Brood of the Witch-Queen by Sax Rohmer (the top 100 crime novels of all time .TXT) 📕

its location I was afraid that it might have penetrated the internal jugular; but the external only was wounded. I arrested the flow of blood and made the patient comfortable. Lady Lashmore assisted me coolly and displayed some skill as a nurse. In fact she had applied a ligature before my arrival.”

“Lord Lashmore remained conscious?”

“Quite. He was shaky, of course. I called again at nine o’clock that morning, and found him progressing favourably. When I had dressed the wounds⁠—”

“Wounds?”

“There were two actually; I will tell you in a moment. I asked Lord Lashmore for an explanation. He had given out, for the benefit of the household, that, stumbling out of bed in the dark, he had tripped upon a rug, so that he fell forward almost into the fireplace. There is a rather ornate fender, with an elaborate copper scrollwork design, and his account was that he came down with all his weight upon this, in such a way that part of the copperwork pierced his throat. It was possible, just possible, Cairn; but it didn’t satisfy me and I could see that it didn’t satisfy Lady Lashmore. However, when we were alone, Lashmore told me the real facts.”

“He had been concealing the truth?”

“Largely for his wife’s sake, I fancy. He was anxious to spare her the alarm which, knowing the truth, she must have experienced. His story was this⁠—related in confidence, but he wishes that you should know. He was awakened by a sudden, sharp pain in the throat; not very acute, but accompanied by a feeling of pressure. It was gone again, in a moment, and he was surprised to find blood upon his hands when he felt for the cause of the pain.

“He got out of bed and experienced a great dizziness. The hemorrhage was altogether more severe than he had supposed. Not wishing to arouse his wife, he did not enter his dressing-room, which is situated between his own room and Lady Lashmore’s; he staggered as far as the bell-push, and then collapsed. His man found him on the floor⁠—sufficiently near to the fender to lend colour to the story of the accident.”

Dr. Cairn coughed drily.

“Do you think it was attempted suicide after all, then?” he asked.

“No⁠—I don’t,” replied Sir Elwin emphatically. “I think it was something altogether more difficult to explain.”

“Not attempted murder?”

“Almost impossible. Excepting Chambers, Lord Lashmore’s valet, no one could possibly have gained access to that suite of rooms. They number four. There is a small boudoir, out of which opens Lady Lashmore’s bedroom; between this and Lord Lashmore’s apartment is the dressing-room. Lord Lashmore’s door was locked and so was that of the boudoir. These are the only two means of entrance.”

“But you said that Chambers came in and found him.”

“Chambers has a key of Lord Lashmore’s door. That is why I said ‘excepting Chambers.’ But Chambers has been with his present master since Lashmore left Cambridge. It’s out of the question.”

“Windows?”

“First floor, no balcony, and overlook Hyde Park.”

“Is there no clue to the mystery?”

“There are three!”

“What are they?”

“First: the nature of the wounds. Second: Lord Lashmore’s idea that something was in the room at the moment of his awakening. Third: the fact that an identical attempt was made upon him last night!”

“Last night! Good God! With what result?”

“The former wounds, though deep, are very tiny, and had quite healed over. One of them partially reopened, but Lord Lashmore awoke altogether more readily and before any damage had been done. He says that some soft body rolled off the bed. He uttered a loud cry, leapt out and switched on the electric lights. At the same moment he heard a frightful scream from his wife’s room. When I arrived⁠—Lashmore himself summoned me on this occasion⁠—I had a new patient.”

“Lady Lashmore?”

“Exactly. She had fainted from fright, at hearing her husband’s cry, I assume. There had been a slight hemorrhage from the throat, too.”

“What! Tuberculous?”

“I fear so. Fright would not produce hemorrhage in the case of a healthy subject, would it?”

Dr. Cairn shook his head. He was obviously perplexed.

“And Lord Lashmore?” he asked.

“The marks were there again,” replied Sir Elwin; “rather lower on the neck. But they were quite superficial. He had awakened in time and had struck out⁠—hitting something.”

“What?”

“Some living thing; apparently covered with long, silky hair. It escaped, however.”

“And now,” said Dr. Cairn⁠—“these wounds; what are they like?”

“They are like the marks of fangs,” replied Sir Elwin; “of two long, sharp fangs!”

VIII The Secret of Dhoon

Lord Lashmore was a big, blonde man, fresh coloured, and having his nearly white hair worn close cut and his moustache trimmed in the neat military fashion. For a fair man, he had eyes of a singular colour. They were of so dark a shade of brown as to appear black: southern eyes; lending to his personality an oddness very striking.

When he was shown into Dr. Cairn’s library, the doctor regarded him with that searching scrutiny peculiar to men of his profession, at the same time inviting the visitor to be seated.

Lashmore sat down in the red leathern armchair, resting his large hands upon his knees, with the fingers widely spread. He had a massive dignity, but was not entirely at his ease.

Dr. Cairn opened the conversation, in his direct fashion.

“You come to consult me, Lord Lashmore, in my capacity of occultist rather than in that of physician?”

“In both,” replied Lord Lashmore; “distinctly, in both.”

“Sir Elwin Groves is attending you for certain throat wounds⁠—”

Lord Lashmore touched the high stock which he was wearing.

“The scars remain,” he said. “Do you wish to see them?”

“I am afraid I must trouble you.”

The stock was untied; and Dr. Cairn, through a powerful glass, examined the marks. One of them, the lower, was slightly inflamed.

Lord Lashmore retied his stock, standing before the small mirror set in the overmantel.

“You had an impression of some presence in the room at the time of the outrage?” pursued the doctor.

“Distinctly; on both occasions.”

“Did you see anything?”

“The room was too dark.”

“But you felt something?”

“Hair; my knuckles, as