Books: Madame Midas

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'You must stay all night with me, Selina,' she said, irritably. 'I
can't be left alone.'

'But, Miss Kitty,' objected Selina, 'she'll expect to be waited for
coming home from the ball.'

'Well, she comes in here to go to her own room,' said Madame,
impatiently; 'you can leave the door unlocked.'

'Well,' observed Miss Sprotts, grimly, beginning to undress herself,
'for a nervous woman, you leave a great many windows and doors
open.'

'I'm not afraid as long as you are with me,' said Madame, yawning;
'it's by myself I get nervous.'

Miss Sprotts sniffed, and observed that 'Prevention is better than
cure,' then went to bed, and both she and Madame were soon fast
asleep. Selina slept on the outside of the bed, and Madame, having a
sense of security from being with someone, slumbered calmly; so the
night wore drowsily on, and nothing could be heard but the steady
ticking of the clock and the heavy breathing of the two women.

A sleepy servant admitted Kitty when she came home from the ball,
and had said goodbye to Mrs Killer and Bellthorp. Then Mrs Riller,
whose husband had gone home three hours before, drove away with
Bellthorp, and Kitty went into Madame's room, while the sleepy
servant, thankful that his vigil for the night was over, went to
bed. Kitty found Madame's door ajar, and went in softly, fearful
lest she might wake her. She did not know that Selina was in the
room, and as she heard the steady breathing of the sleepers, she
concluded that Madame was asleep, and resolved to go quietly into
her own room without disturbing the sleeper. So eerie the room
looked with the faint night-light burning on the table beside the
bed, and all the shadows, not marked and distinct as in a strong
glare, were faintly confused. Just near the door was a long chevral
glass, and Kitty caught sight of herself in it, wan and spectral-
looking, in her white dress, and, as she let the heavy blue cloak
fall from her shoulders, a perfect shower of apple blossoms were
shaken on to the floor. Her hair had come undone from its sleek,
smooth plaits, and now hung like a veil of gold on her shoulders.
She looked closely at herself in the glass, and her face looked worn
and haggard in the dim light. A pungent acrid odour permeated the
room, and the heavy velvet curtains moved with subdued rustlings as
the wind stole in through the window. On a table near her was a
portrait of Vandeloup, which he had given Madame two days before,
and though she could not see the face she knew it was his.
Stretching out her hand she took the photograph from its stand, and
sank into a low chair which stood at the end of the room some
distance from the bed. So noiseless were her movements that the two
sleepers never awoke, and the girl sat in the chair with the
portrait in her hand dreaming of the man whom it represented. She
knew his handsome face was smiling up at her out of the glimmering
gloom, and clenched her hands in anger as she thought how he had
treated her. She let the portrait fall on her lap, and leaning back
in the chair, with all her golden hair showering down loosely over
her shoulders, gave herself up to reflection.

He was going to marry Madame Midas--the man who had ruined her life;
he would hold another woman in his arms and tell her all the false
tales he had told her. He would look into her eyes with his own, and
she would be unable to see the treachery and guile hidden in their
depths. She could not stand it. False friend, false lover, he had
been, but to see him married to another--no! it was too much. And
yet what could she do? A woman in love believes no ill of the man
she adores, and if she was to tell Madame Midas all she would not be
believed. Ah! it was useless to fight against fate, it was too
strong for her, so she would have to suffer in silence, and see them
happy. That story of Hans Andersen's, which she had read, about the
little mermaid who danced, and felt that swords were wounding her
feet while the prince smiled on his bride--yes, that was her case.
She would have to stand by in silence and see him caressing another
woman, while every caress would stab her like a sword. Was there no
way of stopping it? Ah! what is that? The poison--no! no! anything
but that. Madame had been kind to her, and she could not repay her
trust with treachery. No, she was not weak enough for that. And yet
suppose Madame died? no one could tell she had been poisoned, and
then she could marry Vandeloup. Madame was sleeping in yonder bed,
and on the table there was a glass with some liquid in it. She would
only have to go to her room, fetch the poison, and put it in there--
then retire to bed. Madame would surely drink during the night, and
then--yes, there was only one way--the poison!

How still the house was: not a sound but the ticking of the clock in
the hall and the rushing scamper of a rat or mouse. The dawn reddens
faintly in the east and the chill morning breeze comes up from the
south, salt with the odours of the ocean. Ah! what is that? a
scream--a woman's voice--then another, and the bell rings furiously.
The frightened servants collect from all parts of the house, in all
shapes of dress and undress. The bell sounds from the bedroom of Mrs
Villiers, and having ascertained this they all rush in. What a sight
meets their eyes. Kitty Marchurst, still in her ball dress, clinging
convulsively to the chair; Madame Midas, pale but calm, ringing the
bell; and on the bed, with one arm hanging over, lies Selina
Sprotts--dead! The table near the bed was overturned on the floor,
and the glass and the night-lamp both lie smashed to pieces on the
carpet.

