The
whole place, excepting those articles of furniture necessary to a
well-furnished bedroom, was filled with magnificent curios, chiefly
Egyptian. As the room was of immense size there was opportunity for the
placing of a large number of them, even if, as with these, they were of
huge proportions. Whilst I was still investigating the room there came the sound of
wheels on the gravel outside the house. There was a ring at the hall
door, and a few minutes later, after a preliminary tap at the door and
an answering “Come in!” Doctor Winchester entered, followed by a young
woman in the dark dress of a nurse. “I have been fortunate!” he said as he came in. “I found her at once
and free. Miss Trelawny, this is Nurse Kennedy!”




Chapter III

The Watchers


I was struck by the way the two young women looked at each other. I
suppose I have been so much in the habit of weighing up in my own mind
the personality of witnesses and of forming judgment by their
unconscious action and mode of bearing themselves, that the habit
extends to my life outside as well as within the court-house. At this
moment of my life anything that interested Miss Trelawny interested me;
and as she had been struck by the newcomer I instinctively weighed her
up also. By comparison of the two I seemed somehow to gain a new
knowledge of Miss Trelawny. Certainly, the two women made a good
contrast. Miss Trelawny was of fine figure; dark, straight-featured. She had marvellous eyes; great, wide-open, and as black and soft as
velvet, with a mysterious depth. To look in them was like gazing at a
black mirror such as Doctor Dee used in his wizard rites. I heard an
old gentleman at the picnic, a great oriental traveller, describe the
effect of her eyes “as looking at night at the great distant lamps of a
mosque through the open door.”  The eyebrows were typical. Finely
arched and rich in long curling hair, they seemed like the proper
architectural environment of the deep, splendid eyes. Her hair was
black also, but was as fine as silk. Generally black hair is a type of
animal strength and seems as if some strong expression of the forces of
a strong nature; but in this case there could be no such thought. There were refinement and high breeding; and though there was no
suggestion of weakness, any sense of power there was, was rather
spiritual than animal. The whole harmony of her being seemed complete. Carriage, figure, hair, eyes; the mobile, full mouth, whose scarlet
lips and white teeth seemed to light up the lower part of the face—as
the eyes did the upper; the wide sweep of the jaw from chin to ear; the
long, fine fingers; the hand which seemed to move from the wrist as
though it had a sentience of its own. All these perfections went to
make up a personality that dominated either by its grace, its
sweetness, its beauty, or its charm. Nurse Kennedy, on the other hand, was rather under than over a woman’s
average height. She was firm and thickset, with full limbs and broad,
strong, capable hands. Her colour was in the general effect that of an
autumn leaf. The yellow-brown hair was thick and long, and the
golden-brown eyes sparkled from the freckled, sunburnt skin. Her rosy
cheeks gave a general idea of rich brown. The red lips and white teeth
did not alter the colour scheme, but only emphasized it. She had a
snub nose—there was no possible doubt about it; but like such noses in
general it showed a nature generous, untiring, and full of good-nature. Her broad white forehead, which even the freckles had spared, was full
of forceful thought and reason. Doctor Winchester had on their journey from the hospital, coached her
in the necessary particulars, and without a word she took charge of the
patient and set to work. Having examined the new-made bed and shaken
the pillows, she spoke to the Doctor, who gave instructions; presently
we all four, stepping together, lifted the unconscious man from the
sofa. Early in the afternoon, when Sergeant Daw had returned, I called at my
rooms in Jermyn Street, and sent out such clothes, books and papers as
I should be likely to want within a few days. Then I went on to keep
my legal engagements. The Court sat late that day as an important case was ending; it was
striking six as I drove in at the gate of the Kensington Palace Road. I found myself installed in a large room close to the sick chamber. That night we were not yet regularly organised for watching, so that
the early part of the evening showed an unevenly balanced guard. Nurse
Kennedy, who had been on duty all day, was lying down, as she had
arranged to come on again by twelve o’clock. Doctor Winchester, who
was dining in the house, remained in the room until dinner was
announced; and went back at once when it was over. During dinner Mrs.
Grant remained in the room, and with her Sergeant Daw, who wished to
complete a minute examination which he had undertaken of everything in
the room and near it. At nine o’clock Miss Trelawny and I went in to
relieve the Doctor. She had lain down for a few hours in the afternoon
so as to be refreshed for her work at night. She told me that she had
determined that for this night at least she would sit up and watch. I
did not try to dissuade her, for I knew that her mind was made up. Then and there I made up my mind that I would watch with her—unless,
of course, I should see that she really did not wish it. I said
nothing of my intentions for the present. We came in on tiptoe, so
silently that the Doctor, who was bending over the bed, did not hear
us, and seemed a little startled when suddenly looking up he saw our
eyes upon him. I felt that the mystery of the whole thing was getting
on his nerves, as it had already got on the nerves of some others of
us. He was, I fancied, a little annoyed with himself for having been
so startled, and at once began to talk in a hurried manner as though to
get over our idea of his embarrassment:

“I am really and absolutely at my wits’ end to find any fit cause for
this stupor. I have made again as accurate an examination as I know
how, and I am satisfied that there is no injury to the brain, that is,
no external injury. Indeed, all his vital organs seem unimpaired. I
have given him, as you know, food several times and it has manifestly
done him good. His breathing is strong and regular, and his pulse is
slower and stronger than it was this morning. I cannot find evidence
of any known drug, and his unconsciousness does not resemble any of the
many cases of hypnotic sleep which I saw in the Charcot Hospital in
Paris. And as to these wounds”—he laid his finger gently on the
bandaged wrist which lay outside the coverlet as he spoke, “I do not
know what to make of them. They might have been made by a
carding-machine; but that supposition is untenable. It is within the
bounds of possibility that they might have been made by a wild animal
if it had taken care to sharpen its claws. That too is, I take it,
impossible.