and no more. In ominous silence, she turned about and ascended the stairs
again.
CHAPTER XVII
The departure from the house was interrupted by an unforeseen cause of
delay.
Jack refused to follow the hearse, with Doctor Dormann and Mr. Keller. "I
won't lose sight of her!" he cried--"no! not for a moment! Of all living
creatures, I must be the first to see her when she wakes."
Mr. Keller turned to the doctor. "What does he mean?"
The doctor, standing back in the shadow of the house, seemed to have some
reason for not answering otherwise than by gesture. He touched his
forehead significantly; and, stepping out into the road, took Jack by the
hand. The canopy of the hearse, closed at the sides, was open at either
end. From the driver's seat, the couch became easily visible on looking
round. With inexhaustible patience the doctor quieted the rising
excitement in Jack, and gained him permission to take his place by the
driver's side. Always grateful for kindness, he thanked Doctor Dormann,
with the tears falling fast over his cheeks. "I'm not crying for _her,"_
said the poor little man; "she will soon be herself again. But it's so
dreadful, sir, to go out driving with her in such a carriage as this!"
The hearse moved away.
Doctor Dormann, walking with Mr. Keller, felt his arm touched, and,
looking round, saw the dimly-outlined figure of a woman beckoning to him.
He drew back, after a word of apology to his companion, who continued to
follow the hearse. The woman met him half way. He recognized Madame
Fontaine.
"You are a learned man," she began abruptly. "Do you understand writing
in cipher?"
"Sometimes."
"If you have half an hour to spare this evening, look at that--and do me
the favor of telling me what it means."
She offered something to him, which appeared in the dim light to be only
a sheet of paper. He hesitated to take it from her. She tried to press it
on him.
"I found it among my husband's papers," she said. "He was a great
chemist, as you know. It might be interesting to you."
He still hesitated.
"Are _you_ acquainted with chemical science?" he asked.
"I am perfectly ignorant of chemical science."
"Then what interest can you have in interpreting the cipher?"
"I have a very serious interest. There may be something dangerous in it,
if it fell into unscrupulous hands. I want to know if I ought to destroy
it."
He suddenly took the paper from her. It felt stiff, like a sheet of
cartridge-paper.
"You shall hear," he said. "In case of necessity, I will destroy it
myself. Anything more?"
"One thing more. Does Jack go to the cemetery with you and Mr. Keller?"
"Yes."
Walking away rapidly to overtake Mr. Keller, he looked behind him once or
twice. The street was dimly lit, in those days, by a few oil lamps. He
might be mistaken--but he thought that Madame Fontaine was following him.
On leaving the city, the lanterns were lit to guide the hearse along the
road that led to the cemetery. The overseer met the bearers at the gates.
They passed, under a Doric portico, into a central hall. At its
right-hand extremity, an open door revealed a room for the accommodation
of mourners. Beyond this there was a courtyard; and, farther still, the
range of apartments devoted to the residence of the cemetery-overseer.
Turning from the right-hand division of the building, the bearers led the
way to the opposite extremity of the hall; passed through a second room
for mourners; crossed a second courtyard beyond it; and, turning into a
narrow passage, knocked at a closed door.
The door was opened by a watchman. He admitted them into a long room,
situated between the courtyard at one end, and the cemetery at the other,
and having ten side recesses which opened out of it. The long room was
the Watchman's Chamber. The recesses were the cells which held the dead.
The couch was set down in the Watchman's Chamber. It was a novelty in the
Deadhouse; and the overseer asked for an explanation. Doctor Dormann
informed him that the change had been made, with his full approval, to
satisfy a surviving friend, and that the coffin would be provided before
the certificate was granted for the burial.
While the persons present were all gathered round the doctor and the
overseer, Madame Fontaine softly pushed open the door from the courtyard.
After a look at the recesses--situated, five on either side of the length
of the room, and closed by black curtains--she parted the curtains of the
nearest recess to her, on her left hand; and stepped in without being
noticed by anyone.
"You take the responsibility of the couch, doctor, if the authorities
raise any objection?" said the overseer.
This condition being complied with, he addressed himself to the watchman.
"The cells are all empty to-night, Duntzer, are they not?"
"Yes, sir."
"Are you off duty, early or late this evening?"
"I am off duty in half an hour, sir."
The overseer pointed to the couch. "You can attend to this," he said.
"Take the cell that is the nearest to you, where the watchman's chair is
placed--Number Five."
He referred to the fifth recess, at the upper end of the room on the
right, counting from the courtyard door. The watchman looped up the black
curtains, while the bearers placed the couch in the cell. This done, the
bearers were dismissed.
Doctor Dormann pointed through the parted curtains to the lofty cell,
ventilated from the top, and warmed (like the Watchman's Chamber) by an
apparatus under the flooring. In the middle of the cell was a stand,
placed there to support the coffin. Above the stand a horizontal bar
projected, which was fixed over the doorway. It was furnished with a
pulley, through which passed a long thin string hanging loosely downward
at one end, and attached at the other to a small alarm-bell, placed over
the door on the outer side--that is to say, on the side of the Watchman's
Chamber.