'Send for a doctor at once,' cried Madame, letting go the bell-rope
and crossing to the window; 'Selina has had a fit of some sort.'

Startled servant goes out to stables and wakes up the grooms, one of
whom is soon on horseback riding for dear life to Dr Chinston.
Clatter--clatter along in the keen morning air; a few workmen on
their way to work gaze in surprise at this furious rider. Luckily,
the doctor lives in St Kilda, and being awoke out of his sleep,
dresses himself quickly, and taking the groom's horse, rides back to
Mrs Villiers' house. He dismounts, enters the house, then the
bedroom. Kitty, pale and wan, is seated in the chair; the window
curtains are drawn, and the cold light of day pours into the room,
while Madame Midas is kneeling beside the corpse, with all the
servants around her. Dr Chinston lifts the arm; it falls limply
down. The face is ghastly white, the eyes staring; there is a streak
of foam on the tightly clenched mouth. The doctor puts his hand on
the heart--not a throb; he closes the staring eyes reverently, and
turns to the kneeling woman and the frightened servants.

'She is dead,' he says, briefly, and orders them to leave the room.

'When did this occur, Mrs Villiers?' he asked, when the room had
been cleared and only himself, Madame, and Kitty remained.

'I can't tell you,' replied Madame, weeping; 'she was all right last
night when we went to bed, and she stayed all night with me because
I was nervous. I slept soundly, when I was awakened by a cry and saw
Kitty standing beside the bed and Selina in convulsions; then she
became quite still and lay like that till you came. What is the
cause?'

'Apoplexy,' replied the doctor, doubtfully; 'at least, judging from
the symptoms; but perhaps Miss Marchurst can tell us when the attack
came on?'

He turned to Kitty, who was shivering in the chair and looked so
pale that Madame Midas went over to her to see what was the matter.
The girl, however, shrank away with a cry as the elder woman
approached, and rising to her feet moved unsteadily towards the
doctor.

'You say she,' pointing to the body, 'died of apoplexy?'

'Yes,' he answered, curtly, 'all the symptoms of apoplexy are
there.'

'You are wrong!' gasped Kitty, laying her hand on his arm, 'it is
poison!'

'Poison!' echoed Madame and the Doctor in surprise.

'Listen,' said Kitty, quickly, pulling herself together by a great
effort. 'I came home from the ball between two and three, I entered
the room to go to my own,' pointing to the other door; 'I did not
know Selina was with Madame.'

'No,' said Madame, quietly, 'that is true, I only asked her to stop
at the last moment.'

'I was going quietly to bed,' resumed Kitty, hurriedly, 'in order
not to waken Madame, when I saw the portrait of M. Vandeloup on the
table; I took it up to look at it.'

'How could you see without a light?' asked Dr Chinston, sharply,
looking at her.

'There was a night light burning,' replied Kitty, pointing to the
fragments on the floor; 'and I could only guess it was M.
Vandeloup's portrait; but at all events,' she said, quickly, 'I sat
down in the chair over there and fell asleep.'

'You see, doctor, she had been to a ball and was tired,' interposed
Madame Midas; 'but go on, Kitty, I want to know why you say Selina
was poisoned.'

'I don't know how long I was asleep,' said Kitty, wetting her dry
lips with her tongue, 'but I was awoke by a noise at the window
there,' pointing towards the window, upon which both her listeners
turned towards it, 'and looking, I saw a hand coming out from behind
the curtain with a bottle in it; it held the bottle over the glass
on the table, and after pouring the contents in, then withdrew.'

'And why did you not cry out for assistance?' asked the doctor,
quickly.

'I couldn't,' she replied, 'I was so afraid that I fainted. I
recovered my senses, Selina had drank the poison, and when I got up
on my feet and went to the bed she was in convulsions; I woke
Madame, and that's all.'

'A strange story,' said Chinston, musingly, 'where is the glass?'

'It's broken, doctor,' replied Madame Midas; 'in getting out of bed
I knocked the table down, and both the night lamp and glass
smashed.'

'No one could have been concealed behind the curtain of the window?'
said the doctor to Madame Midas.

