This time, the doctor grasped the idea. He looked round cunningly to

the door. "Any eavesdroppers?" he asked. "Hush! Whisper--this is

serious--whisper! What was it I was going to tell you? What was the

secret, old boy?"

Mountjoy answered a little too readily: "I think it related to Mrs.

Vimpany."

Mrs. Vimpany's husband threw himself back in his chair, snatched a

dirty handkerchief out of his pocket, and began to cry.

"Here's a false friend!" the creature whimpered. "Asks me to dinner,

and takes advantage of my dependent situation to insult my wife. The

loveliest of women, the sweetest of women, the innocentest of women.

Oh, my wife! my wife!" He suddenly threw his handkerchief to the other

end of the room, and burst out laughing. "Ho! ho! Mountjoy, what an

infernal fool you must be to take me seriously. I can act, too. Do you

think I care about my wife? She was a fine woman once: she's a bundle

of old rags now. But she has her merits. Hush! I want to know

something. Have you got a lord among your circle of acquaintance?"

Experience made Mountjoy more careful; perhaps a little too careful. He

only said "Yes."

The doctor's dignity asserted itself. "That's a short answer, sir, to a

man in my position. If you want me to believe you, mention your

friend's name."

Here was a chance at last! "His name;" Mountjoy began, "is Lord

Harry--"

Mr. Vimpany lost his dignity in an instant. He struck his heavy fist on

the table, with a blow that made the tumblers jump.

"Coincidence!" he cried. "How wonderful--no; that's not the

word--providential is the word--how providential are coincidences! I

mean, of course, to a rightly constituted mind. Let nobody contradict

me! When I say a rightly constituted mind I speak seriously; and a

young man like you will be all the better for it. Mountjoy! dear

Mountjoy! jolly Mountjoy! my wife's lord is your lord--Lord Harry. No;

none of your nonsense--I won't have any more wine. Yes, I will; it

might hurt your feelings if I didn't drink with you. Pass the bottle.

Ha! That's a nice ring you've got on your finger. Perhaps you think it

valuable? It's nothing, sir; it's dross, it's dirt, compared to my

wife's diamond pin! There's a jewel, if you like! It will be worth a

fortune to us when we sell it. A gift, dear sir! I'm afraid I've been

too familiar with you. Speaking as a born gentleman, I beg to present

my respects, and I call you 'dear sir.' Did I tell you the diamond pin

was a gift? It's nothing of the sort; we are under no obligation; my

wife, my admirable wife, has earned that diamond pin. By registered

post; and what I call a manly letter from Lord Harry. He is deeply

obliged (I give you the sense of it) by what my wife has done for him;

ready money is scarce with my lord; he sends a family jewel, with his

love. Oh, I'm not jealous. He's welcome to love Mrs. Vimpany, in her

old age, if he likes. Did you say that, sir? Did you say that Lord

Harry, or any man, was welcome to love Mrs. Vimpany? I have a great

mind to throw this bottle at your head. No, I won't; it's wasting good

wine! How kind of you to give me good wine. Who are you? I don't like

dining with a stranger. Do you know any friend of mine? Do you know a

man named Mountjoy? Do you know two men named Mountjoy? No: you don't.

One of them is dead: killed by those murdering scoundrels what do you

call them? Eh, what?" The doctor's voice began to falter, his head

dropped; he slumbered suddenly and woke suddenly, and began talking

again suddenly. "Would you like to be made acquainted with Lord Harry?

I'll give you a sketch of his character before I introduce him. Between

ourselves, he's a desperate wretch. Do you know why he employed my

wife, my admirable wife? You will agree with me; he ought to have

looked after his young woman himself. We've got his young woman safe in

our house. A nice girl. Not my style; my medical knowledge certifies

she's cold-blooded. Lord Harry has only to come over here and find her.

Why the devil doesn't he come? What is it keeps him in Ireland? Do you

know? I seem to have forgotten. My own belief is I've got softening of

the brain. What's good for softening of the brain? There isn't a doctor

living who won't tell you the right remedy--wine. Pass the wine. If

this claret is worth a farthing, it's worth a guinea a bottle. I ask

you in confidence; did you ever hear of such a fool as my wife's lord?

His name escapes me. No matter; he stops in Ireland--hunting. Hunting

what? The fox? Nothing so noble; hunting assassins. He's got some

grudge against one of them. Means to kill one of them. A word in your

ear; they'll kill him. Do you ever bet? Five to one, he's a dead man

before the end of the week. When is the end of the week? Tuesday,

Wednesday--no, Saturday--that's the beginning of the week--no, it

isn't--the beginning of the week isn't the Sabbath--Sunday, of

course--we are not Christians, we are Jews--I mean we are Jews, we are

not Christians--I mean--"




readonlinefreebook.com Copyright 2016 - 2024