The effect upon me was that of delirious intoxication. I could hear nothing and I could think of nothing.
My senses were entirely confused, and I became utterly dazed.
What did it all mean?
I only know that I placed the wad of bank notes in the inner pocket of my waistcoat, and that I was talking to the millionaire when, of a sudden, my brain felt as though it had suddenly become frozen.
The scent of verbena became nauseating--even intoxicating. But upon Oswald De Gex, who was still munching his pastille, the odour apparently had no effect.
All I recollect further is that I sank suddenly into a big arm-chair, while my host"s face grinned demoniacally in complete satisfaction. I slowly lapsed into blank unconsciousness.
Little did I at the time dream with what amazing cleverness the trap into which I had fallen had been baited.
But what happened to me further I will endeavour to describe to you.
CHAPTER THE SECOND
THE SISTER"S STORY
A strange sensation crept over me, for I suddenly felt that my brain, dazed by that subtle odour of _pot-pourri_, was slowly unclouding--ever so slowly--until, to my amazement, I found myself seated upon a garden chair on a long veranda which overlooked a sloping garden, with the blue-green sunlit sea beyond.
Of the lapse of time I have no idea to this day; nor have I any knowledge of what happened to me.
All I am able to relate is the fact that I found myself in overcoat and hat seated upon a long terrace in the noon sunlight of winter.
I gazed around, utterly astonished. The clothes I wore seemed coa.r.s.e and unfamiliar. My hand went to my chin, when I found that I had grown a beard! My surroundings were strange and mysterious. The houses on either side were white and inartistic, with sloping roofs and square windows. They were foreign--evidently French!
The shrill siren of a factory sounded somewhere, releasing the workers. Far away before me a steamer away on the horizon left a long trail of smoke behind, while here and there showed the brown sails of fishing boats.
I rose from my seat, filled with curiosity, and glanced at the house before which I stood. It was a big square building of red brick with many square windows. It seemed like a hospital or inst.i.tution.
That it was the former was quickly revealed, for a few moments after I had risen, a nursing-sister in a tri-winged linen head-dress appeared and spoke kindly to me, asking in French how I felt on that glorious morning.
"I am quite all right," was my reply in French. "But where am I?" I inquired, utterly dazed.
"Never mind, m"sieur, where you are," replied the stout, middle-aged woman in blue uniform and broad collar. "You have only to get better."
"But I am better," I protested. "I lost consciousness in London--and now I awake here to find myself--where?"
"You are in good hands, so why trouble?" asked the Sister very kindly.
"You are upset, I know. Do not worry. Take things quite easily. Do not try to recall the past."
"The past!" I cried. "What has pa.s.sed--eh? What has happened since I went through Stretton Street the other night?"
The Sister smiled at me. She seemed inclined to humour me--as she would a child.
"Do not perturb yourself, I beg of you," she said in a sympathetic voice. "There is really no need for it. Only just remain calm--and all will be right."
"But you do not explain, Sister," I said. "Why am I here? And where am I?" I asked, gazing vacantly around me.
"You are with friends--friends who have looked after you," was her reply. "We are all very sorry for your motor accident."
"Motor accident!" I echoed. "I have had no motor accident."
Again the dark-eyed woman smiled in disbelief, and it annoyed me.
Indeed, it goaded me to anger.
"But you told us all about it. How you started out from the Quay at Boulogne late at night to drive to Abbeville, and how your hired chauffeur held you up, and left you at the roadside," she said. "Yet the curious fact about your strange story is the money."
"Money! What money?" I gasped, utterly astounded by the Sister"s remark.
"The money they found upon you, a packet of bank notes. The police have the five thousand pounds in English money, I believe."
"The police! Why?" I asked.
"No," she said, smiling, and still humouring me as though I were a child. "Don"t bother about it now. You are a little better to-day.
To-morrow we will talk of it all."
"But where am I?" I demanded, still bewildered.
"You are in St. Malo," was her slow reply.
"St. Malo!" I echoed. "How did I get here? I have no remembrance of it."
"Of course you have not," replied the kindly woman in the cool-looking head-dress. "You are only just recovering."
"From what?"
"From loss of memory, and--well, the doctors say you have suffered from a complete nervous breakdown."
I was aghast, scarce believing myself to be in my senses, and at the same time wondering if it were not all a dream. But no! Gradually all the events of that night in Stretton Street arose before me. I saw them again in every detail--Oswald De Gex, his servant, Horton, and the dead girl, pale but very beautiful, as she lay with closed eyes upon her death-bed.
I recollected, too, the certificate I had given for payment--those notes which the police held in safe custody.
The whole adventure seemed a hideous nightmare. And yet it was all so real.
But how did I come to be in St. Malo? How did I travel from London?
"Sister," I said presently. "What is the date of to-day?"
"The eleventh of December," she replied.
The affair at Stretton Street had occurred on the night of November 7th, over a month before!