'No,' she replied, 'but the window was open all night; so if it is
as Kitty says, the man who gave the poison must have put his hand
through the open window.'

Dr Chinston went to the window and looked out; there were no marks
of feet on the flower bed, where it was so soft that anyone standing
on it would have left a footmark behind.

'Strange,' said the doctor, 'it's a peculiar story,' looking at
Kitty keenly.

'But a true one,' she replied boldly, the colour coming back to her
face; 'I say she was poisoned.'

'By whom?' asked Madame Midas, the memory of her husband coming back
to her.

'I can't tell you,' answered Kitty, 'I only saw the hand.'

'At all events,' said Chinston, slowly, 'the poisoner did not know
that your nurse was with you, so the poison was meant for Mrs
Villiers.'

Tor me?' she echoed, ghastly pale; 'I knew it,--my husband is alive,
and this is his work.'

CHAPTER XII

A STARTLING DISCOVERY

Ill news travels fast, and before noon the death of Selina Sprotts
was known all over Melbourne. The ubiquitous reporter, of course,
appeared on the scene, and the evening papers gave its own version
of the affair, and a hint at foul play. There was no grounds for
this statement, as Dr Chinston told Kitty and Madame Midas to say
nothing about the poison, and it was generally understood that the
deceased had died from apoplexy. A rumour, however, which originated
none knew how, crept about among everyone that poison was the cause
of death, and this, being added to by some and embellished in all
its little details by others, there was soon a complete story made
up about the affair. At the Bachelor's Club it was being warmly
spoken about when Vandeloup came in about eight o'clock in the
evening; and when he appeared he was immediately overwhelmed with
inquiries. He looked cool and calm as usual, and stood smiling
quietly on the excited group before him.

'You know Mrs Villiers,' said Bellthorp, in an assertive tone, 'so
you must know all about the affair.' 'I don't see that,' returned
Gaston, pulling at his moustache, 'knowing anyone does not include a
knowledge of all that goes on in the house. I assure you, beyond
what there is in the papers, I am as ignorant as you are.'

'They say this woman--Sprotts or Potts, or something--died from
poison,' said Barty Jarper, who had been all round the place
collecting information.

'Apoplexy, the doctor says,' said Bellthorp, lighting a cigarette;
'she was in the same room with Mrs Villiers and was found dead in
the morning.'

'Miss Marchurst was also in the room,' put in Barty, eagerly.

'Oh, indeed!' said Vandeloup, smoothly, turning to him; 'do you
think she had anything to do with it?'

'Of course not,' said Rolleston, who had just entered, 'she had no
reason to kill the woman.'

Vandeloup smiled.

'So logical you are,' he murmured, 'you want a reason for
everything.'

'Naturally,' retorted Felix, fixing in his eyeglass, 'there is no
effect without a cause.'

'It couldn't have been Miss Marchurst,' said Bellthorp, 'they say
that the poison was poured out of a bottle held by a hand which came
through the window--it's quite true,' defiantly looking at the
disbelieving faces round him; 'one of Mrs Villiers' servants heard
it in the house and told Mrs Killer's maid.'

'From whence,' said Vandeloup, politely, 'it was transmitted to you-
-precisely.'

Bellthorp reddened slightly, and turned away as he saw the other
smiling, for his relations with Mrs Killer were well known.

'That hand business is all bosh,' observed Felix Rolleston,
authoritatively; 'it's in a play called "The Hidden Hand".'

'Perhaps the person who poisoned Miss Sprotts, got the idea from
it?' suggested Jarper.

'Pshaw, my dear fellow,' said Vandeloup, languidly; 'people don't go
to melodrama for ideas. Everyone has got their own version of this
story; the best thing to do is to await the result of the inquest.'

'Is there to be an inquest?' cried all.

'So I've heard,' replied the Frenchman, coolly; 'sounds as if there
was something wrong, doesn't it?'

'It's a curious poisoning case,' observed Bellthorp.

'Ah, but it isn't proved that there is any poisoning about it,' said
Vandeloup, looking keenly at him; 'you jump to conclusions.'

'There is no smoke without fire,' replied Rolleston, sagely. 'I
expect we'll all be rather astonished when the inquest is held,' and
so the discussion closed.

The inquest was appointed to take place next day, and Calton had
been asked by Madame Midas to be present on her behalf. Kilsip, a
detective officer, was also present, and, curled up like a cat in
the corner, was listening to every word of the evidence.

The first witness called was Madame Midas, who deposed that the
deceased, Selina Jane Sprotts, was her servant. She had gone to bed
in excellent health, and next morning she had found her dead.

