Some Must Watch by Ethel Lina White (books for 5 year olds to read themselves .TXT) 📕

CHAPTER XXII

ACCIDENT

 

Alhough Helen called him again and again, the Professor did not stir.

Driven to boldness, she gripped his shoulders and shook him violently.

But he only fell back limply against the side of his chair, like a

corpse galvanized to momentary life.

 

Smitten with panic, Helen dashed out of the room and rushed downstairs

into the study. As she burst in, Miss Warren raised her eyes from her

book.

 

“The Professor,” gasped Helen. “Come up to him. Quick. I think

he’s—dead.”

 

Her speech had the effect of rousing Miss Warren. She led the way,

covering the stairs in long strides. When Helen panted after her, into

the bedroom, she was bending over the inanimate figure in the chair.

 

“Really, Miss Capel” Her voice held annoyance. “I wish you would think

twice before you frighten me unnecessarily.”

 

“But isn’t he terribly ill?” asked Helen, looking fearfully at the

corpse-like figure.

 

“Of course not. He has merely taken rather too much of a

sleeping-draught.”

 

She picked up the bottle of quadronex, and studied it.

 

“I do not credit my brother with the folly of taking too stiff a dose.

He would not make such a brainless mistake. Probably he may not have

calculated its effect on his own devitalized condition.”

 

She felt his pulse, and then turned away.

 

“He is all tight,” she said. “We can do nothing, but leave him in

perfect quiet,”

 

Helen stayed, as though rooted to the carpet, staring down at the

motionless figure. It seemed the peak of ironic fate that the Professor

had slipped away from them when she most appreciated his help.

 

Miss Warren crossed to the bed, picked up an eiderdown, and laid it

across her brother’s knees.

 

“Come, Miss Capel,” she said.

 

“No,” said Helen. “I—I’m afraid.”

 

“Afraid of what?”

 

“I don’t know. But our very last man is gone,”

 

Miss Warren appeared struck by the remark.

 

“There has been a curiously thorough clearance,” she said. “But I cannot

see why you should be alarmed.”

 

“There’s been a murder,” whispered Helen. “There’s a maniac somewhere.

And everyone’s going, one by one. I’m expecting things to happen now. It

won’t stop here. I may be left, all alone. Or you.”

 

“If you’re nervous, why don’t you stay with Nurse Barker?”

 

Helen shrank back as she recalled a recent incident.

 

“But I’m frightened of her, too,” she confessed. “She’s bullying Lady

Warren. I heard her just now.”

 

Miss Warren opened her lips in indecision. It was not her habit to offer

explanation, or confidence, to any em ployee. Some impulse, however, led

her to break her rule.

 

“I do not usually discuss family matters with anyone outside the

family,” she said stiffly: “But I suppose you heard what happened to the

last nurse?”

 

“Yes. Lady Warren threw something at her.”

 

“Exactly. It has happened before. Lady Warren is of an age and

temperament when she cannot restrain her actions. Purely physical, you

understand.”

 

Helen nodded, to show her comprehension of an evil temper allied to a

lady with a title.

 

“Unfortunately,” went on Miss Warren, “the matron of the Nursing Home

has told me that her staff is unwilling to come to the Summit. So I’ve

had to request her to sentd a nurse who is used to restraining her

patients. Someone kind, but firm.”

 

“I don’t call her kind,” declared Helen. “Won’t you go also in, and see

how Lady Warren is for yourself?” “Very well. We will leave on the light

here,”

 

As they crossed the landing to the blue room, Miss Warren frowned at an

object lying on the carpet.

 

“What is that?” she asked, peering short-sightedly.

 

“A chisel,” replied Helen, brightening at the sight of it.

 

“I wondered where it was. I was going to try to screw up your

door-handle, but I forgot.”

 

As she stooped to pick it up, Miss Warren took it from her, and placed

it on a chair inside her own room.

 

“It looked very untidy,” she said. “Have you ever heard of the lines:

 

‘Sow an act, reap a habit.

Sow a habit, reap character.

Sow character, reap Destiny’?”

 

Helen did not reply, as she realized that the question was only a

reproof in disguise. She followed Miss Warren into the blue room. As no

snores sounded from the dim white fleecy mound on the bed, Helen

concluded that Lady Warren was really asleep.

 

“I hope she’s not doped,” she thought uneasily.

 

The air smelt a trifle more sour, with its odors of rotten apples and

rugs. It caused Miss Warren to shudder with distaste. “A repulsive

atmosphere for anyone who is not trained,” she said. “I’ve had to endure

it all day. It has affected my head. That is why I value Nurse Barker’s

services, even if you are unable to do so.”

