The Ivory Snuff Box
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"Well, Mr. Duvall," he said, "how goes the treatment? Memory any better this morning?"
He made no reply. The mockery in the doctor's voice roused him to sudden and bitter anger.
"I'm trying a new modification of the light treatment upon you," Hartmann went on, with a jarring laugh. "Dr. Mentone, of Milan, has great hopes of it. Wonderful thing, these violet rays! Have you read of their use in sterilizing milk? No? The subject would interest you. How is your mind this morning? Somewhat irritated, no doubt. Well, well, that will soon wear off. You've only been under the treatment six hours. Scarcely long enough to produce much effect. We'll make it ten, the next time. It is necessary to increase gradually, in order not to superinduce insanity." He went to a switch on the wall and pressed it, and instantly the cone of light disappeared. Another movement, and the room Was flooded with the yellow glow of an electric lamp, which seemed dingy and wan, compared with the cold brilliance which it displaced.
The dispelling of darkness brought to Duvall's brain a rush of sensations, among which the knowledge that he was once more in the lumber-room beneath the laboratory stood forth with overwhelming prominence. He glanced at Hartmann with reddened eyes. "Let me up, damn you!" he shouted.
The doctor bent over him, his face smiling. "Just a moment, Mr. Duvall. Have a little patience." He began to unbuckle several straps, and presently stood back, with a wave of his hand. "Get up," he said.
The detective's swollen muscles, his stiffened limbs, still retained the sensation of being bound; he scarcely realized that his bonds had been removed. Painfully he crawled to his feet, and stood before the doctor, blinking, trying to collect his faculties. On the floor lay a number of broad leather straps, secured to iron rings which had been let into the cement floor.
His first thought was to make a quick rush at his captor, and after overpowering him, secure the snuff box and dash from the place. His eyes must have shown something of his intention, for Hartmann, stepping back a pace, drew his right hand from his pocket. It contained an ugly-looking magazine pistol. "Don't attempt anything rash, Mr. Duvall. It would be useless. Even should you succeed in disposing of me, which I hardly think possible, you could not get away from my man Mayer, who is waiting in the corridor outside. Enough of this nonsense," he went on, scowling. "I mean to be quite frank with you, my friend. I intend to subject you to this device of mine – " he waved his hand toward the opening in the ceiling – "until you disclose the whereabouts of the snuff box. I know it is somewhere near at hand, either here or in Brussels, for your two assistants, whom I have had released, have been hanging about the place all the morning. If the violet rays have no other effect, they will at least prevent you from sleeping, and my experience shows that loss of sleep, if persisted in, will shatter the best set of nerves on earth. You know what the effect is, for six hours. The next time, as I said some little while ago, we shall try ten – and after that, longer periods, until the process becomes continuous. I am giving you these brief respites, at first, because I have not the least wish to drive you mad – all I ask is the snuff box which you took from my messenger Seltz. Give it up, and you can go at your convenience. But I must have it – even if I am obliged to drive you to the limit. I advise you to save yourself much suffering, and give it to me now."
The detective drew back his arm – his fist clenched. The impulse to drive it into Hartmann's face was overpowering. He turned abruptly on his heel, and made no reply.
Hartmann waited for a moment, then seeing that his prisoner was not disposed to answer, went toward the door. "Max," he called, opening it, "bring in the tray." The attendant at once entered with a waiter containing food, which he placed on a box near the door. "Is that all?" he asked. Hartmann nodded and the man withdrew.
"Think the matter over, Mr. Duvall," the doctor remarked, as he stepped across the threshold of the door. "I shall call upon you again, later in the day."
Duvall waited until the door had been closed and locked, and the doctor's footsteps had died away up the iron staircase. He heard them for a moment, on the floor of the room above, then all was quiet.
