CHAPTER VI.
GONE!
Pale and trembling with excitement, Violet knelt at the side of the body, her eyes fastened with burning intensity upon the white, still face. Had she deceived herself, or did she really see the linen upon her mother’s breast move slightly? Who has not imagined similar improbabilities when gazing upon the corpse of a loved one? The closed eyes seem striving to open, the chest appears to rise and fall; even one may fancy that the breath flutters feebly from between the parted lips. But what Violet Arleigh saw as she knelt at the side of the couch was this: A shiver seemed to run over the still, rigid form, and one hand, lying upon the breast, moved slightly. With a stifled cry, the girl started to her feet, and rushing to the door of the room where the physician sat, threw it open.
“Doctor Danton!”—her voice low and awe-stricken—“for the love of Heaven, come to my mother; she is——”
The physician raised the fore-finger of his right hand and laid it lightly upon her lips with a gesture of silence.
“Hush!” he whispered, cautiously; “do not let any one hear you, Violet. Listen to me. You have known me all your life; you know that Rosamond Arleigh was very dear to me; you will believe me when I say that I have good reason to believe that a terrible crime has been attempted.”
“Doctor Danton!”
Her voice rang out in wild alarm.
“It is true, my dear. It is so apparently true, and I am so fully convinced of foul play, that I have taken certain steps in the matter. Wait a moment, my child; I will explain all when I have looked at your mother.”
He stepped swiftly, noiselessly to the side of the couch, and gazed long and earnestly into the still, white face. The doctor nodded gravely. He was a fine-looking man of middle age, with a face that any woman would trust, with its deep, gray eyes, and dark hair just touched with silver.
“It is as I thought,” he said.
He drew from his pocket a small leathern case, and opening it, selected a vial from the half dozen that it contained. He proceeded to pour a few drops between the teeth of the supposed dead woman.
“Violet, my child”—the doctor lifted his head, and his eyes met the bewildered gaze of the girl—“I do not like to raise false hopes in your heart, but I believe, I truly believe, that there is a hope of saving your mother yet. I do not think that she is dead.”
“Oh, thank God! thank God! Let me go and call Aunt Constance at once.”
“Not for your life!” Doctor Danton’s hand came down upon the girl’s shoulder. “Stop!” he commanded; “listen to me! If I restore Rosamond Arleigh to life once more, no one must know or suspect the truth—no one but yourself and the gentleman in the room yonder. Violet, he is a detective.”
“A—detective?” gasped the girl.
“Yes; and an exceedingly clever one at that. I sent for him to keep watch with me to-night, having first, with some difficulty, induced Mrs. Rutledge to consent to leave everything to me. But first I administered a potion to your mother which will restore circulation and keep her in this condition until I can go to work properly in the case. Violet, I believe that some one has attempted her life. The empty chloral bottle was placed at her side to give the impression that she had died from an overdose of chloral, taken accidentally or with design.”
“Good heavens! Doctor Danton, my mother would never have been guilty of suicide.”
“I know it, my dear. She desired to live for your sake. But how can we convince the public of that? Neither I nor any of the other attending physicians could find anything that would justify a verdict of suicide; and I, noting something unusual about the body, and acting upon certain hints in regard to her condition lately given me by your mother, have ventured to take the course that I have taken. I made a clean breast of the affair to Mr. Dunbar, the famous detective. The result is that he is here to-night, and his suspicions are fully aroused as to the evidence of an attempted crime. Violet, can you be strong and brave, and control your nerves? Will you be obedient? Can you help me in everything, for your mother’s sake?”
The great tears rushed into the girl’s dark eyes.
“Try me—try me!” she cried. “Oh, Doctor Danton, I would do anything for my dear mother!”
“I knew it. Well, then, the first thing you must do is to go straight upstairs to your own room and go to bed.”
“Doctor!”
