on this spot that the dead man had lain two hours before. The doctor carefully moved round the place, in order not to step on It. He had been the friend of Weatherman, one of the few that the rather cold, repressed man had Dermitted himself.

He knew his history. He was bound to him by knowledge which often make 9 the family physician an unwilling father confessor. There had been a time in his friendship when he had witnessed tint rare thing, the revcalment of a strong man's heart, and the memory had seared his brain. There was beginning to throb in his inmost eoul a bitter resentment tint there was no mourning, no outcry, no heartbreak—nothing but a decorous silence over the corpse of the man upstairs. He deserved more. He had always deserved more than he received. One of the gloves had dropped to the Boor, half under the table-cloth. As he picked it up, there rolled out from under the table, drawn in its wake, a tiny bottle, resembling the ones he carried in his case. He reached for it and looked at it, casually, next surprised and puzzled, then with a white, settled, comprehending expression. "I do not want to believe it," he sail, argumentativcly. "I could not answer for myself," fiercely. "Good heavens!" as his relentless professional habit pressed facts upon him; "why did I find It?" There was a soft rustle, and Mrs Weatnernian came in. She was paler than when lie left the death-bed, and her eyes were dark with some emotion. "ft is written;' she said, approaching the table. "I can't think of what cl*c to do. You will—see to things?" Even as she spoke, ner eyes searched the table with a flashing persistence, travelled Over the floor, and same back to his face with a pitiful attempt at anything but anxiety. She leaned against the table, and her nostrils dilated. "Yes," he said; "I will attend to things. Of course, there will be an inquest." The woman before him was stricken as with a sudden wave of paralysis. She turned presently and sat down. "An inquest?" she said, sharply. ■■What for? Surely " "It is customary," he said, keeping his eyes" on the glove he was drawing on. "A mere matter of form! I will be there," "You?'

There was an involuntary appeal In her voice.

"Yes," Dr Raymond said, gently. He opened his ease; there was a bottle In his hand.

"I must have dropped this bottle of j arsenic on the floor when I first came In," he said meditatively; "1 found it under the table." The rows of bottles in the case were exposed to view. They were all in place, and not one was missing. He looked at her, and at the bottle in his hand. There was nothing in her face but the helpless fascination of the victim of the hypnotist or snake. fn her eyes he read, "What is lie going to do'r" and in her little nerveless hands with their sparkling rings—awful baubles at this instant—he read panic and horrible fear.

Slowly he straightened up and buttoned his coat. She watched him. IT« put the little bottle in his inside pocket before the last button was closed. "Do not worry about the inquest," he said calmly, in a voice which might have sarcasm iii it, and might not. "I Will give a "certificate. And the telegram, Mrs Weatherman? To Cerald, you know.*' She came back to life with a start. _ "•fill, vcs." shes aid; "here, take it. Send for r.erald. I—l want him. 1 feel ill." She sat in :i crumpled, starlit" heap when Dr. Tiavinond left the room and j the house. . As he came nut or the drive, In the j bright sun. ho looked at the telegram i in his hand with a certain shrinking. "It brings mo in touch wiih him in a way," he muttered. His fricmbhi" had not extended to

Gerald Weatherman. They were antagonistic. " 'Send for Gerald!' Yes, now she can send for him openly. And he can come openly. What a travesty on a matt—and what a travesty on a woman!" The physician's eyes, which were hardened to all sad sights, grew strangely blurred as he let surge up in his mind memories of the wrongs, the sorrows, the ceaseless miseries of the life just gone out. Then came au exultant Hash as ho pressed the little bottle in his hand. In that l-.-.y the n-.r-.-rr,s Oi revengepower to repay all the betrayals of the silent banker by bringing justice down to earth. It was certainly his duty to tell, without reserve, all he knew. He was the only person who had the power to authoritatively dispose of the future of the widow of Mangus Weatherman! The knowledge buoyed him up with a barbaric gladness. There had always been rebellion in his blood, when those silent eyes of hers

had softened at Cerald's "step, had brightened only at Gerald's delicate compliments, liad besought only Geralds approval and forgiveness. They had simply spoken toleration in Mangus's direction, and Dr Raymond recalled the night he had spent with the husband, when he had, just for once, broken down in his iron 'stwnness and cravid for human sympathy along with the weaker ones of the earth.

He had never forgotten that night. He would testify at the inquest—and preserve the bottle. Dr. Raymond walked briskly down the drive, to meet the carriage.' was confusion in his head. "lie found himself saying, "To what end?" and then he stopped again and surveyed the facts Mildly. Should he insist upon an inquest? Rapidly he saw the result—a great newspaper sensation, a notorious trial, the complete final and just agony of a wicked hut luxurious and retiring woman. Who would be served? And then there was Mangus Weatherman's child. His life demanded recognition in the same measure as the father's demanded revenge. On the other hand—Dr Raymond smiled grimly, slowly, while his coachman wondered at his strange actions as hj» walked up and down—on the other hand, was there not a finer and more perfect revenge, a more lingering penalty, for her sin? He knew Gerald Weathermao; he knew him to the dregs of his shiftless, cowardly, dishonorable soul—knew just how he would torture the shivering woman when his base passion for her had run out. She was one of the dainty ones of creation, marvellously led astray by mistaken love. When once he became her husband, and she comprehended Gerald Weatherman, life would be to her a lifo surpassing even imagination.

And the child, Mangus's child, would be spared a stain on his name.

Dr. Raymond looked up cheerfully. He stepped into his brougham and 'said, "Homel" Then he uncorked the treacherous little bottle, and as he was briskly driven along, held it upside down out of the window until the powder was gone.

Next he broke the bottle, and threw it away.

"Yes," he said, with a weary droop of the head, as he saw once more the silent deserted chamber in the Weatherman home, with the still, patient figure of the murdered man on the couch, "it is much better to send for Gerald."