In a moment the detective had stepped to the large box in the corner, behind which lay, he believed, the discarded opera hat. At a glance, he saw that it was still there. He was about to stoop and pick it up, when a sudden fear swept over him. Suppose he was being watched. The doctor was in the room above. The presence in the room of the beam of light showed clearly that there must be an opening in the ceiling, into the laboratory. For all he knew, Hartmann might be observing his every movement. He stopped in his attempt to pick up the hat, and pretended to be greatly interested in the box and its contents. After making a careful examination of the labels upon it, he strolled carelessly back to the other side of the room, and ate the breakfast which the attendant had left. He supposed it to be breakfast, although he had no realization of the time. In a moment he felt for his watch, and found that it was still in his pocket. When he consulted it, however, he saw at once that it had run down.
After his meal, he began to feel terribly tired and sleepy. At first he fought off the feeling, realizing that his only hope of freedom lay in keeping awake, with all his senses alert. Then he thought of the nerve-racking hours through which he had just passed; the many more which were likely to follow, and decided that he must have rest at any cost. He threw himself upon the floor, his head pillowed upon his arm, and was soon sleeping the deep sleep which follows utter exhaustion.
CHAPTER XVII
All during the afternoon of the day upon which she had first met her husband during his confinement at Dr. Hartmann's, Grace Duvall wandered about the place, looking for him, waiting with growing fears for his appearance. When evening came, and she had failed to find him, she became greatly alarmed. In her excitement, she forgot the word she had agreed to send into Brussels by the boy who drove the delivery wagon, and was just returning to the house when she heard someone calling to her from the drive. She turned and saw that it was the bread boy, who had stopped his cart some little distance from the veranda.
"Mademoiselle," he called, "you have dropped your handkerchief." He pointed with his whip to a white object which lay in the roadway close beside the wheels of the cart. She had not dropped her handkerchief – she knew that it was at that moment tightly clenched in her left hand, but she understood.
"Thank you," she called, and hurried toward him. The boy, meanwhile, had climbed down from the wagon, and picking up the handkerchief, which he had himself secretly dropped, handed it to her, with a polite bow. She felt, as she clutched the bit of linen, that within it lay a note.
"He is here," she said quickly, in an undertone. "The box is safe. It is hidden. They have not yet discovered it. But I am afraid something terrible has happened to Mr. Duvall. Tell them to send help, quick." She turned away, and the boy mounted his box, whistling gayly, and at once drove off.
Grace hurried to her room, to examine the note within the handkerchief. She could hardly wait to see what it contained. The contents were a great disappointment to her. "Leave the house about ten o'clock to-morrow morning," it said. That was all. She had already decided to do this, in order to effect, if possible, her husband's release. So far as the snuff box was concerned, she felt that she did not care whether the doctor discovered it or not, if only she might know that Richard was safe. All during the evening she wandered aimlessly about the house, hoping each minute that she might come upon him, but her search was in vain. Richard Duvall seemed to have vanished completely.
Once she met the doctor, just as she had given up in despair and was returning to her room. He spoke pleasantly enough, asked her how she felt, and showed much concern that she had refused to eat any supper. "You must eat, mademoiselle," he told her. "Have you taken regularly the tonic I prescribed?" She nodded, not considering it necessary to inform him that she had carefully poured it, dose by dose, into the sink. For a moment she thought of asking him what had become of Mr. Brooks, but she feared to rouse his suspicions. "I'm feeling somewhat out of sorts," she said. "I'll be all right in the morning."
"I am gratified to observe," he remarked, as she left him, "that you had no tendency to walk in your sleep last night. I trust the improvement will continue. Good-night." She could not determine whether or not there lay any hidden meaning back of his words. His mirthless smile somehow made her feel uncomfortable.
His words, however, inspired her to form a new plan. She would go to the laboratory that night, if she could by any means escape the vigilance of the woman on guard in the hall, and find out, if possible, whether or not Richard was confined there. From the windows of her room, which faced the rear of the house, she could see plainly the small square brick building in which the laboratory was located. There were lights in the floor on a level with her windows – that, she knew, was the room in which she had seen Hartmann sitting at his desk, on the night of her arrival. But there were, she knew, rooms both above and below this one, and in the latter lay hidden the Ambassador's snuff box. Was Richard confined there, as well? She determined to find out.
