In the dark of the moon, spread a table with some cloth of a dark color. Ragged and dusty. At the four corners, set black candles unlit. In the center of the table, set a open wooden box. On a small flat stone, enscribe your enemy's name reversed.... Read more of To Curse an Enemy at White Magic.caInformational Site Network Informational
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A Child Of The Rain
A Difficult Problem
A Grammatical Ghost
A Memorable Night
A Mysterious Case
A Mystery With A Moral
A Spectral Collie
A Terribly Strange Bed
American Horses
An Astral Onion
An Intangible Clue
As Told By Mr Gryce
Bourgonef
From The Loom Of The Dead
His Last Bow
Hunted Down
Introduction To A Mystery With A Moral
Introduction To Melmoth The Wanderer
Melmoth The Wanderer
Missing: Page Thirteen
My Fascinating Friend
No 1 Branch Line: The Signal-man
On Being Found Out
On The Northern Ice
Problem Ix Violet's Own
Satire Of The Sea
Shall He Wed Her?
Story Of An Obstinate Corpse
Story Of The Vanishing Patient
The Adventure Of Black Peter
The Adventure Of Charles Augustus Milverton
The Adventure Of The Abbey Grange
The Adventure Of The Bruce-partington Plans
The Adventure Of The Cardboard Box
The Adventure Of The Dancing Men
The Adventure Of The Devil's Foot
The Adventure Of The Dying Detective
The Adventure Of The Empty House
The Adventure Of The Golden Pince-nez
The Adventure Of The Missing Three-quarter
The Adventure Of The Norwood Builder
The Adventure Of The Priory School
The Adventure Of The Red Circle
The Adventure Of The Six Napoleons
The Adventure Of The Solitary Cyclist
The Adventure Of The Three Students
The Adventure Of Wisteria Lodge
The Affair Of The Tortoise
The Avenger
The Birth-mark
The Black Cross
The Box With The Iron Clamps
The Bronze Hand
The Cambered Foot
The Case Of He Golden Bullet
The Case Of Mr Foggatt
The Case Of The Dixon Torpedo
The Case Of The Pocket Diary Found In The Snow
The Case Of The Pool Of Blood In The Pastor's Study
The Case Of The Registered Letter
The Closed Cabinet
The Coin Of Dionysius
The Disappearance Of Lady Frances Carfax
The Doctor His Wife And The Clock
The Dreaming Lady
The End Of The Road
The Fortune Teller
The Golden Slipper
The Gray Madam
The Great Valdez Sapphire
The Grotto Spectre
The Haunted And The Haunters Or The House And The Brain
The Hermit Of Street
The Hole In The Mahogany Panel
The House By The Loch
The House Of Clocks
The House That Was Not
The Incantation
The Jew's Breastplate
The Knight's Cross Signal Problem
The Last Adventure
The Last Exploit Of Harry The Actor
The Lenton Croft Robberies
The Loss Of Sammy Crockett
The Lost Lady
The Lost Room
The Man In The Green Hat
The Mortals In The House
The Mysterious Card
The Notch On The Ax - A Story A La Mode
The Oblong Box
The Old Stone House
The Piano Next Door
The Pumpkin Coach
The Quinton Jewel Affair
The Reward
The Room Of The Evil Thought
The Second Bullet
The Shape Of Fear
The Spread Rails
The Stanway Cameo Mystery
The Thing On The Hearth
The Torture By Hope
The Tragedy At Brookbend Cottage
The Wrong Sign
The Yellow Flower
Their Dear Little Ghost

Anna Katharine Green

A Difficult Problem
A Memorable Night
A Mysterious Case
An Intangible Clue
As Told By Mr Gryce
Missing: Page Thirteen
Problem Ix Violet's Own
Shall He Wed Her?
The Black Cross
The Bronze Hand
The Case Of He Golden Bullet
The Case Of The Pocket Diary Found In The Snow
The Case Of The Pool Of Blood In The Pastor's Study
The Case Of The Registered Letter
The Doctor His Wife And The Clock
The Dreaming Lady
The Golden Slipper
The Gray Madam
The Grotto Spectre
The Hermit Of Street
The House Of Clocks
The Old Stone House
The Second Bullet



A Mysterious Case








It was a mystery to me, but not to the other doctors. They took, as
was natural, the worst possible view of the matter, and accepted the
only solution which the facts seem to warrant. But they are men, and I
am a woman; besides, I knew the nurse well, and I could not believe
her capable of wilful deceit, much less of the heinous crime which
deceit in this case involved. So to me the affair was a mystery.

The facts were these:

My patient, a young typewriter, seemingly without friends or enemies,
lay in a small room of a boarding-house, afflicted with a painful but
not dangerous malady. Though she was comparatively helpless, her vital
organs were strong, and we never had a moment's uneasiness concerning
her, till one morning when we found her in an almost dying condition
from having taken, as we quickly discovered, a dose of poison,
instead of the soothing mixture which had been left for her with the
nurse. Poison! and no one, not even herself or the nurse, could
explain how the same got into the room, much less into her medicine.
And when I came to study the situation, I found myself as much at loss
as they; indeed, more so; for I knew I had made no mistake in
preparing the mixture, and that, even if I had, this especial poison
could not have found its way into it, owing to the fact that there
neither was nor ever had been a drop of it in my possession.

