"Of course I do! I defy the world to produce the nurse"s equal. Has she come?"
Joseph held up his hand with a gesture of grave reproof.
"Not so loud," he said. "The nurse has come too late."
"Has the lady got well again?"
"The lady is dead."
CHAPTER XV
Doctor Dormann had behaved very strangely.
He was the first person who made the terrible discovery of the death.
When he came to the house, on his evening visit to his patient, Mr.
Keller was in the room. Half an hour before, Mrs. Wagner had spoken to him. Seeing a slight movement of her lips, he had bent over her, and had just succeeded in hearing her few last words, "Be kind to Jack." Her eyelids dropped wearily, after the struggle to speak. Mr. Keller and the servant in attendance both supposed that she had fallen asleep. The doctor"s examination was not only prolonged beyond all customary limits of time in such cases--it was the examination (judging by certain expressions which escaped him) of a man who seemed to be unwilling to trust his own experience. The new nurse arrived, before he had definitely expressed his opinion; and the servant was instructed to keep her waiting downstairs. In expectation of the doctor"s report, Mr. Keller remained in the bedroom. Doctor Dormann might not have noticed this circ.u.mstance, or might not have cared to conceal what was pa.s.sing in his mind. In either case, when he spoke at last, he expressed himself in these extraordinary terms:--
"The second suspicious illness in this house! And the second incomprehensible end to it!"
Mr. Keller at once stepped forward, and showed himself.
"Did you mean me to hear what you have just said?" he asked.
The doctor looked at him gravely and sadly. "I must speak to you privately, Mr. Keller. Before we leave the room, permit me to send for the nurse. You may safely trust her to perform the last sad duties."
Mr. Keller started. "Good G.o.d!" he exclaimed, "is Mrs. Wagner dead?"
"To my astonishment, she is dead." He laid a strong emphasis on the first part of his reply.
The nurse having received her instructions, Mr. Keller led the way to his private room. "In my responsible position," he said, "I may not unreasonably expect that you will explain yourself without reserve."
"On such a serious matter as this," Doctor Dormann answered, "it is my duty to speak without reserve. The person whom you employ to direct the funeral will ask you for the customary certificate. I refuse to give it."
This startling declaration roused a feeling of anger, rather than of alarm, in a man of Mr. Keller"s resolute character. "For what reason do you refuse?" he asked sternly.
"I am not satisfied, sir, that Mrs. Wagner has died a natural death. My experience entirely fails to account for the suddenly fatal termination of the disease, in the case of a patient of her healthy const.i.tution, and at her comparatively early age."
"Doctor Dormann, do you suspect there is a poisoner in my house?"
"In plain words, I do."
"In plain words on my side, I ask why?"
"I have already given you my reason."
"Is your experience infallible? Have you never made a mistake?"
"I made a mistake, Mr. Keller (as it appeared at the time), in regard to your own illness."
"What! you suspected foul play in my case too?"
"Yes; and, by way of giving you another reason, I will own that the suspicion is still in my mind. After what I have seen this evening--and only after that, observe--I say the circ.u.mstances of your recovery are suspicious circ.u.mstances in themselves. Remember, if you please, that neither I nor my colleague really understood what was the matter with you; and that you were cured by a remedy, not prescribed by either of us.
You were rapidly sinking; and your regular physician had left you. I had to choose between the certainty of your death, and the risk of letting you try a remedy, with the nature of which (though I did my best to a.n.a.lyze it) I was imperfectly acquainted. I ran the risk. The result has justified me--and up to this day, I have kept my misgivings to myself. I now find them renewed by Mrs. Wagner"s death--and I speak."
Mr. Keller"s manner began to change. His tone was sensibly subdued. He understood the respect which was due to the doctor"s motives at last.
"May I ask if the symptoms of my illness resembled the symptoms of Mrs.
Wagner"s illness?" he said.