The woman who sat on watch in the hall came to her room at half-past ten and looked in to see if she required anything. Grace, who was just getting into bed, told her that she did not, said good-night sleepily, and asked her to turn off the lights. The woman did so, and closing the door softly, retired.
Grace lay in bed a long time, wondering how she could get down the hall, and into the passageway leading to the laboratory, without being observed. There seemed no possible way of accomplishing this, yet she was determined to attempt it. Her thoughts were interrupted by the faint ringing of an electric bell. She knew it was the one in the hall, near where the nurse sat, by which any of the patients, desiring her presence during the night, might summon her to their rooms. Grace slipped out of bed, opened her door the slightest crack, so that she could command a view of the hall, and peered out. She saw the nurse coming toward her with a glass of water in her hand. She disappeared for a moment into a room across the corridor, then reappeared almost at once and resumed her seat at the head of the stairs.
Grace was disappointed. She had been on the point of starting out, when the woman's reappearance prevented her. She crouched on the floor beside her door, waiting until the nurse should again be summoned away.
She waited for hours. She heard the church bells in the city, far off and muffled, booming the hour of midnight. The nurse on the chair yawned and nodded. After what seemed an eternity, she heard one o'clock strike, and then two. The house was shrouded in silence. Her knees were cramped and cold, from contact with the floor; her whole body seemed sore, from the nervous tension of her position. She almost screamed, when the electric bell suddenly rang out again, its sound intensified by the stillness until it seemed as though it must wake everyone in the house.
The nurse rose sleepily, glanced at the indicator on the wall which informed her from which room the summons had come, and started down the corridor toward the west wing of the building. As she passed beyond the circle of light cast by the electric globe in the central hall, Grace pushed her door open and slipped noiselessly out. For a moment she hesitated, saw the woman enter a room midway of the corridor, then flew like the wind toward the door which gave entrance to the passageway leading to the laboratory. Her bare feet made no sound, she gained the door without being discovered, and in an instant had swung it open, and was standing in the long covered way outside. She drew the door to after her noiselessly, then sank upon her knees and listened. In a short while she heard the nurse come shuffling down the corridor, and the creaking of her chair as she sank heavily into it. So far, she felt that she was safe.
She advanced along the corridor with great caution. Her chief fear was that the door of the laboratory might be locked, in which case, she would be unable to proceed further. When she reached it, and felt it yield as she slowly turned the knob, she heaved a sigh of relief. In a moment she was in the laboratory.
The room was unlighted, save for a faint glow which came from a small black box in the center of the floor. She had no idea what this box was, but noticed that heavy wires ran to it, from each side, and that there were several protuberances upon its top, which shone like brass. She did not stop to examine it further, however, but looked about for some means of reaching the room below. The idea of recovering the snuff box had suddenly occurred to her. With that in her possession, Richard, she believed, need no longer hesitate to escape at the first opportunity. He had told her that it was hidden in the room beneath. She ran quickly down the steps which she observed in one corner, feeling a glow of excitement at the daring of her quest.
At the bottom of the stairs she found a narrow little corridor with a heavy door opening on it which she judged led into the room she desired to enter. The corridor was lighted by a single window at the end opposite the staircase, through which came a faint light from without.
She groped about in the semi-darkness until she found the knob of the door and slowly turned it, pressing her weight against the panels. It did not yield. With a sickening feeling of disappointment she realized that it was locked.
She stood still for a moment, wondering what she should do next. Suddenly she shuddered, and a horrible faintness came over her. From within the room she distinctly heard the slow moaning of someone evidently in great pain. Thoughts of Richard at once rushed through her mind; she flung herself on her knees, in an agony of fear, and sought frantically for the keyhole. At last she found it, and looked into the room. The sight that met her gaze sent her reeling backward. There lay Richard, her husband, upon the floor, his face encircled by a ring of blinding light, by which she could see, with frightful distinctness, the ghastly expression of his features, the lines of agony about his eyes and mouth.
