“I am not sure about that,” said Julian, in low tones, without looking up at his aunt.
“What do you mean? Is the mystery not at an end yet?”
“The mystery has not even begun yet. Let my friend the consul proceed.”
Julian returned for the second time to his extract from the letter:
“‘After a careful examination of the supposed corpse, the German surgeon arrived at the conclusion that a case of suspended animation had (in the hurry of the French retreat) been mistaken for a case of death. Feeling a professional interest in the subject, he decided on putting his opinion to the test. He operated on the patient with complete success. After performing the operation he kept her for some days under his own care, and then transferred her to the nearest hospital—the hospital at Mannheim. He was obliged to return to his duties as army surgeon, and he left his patient in the condition in which I saw her, insensible on the bed. Neither he nor the hospital authorities knew anything whatever about the woman. No papers were found on her. All the doctors could do, when I asked them for information with a view to communicating with her friends, was to show me her linen marked with her, name. I left the hospital after taking down the name in my pocket-book. It was “Mercy Merrick.”’”
Lady Janet produced her pocket-book. “Let me take the name down too,” she said. “I never heard it before, and I might otherwise forget it. Go on, Julian.”
Julian advanced to his second extract from the consul’s letter:
“‘Under these circumstances, I could only wait to hear from the hospital when the patient was sufficiently recovered to be able to speak to me. Some weeks passed without my receiving any communication from the doctors. On calling to make inquiries I was informed that fever had set in, and that the poor creature’s condition now alternated between exhaustion and delirium. In her delirious moments the name of your aunt, Lady Janet Roy, frequently escaped her. Otherwise her wanderings were for the most part quite unintelligible to the people at her bedside. I thought once or twice of writing to you, and of begging you to speak to Lady Janet. But as the doctors informed me that the chances of life or death were at this time almost equally balanced, I decided to wait until time should determine whether it was necessary to trouble you or not.’”
“You know best, Julian,” said Lady Janet. “But I own I don’t quite see in what way I am interested in this part of the story.”
“Just what I was going to say,” added Horace. “It is very sad, no doubt. But what have we to do with it?”