CHAPTER XV.

THE DOCTOR’S STORY

At the mention of “coffin” Dr. Laidlaw trembled. Fearfully, he looked at Mr. Benson, and then watched the open door.

“It will be ready in half an hour, sir,” shouted Joe Litt. “They are just lining it with pitch.” This little duologue had been prearranged between Mr. Benson and Litt. But the rat-faced little man, who did not know that, watched the lawyer gravely nod, heard him shout back:

“Don’t be longer, then; we’ll need it sooner than I thought.” Laidlaw feared the worst. Mr. Benson, with a glance at Wilfred, settled himself on one of the seats that had been vacated by the laborers who had guarded Laidlaw, and calmly smoked his cigar.

Absolute silence was maintained for fully five minutes. Wilfred gazed up at the damp and broken ceiling, Mr. Benson stared meditatively into the fire, while Laidlaw looked first at one of his captors, then at the other, occasionally glancing at the door.

At last the tension was too much for him, and he spoke.

“I might as well warn you that if anything happens to me, I shall be missed, and some one will have followed me here,” he said in sharp, nervous tones.

“You’re quite wrong,” Mr. Benson said. “You were not followed at all. Even if you had been, it wouldn’t really matter, for there are holes in the marsh deep enough to hold you and all your friends.”

“But--but----” Dr. Laidlaw swallowed; in the distance a door shut noisily. He shivered. “You can’t mean that you would commit a cold-blooded murder? Murder a defenseless man? It’s awful!”

“Normally speaking,” replied Mr. Benson calmly, “I certainly wouldn’t, of course. But, you see, this case is quite apart from normality. To begin with, I, who am a lawyer, have a great respect for the law. I believe in seeing the law properly administered if possible. But, where there seems to be every possibility of the law being defeated, then, by any means at all, however irregular, I believe in carrying out the law’s demands in the case of a murderer like yourself. The end justifies the means when it comes to visiting the prescribed penalty on a murderer.”

While he spoke, the old lawyer never took his eyes off Laidlaw, and his words were so quietly and yet so convincingly spoken that the doctor turned even paler than ever.

A cold sweat broke out on Laidlaw’s forehead, and in his despair he turned to address an appeal to Wilfred.

“You will not be a party to this terrible thing, will you, Dr. Barlow?” he asked. “Murder will out, you know--There are all sorts of curious ways in which your crime will become known.”

“I shall not interfere in anything that commends itself to Mr. Benson,” replied Wilfred decisively.

“But,” said Dr. Laidlaw, turning to the lawyer, “you are quite wrong. I have committed no murder. I give you my solemn assurance that I have committed no murder.”

“Will you prove that by telling us every detail of your relations with Lady Evenden?” asked Mr. Benson. “And also what you were doing in the Prior’s Room on the night Sir John Evenden was murdered?”

“I cannot--I simply cannot tell you the full facts of my association with Lady Evenden,” replied the little doctor. “Believe me, it would be no service to Lady Evenden for me to do so.”

“Very well,” agreed the lawyer. “You see, we are just where we began, and you must take the consequences. I personally think you murdered Sir John, and I shall act on that belief.”

“I did not! I did not!” replied Laidlaw, with terrible earnestness.

“Then who did?” the lawyer asked.

“I do not know,” said Dr. Laidlaw.

“We have wasted enough time,” said Mr. Benson. “Have you that hypodermic syringe ready?” He addressed his question to Wilfred, who immediately opened a pocket case and took out a syringe, a needle, and a small phial.

Dr. Laidlaw screamed at the top of his voice. Mr. Benson rose and went to the door.

“Come along, two of you!” he called, and immediately Joe Litt and another man came in.

“Hold him!” ordered the lawyer, and the little doctor was seized by the two powerful men; and, despite his yells, which, in fact, were quickly smothered by the large hand of Joe Litt, was soon lying on the bench, his feet held by one man, his arms and head by Joe Litt.

“How much does it take to kill him?” asked Mr. Benson with interest, watching Wilfred fill the syringe.

“This will be enough,” Wilfred replied. “He will suffer a good deal for a few minutes, then--probably in about ten minutes--the heart will give out.” Mr. Benson nodded.

“Go on, then,” he said. “Stick it into him.”

Frantically did the doctor struggle, and by vigorous movements of his head and eyes he indicated that he had something to say.

“What do you want?” asked Mr. Benson, with a sign to Joe Litt to uncover his mouth.

“My God!” gasped Laidlaw. “Oh, my God! I will tell--I will tell.” Mr. Benson gave a quick glance at Wilfred, then nodded in the direction of the door to Joe Litt and his assistant, who left the recumbent doctor and went out.

Several moments elapsed during which the doctor struggled for breath; then he turned to Mr. Benson, and there was cunning in his eyes as well as fear.

“If I tell--how do I know that I will be given my liberty?” he asked.