"All the cells are equal in size," said the doctor to Mr. Keller, "and
are equally clean, and well warmed. The hot bath, in another room, is
always ready; and a cabinet, filled with restorative applications, is
close by. Now look at the watchman, and mark the care that is taken--in
the event, for instance, of a cataleptic trance, and of a revival
following it."
Duntzer led the way into the cell. He took the loose end of the string,
hanging from above, and attached to it two shorter and lighter strings,
each of which terminated in five loose ends.
From these ten ends hung ten little thimble-shaped objects, made of
brass.
First slightly altering the position of the couch on the stand, Duntzer
lifted the dead hands--fitted the ten brass thimbles to the fingers and
the thumbs--and gently laid the hands back on the breast of the corpse.
When he had looked up, and had satisfied himself of the exact connection
between the hands and the line communicating with the alarm-
bell outside,
his duty was done. He left the cell; and, seating himself in his chair,
waited the arrival of the night-watchman who was to relieve him.
Mr. Keller came out into the chamber, and spoke to the overseer.
"Is all done now?"
"All is done."
"I should like, while I am here, to speak to you about the grave."
The overseer bowed. "You can see the plan of the cemetery," he said, "in
my office on the other side of the building."
Mr. Keller looked back into the cell. Jack had taken his place in it,
when the couch had been carried in; and Doctor Dormann was quietly
observing him. Mr. Keller beckoned to Jack. "I am waiting for you," he
said. "Come!"
"And leave Mistress?" Jack answered. "Never!"
Mr. Keller was on the point of stepping into the cell, when Doctor
Dormann took his arm, and led him away out of hearing.
"I want to ask you a question," said the doctor. "Was that poor
creature's madness violent madness, when Mrs. Wagner took him out of the
London asylum?"
"I have heard her say so."
"Be careful what you do with him. Mrs. Wagner's death has tried his weak
brain seriously. I am afraid of a relapse into that violent
madness--leave him to me."
Mr. Keller left the room with the overseer. Doctor Dormann returned to
the cell.
"Listen to me, Jack," he said. "If your mistress revives (as you think),
I want you to see for yourself how she will tell it to the man who is on
the watch." He turned, and spoke to Duntzer. "Is the alarm-bell set?"
"Yes, sir."
The doctor addressed himself once more to Jack.
"Now look, and listen!" he said.
He delicately touched one of the brass thimbles, fitted to the fingers of
the corpse. The bell rang instantly in the Watchman's Chamber.
"The moment the man hears that," he resumed, "he will make the signal,
which calls the overseer and the nurses to help your mistress back to
life. At the same time, a messenger will be sent to Mr. Keller's house to
tell you what has happened. You see how well she is taken care of--and
you will behave sensibly, I am sure? I am going away. Come with me."
Jack answered as he had answered Mr. Keller.
"Never!" he said.
He flung himself on the floor, and clasped his arms round one of the
pillars supporting the stand on which the couch was placed. "Tear my arms
out of their sockets," he cried--"you won't get me away till you've done
that!"
Before the doctor could answer, footsteps were heard in the Watchman's
Chamber. A jolly voice asked a question. "Any report for the night,
Duntzer?"
Jack seemed to recognize the voice. He looked round eagerly.
"A corpse in Number Five," Duntzer answered. "And strangers in the cell.
Contrary to the order for the night, as you know. I have reported them;
it's your duty to send them away. Good night."
A red-nosed old man looked in at the doorway of the cell. Jack started to
his feet. "Here's Schwartz!" he cried--"leave me with Schwartz!"
CHAPTER XVIII
The discovery of Jack agreeably surprised Schwartz, without in the least
perplexing him.
His little friend (as he reasoned) had, no doubt, remembered the
invitation to the Deadhouse, and had obtained admission through the
interference of the strange gentleman who was with him. But who was the
gentleman? The deputy night-watchman (though he might carry messages for
his relative the nurse) was not personally acquainted with his sister's
medical patrons in Frankfort. He looked at the doctor with an expression
of considerable doubt.
"I beg your pardon, sir," he ventured to say, "you're not a member of the
city council, are you?"
"I have nothing to do with the city council."
"And nothing to do with managing the Deadhouse?"
"Nothing. I am Doctor Dormann."
Schwartz snapped his clumsy fingers, as an appropriate expression of
relief. "All right, sir! Leave the little man with me--I'll take care of
him."
"Do you know this person?" asked the doctor, turning to Jack.
"Yes! yes! leave me here with him," Jack answered eagerly. "Good-night,
sir--good-night!"
Doctor Dormann looked again at Jack's friend.
"I thought strangers were not allowed here at night," he said.
"It's against the rules," Schwartz admitted. "But, Lord love you, sir,
think of the dullness of this place! Besides, I'm only a deputy. In three
nights more, the regular man will come on duty again. It's an awful job,
doctor, watching alone here, all night. One of the men actually went mad,
and hanged himself. To be sure he was a poet in his way, which makes it
less remarkable. I'm not a poet myself--I'm only a sociable creature.