“You have promised to be obedient, Violet. Now trust me. I believe that I can resuscitate your mother, but no one outside must know it, if you would apprehend her would-be murderer. I want you to appear, and be, perfectly ignorant of all that takes place. I will inform you of all that transpires—all the results—as soon as possible. Trust me, Violet.”
“I will—I do!” she sobbed.
“Listen; this is my plan: everybody must believe that your mother is really dead. I have given her a potion which will keep her quiet, and no one will suspect the truth. The potion must be administered every two hours, or the effect will wear off. I intend to keep her as she is at present for a few hours. In the meantime, Dunbar and I will fill the coffin with lead and bricks, and it shall be buried. The funeral is appointed for ten in the morning, you know. The coffin must be buried, and the public be blinded to the fact that it contains no body, otherwise the murderer will escape. I will arrange so that the lid shall be fastened down, and no one will be permitted to open it. Then, when everything is ready, I will have your mother’s unconscious body taken to my house, and there she shall be restored to health, that she may punish and expose her would-be murderer. Violet, I believe from the bottom of my heart, that this man, Gilbert Warrington, was the man who attempted your mother’s life.”
“Oh, Heaven!”
“I believe it. But it can not be proven without her assistance, no matter how clever a detective we hire.”
“But,” panted Violet, wildly, “what object would Gilbert Warrington have to attempt such a crime? It does not seem——”
“It is quite possible,” interrupted the physician, hastily. “He has been her evil genius for years, though what is the secret of the power that he holds over her I could never learn. She guarded it as though it would be death to reveal it. I have begged her to confide in me—to give me the right to protect her—but she refused absolutely, and went on in silence, with that black secret, whatever it may be, hanging over her head like a shadow. I believe that Warrington has hounded her down to her death. I believe that he has attempted her murder, and then, wishing to throw suspicion upon her and make the world believe that she committed suicide, he placed the chloral bottle at her side. He was her bitter enemy in life, and in death would blacken her good name. Violet, what was Gilbert Warrington to your mother? Do you know or suspect?”
Violet shook her head. A slow horror stole over her heart as she remembered her promise to obey this villain implicitly in whatever he might bid her to do in regard to her future. This promise was binding; to a girl like Violet Arleigh it seemed impossible to break a solemn obligation. But she trembled with terror, and her heart was sore afraid.
“Go to your own room, Violet,” continued the physician, after a pause. “Dunbar and I will attend to the rest. You must try and sleep, too. Remember, my dear, that your mother is not dead, and all that human power can do shall be done for her. Good-night, my dear.”
Violet laid her hand in his. He stooped and kissed the girl’s pale cheek. Then she left the room and hastened upstairs to her own chamber. Her heart was full to overflowing with a wild, mad joy. Her mother would be restored to her in time, and together they would hunt down that wretch, Gilbert Warrington, to his just punishment.
Down-stairs Doctor Danton and the detective sat conversing for awhile in low, eager tones. Outside the grounds of The Oaks, near a rear entrance, a closed carriage had been waiting for a half-hour or more, the driver on the box waiting with calm patience for the coming of his master. Danton and Dunbar were busily arranging every detail of the hard work before them, going carefully over every point lest there be some misunderstanding, which, even though slight, might wreck the whole plot. Doctor Danton glanced at the clock on the mantel at last.
“It is nearly one o’clock,” he exclaimed, in a cautious tone. “It is quite time for us to start, Dunbar; and I heard Tom’s whistle a moment ago, which proves that my faithful coachman is in waiting. I will wrap Mrs. Arleigh up in a cloak and carry her out to the carriage, and we will drive like mad to my house. You remain here to close the coffin lid. In your assumed character of my assistant, no one will recognize the eminent New Orleans detective. Mrs. Rutledge must be told in the morning—I will be back here to do it—that on account of decomposition the body must not be exposed. I think that we will be able to carry out our plans. Only one must be very, very careful, for one little slip will ruin all. And——”
He came to a startled halt. The two men had entered the room where Rosamond Arleigh’s supposed corpse lay upon the couch. But there was nothing there; the body was gone!
