Call Mr. Fortune. H. C. Bailey
glass, a jug of water, a hypodermic syringe. “You’d better clear out, you know,” he said to Superintendent Bell.
“Will he come?”
“He’ll come all right,” Reggie said, and took off his coat. When he turned, Superintendent Bell had vanished.
“Just setting the stage, sir?” said a voice from behind the curtain.
“Confound your impertinence,” Reggie growled. “Here——”
But the Archduke came in. He was now a decoration in a russet brown. “You are very mysterious, Dr. Fortune,” he complained. “I expect more frankness, sir.”
“My patient is my first consideration, sir.”
“I desire that you will consider my anxieties. Well, sir, how is my brother?”
“You may give yourself every hope of his recovery, sir.”
The Archduke looked round for a chair and was some time in finding one. “This is very good news,” he said slowly, and slowly smiled. “Mon Dieu, doctor, it seems too good to be true! Last night you told me to fear the worst.”
“Last night—was last night, sir,” Reggie said. “This morning we begin to see our way. All the symptoms are good. I believe that in a few hours the patient will be able to speak.”
“To speak? But the concussion? It was so dangerous. But this is bewildering, doctor.”
“Most fortunate, sir. You might talk of the hand of Providence. Well, we shall see what we shall see. He may be able to tell you something of how it all happened. You’ll pardon me, I’m anxious to prepare the injection.” He dropped a tablet in the glass and poured in water. “Fact is, this ought to make all the difference. Wonderful things drugs, sir. A taste of strychnine—one of these little fellows—and a man has another try at living. Two or three of ’em—just specks, aren’t they?—sudden death. Excuse me a moment. I must take a look at the patient.”
He was gone some time.
When he came back the Archduke was still there. “All goes well, doctor?”
“I begin to think so.”
“I must not delay you. My dear doctor! If only your hopes are realized. What happiness!” He slid out of the room.
Reggie went to the table and picked up the glass of strychnine solution. From behind the curtain Superintendent Bell rushed out and caught his arm. “Don’t use it, sir,” he said hoarsely. Superintendent Bell was flushed.
“Don’t be an ass,” said Reggie. He put the glass down, took up the bottle of tablets, turned them out on a sheet of paper, and began to count them.
“Good Lord!” said Superintendent Bell. “You laid for him, did you? What a plant!”
“You know, you’re an impertinence,” Reggie said, and went on counting.
“I’ll get on to Mr. Lomas, sir,” said the Superintendent humbly.
“Don’t you telephone or I’ll scrag you.”
“Telephone? Not me. I say, sir, you’re some doctor.” He fled.
Reggie finished his counting and whistled. “He did himself proud,” said he. “The blighter!” He shot the tablets back into their bottle, found another bottle and poured into it the solution, and locked both away. “Number one,” he said, with satisfaction. “Now for number two.” He went off to his patient and spent a placid half-hour chatting with the day nurse on dancing in musical comedy. But it was hardly half an hour before the Archduchess tapped at the door.
Reggie opened it. “This way, if you please, madame.” He led the way to his room. “I have something to say.” She stood before him, fierce, defiant, and utterly wretched. “I can promise you that the Archduke will recover consciousness.”
She caught at her breast. “He—he will live?” It was the most piteous cry he had ever heard.
“He will live, madame!”
She trembled, swayed, and fell. Reggie grasped at her, took her in his arms, and put her in a chair and waited frowning. … She panted a little and began to smile. Then faintly, softly, “No, no. No more now. Ah, dearest.” It was in her own language. She opened heavy eyes. “What is it?”
“The Archduke has spoken, madame. He said—your name.”
Then she began to cry and, holding out both hands to Reggie, “Let me go to him—please—please.”
“Not now. Not yet. He must have no emotions. You will go to your room and sleep.”
“You—you are a boy.” She laughed through her tears, and thrust her hands into Reggie’s.
“I beg your pardon, madame,” Reggie said stiffly. The creature was absurdly adorable.
“You? Oh—Englishman.” It was made plain to him that he was expected to kiss her hand. He did it like an Englishman. Then the other was put to his lips.
He cleared his embarrassed throat. “I must insist, madame, you will say nothing of this to any one. It’s necessary the household should suppose the Archduke still in danger.”
“Why?” A spasm crossed her face. “You are afraid of Leopold!”
“And you, madame?” Reggie said.
“Afraid? No, but”—she shuddered—“but he is not a man.”
“Have no anxieties, madame. I have none,” Reggie said, and opened the door. Then, “She’s a bit of a dear,” he said to himself, and rang for his lunch.
Four times that afternoon the Archduke Leopold sent to ask for news of his brother, and each time Reggie answered that the patient was much the same. “Leopold will be doin’ some thinking,” Reggie chuckled. “Happy days for Leopold.”
Towards tea-time the Hon. Stanley Lomas arrived jauntier than ever.
“Well, doctor, been enjoying yourself, what?” He shook hands heartily. “Best congratulations and all that. Sound scheme. Ve—ry sound scheme. Well, I expect you’ll be glad to be rid of Leopold, what? I conceive I can put the fear of God into him now. Free hand, don’t you know. Let’s take him on.”
It was announced to the Archduke Leopold that the Hon. Stanley Lomas of the Criminal Investigation Department desired to confer with him. The Archduke, who was drinking tea, was pleased to receive Mr. Lomas. He also received Reggie. “Dr. Fortune? You have something to tell me?”
“There is no change, sir.”
“No change yet! And you gave me such hopes this morning. These are anxious hours, Mr. Lomas.”
“I can imagine it, sir. But I hope to relieve some of your anxieties. I believe we shall discover who was responsible for last night’s outrage.”
“So! And so soon! But you are wonderful, you English police. You will sit down, Mr. Lomas.” He looked at Reggie, whose lingering naturally surprised him. “Is there anything more, Dr. Fortune?”
“Dr. Fortune is part of my evidence, sir,” said Lomas.
“Is it possible? But you interest me—you interest me exceedingly. Permit me one moment.” He slid out of the room.
Lomas turned in his chair and lifted an eyebrow at Reggie, who was settling his tie before an old Italian mirror. “Probably gone to change his clothes,” Reggie said. “He’s only worn one suit to-day.”
A footman brought in more tea-things, and a moment after the Archduke came back.
“I am all impatience, Mr. Lomas. But pray take a more comfortable chair. Dr. Fortune—I recommend the chair by the screen. Let me give you some