Leave little Jack with me! I'll send him home safe and sound--I feel like
a father to him."
The doctor hesitated. What was he to do? Jack had already returned to the
cell in which his mistress lay. To remove him by the brutal exercise of
main force was a proceeding from which Doctor Dormann's delicacy of
feeling naturally recoiled--to say nothing of the danger of provoking
that outbreak of madness against which the doctor had himself warned Mr.
Keller. Persuasion he had already tried in vain. Delegated authority to
control Jack had not been conferred on him. There seemed to be no other
course than to yield.
"If you persist in your obstinacy," he said to Jack, "I must return alone
to Mr. Keller's house, and tell him that I have left you here with your
friend."
Jack was already absorbed in his own thoughts. He only repeated vacantly,
"Good-night."
Doctor Dormann left the room. Schwartz looked in at his guest. "Wait
there for the present," he said. "The porter will be here directly: I
don't want him to see you."
The porter came in after an interval. "All right for the night?" he
asked.
"All right," Schwartz answered.
The porter withdrew in silence. The night-watchman's reply was his
authority for closing the gates of the Deadhouse until the next morning.
Schwartz returned to Jack--still watching patiently by the side of the
couch. "Was she a relation of yours?" he asked.
"All the relations in the world to me!" Jack burst out passionately.
"Father and mother--and brother and sister and wife."
"Aye, aye? Five relations in one is what I call an economical family,"
said Schwartz. "Come out here, to the table. You stood treat last
time--my turn now. I've got the wine handy. Yes, yes--she was a fine
woman in her time, I dare say. Why haven't you put her into a coffin like
other people?"
"Why?" Jack repeated indignantly. "I couldn't prevent them from bringing
her here; but I could have burnt the house down over their heads, if they
had dared to put her into a coffin! Are you stupid enough to suppose that
Mistress is dead? Don't you know that I'm watching and waiting here till
she wakes? Ah! I beg your pardon--you don't know. The rest of them would
have let her die. I saved her life. Come here, and I'll tell you how." br />
He dragged Schwartz into the cell. As the watchman disappeared from view,
the wild white face of Madame Fontaine appeared between the curtains of
her hiding-place, listening to Jack's narrative of the opening of the
cupboard, and the discovery that had followed.
Schwartz humored his little friend (evidently, as he now concluded, his
crazy little friend), by listening in respectful silence. Instead of
making any remark at the end, he mentioned once more that the wine was
handy. "Come!" he reiterated; "come to the table!"
Madame Fontaine drew back again behind the curtains. Jack remained
obstinately in the cell. "I mean to see it," he said, "the moment she
moves."
"Do you think your eyes will tell you?" Schwartz remonstrated. "You look
dead-beat already; your eyes will get tired. Trust the bell here, over
the door. Brass and steel don't get tired; brass and steel don't fall
asleep; brass and steel will ring, and call you to her. Take a rest and a
drink."
These words reminded Jack of the doctor's experiment with the alarm-bell.
He could not disguise from himself the stealthily-growing sense of
fatigue in his head and his limbs. "I'm afraid you're right," he said
sadly. "I wish I was a stronger man." He joined Schwartz at the table,
and dropped wearily into the watchman's chair.
His head sank on his breast, his eyes closed. He started up again. "She
may want help when she wakes!" he cried, with a look of terror. "What
must we do? Can we carry her home between us? Oh! Schwartz, I was so
confident in myself a little while since--and it seems all to have left
me now!"
"Don't worry that weary little head of yours about nothing," Schwartz
answered, with rough good-nature. "Come along with me, and I'll show you
where help's to be got when help's wanted. No! no! you won't be out of
hearing of the bell--if it rings. We'll leave the door open. It's only on
the other side of the passage here."
He lighted a lantern, and led Jack out.
Leaving the courtyard and the waiting-room on their left hand, he
advanced along the right-hand side of the passage, and opened the door of
a bed-chamber, always kept ready for use. A second door in the
bed-chamber led to a bath-room. Here, opposite the bath, stood the
cabinet in which the restorative applications were kept, under the care
of the overseer.
When the two men had gone out, Madame Fontaine ventured into the
Watchman's Chamber. Her eyes turned towards the one terrible cell, at the
farther end of the row of black curtains. She advanced towards it; and
stopped, lifting her hands to her head in the desperate effort to compose
herself.
The terror of impending discovery had never left her, since Jack had
owned the use to which he had put the contents of the blue-glass bottle.
Animated by that all-mastering dread, she had thrown away every poison in
the medicine-chest--had broken the bottles into fragments--and had taken
those fragments out with her, when she left the house to follow Doctor
Dormann. On the way to the cemetery, she had scattered the morsels of
broken glass and torn paper on the dark road outside the city gate.
Nothing now remained but the empty medicine-chest, and the writing in
cipher, once rolled round the poison called the "Looking-Glass Drops."
Under these altered circumstances, she had risked asking Doctor Dormann
to interpret the mysterious characters, on the bare chance of their
containing some warning by which she might profit, in her present
ignorance of the results which Jack's ignorant interference might