The mixture, then, was pure when it left my hand, and, according to
the nurse, whom, as I have said, I implicitly believe, it went into
the glass pure. And yet when, two hours later, without her having left
the room or anybody coming into it, she found occasion to administer
the draught, poison was in the cup, and the patient was only saved
from death by the most immediate and energetic measures, not only on
her part, but on that of Dr. Holmes, whom in her haste and
perturbation she had called in from the adjacent house.

The patient, young, innocent, unfortunate, but of a strangely
courageous disposition, betrayed nothing but the utmost surprise at
the peril she had so narrowly escaped. When Dr. Holmes intimated that
perhaps she had been tired of suffering, and had herself found means
of putting the deadly drug into her medicine, she opened her great
gray eyes, with such a look of child-like surprise and reproach, that
he blushed, and murmured some sort of apology.

"Poison myself?" she cried, "when you promise me that I shall get
well? You do not know what a horror I have of dying in debt, or you
would never say that."

This was some time after the critical moment had passed, and there
were in the room Mrs. Dayton, the landlady, Dr. Holmes, the nurse, and
myself. At the utterance of these words we all felt ashamed and cast
looks of increased interest at the poor girl.

She was very lovely. Though without means, and to all appearance
without friends, she possessed in great degree the charm of
winsomeness, and not even her many sufferings, nor the indignation
under which she was then laboring, could quite rob her countenance of
that tender and confiding expression which so often redeems the
plainest face and makes beauty doubly attractive.

"Dr. Holmes does not know you," I hastened to say; "I do, and utterly
repel for you any such insinuation. In return, will you tell me if
there is any one in the world whom you can call your enemy? Though the
chief mystery is how so deadly and unusual a poison could have gotten
into a clean glass, without the knowledge of yourself or the nurse,
still it might not be amiss to know if there is any one, here or
elsewhere, who for any reason might desire your death."

The surprise in the child-like eyes increased rather than diminished.

"I don't know what to say," she murmured. "I am so insignificant and
feeble a person that it seems absurd for me to talk of having an
enemy. Besides, I have none. On the contrary, every one seems to love
me more than I deserve. Haven't you noticed it, Mrs. Dayton?"

The landlady smiled and stroked the sick girl's hand.

"Indeed," she replied, "I have noticed that people love you, but I
have never thought that it was more than you deserved. You are a dear
little thing, Addie."

And though she knew and I knew that the "every one" mentioned by the
poor girl meant ourselves, and possibly her unknown employer, we were
none the less touched by her words. The more we studied the mystery,
the deeper and less explainable did it become.

And indeed I doubt if we should have ever got to the bottom of it, if
there had not presently occurred in my patient a repetition of the
same dangerous symptoms, followed by the same discovery, of poison in
the glass, and the same failure on the part of herself and nurse to
account for it. I was aroused from my bed at midnight to attend her,
and as I entered her room and met her beseeching eyes looking upon me
from the very shadow of death, I made a vow that I would never cease
my efforts till I had penetrated the secret of what certainly looked
like a persistent attempt upon this poor girl's life.

I went about the matter deliberately. As soon as I could leave her
side, I drew the nurse into a corner and again questioned her. The
answers were the same as before. Addie had shown distress as soon as
she had swallowed her usual quantity of medicine, and in a few minutes
more was in a perilous condition.

"Did you hand the glass yourself to Addie?"

"I did."

"Where did you take it from?"

"From the place where you left it--the little stand on the farther
side of the bed."

"And do you mean to say that you had not touched it since I prepared
it?"

"I do, ma'am."

"And that no one else has been in the room?"

"No one, ma'am."

I looked at her intently. I trusted her, but the best of us are but
mortal.

"Can you assure me that you have not been asleep during this time?"

"Look at this letter I have been writing," she returned. "It is eight
pages long, and it was not begun when you left us at 10 o'clock."

I shook my head and fell into a deep revery. How was that matter to be
elucidated, and how was my patient to be saved? Another draught of
this deadly poison, and no power on earth could resuscitate her. What
should I do, and with what weapons should I combat a danger at once so
subtle and so deadly? Reflection brought no decision, and I left the
room at last, determined upon but one point, and that was the
immediate removal of my patient. But before I had left the house I
changed my mind even on this point. Removal of the patient meant
safety to her, perhaps, but not the explanation of her mysterious
poisoning. I would change the position of her bed, and I would even
set a watch over her and the nurse, but I would not take her out of
the house--not yet.

And what had produced this change in my plans? The look of a woman
whom I met on the stairs. I did not know her, but when I encountered
her glance I felt that there was some connection between us, and I was
not at all surprised to hear her ask:

"And how is Miss Wilcox to-day?"