“I never said you would be given your liberty,” replied Mr. Benson at once. “Only this will I promise you--If you tell the whole truth, and out of what you tell you make it possible for me to secure the acquittal of my client without putting you on the witness stand--or, what is more likely, in the dock--then I will allow you to disappear.”

“But what guarantee have I?” pressed Laidlaw.

“None whatever,” said Mr. Benson, a hard line showing at the corners of his mouth. “I am not accustomed to give guarantees to such as you.”

“Well, don’t you agree that I would be a fool to speak----” began the doctor, when Mr. Benson again arose and went to the door.

“Come back, come back!” bleated Laidlaw. “I will take your word for it. Don’t--don’t call those terrible men back!”

“Well, what have you to say?” Mr. Benson seated himself again. “Have you got pen and paper?” he asked Wilfred, and Barlow immediately produced a notebook and fountain pen.

“Take it down as he speaks, or can you write shorthand? Good. Then put it down in shorthand, and have him sign it when you read it over to him. We can have it done fully, in proper form, later, and then he will sign the finished copy as well.

“Now you understand,” he said, turning to Dr. Laidlaw. “I take it that what you are going to say is the whole truth, without any qualifications or reservations. I shall submit your story to what test I can, and when I am convinced of its truth I will release you.”

Dr. Laidlaw nodded. “Have you a little brandy?” he asked. Wilfred gave him some. Then he began.

“I have known Lady Evenden for a good many years,” he said. “When I first met her she was the wife of an invalid called John Gough, and lived on the shores of Loch Lomond. I acted as locum tenens to a doctor there during his summer holidays, and was called in upon several occasions to attend the late Mr. John Gough. He suffered from G.P.I.--general paralysis of the insane.

“Her life with him was very unhappy. He had all sorts of delusions; indeed, he was quite certifiable. In the end, he became so much worse during my term of attendance upon him that I was inclined to have him certified for his wife’s sake. I considered him dangerous.

“One night he developed a frightful brain-storm--beyond anything that had gone before--and his wife sought refuge with friends. She brought back a friend--the head of a family living somewhere near--to find that her husband had suffered a stroke during the time she was out. He was lying on his back, foaming at the mouth, and in an unconscious condition. I was sent for, and found he had had an apoplectic stroke.

“We got him to bed, and I said I would call in the morning. In the morning he was found in the loch. There was an inquiry--they don’t have inquests in Scotland--and I said the stroke might have been only partial, and that he might have recovered sufficiently to rush out of the house, in a fit of madness, and drown himself in the lake.

“Well, Lady Evenden--Mrs. Gough, as she then was--went away, and I saw her frequently afterwards----”

“Why?” the lawyer asked.

“Well, I understood her condition. I had some considerable mental experience, as Barlow there can tell you, years ago.” The lawyer looked at Wilfred, who nodded assent. “Mrs. Gough’s condition at that time was very critical--I mean her mental condition. She was unfit to be left entirely alone. I was able to treat her, and I don’t hesitate to say that I saved her sanity. She followed a course of treatment that I outlined, and she consulted a mental specialist in Vienna, who endorsed my treatment and extended it, and she quite recovered.

“Later, as you know, she met Sir Michael Evenden, and lived many happy years--thanks to me,” Dr. Laidlaw finished complacently. He took a sip of brandy, then continued:

“I saw her from time to time----”

“Why?” Again it was the lawyer who spoke.

“Why, to see her, of course--to see that her mental condition remained strong and healthy. There is always danger of a relapse----”

“You blackmailed her!” Mr. Benson leant forward and bent the whole force of his terrible eyes on the quailing doctor. “Don’t lie, now!” he admonished him.

“Lady Evenden was very good to me,” the doctor said, after a pause. “When she became rich, she showed her generosity and her gratitude by rewarding me with various sums from time to time.”

“All the while you were blackmailing her husband,” said Mr. Benson.

“If I am to tell you all my relations with Sir Michael, and the journeys I went to Russia for him, I should never finish telling my story to-day,” protested Dr. Laidlaw. “Do you want me to tell you all that?”

“No--I know it,” said Mr. Benson. “Don’t you remember you came to my room to try to get the proofs? Don’t you remember you nearly murdered me for those proofs?”

The doctor turned white, looked nervously around him, then continued:

“I am very sorry. I did not intend murdering you, or harming you at all.”

“Never mind--get on,” said the lawyer. “I want to hear about John’s murder, and what you were doing there at all.”

“Well, as I said,” Dr. Laidlaw continued, “I saw Lady Evenden often. I saw her because I feared a relapse. Dr. Barlow there will tell you that in mental patients the great thing to avoid is intense emotional stress. The loss of a very close association--a husband or a wife, for instance--will frequently precipitate a relapse. Now, to put it at its lowest, I had reasons of my own for not wanting Lady Evenden shouting all sorts of wild things about the past. I did not want that Loch Lomond business raked up again, and so I lost no time in putting myself in touch, when I heard of the death of Sir Michael. I knew what he meant to her, and, to put it bluntly, I expected to find her insane--and I did.”

