The Luck of the Vails: A Novel

by E. F. Benson

Interminable eons passed, or may be ten minutes, but at the end of infinite time came scarcely sound, but an absence of complete silence, from the door. From behind the thick curtains the doctor could see nothing, but a moment later came the gentle sigh of the scraped carpet, and from that, or from the infallible sixth sense that awakes only in the dark, he knew that some one had entered. Then from closer at hand he heard the faintest shuffle of movement, and he knew that, whoever this was in the room besides the groom and himself, he was not a couple of yards distant. After another while the least vibration sounded from the glasses in the tray, as if a hand had touched them unwittingly, and again dead stillness succeeded, till the doctor's ears sang with it. Then from the bed his ear suddenly focused the breathings of two persons—one very short and quick, the other a slow, steady respiration, and simultaneously with that his nostril caught the whiff of chloroform. Again the rustle of linen sounded, and hearing that, he held his breath and counted the pulse which throbbed in his own temples. Twenty times it beat, and on the twentieth stroke his finger pressed the switch of the light, and he drew back the curtain.

Already Jim was sitting up in bed, bland and impassive in face, and his left hand flung the reeking napkin from him. By the bedside crouched a white-haired figure clad in a blue dressing gown; close by it on the floor stood the leather case which held the Luck; the right hand was still stretched over the bed, though the napkin which it had held was plucked from it. His face was flushed with colour; the bright blue eyes, a little puckered up in this sudden change from darkness to the glare of the electric light, moved slowly from Jim to the doctor and back again. But no word passed the thin, compressed lips.

Suddenly the alertness of the face was gone like a burst bubble; the mouth opened and drooped, the eyes grew staring and sightless; the left hand only seemed to retain its vitality, and felt gropingly on the carpet for the Luck. Then, with a slow, supreme effort, the figure half raised itself, drawing the jewel tight to its breast, folding both arms about it, with fingers intertwined in the strap that carried it. Then it collapsed completely, rolled over, and lay face downward on the floor.

For one moment neither of the others stirred; then, recovering himself, the doctor stepped down from the window seat.

"Put on your coat and trousers, Jim," he said, "and come with me quickly. Yes, leave him—it—there. I will come back presently. We have to catch Sanders now, and we must go without a light. You behaved admirably. Now follow me."

"Is it dead, sir?" whispered Jim.

"I think so. Come!"

In the eagerness of their pursuit they crossed the passage without looking to right hand or left, and felt their way down the many-angled stairs. The hall was faintly lit by the pallor of moonshine that came through the skylight, and without difficulty they found the baize door leading into the servants' parts. But here with the shuttered windows reigned the darkness of Egypt, and despairing of finding his way, the doctor lit a match to guide them to the farther end of the passage where was the plate closet. But when they reached it, it was to find the door open and none within. In all directions stood boxes with forced lids. Here a dozen spoons were scattered on the floor, here a saltcellar; but the rifling had been fairly complete.