For a moment she beat frantically upon the door, calling to him incoherently. She thought he did not hear her, for he did not turn his head. Then she stopped, frightened at what she had done. Suppose the doctor were to overhear her? Everything would be lost. There was but one chance for Richard now, she felt, and that lay with her. She would leave the house, in the morning, proceed at once to the Minister's, and tell him the whole story. Snuff box or no snuff box, she was determined to rescue her husband from his present situation, if it was not already too late.
For a long time she looked into the room, watching the face, grim and silent in the circle of light. She called to him over and over, softly, telling him of her plans, of her love for him, of her sorrow, but he seemed not to hear. But for the twitching of his face, and the low moans which he uttered from time to time, she might have supposed him dead.
How she got back to her room, she could scarcely have told. She staggered up the stairs into the laboratory, out along the corridor, and at last reached the door leading into the main building. She pushed this silently open, and gazed cautiously into the hall. The nurse sat in her chair, apparently asleep. With the utmost care, Grace managed to enter the hall, and to close the door behind her. Then seeing that the woman was rousing, she determined upon a bold plan. She opened her eyes wide, trying to give them a vacant, staring appearance, and with arms extended started toward the nurse.
The latter rose with an exclamation of alarm, then recognizing the sudden apparition as Grace, came up to her, took her by the arm, and led her back to her room. She sank helplessly upon the bed, and pretended to fall asleep. Whether the woman suspected her or not, she could not tell – she noticed that she locked the door, on leaving the room.
The hours until dawn seemed interminable. She lay in bed, praying that there might yet be time in which to save Richard from Hartmann's machinations. What it was that the latter was doing to him, she could not guess, but the look of agony on Duvall's face told her that his sufferings, from some cause, were very great.
After a long time the day broke, and she dressed and managed to choke down a little breakfast. She kept in her room until long after nine o'clock, not daring to leave the house before ten. Dr. Hartmann came in just as she was preparing to go. She saw him glance quickly toward her hat, as she put it on. "I'm going in to the city, this morning, doctor," she said, carelessly. "There are a few things I must get at one of the shops."
He nodded, as though the matter were quite unimportant. "You had another attack, last night, Miss Ellicott," he said. "I regret that the symptoms have recurred."
"Did I? What did I do?" she inquired, wide-eyed.
"Nothing, luckily. Walked down the corridor a short distance, the nurse tells me. She stopped you before you got very far." He regarded her with his keen professional look. "Strange – you do not appear abnormally nervous. I fear I shall have to begin the hypnotic treatment at once."
She paid but scant attention. If she could accomplish what she hoped, this morning, neither Dr. Hartmann nor his treatments would matter in the least to her. "I am sorry it will be necessary," she said, "but of course you know best."
When she left the grounds, she watched carefully to see if she was being followed, but there was nothing to indicate that such was the case. At the corner below, a small, youngish-looking man turned in behind her. He appeared to have been walking rapidly, but she had no particular reason to believe that he was following her.
She made at once for the center of the town, determined to walk the distance rather than wait to find a cab. On the way she passed several stores, and it occurred to her to stop in at one of them and buy a pair of gloves, to lend color to her excuses. She did so, and was just going out again when she suddenly came face to face with the young man she had thought was following her. "Miss Ellicott," he said, raising his hat, and as his hand was poised before her eyes, she saw on his finger a ring similar to the one which had been given her in Paris by Monsieur Lefevre, on the day of her departure. She colored, started to pass on, then stopped. "Good-morning," she gasped, faintly.
"I'm so glad to see you," he rattled on. "Don't you remember our being introduced, at dinner one night, in Paris. I'm delighted to meet you again. On your way down-town, I suppose?" His remark seemed a question. She answered it at once. "Yes, a little shopping to do, and then I thought of stopping at the house of some friends – the United States Minister," she added, by way of explanation.
The stranger bowed. "May I have the pleasure of accompanying you?" he asked. "I also am going in that direction."
Grace assented, and they went out together. At the door the man summoned a cab. "It is safer," he whispered. "We may be observed."
