“I can stand no more,” he whispered, and, reaching for the bottle, knocked its head off against the wall. A gush of liquid came over his hand, a stinging fragrance to his nostrils—brandy!
“Thank God!” he ejaculated fervently, and without hesitation put his mouth to the shattered edge, indifferent to consequences, and gulping once or twice, replaced the bottle on the stones. The potent stuff poured into his veins; its fumes rose to his brain. Like any overtaken sot, he toppled prone, and lapsed into quick insensibility.
A cry in his brain, a pertinacious worry of light in his eyes, awoke him, and he raised his head. There were people in the cellar—his secretary, Miss Halifax, a curious stranger, a police constable holding a dark-lantern. The lady, from whom the pity-stricken exclamation seemed to have come, stood, one hand poised at her lips, a little apart. The secretary bent over him.
“It’s all right, sir,” he said. “He’s caught, thank God!”
Gilead, with assistance, staggered to his feet.
“What—where!” he exclaimed wildly—“Mr Justice Starkey?”
“Ah!” said the secretary; “you know his name, then?”
“He told me plain enough,” said Gilead faintly—“and his purpose; but that was after he’d locked me in. How did you know? how did you find me?”
“It was Miss Halifax, sir,” said the secretary. “You told her about the appointment, you know, and the thing worried her—worried her to that degree that in the evening she must come round to confide her fears to me. I didn’t like the sound of it myself, and, after consultation, we decided to take a cab to Raxe’s hotel and discover what we could about Mr Judex. That was near ten o’clock, and we reached the place to find it in a commotion over the man himself. It appeared that he had escaped from a private asylum at Sutton, and had eluded recapture until his own advertisement gave him away. The attendants had been waiting for his return to the hotel, and had nabbed him just before our arrival. I stated our fears to them, and sure enough, on overhauling him, they found in his possession the key of his own front-door, which he had procured, under his assumed name, from the house-agents. This gentleman representing the asylum, we all came on together, and engaging the services of a constable, entered the house. From a hint let fall by the madman, we gathered that we should find you locked in somewhere down here, and your snoring, sir, led us to the spot.”
Gilead, with a faint blush, glanced down at the tell-tale bottle.