ON THE BRINK OF A CHASM

Gisborne Times, Volume XXIX, Issue 3301, 21 August 1911, Page 3

ON THE BRINK OF A CHASM

(By L. T. Meade, autihor of “A Son of Ishmael,” etc.) CHAPTER XXIX. THE WRONG MEDICINE.Pelham looked at her steadily. “Do you really wish to know?” he said. “Yes.” “It will be a .relief to tell you. You remember that Piers always slept in the nursery. The dressing-room was just beyond, and the nurse kept the medicine and all bottles in the dressing-room. The first night I visited him I went with her to the door of the dressingroom. She gave me the medicine and I took it into the room alone. I gave the child the medicine, and just when he had 'finished it the nurse came into the room. He complained that the medicine tasted queer and sweet, not like that which lie had been taking.

“The nurse took the glass and tasted what was left and said that she thought the child must have had the wrong medicine. She went out of the room as she spoke and shut the door after her. I forgot about this at the time, but it came back to me afterwards.” “Ever since the death I have .been putting two and two together . J have been anxious to meet Mrs Tarbot to ash her if she had ever had the medicine analysed to find out why she had called it wrong. Then, Barbara, dear, I don’t believe that Piers had heart disease. Don’t you remember how he used to run and race,, and .play tennis and croquet, and ride his pony and his bicycle P “He could not have done all these things if he had organic disease of the heart —I don’t believe it. He was taken ill very suddenly, and a favourite nurse of Tarbot’s was engaged to look after him. She herself confessed in my presence that there was something wrong with the medicine which she handed to me to give him. All these things might have been ,of course, merely incidents leading to nothing, but on the night the child died a strange thing happened. I was called to the door of the dressingroom and given the boy’s medicine again. The nurse said it would have a very stimulating effect, and would take off the weakness from which the child was suffering. It did not do so—on the contrary, the boy died a few moments afterwards.”

“Btu he might have died in any case ; and three doctors examined his heart,” exclaimed Barbara. “You make me feel uncomfortable when you speak in this way, but I cannot at present see that there is anything whatever to account for your suspicions. If there x - eady is, the thing to do is to make inquiries, and so set your mind at rest. I see that this is not a mere question of nerves.”

“No, dear, I assure you it is not. I am torn between two opinions. I feel inclined one moment to go straight ahead and sift the thing to the bottom, and then again I hesitate, for I have so little to go upon.” “If you have nothing to go upon, you must make up your mind to banish your suspicions,” s?id Barbara, speaking in a resolute v oi-*\ “They lo no harm, Dick. You are not the man you were. Now that the child is dead a great responsibility devolves upon you, and you ought to rise with courage to meet it. I want you, Dick dear, to be the best landlord that the Pelham property has ever had. I have ideals which I never thought to have realised, but if you will do your part they may all come to pass.” “I wish Piers was back in the world,” said the young man. “I should be ten times happier living with you, Barbara, in a little house and struggling for briefs. Of course, if the property and title had come to me in the ordinary way -”

‘ ‘But, dear Dick, they have, ’ ’ said Barbara, rising as she spoke. “You will dwell bn this matter so long that your mind will really become affected at last.”

‘•Sit down,” said Pelham. He held out his hand and drew her back to her seat close to his side. “I have not quite told you all. Sit close to me, Barbara. We must- talk of this.in whispers.” Barbara drew nearer to her husband. The balcony at this moment was absolutely deserted. “Do you remember what happened immediately after Piers’ death?” “What do you -mean? Of course, I remember everything.” “I allude to the night when the coffin was brought -home.” Barbara gave a slight shudder. “I was in the house then,” she said. “Mx-s Pelham was very ill. It is true that Nurse Hester had arrived, but I liked to be with Mrs Pelham, and she was glad to have me.” “Well, Dick, what do you want to say now? What other suspicions have you to bring forward?” “On the night the coffin was brought in, two days before .the funeral, I called very late to see you.” “Yes, I. had gone to bed. The servant told me of your visit in the morning.” “I arrived between eleven and twelve at night. 1 rang the bell, and the footman came to answer the door. He told me that all the household had gone to bed. I said I should like to come an, as I wanted to verify something in -the library. I said I would let myself out presently, and that he need no(j stay up. Of course, he treated me just like one of the familv. .

“I went to the library and stayed there for a little. My mind was full of suspicion, in a turmoil and agony of

uncertainty. I was only, waiting for something more to go upon, in order to have the whole thing sifted to the very bottom. • j stayed in the library for over half an hour. You know it is far away from the rest of the house. About half-past twelve. I thought I would go up to the room where the child had died and try if I could find any of the medicines. My idea' was to secure a bottle and get the contents analysed. I naturally supposed that the nurse would be in one of the .rooms, and meant to ask her to give me a bottle with a little of the medicine which Piers had last taken. I ran upstairs. The house was dark, for the electric light bad been put out, hut I carried a candle. • T opened the door of the room where the dead child lay and went in. It did not take me a moment to switch on the light, and I then saw that the coffin was on the bed, and noticed with a start that the lid was screwed down.

“It seemed to me that it was strangely soon to screw on the lid. I went over and stood by the coffin. The nurse was nowhere to .he seen. I then went into the dressing-room, and began to search about for the medicine bottles, but although they had been lying on the table during Piers’s illness they had all been removed. There were two cupboards in the room—one was open, the other locked. I felt very much inclined to burst open the lock of the other cupboard, but refrained. I feared the noise might disturb Mrs Pelham.” (To be Continued To-morrow.)