Once inside the cab, which was a closed one, the young man began to ply Grace with questions. "I am one of Monsieur Lefevre's men," he told her, noting her momentary hesitation. "Be quite frank, please, and tell me everything."
When she had finished her story, he sat in silence for a long time. Then he turned to her with a question which made her think he had suddenly lost his mind. "Has Dr. Hartmann a phonograph in the house?" he inquired.
"A phonograph?" she looked at him curiously.
"Yes – yes." His voice betrayed his excitement. "We must send a message to Mr. Duvall. Your windows overlook the room where he is confined. He may hear it. It is the only way."
"Yes," she said, after a moment's thought. "There is a phonograph in the library – a small one. It is seldom used. But Dr. Hartmann – "
"Listen to me," he interrupted, "and do exactly as I say. Pretend to be ill. Ask Dr. Hartmann's permission to have the instrument moved to your room. Then play the records which I am about to get for you."
She gazed at him, scarcely understanding. "But – " she began.
"Of course you will play other records, as well, but this one you must play often – as often as possible. I do not know that Mr. Duvall will understand what the message is – it is a chance, but we must take it. I myself do not understand it very clearly, but the suggestion comes from Monsieur Lefevre himself. You know him. He has your husband's safety at heart." He leaned out, giving a few rapid instructions to the cabman, and then once more turned to Grace.
"Do not visit the house of the United States Minister. It will be most unwise. As soon as he learns that Mr. Duvall and yourself are at Dr. Hartmann's house as spies, he will of necessity refuse to assist you further. Should he not do so, should he demand Mr. Duvall's release, nothing would be gained, since the snuff box would of necessity be left behind. Dr. Hartmann will not injure your husband – he is too anxious to get possession of the snuff box for that. We will try the phonograph, to-day, and if that means is unsuccessful, we must make an attempt to regain the box, and release your husband by force."
As he finished speaking, the cab drew up at a music store. The stranger sprang out, and in a few moments reappeared with a small package in his hand. He handed it to her, then removed his hat and bowed. "I would suggest, mademoiselle, that you return at once, and make use of this as I have directed. If anything further occurs, send word by the delivery boy to-night." He bowed, and walked rapidly down the street.
Grace sadly ordered the cabman to return to Dr. Hartmann's, and then sat back, her mind torn by conflicting emotions. The whole thing seemed inexplicably mysterious and confusing. Here was Richard, her husband, suffering she knew not what agonies at Dr. Hartmann's hands, and these people, who ought to be attempting to liberate him, asked her to play upon the phonograph. She tore open the package which the young man had handed her, and glanced at it eagerly. Its title told her no more than the stranger himself had done. She read it over and over, aimlessly. It was The Rosary.
CHAPTER XVIII
The dull, heavy sleep into which Richard Duvall had fallen, after Dr. Hartmann had left him, was suddenly disturbed by the realization that someone had seized him roughly by the arms. He attempted to rise, struggling instinctively against the two men who, he dimly saw, were bending over him, but his resistance was useless. In a moment the leather straps which encircled his wrists and ankles had been drawn tight, and he felt himself being lifted bodily and deposited on the floor in the center of the room. At first he cried out, cursing his captors loudly, but an instant's reflection showed him how profitless his remonstrances were, and he allowed himself to be bound to the floor in silence. In a moment, Dr. Hartmann – the detective saw that it was he, with Mayer – had switched on the violet light, and he once more felt its blinding radiance upon his face.
Hartmann opened the door. "I shall be back again in a few hours," he said, as he left the room. "I hope that by that time you will have quite recovered your senses."
The detective made no reply. He had definitely made up his mind upon one point: he was not going to purchase his freedom at the expense of his duty. The unfortunate situation in which he now found himself was, he knew very well, entirely his own fault, and his desire to atone for his momentary carelessness made him determined not to accede to Dr. Hartmann's demands. He hoped that his friends outside – Lablanche, Dufrenne, even Grace – might be able to come to his assistance. If he could only know that the snuff box was safe in Monsieur Lefevre's hands, the rest did not matter much.