The Jewel of Seven Stars by Bram Stoker (books to read in your 20s TXT) 📕

fascinations for me;

though at every new thought I find myself romancing in a way that makes

me pull up suddenly and look facts resolutely in the face. I sometimes

wonder whether the influence or emanation from the sick-room at times

affects me as it did the others—the Detective, for instance. Of course

it may be that if it is anything chemical, any drug, for example, in

vaporeal form, its effects may be cumulative. But then, what could

there be that could produce such an effect? The room is, I know, full

of mummy smell; and no wonder, with so many relics from the tomb, let

alone the actual mummy of that animal which Silvio attacked. By the

way, I am going to test him tomorrow; I have been on the trace of a

mummy cat, and am to get possession of it in the morning. Wnen I bring

it here we shall find out if it be a fact that racial instinct can

survive a few thousand years in the grave. However, to get back to the

subject in hand. These very mummy smells arise from the presence of

substances, and combinations of substances, which the Egyptian priests,

who were the learned men and scientists of their time, found by the

experience of centuries to be strong enough to arrest the natural forces

of decay. There must be powerful agencies at work to effect such a

purpose; and it is possible that we may have here some rare substance or

combination whose qualities and powers are not understood in this later

and more prosaic age. I wonder if Mr. Trelawny has any knowledge, or

even suspicion, of such a kind? I only know this for certain, that a

worse atmosphere for a sick chamber could not possibly be imagined; and

I admire the courage of Sir James Frere in refusing to have anything to

do with a case under such conditions. These instructions of Mr.

Trelawny to his daughter, and from what you have told me, the care with

which he has protected his wishes through his solicitor, show that he

suspected something, at any rate. Indeed, it would almost seem as if he

expected something to happen… .I wonder if it would be possible to

learn anything about that! Surely his papers would show or suggest

something… .It is a difficult matter to tackle; but it might have to

be done. His present condition cannot go on for ever; and if anything

should happen there would have to be an inquest. In such case full

examination would have to be made into everything… .As it stands,

the police evidence would show a murderous attack more than once

repeated. As no clue is apparent, it would be necessary to seek one in

a motive.”

 

He was silent. The last words seemed to come in a lower and lower tone

as he went on. It had the effect of hopelessness. It came to me as a

conviction that now was my time to find out if he had any definite

suspicion; and as if in obedience to some command, I asked:

 

“Do you suspect anyone?” He seemed in a way startled rather than

surprised as he turned his eyes on me:

 

“Suspect anyone? Any thing, you mean. I certainly suspect that there

is some influence; but at present my suspicion is held within such

limit. Later on, if there be any sufficiently definite conclusion to my

reasoning, or my thinking-for there are not proper data for reasoning-I

may suspect; at present however-”

 

He stopped suddenly and looked at the door. There was a faint sound as

the handle turned. My own heart seemed to stand still. There was over

me some grim, vague apprehension. The interruption in the morning, when

I was talking with the Detective, came back upon me with a rush.

 

The door opened, and Miss Trelawny entered the room.

 

When she saw us, she started back; and a deep flush swept her face. For

a few seconds she paused; at such a time a few succeeding seconds seem

to lengthen in geometrical progression. The strain upon me, and, as I

could easily see, on the Doctor also, relaxed as she spoke:

 

“Oh, forgive me, I did not know that you were engaged. I was looking

for you, Doctor Winchester, to ask you if I might go to bed tonight

with safety, as you will be here. I feel so tired and worn-out that I

fear I may break down; and tonight I would certainly not be of any

use.” Doctor Winchester answered heartily:

 

“Do! Do go to bed by all means, and get a good night’s sleep. God

knows! you want it. I am more than glad you have made the suggestion,

for I feared when I saw you tonight that I might have you on my hands a

patient next.”

 

She gave a sigh of relief, and the tired look seemed to melt from her

face. Never shall I forget the deep, earnest look in her great,

beautiful black eyes as she said to me:

 

“You will guard Father tonight, won’t you, with Doctor Winchester? I

am so anxious about him that every second brings new fears. But I am

really worn-out; and if I don’t get a good sleep, I think I shall go

mad. I will change my room for tonight. I’m afraid that if I stay so

close to Father’s room I shall multiply every sound into a new terror.

But, of course, you will have m e waked if there be any cause. I shall

be in the bedroom of the little suite next the boudoir off the hall. I

had those rooms when first I came to live with Father, and I had no care

then… .It will be easier to rest there; and perhaps for a few hours

I may forget. I shall be all right in the morning. Goodnight!”

 

When I had closed the door behind her and come back to the little table

at which we had been sitting, Doctor Winchester said:

 

“That poor girl is overwrought to a terrible degree. I am delighted

that she is to get a rest. It will be life to her; and in the morning

she will be all right. Her nervous system is on the verge of a

breakdown. Did you notice how fearfully disturbed she was, and how red

she got when she came in and found us talking? An ordinary thing like

that, in her own house with her own guests, wouldn’t under normal

circumstances disturb her!”

 

I was about to tell him, as an explanation in her defence, how her

entrance was a repetition of her finding the Detective and myself alone

together earlier in the day, when I remembered that that conversation

was so private that even an allusion to it might be awkward in evoking

curiosity. So I remained silent.

 

We stood up to go to the sick-room; but as we took our way through the

dimly-lighted corridor I could not help thinking, again and again, and

again—ay, and for many a day after—how strange it was that she had

interrupted me on two such occasions when touching on such a theme.

 

There was certainly some strange web of accidents, in whose meshes we

were all involved.