He marched to the door, passed out and disappeared. I chewed the bitter cud of thought for some hours. Meanwhile I grew desperately hungry, ay, and thirsty, too. There came a time when I would have given the last of my possessions for a beef-steak and a jug of water. And, oh! how tired I was of my position. The blood gradually ceased to circulate properly through all my parts. My hands became purple. My legs went to sleep. My limbs were on a rack of pins and needles and even breathing hurt me. I did my best by straining at the bonds at intervals to promote the arterial flow and stop the agony of muscular irritation. But it was a poor best, and I sank welcomely at length into a benumbed lethargic state near akin to stupor, from which I knew I could wake to anguish by the merest movement.
As near as I can guess twelve hours had uncoiled their lethal folds before my infernal captor returned to the laboratory. One instant I was sharply sensible and suffering most damnably. The rogue looked positively sick and he smelt like a gin palace. He had evidently drunk a deal of spirit, but he was not the least intoxicated. "It is over!" he cried and threw himself into a chair.
"What?" I questioned.
"Ottley is dead," said he, "and I am glad of it, all said and done, though I worked like a galley slave to keep him by me. He was a fine cloak for my doings, but he grew wearisome—the fractious old fool—at times. And I'm not sure I'd bring him back now—were I able."
"And Miss Ottley?"
"A pretty scene!" He shrugged his shoulders, then grimaced and whistled. "I'm her father's murderer, it seems!" He stretched out his arms and yawned. "But she's not responsible, poor thing—grief demented. The two consulting physicians heartily sympathised with me. They knew how I had worked, you see, and Sir Philip Lang himself suggested morphia. They've signed a paper giving me control of her—under their directions I'm trustee of the estate under the will besides. Lang thinks she may recover—ultimately, but it is evident that she must be confined. She raved of mummies, and spirits, and dead men come to life from the sleep of ages, and so forth. It impressed Lang, vastly. He tapped his sage old head and muttered 'Too much learning.' He has a fad that woman's brains are nurtured best on pap, and I had the tact to humour him. Oh! I'm a devilish clever fellow, Pinsent. What do you think?"
"There is little doubt of it," I said politely, very politely, indeed, for I wished to get as much information from him as I could and also something to eat and drink. "With your brains you might do anything. I suspect I have hitherto misjudged you. Still, I wonder that you are not an archbishop. It seems to me the Church would give you the proper cloak you need to exercise your talents in."
"Gad!" he cried. "There's point in that remark. But between ourselves, Pinsent, I aim at higher game than spiritual power."
"Temporal," I suggested.
"The highest," he answered, sitting up. "And what's to prevent me?" he asked defiantly. "No man's life is safe from me."