He injected a little morphia, and after a while had the satisfaction of seeing Basil fall comfortably asleep.
Frank put away his syringe with a meditative smile.
“It’s rather funny,” he muttered, “that the most tempestuous and tragic of human emotions are no match against a full dose of morphinæ hydrochlor.”
That tiny instrument could allay the troubled mind; grief and remorse lost their vehemence under its action, the pangs of conscience were stilled, and pain, the great enemy of man, was effectually vanquished. It emphasized the fact that the finest-strung emotions of the human race depended on the matter which fools have stigmatized as gross. Frank, in one wide-embracing curse, expressed his whole-hearted abhorrence of dualists, spiritualists, Christian Scientists, quacks, and popularizers of science; then, enveloped in a rug, settled down comfortably in an armchair to await the tardy dawn.
Two hours later he found himself at Barnes, gathering at the police-station more precise details of Jenny’s tragic death than Basil had been able to give him. Frank told the inspector that Kent was in a condition of absolute collapse and able personally to attend to nothing, then gave his own address, and placed himself for all needful business at the disposal of the authorities. He discovered that the inquest would probably be held two days later, and guaranteed that Basil would then be well enough to attend. After this he went to the house and found the servant amazed because neither master nor mistress had slept in bed, told her what had happened, and then wrote to James Bush some account of the facts. He promised the maid to return next morning, and went back to Harley Street.
Basil was up, but terribly depressed. All day he would not speak, and Frank could only divine the frightful agony he suffered. He went over in his mind eternally that scene with Hilda and his bitter words to his wife; and always he saw her in two ways: appealing for one last chance, and then—dead. Sometimes he felt he could scream with anguish when he recalled those passionate words of his to Hilda, for it seemed that final surrender was the cause of the whole catastrophe.
Next day, when Frank was about to go out, he turned to Basil, who was looking moodily into the fire.
“I’m going to Barnes, old chap. Is there anything you want?”
Basil began to tremble violently, and his pallor grew still more ghastly.
“What about the inquest? Have I got to go through that?”