Suddenly Alfred sprang up in bed, and stared at him with feverish eyes.
“There, there, there!” he cried, as if fear and indignation had deprived him of words. “Do you want to poison me? I believe you do. I can’t make you out, John. I’m afraid of you. You’re not the same man I used to know, and I’ll not stay under your roof another night! I tell you, I’m afraid of you.”
Remonstrance was useless, but indeed his host did not press him very much to stay; his chief wish now was to get his guest out of the house before Stelfox could learn his intention to go. In this he succeeded. Ordering the landau to be brought round, he himself helped Marrable downstairs, accompanied him to the station, reserved a first-class compartment for him, and made him as comfortable as he could with rugs and wraps. Then he looked in at the carriage window and spoke to him in tones to which joy at his departure lent an appearance of real warmth.
“My dear fellow,” he said, “I am afraid ours has been an unlucky meeting after all these years. But I’ve been worried lately; I’m not myself at all. But I’m not one to forget my old friends, and so you’ll find when you get back to town, if you’ll open this,” and he handed Marrable a large envelope sealed with red wax. “Just send me your address when you get home, and let me know whenever you change it. And every quarter you shall have a similar little packet from me as long as you need it, for auld lang syne. And a happy new year to you, old man.”
So saying, John Bradfield wrung his friend’s hand with a heartiness which soothed Marrable’s wounded feelings, and even went far, for the moment at least, towards deceiving him as to his friend’s real sentiments.
John Bradfield went home with a lighter heart. Here was one danger got over, for the present at least. There remained one other to be grappled with; that other was—Stelfox.
There could be little doubt that the man-servant had of late formed some sort of league against his master with that master’s victim, and Mr. Bradfield was anxious to know the exact terms of the compact. On reaching home, therefore, he condescended to play the spy, and with this object watched his opportunity, and when Stelfox unlocked the door of Mr. Richard’s apartments and went in, Mr. Bradfield followed him, entering by means of a duplicate key of his own.
Between the outer door by which he had just passed in, and the door of Mr. Richard’s sitting-room, there was a passage, very dark and very narrow, lighted only by a little square window in the centre of the inner door, which had been made for secret observation, by Mr. Bradfield’s order, of the lunatic’s movements.
Mr. Bradfield was advancing with cautious steps towards this window when he suddenly paused, struck motionless with terror. And yet he could see nothing, he could not even distinctly hear the words that were being exchanged in the room. All that he knew, in fact, was that he heard two voices in conversation. After a few moments of absolute stillness and hideous terror, he moved spasmodically forward to the inner door and looked through the little square window. All that he saw was Mr. Richard, seated at the table talking to Stelfox, who stood respectfully before him.
Mr. Bradfield drew a long, gasping breath; made his way, stumbling at every other step, back through the passage on to the landing at the head of the staircase outside. There he made one step in the direction of the stairs, staggered, and fell down, gasping, unconscious, digging his nails into the flesh of his hands.