The Coroner asked a few questions relative to the case.

Q. Miss Marchurst awoke you, I believe?

A. Yes.

Q. And her room is off yours?

A. Yes.

Q. Had she to go through your room to reach her own?

A. She had. There was no other way of getting there.

Q. One of the windows of your room was open?

A. It was--all night.

Miss Kitty Marchurst was then called, and being sworn, gave her
story of the hand coming through the window. This caused a great
sensation in Court, and Calton looked puzzled, while Kilsip,
scenting a mystery, rubbed his lean hands together softly.

Q. You live with Mrs Villiers, I believe, Miss Marchurst?

A. I do.

Q. And you knew the deceased intimately?

A. I had known her all my life.

Q. Had she anyone who would wish to injure her?

A. Not that I knew of. She was a favourite with everyone.

Q. What time did you come home from the ball you were at?

A. About half-past two, I think. I went straight to Mrs Villiers'
room.

Q. With the intention of going through it to reach your own?

A. Yes.

Q. You say you fell asleep looking at a portrait. How long did you
sleep?

A. I don't know. I was awakened by a noise at the window, and saw
the hand appear.

Q. Was it a man's hand or a woman's?

A. I don't know. It was too indistinct for me to see clearly; and I
was so afraid, I fainted.

Q. You saw it pour something from a bottle into the glass on the
table?

A. Yes; but I did not see it withdraw. I fainted right off.

Q. When you recovered your senses, the deceased had drank the
contents of the glass?

A. Yes. She must have felt thirsty and drank it, not knowing it was
poisoned. Q. How do you know it was poisoned?

A. I only suppose so. I don't think anyone would come to a window
and pour anything into a glass without some evil purpose.

The Coroner then asked why the glass with what remained of the
contents had not been put in evidence, but was informed that the
glass was broken.

When Kitty had ended her evidence and was stepping down, she caught
the eye of Vandeloup, who was looking at her keenly. She met his
gaze defiantly, and he smiled meaningly at her. At this moment,
however, Kilsip bent forward and whispered something to the Coroner,
whereupon Kitty was recalled.

Q. You were an actress, Miss Marchurst?

A. Yes. I was on tour with Mr Theodore Wopples for some time.

Q. Do you know a drama called 'The Hidden Hand'?

A. Yes--I have played in it once or twice.

Q. Is there not a strong resemblance between your story of this
crime and the drama?

A. Yes, it is very much the same.

Kilsip then gave his evidence, and deposed that he had examined the
ground between the window, where the hand was alleged to have
appeared, and the garden wall. There were no footmarks on the
flower-bed under the window, which was the only place where
footmarks would show, as the lawn itself was hard and dry. He also
examined the wall, but could find no evidence that anyone had
climbed over it, as it was defended by broken bottles, and the
bushes at its foot were not crushed or disturbed in any way.

Dr Chinston was then called, and deposed that he had made a post-
mortem examination of the body of the deceased. The body was that of
a woman of apparently fifty or fifty-five years of age, and of
medium height; the body was well nourished. There were no ulcers or
other signs of disease, and no marks of violence on the body. The
brain was congested and soft, and there was an abnormal amount of
fluid in the spaces known as the ventricles of the brain; the lungs
were gorged with dark fluid blood; the heart appeared healthy, its
left side was contracted and empty, but the right was dilated and
filled with dark fluid blood; the stomach was somewhat congested,
and contained a little partially digested food; the intestines here
and there were congested, and throughout the body the blood was dark
and fluid.

Q. What then, in your opinion, was the cause of death?

A. In my opinion death resulted from serous effusion on the brain,
commonly known as serous apoplexy.

Q. Then you found no appearances in the stomach, or elsewhere, which
would lead you to believe poison had been taken?

A. No, none.

Q. From the post-mortem examination could you say the death of the
deceased was not due to some narcotic poison?

A. No: the post-mortem appearances of the body are quite consistent
with those of poisoning by certain poisons, but there is no reason
to suppose that any poison has been administered in this case, as I,
of course, go by what I see; and the presence of poisons, especially
vegetable poisons, can only be detected by chemical analysis.

Q. Did you analyse the contents of the stomach chemically?

A. No; it was not my duty to do so; I handed over the stomach to the
police, seeing that there is suspicion of poison, and thence it will
go to the Government analyst.