"Far from it. Excepting the nervous derangement, in both cases, there was no other resemblance in the symptoms. The conclusion, to my mind, is not altered by this circ.u.mstance. It simply leads me to the inference that more than one poison may have been used. I don"t attempt to solve the mystery. I have no idea why your life has been saved, and Mrs. Wagner"s life sacrificed--or what motives have been at work in the dark. Ask yourself--don"t ask me--in what direction suspicion points. I refuse to sign the certificate of death; and I have told you why."
"Give me a moment," said Mr. Keller, "I don"t shrink from my responsibility; I only ask for time to compose myself."
It was the pride of his life to lean on n.o.body for help. He walked to the window; hiding all outward betrayal of the consternation that shook him to the soul. When he returned to his chair, he scrupulously avoided even the appearance of asking Doctor Dormann for advice.
"My course is plain," he said quietly. "I must communicate your decision to the authorities; and I must afford every a.s.sistance in my power to the investigation that will follow. It shall be done, when the magistrates meet to-morrow morning."
"We will go together to the town-hall, Mr. Keller. It is my duty to inform the burgomaster that this is a case for the special safeguards, sanctioned by the city regulations. I must also guarantee that there is no danger to the public health, in the removal of the body from your house."
"The immediate removal?" Mr. Keller asked.
"No! The removal twenty-four hours after death."
"To what place?"
"To the Deadhouse."
CHAPTER XVI
Acting on the doctor"s information, the burgomaster issued his order. At eight o"clock in the evening, on the third of January, the remains of Mrs. Wagner were to be removed to the cemetery-building, outside the Friedberg Gate of Frankfort.
Long before the present century, the dread of premature interment--excited by traditions of persons accidentally buried alive--was a widely-spread feeling among the people of Germany. In other cities besides Frankfort, the munic.i.p.al authorities devised laws, the object of which was to make this frightful catastrophe impossible. In the early part of the present century, these laws were re-enacted and revised by the City of Frankfort. The Deadhouse was attached to the cemetery, with a double purpose. First, to afford a decent resting-place for the corpse, when death occurred among the crowded residences of the poorer cla.s.s of the population. Secondly, to provide as perfect a safeguard as possible against the chances of premature burial. The use of the Deadhouse (strictly confined to the Christian portion of the inhabitants) was left to the free choice of surviving relatives or representatives--excepting only those cases in which a doctor"s certificate justified the magistrate in p.r.o.nouncing an absolute decision.
Even in the event of valid objections to the Deadhouse as a last resting-place on the way to the grave, the doctor in attendance on the deceased person was subjected to certain restrictions in issuing his certificate. He was allowed to certify the death informally, for the purpose of facilitating the funeral arrangements. But he was absolutely forbidden to give his written authority for the burial, before the expiration of three nights from the time of the death; and he was further bound to certify that the signs of decomposition had actually begun to show themselves. Have these multiplied precautions, patiently applied in many German cities, through a long lapse of years, ever yet detected a case in which Death has failed to complete its unintelligible work? Let the answer be found in the cells of the dead. Pa.s.s, with the mourners, through the iron gates--hear and see!
On the evening of the third, as the time approached for the arrival of the hea.r.s.e, the melancholy stillness in the house was only broken by Mr.
Keller"s servants, below-stairs. Collecting together in one room, they talked confidentially, in low voices. An instinctive horror of silence, in moments of domestic distress, is, in all civilized nations, one of the marked characteristics of their cla.s.s.
"In ten minutes," said Joseph, "the men from the cemetery will be here to take her away. It will be no easy matter to carry her downstairs on the couch."
"Why is she not put in her coffin, like other dead people?" the housemaid asked.
"Because the crazy creature she brought with her from London is allowed to have his own way in the house," Joseph answered irritably. "If I had been brought to the door drunk last night, I should have been sent away this morning. If I had been mad enough to screech out, "She isn"t dead; not one of you shall put her in a coffin!"--I should have richly deserved a place in the town asylum, and I should have got my deserts. Nothing of the sort for Master Jack. Mr. Keller only tells him to be quiet, and looks distressed. The doctor takes him away, and speaks to him in another room--and actually comes back converted to Jack"s opinion!"