 

Helen understood the hint.

 

“She means she’ll back up the nurse, and I shall go to the wall,” she

decided.

 

She was struck by the mildness of Miss Warren’s manner when she tapped

at the dressingroom door.

 

“May we come in?” she asked.

 

Nurse Barker gave them permission. She was sitting, with her feet

stretched across a chair, smoking a cigarette, which she laid down on

the ash-tray, while she rose, in grudging respect to her employer.

 

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” apologized Miss Warren. “I only wanted to

know if you’d had any trouble with Lady Warren?”

 

“She was rather naughty about her sedative,” replied Nurse Barker, “but

I soon persuaded her to take it.”

 

“Then I hope you will get a good night.”

 

“In this wind? What a hope. I’m staying up, like every one else.”

 

“Who do you mean?” asked Miss Warren. “I am going to bed. And the

Professor will certainly sleep until morning. He has taken a slight

overdose of a sleeping-draught.”

 

Nurse Barker clicked contemptuously.

 

“Why didn’t he ask me to measure out the right quantity?” she asked.

 

“The Professor would hardly ask a woman to do what he could do better

himself,” said Miss Warren stiffly. “He might have been aware of what he

was doing when he insured some sleep. He knows the importance of

conserving his strength, with so many dependent on him.”

 

Nurse Barker was not listening to the hint of the source of her own

wages. A phosphorescent gleam—half of alarm, half of satisfaction—lit

up her deep-set eyes.

 

“Odd,” she gloated. “It looks as if someone was clearing the way for

himself.”

 

Helen saw panic leap into. Miss Warren’s eyes.

 

“How is that possible?” she asked. “There is a good reason for all that

has happened. Take one instance alone. Mr. Rice, and my nephew and his

wife all left this house because I turned out that dog.”

 

“No, you must go back a bit further,” declared Nurse Barker. “Did Rice

know you hated dogs?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Ah. Then, do you know who first told him about a dog for sale?”

 

Helen listened with a chill at her heart. Did the sequence of events

appear harmless because she saw only the trivial links? How far back did

the chain really stretch? To what dark brain did it lead?

 

It was a relief when Miss Warren spoke impatiently.

 

“Of course you could conjecture endlessly, but it is entirely futile.

What sinister agency was at work when I forgot to screw the cap of the

cylinder?”

 

Helen was on the point of giving the true explanation of the incident,

where she remembered that she must not be tray Mrs. Oates’ confidence.

She listened, unhappily, while Nurse Barker turned the knife again.

 

“Now there are only three women in the house,” she said.

 

“Four,” corrected Helen proudly. “I saw Mrs. Oates was only confused. So

I pulled her round. She’s sober now.”

 

Miss Warren and the nurse stared at Helen.

 

“It seems to me,” said Miss Warren reflectively, “that you are capable

of looking after yourself.”

 

“I’ve done it all my life,” Helen assured her. “I’m sure you’re equal

to an emergency, Miss Capel,” she said. “All the same, if you do not

intend to go to bed, I should feel easier in my mind if I knew you were

with Mrs. Oates.’”

 

Helen, who was beginning to crumble under the combined excitement and

strain, began to gulp at this unexpected sign of consideration.

 

Mrs. Oates was still slumped down in her chair when she returned to the

kitchen; but she had climbed out of her slough of depression. Some of

her old jovial humor beamed from her eyes as she shook her finger at

Helen.

 

“Stealing about on rubber heels?” she asked. “Trying to put salt on my

tail, are you. You’ll find I’m too old a bird to be caught that way.”

 

“The plot thickens,” Helen said dramatically. “Exit the Professor.”

 

Mrs. Oates listened to her story of the Professor’s mishap with little

concern.’

 

“He’s no loss,” she said. “He does nothing but set in his study, and

think.”

 

“That’s my point exactly,” explained Helen. “Without him, we’re a body

without a head.”

 

Apparently, the same thought had occurred to Nurse Barker, for, a little

later, she entered the kitchen with the dignity of a queen who had

temporarily laid down her sceptre.

 

“I thought we had better have an agreement,” she said. “In the

Professor’s absence, who is to assume authority?”

 

“The mistress, of course,” replied Mrs. Oates.

 

“She’s not competent,” declared Nurse Barker. “She is definitely a

neurotic type. You must allow me to know my own subject.”

 

“I shall continue to take