Q. It is stated that the deceased had convulsions before she died--
is this not a symptom of narcotic poisoning?

A. In some cases, yes, but not commonly; aconite, for instance,
always produces convulsions in animals, seldom in man.

Q. How do you account for the congested condition of the lungs?

A. I believe the serous effusion caused death by suspended
respiration.

Q. Was there any odour perceptible?

A. No, none whatsoever.

The inquest was then adjourned till next day, and there was great
excitement over the affair. If Kitty Marchurst's statement was true,
the deceased must have died from the administration of poison; but,
on the other hand, Dr Chinston asserted positively that there was no
trace of poison, and that the deceased had clearly died from
apoplexy. Public opinion was very much divided, some asserting that
Kitty's story was true, while others said she had got the idea from
'The Hidden Hand', and only told it in order to make herself
notorious. There were plenty of letters written to the papers on the
subject, each offering a new solution of the difficulty, but the
fact remained the same, that Kitty said the deceased had been
poisoned; the doctor that she had died of apoplexy. Calton was
considerably puzzled over the matter. Of course, there was no doubt
that the man who committed the murder had intended to poison Madame
Midas, but the fact that Selina stayed all night with her, had
resulted in the wrong person being killed. Madame Midas told Calton
the whole story of her life, and asserted positively that if the
poison was meant for her, Villiers must have administered it. This
was all very well, but the question then arose, was Villiers alive?
The police were once more set to work, and once more their search
resulted in nothing. Altogether the whole affair was wrapped in
mystery, as it could not even be told if a murder had been
committed, or if the deceased had died from natural causes. The only
chance of finding out the truth would be to have the stomach
analysed, and the cause of death ascertained; once that was done,
and the matter could be gone on with, or dropped, according to the
report of the analyst. If he said it was apoplexy, Kitty's story
would necessarily have to be discredited as an invention; but if, on
the other hand, the traces of poison were found, search would have
to be made for the murderer. Matters were at a deadlock, and
everyone waited impatiently for the report of the analyst. Suddenly,
however, a new interest was given to the case by the assertion that
a Ballarat doctor, called Gollipeck, who was a noted toxicologist,
had come down to Melbourne to assist at the analysis of the stomach,
and knew something which would throw light on the mysterious death.

Vandeloup saw the paragraph which gave this information, and it
disturbed him very much.

'Curse that book of Prevol's,' he said to himself, as he threw down
the paper: 'it will put them on the right track, and then--well,'
observed M. Vandeloup, sententiously, 'they say danger sharpens a
man's wits; it's lucky for me if it does.'

CHAPTER XIII

DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND

M. Vandeloup's rooms in Clarendon Street, East Melbourne, were very
luxuriously and artistically furnished, in perfect accordance with
the taste of their owner, but as the satiated despot is depicted by
the moralists as miserable amid all his splendour, so M. Gaston
Vandeloup, though not exactly miserable, was very ill at ease. The
inquest had been adjourned until the Government analyst, assisted by
Dr Gollipeck, had examined the stomach, and according to a paragraph
in the evening paper, some strange statements, implicating various
people, would be made next day. It was this that made Vandeloup so
uneasy, for he knew that Dr Gollipeck would trace a resemblance
between the death of Selina Sprotts in Melbourne and Adele Blondet
in Paris, and then the question would arise how the poison used in
the one case came to be used in the other. If that question arose it
would be all over with him, for he would not dare to face any
examination, and as discretion is the better part of valour, M.
Vandeloup decided to leave the country. With his usual foresight he
had guessed that Dr Gollipeck would be mixed up in the affair, so
had drawn his money out of all securities in which it was invested,
sent most of it to America to a New York bank, reserving only a
certain sum for travelling purposes. He was going to leave Melbourne
next morning by the express train for Sydney, and there would catch
the steamer to San Francisco via New Zealand and Honolulu. Once in
America and he would be quite safe, and as he now had plenty of
money he could enjoy himself there. He had given up the idea of
marrying Madame Midas, as he dare not run the risk of remaining in
Australia, but then there were plenty of heiresses in the States he
could marry if he chose, so to give her up was a small matter.
Another thing, he would be rid of Pierre Lemaire, for once let him
put the ocean between him and the dumb man he would take care they
never met again. Altogether, M. Vandeloup had taken all precautions
to secure his own safety with his usual promptitude and coolness,
but notwithstanding that another twelve hours would see him on his
way to Sydney en route for the States, he felt slightly uneasy, for
as he often said, 'There are always possibilities.'

It was about eight o'clock at night, and Gaston was busy in his
rooms packing up to go away next morning. He had disposed of his
apartments to Bellthorp, as that young gentleman had lately come in
for some money and was dissatisfied with the paternal roof, where he
was kept too strictly tied up.

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