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The young man whistled twice, never relaxing his hold. A moment
later a form detached itself from the group before the door of the
house opposite, crossed the street and joined them quickly, yet with
no impression of hurry.
 What s up? the newcomer asked quietly.
 Here, take hold. Don t let her get away from you. With a glance
round, he took a hypodermic needle from hi» pocket, and a quick
prick in the wrist instantly quieted the struggling, captive.  Get a
cab, he ordered,  and bring her over to my rooms. The utmost
importance not a sound to anybody. I ve got my job cut out for
me no police in this, mind.
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Out of the Ashes
He turned, his manner all gentleness.  Mrs. Marteen Mrs.
Marteen, he repeated. She raised her head slightly.  Will you come
with me? My name is Brencherly, and Mr. Gard sent me for you.
Come.
She rose obediently. The name he had spoken seemed to inspire
confidence, trust and peace, like a word of power; but her limbs
refused to move, and she sank back again. Brencherly took her
unresisting hand in his, felt her pulse and shook his head.
 Long! he called.  Get a cab. I ll take Mrs. Marteen; stop somewhere
and send a taxi back for you; it might look queer to see two of us
with unconscious patients.
When his subordinate turned to go, Brencherly leaned toward the
drugged woman, took the bundle from her listless hands and rapidly
examined its contents. A coarse nightdress, a black waist and a worn
and ragged empty wallet rewarded his search. He tied them up
again, put the package in its place and turned once more to Mrs.
Marteen.  She s a mighty sick woman, he murmured.  Well, it s
home for hers, and then me for the old man.
A taxi drove up, and his assistant descended. With his help
Brencherly half supported, half carried his charge to the curb.
Directing the chauffeur to stop at a nearby hotel before proceeding to
Mrs. Marteen s apartment, he climbed in beside the patient, and as
the machine gathered headway, murmured a fervent  Thank God!
Mrs. Marteen lay back upon the cushioned seat inert and passive. In
the flash of each passing street-light her face showed waxen pale, a
cameo against the dark background; so drawn and pinched were her
features, that Brencherly, in panic, seized her pulse, in order to
assure himself that life had not already fled. Obedient to his orders
the cab ran up to an hotel entrance, and Brencherly, leaning out,
called the starter.
 Here! he snapped,  send a taxi over to the park the bench
opposite No.  , and pick up a man with an old lady. She s
unconscious.
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Out of the Ashes
For an instant the light glinted on his metal badge as he threw back
his coat. The starter nodded. Brencherly settled back again in his
place with a sigh of relief. It was only a matter of moments now, and
he would have brought to an unexpectedly successful close the task
he had set himself. He began to build air castles; to construct for
himself a little niche in his own selected temple of Fame. He was
aroused from his revery by a voice at his side. Mrs. Marteen was
speaking, at first indistinctly, then with insistent repetition.
 I can t remember I can t remember.
He turned to her with gentle questioning, but she did not heed him.
Slowly, with infinite effort, as if her slender hands were weighted
down, she lifted them before her face. She stared at them with
growing horror depicted on her face. He was suddenly reminded of
an electrifying performance of Macbeth he had once witnessed. A
red glare from a ruby lamp at a fire-street corner splashed her frail
fingers with vivid color as they passed it by. She gave a scream that
ended in a moan, and mechanically wiped her hands back and forth,
back and forth, upon her coat. Brencherly s heart ached for her. Over
and over he repeated reassuring words in her deafened ears, striving
to lay the awful ghost that had fastened like a vampire on her heart.
But to no avail. She was as beyond his reach as if she were a creature
of another planet. Never in his active, efficient life had he felt so
helpless. It was with thanksgiving that at last he saw the ornate
entrance of Mrs. Marteen s home.
 Watch her! he ordered the chauffeur, as he leaped up the steps and
into the vestibule to prepare for her reception.
A message to her apartment brought the maid and butler in haste.
With many exclamations of alarm and sympathy they bore her to her
own room once more, and laid her upon the bed. She lay limp and
still, while they hurried about her with restoratives.
Brencherly was at the telephone. Almost at once, in answer to his
ring, Doctor Balys voice sounded over the wire in hasty
congratulations and promises of immediate assistance. Hanging up
the receiver, he turned again to his patient.
Through the silent apartment the sound of the doorbell buzzed with
sudden shock. The butler stood as if transfixed.
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Out of the Ashes
 It s Miss Dorothy! he exclaimed in consternation.  She went out to
walk a little, with young Mr. Mahr. She was nervous and couldn t
rest, and telephoned for him to come in spite of in spite of  He
hesitated.  Anyway, Mr. Mahr young Mr. Mahr came for her, sir.
Mr. Mr. I think you d better break it to her, sir. She mustn t see
her mother like this without warning!
Brencherly ran down the hall, the servant preceding him. As the
door swung wide, Dorothy, followed by Teddy Mahr, entered the
hallway. She stopped suddenly, face to face with a stranger.
 Who are you? What do you want? she asked, sudden fear and
suspicion in her eyes.
Brencherly explained quickly.
 Mr. Gard employed me, Miss Marteen, to find your mother, if
possible and she is here. Don t be alarmed.
Dorothy sank into a chair, weak with relief. Teddy put forth his hand
to help her. Instinctively she remained clasping his arm as if his
presence gave her strength.
 And she s all right she isn t hurt or or anything? she implored
breathlessly.
 She s very ill, I m afraid, said Brencherly.  I think you had better
not go to her till the doctor comes. I ve sent for him.
 Oh! but I must I must! she cried, tears in her voice.
In the rush of happenings no one had thought of Mrs. Mellows. Hers
was not a personality to commend itself in moments of stress. Now
she suddenly appeared, her eyes swollen with sleep, her ample form
swathed in a dressing gown.
 What is the matter? she complained.  I told you, Dorothy, that I
thought it very bad form, indeed, for you and Mr. Mahr to go out. In
bereavements, such as yours, sir, it s not the proper thing for you to
be making exhibitions of yourself. Like as not the reporters have
been taking pictures. And at any time they may find out that my [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]