LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

Jarvis had on only his night-shirt, a skull-cap and a peculiar red dressing-gown, which he wore whenever he worked in the laboratory or in the garden. This dressing-gown and the queer red skull-cap were so old that nobody about the hospital could remember when they had been new. Cleary once said that he believed they were born and grew up with the doctor.

      Without noticing Nick, Dr. Jarvis advanced directly toward the dissecting-table. He had no light, but the moon’s rays glanced brightly around the slab.

      The doctor drew back the sheet which covered the figure, revealing the head and naked breast.

      Then he drew some instruments from a case, and proceeded to sever the head from the body.

      This secret action in the dead of night surprised Nick greatly. Could it be that some clever trick had been accomplished? Had the body which Nick had seen been removed, and that of Patrick Deever substituted?

      From where he stood Nick could not see the face of the body clearly enough to form a decision. If, however, this was only an ordinary subject for the dissecting-table, why did Dr. Jarvis mutilate it with such caution and at such an hour?

      To cut off the head was the work of a very few minutes to the skillful physician.

      He soon held it in his hands; and it seemed to Nick that the old physician gazed at it with peculiar attention in the moonlight.

      Suddenly Dr. Jarvis turned, and, carrying the head in one hand, holding it by the hair, he advanced toward Nick. In his other hand the doctor held a knife which he had used in his ghastly work.

      Nick had little hopes of escaping discovery. Evidently it was the doctor’s intention to carry the head into the cellar, and the detective was concealed close by the stairs.

      But Nick was not discovered. Dr. Jarvis stalked by, within six feet of him, and looked neither to the right nor to the left.

      Still bearing the head, he descended the stairs, and Nick crept after him.

      The cellar was perfectly dark except where a faint glow around the little furnace could be perceived. Nick was therefore able to follow the doctor closely.

      But suddenly the place was made light. Dr. Jarvis had touched a button in the wall, and a row of electric lights, suspended before the furnace, flashed up.

      Nick had barely time to drop flat on the floor behind a row of great glass jars full of clear fluid, the nature of which he could not determine.

      These jars were set upon a sort of bench made of stone, rising about two feet from the floor. Between them and the furnace stood the doctor. Nick was on the other side.

      It seemed tolerably certain to the detective that Dr. Jarvis would throw the head into the furnace. Nick determined to get a sight of the head at once. He was yet uncertain whether it was Patrick Deever’s.

      Rising on his hands and knees he peered between two of the jars. The head was not more than a yard from Nick’s eyes, but the face was turned away.

      By the hair, and the general outline, it might be Deever’s. At all hazards Nick must get a sight of it before it was consigned to the furnace in which a fire, supported by peculiar chemical agencies and much hotter than burning coal, raged furiously.

      Suddenly, when it seemed as if the doctor was about to raise an arch of fire-brick in order to throw the head into the fire, he turned and dropped the grim object into the jar almost directly above Nick’s head.

      It was carefully done, though quickly. The head sank without a splash. Only a single drop of the fluid—a drop no bigger than a pin’s point—fell upon the back of Nick’s hand.

      It burned like white, hot iron. It seemed to sink through the hand upon which it fell.

      Nick sprang to his feet, not because of the pain of the burning acid, but because he knew that he must instantly obtain a sight of the head or it would be dissolved.

      It lay face upward in the jar, but the acid, even in that instant, had done its work.

      All semblance to humanity had vanished. As Nick gazed, the head seemed to waver in the midst of the strange fluid, and then, suddenly, Nick saw, in a direct line where it had been, the bottom of the jar.

      The head had been dissolved.

      Nick raised his eyes to Dr. Jarvis’ face.

      There stood the doctor, entirely unmoved. He looked directly at Nick but seemed not to see him.

      His eyes were fixed, and their expression was peculiar. One less experienced than Nick would have supposed Dr. Jarvis to be insane.

      Certainly his conduct as well as his appearance seemed to justify such a

      But Nick knew better. He recognized at once the peculiar condition in which Dr. Jarvis then was. He had seen the phenomenon before.

      “Walking in his sleep,” Nick said to himself. “Shall I wake him here? I think not. Let me see what he will do.”

Chapter III.

       The Doctor Offers a Bribe

       Table of Contents

      Nick was not greatly surprised by his discovery. He knew that Dr. Jarvis was a sleep-walker.

      The reader may remember the case of a young woman who, in her sleep, walked nearly a mile on Broadway, and was awakened by a policeman to whom she could give no account of her wanderings.

      At that time, the newspapers had a good deal to say about sleep-walking, and several good stories were printed about Dr. Jarvis. The doctor was sensitive on the subject, and he had threatened the most dreadful vengeance if he ever found out who had betrayed his secret to the reporters.

      These stories came into Nick’s mind at once. He decided to witness this strange scene to the end.

      There was, however, little more to be observed. The doctor extinguished the lights and ascended the stairs.

      He paused a moment beside the mutilated body; put away his knife, drew the cloth over the corpse, and then turned toward his room.

      Nick followed, and entered the room close behind the somnambulist. It is sometimes possible to question a person in that condition, and to learn what he would not disclose when awake.

      Some such intention was in Nick’s mind, but he had no opportunity of executing it. The doctor walked to the window, of which the shade was drawn. Accidentally he touched the cord, and the shade, which worked with a spring, shot up, making a loud noise.

      With a peculiar, hoarse cry, the doctor awoke. He exhibited the nervous terror common at such times. He jumped back from the window, and turned toward the bed.

      Nick, disguised as Cleary, stood directly before him. It was impossible to avoid discovery. The moonlight flooded the room.

      “Cleary!” cried the doctor, “why are you here?”

      “I heard you moving about, sir,” replied Nick, imitating Cleary’s voice which had very little of the ordinary peculiarities of the negro. Indeed, he was an educated man.

      “Walking in my sleep again,” muttered the doctor. “And such dreams! Great Heaven! such dreams!”

      “I thought you must have had a bad nightmare,” said Nick.

      “I have. It was dreadful.”

      The doctor pressed his hands to his head.

      “What did you dream, sir?”

      “What business is that of yours, you infernal, inquisitive rascal?”

      “Well, sir,” said Nick, respectfully, “I thought from what you did—”

      “Did? What did I do?”

      Nick

Скачать книгу