“What?” almost shouted Mr. Benson, while Wilfred stared, open-eyed.

“Yes,” repeatedly Dr. Laidlaw. “She was absolutely unbalanced. I’ll ask you a fair question, sir.” He turned to Mr. Benson, who watched him with eyes like those of an eagle. “Did you see Lady Evenden soon after the death of her husband?” Mr. Benson nodded without speaking.

“Well, what did you think of her mental condition yourself?” asked Laidlaw. With some reluctance the lawyer replied.

“I certainly thought she was very upset!” he said.

“Now do you remember the day you refused me an interview with her--when I succeeded in obtaining one later?”

“Yes,” said Mr. Benson.

“Well,” Dr. Laidlaw said, “throw your memory back to the morning following my interview with her. Did you not notice a decided improvement in her? Now, be fair.”

Keenly did Mr. Benson watch the little doctor, and the more he watched him, the more he hated him. He was plausible, this little blackmailer. But, despite himself, the lawyer had to admit that what the little man said was indeed true. He actually had noted an improvement, though the last thing he had thought of attributing it to was the man before him having visited her.

“I may have done. I certainly saw an improvement somewhere about that time, but I can’t say exactly when,” was the best reply that Mr. Benson felt he could make.

“If I had not come she would have been stark, raving mad,” said Dr. Laidlaw. “Well, to continue. It was not sufficient to see her once, but I had to see her frequently. I could not come openly, on account of my dealings with the late Sir Michael, which, by the way, she knew nothing about, and the possibility of the facts getting into some one’s hands who might have made trouble. So I had to see her privately, and, feeling the great need of me--for I assure you I can’t exaggerate that--Lady Evenden arranged to meet me in the Prior’s Tower. We used the secret room under her stepson’s bedroom.

“On the day he died I had seen her, as you know, in the afternoon, and I found it urgently necessary to get a certain drug from my bag and give her a draught that evening, hence our arrangement to meet in that secret room. Without the knowledge of a soul, she----”

“What treatment does Lady Evenden receive?” asked Wilfred.

“The Mohenloeffer treatment,” replied Laidlaw. Wilfred bowed.

“That includes a certain amount of psycho-analysis as well as certain injections, doesn’t it?” he asked.

“Precisely,” replied Laidlaw. “That is why it was necessary for me, and me only, who have been dealing with the case all along, to come at the time of its crisis.”

“Isn’t this psycho-analysis a sort of hypnotism, or mesmerism, or some other similar thing?” asked Mr. Benson.

“Not exactly,” said Wilfred with a smile. “I’ll explain it to you afterwards.” Mr. Benson nodded, and turned again to Laidlaw.

“That night we met, Lady Evenden and I, and I gave her a draught and an injection. I was just in time, for she was hysterical and her mind was tottering. She came by way of the secret staircase from the lawn. She used her own private staircase from her boudoir to her morning room, which has French windows opening on the lawn, only a few yards away from the Prior’s Tower. I waited in the angle of the tower, and we went into that crypt place, where I have met her since and where you kidnaped me.” Laidlaw shuddered a little as he spoke. “Well, we had been there only a short time, when suddenly I heard a shriek from upstairs--somewhere overhead--and I immediately rushed to the staircase which leads to the Prior’s Room.”

“How did you know of its existence?” asked Mr. Benson.

“Because I’d used it often when visiting Lady Evenden privately,” replied the doctor at once.

“Oh, then it wasn’t your first visit to that tower?” the lawyer asked.

“No,” replied Laidlaw, while Mr. Benson and Wilfred exchanged glances. “I rushed to the staircase, and, as I did so, I heard a thud--somebody falling helplessly on to the floor, it sounded like. Lady Evenden was behind me. I knew that any excitement would be fatal to her, so I begged her to go back--and, though she protested at first, she subsequently obeyed me and returned. I told her to forget the incident--and she forgot it.”

“What the devil are you talking about?” asked Mr. Benson, indignant and puzzled. “How could you tell her to forget--and she would----”

“Yes, he could,” interrupted Wilfred. “I’ll explain all that later. I know what he means perfectly well.”

“In my method of treatment it is necessary for the practitioner to have some definite control over the will of the patient,” explained Laidlaw. “Well, I was saying, she went by the way she had come, and I went up the secret staircase to the Prior’s Room. The light was full on, and on the floor was lying a man in his pyjamas--it was John Evenden.

“Beside him was standing a dark man. He looked bronzed, like a sailor to me, and on the other side of him was a girl, with her face covered with a handkerchief. I stepped forward into the room, and at the same moment the man saw me, turned round, and struck me a foul blow. I staggered and fell. When I recovered, the man and the girl had disappeared. I went down the staircase, and I thought I saw some one precede me up the stone stairs to the lawn. But, though I looked carefully when I got up, I saw no one.

“In view of the compromising circumstances, I decided to say nothing to anyone. That is all I know.”