"Miss Wilcox is very low," I returned. "The least neglect, the least
shock to her nerves, would be sufficient to make all my efforts
useless. Otherwise--"

"She will get well?"

I nodded. I had exaggerated the condition of the sufferer, but some
secret instinct compelled me to do so. The look which passed over the
woman's face satisfied me that I had done well; and, though I left the
house, it was with the intention of speedily returning and making
inquiries into the woman's character and position in the household.

I learned little or nothing. That she occupied a good room and paid
for it regularly seemed to be sufficient to satisfy Mrs. Dayton. Her
name, which proved to be Leroux, showed her to be French, and her
promptly paid $10 a week showed her to be respectable--what more could
any hard-working landlady require? But I was distrustful. Her face,
though handsome, possessed an eager, ferocious look which I could not
forget, and the slight gesture with which she had passed me at the
close of the short conversation I have given above had a suggestion of
triumph in it which seemed to contain whole volumes of secret and
mysterious hate. I went into Miss Wilcox's room very thoughtful.

"I am going--"

But here the nurse held up her hand. "Hark," she whispered; she had
just set the clock, and was listening to its striking.

I did hark, but not to the clock.

"Whose step is that?" I asked, after she had left the clock, and sat
down.

"Oh, some one in the next room. The walls here are very thin--only
boards in places."

I did not complete what I had begun to say. If I could hear steps
through the partition, then could our neighbors hear us talk, and what
I had determined upon must be kept secret from all outsiders. I drew a
sheet of paper toward me and wrote:

"I shall stay here to-night. Something tells me that in doing this I
shall solve this mystery. But I must appear to go. Take my
instructions as usual, and bid me good-night. Lock the door after me,
but with a turn of the key instantly unlock it again. I shall go down
stairs, see that my carriage drives away, and quietly return. On my
re-entrance I shall expect to find Miss Wilcox on the couch with the
screen drawn up around it, you in your big chair, and the light
lowered. What I do thereafter need not concern you. Pretend to go to
sleep."

The nurse nodded, and immediately entered upon the programme I had
planned. I prepared the medicine as usual, placed it in its usual
glass, and laid that glass where it had always been set, on a small
table at the farther side of the bed. Then I said "Good-night," and
passed hurriedly out.

I was fortunate enough to meet no one, going or coming. I regained the
room, pushed open the door, and finding everything in order, proceeded
at once to the bed, upon which, after taking off my hat and cloak and
carefully concealing them, I lay down and deftly covered myself up.

My idea was this--that by some mesmeric influence of which she was
ignorant, the nurse had been forced to either poison the glass herself
or open the door for another to do it. If this were so, she or the
other person would be obliged to pass around the foot of the bed in
order to reach the glass, and I should be sure to see it, for I did
not pretend to sleep. By the low light enough could be discerned for
safe movement about the room, and not enough to make apparent the
change which had been made in the occupant of the bed. I waited with
indescribable anxiety, and more than once fancied I heard steps, if
not a feverish breathing close to my bed-head; but no one appeared,
and the nurse in her big chair did not move.

At last I grew weary, and fearful of losing control over my eyelids, I
fixed my gaze upon the glass, as if in so doing I should find a
talisman to keep me awake, when, great God! what was it I saw! A hand,
a creeping hand coming from nowhere and joined to nothing, closing
about that glass and drawing it slowly away till it disappeared
entirely from before my eyes!

I gasped--I could not help it--but I did not stir. For now I knew I
was asleep and dreaming. But no, I pinch myself under the clothes, and
find that I am very wide awake indeed; and then--look! look! the glass
is returning; the hand--a woman's hand--is slowly setting it back in
its place, and--

With a bound I have that hand in my grasp. It is a living hand, and it
is very warm and strong and fierce, and the glass has fallen and lies
shattered between us, and a double cry is heard, one from behind the
partition, through an opening in which this hand had been thrust, and
one from the nurse, who has jumped to her feet and is even now
assisting me in holding the struggling member, upon which I have
managed to scratch a tell-tale mark with a piece of the fallen glass.
At sight of the iron-like grip which this latter lays upon the
intruding member, I at once release my own grasp.

"Hold on," I cried, and leaping from the bed, I hastened first to my
patient, whom I carefully reassured, and then into the hall, where I
found the landlady running to see what was the matter. "I have found
the wretch," I cried, and drawing her after me, hurried about to the
other side of the partition, where I found a closet, and in it the
woman I had met on the stairs, but glaring now like a tiger in her
rage, menace, and fear.

That woman was my humble little patient's bitter but unknown enemy.
Enamoured of a man who--unwisely, perhaps--had expressed in her
hearing his admiration for the pretty typewriter, she had conceived
the idea that he intended to marry the latter, and, vowing vengeance,
had taken up her abode in the same house with the innocent girl,
where, had it not been for the fortunate circumstance of my meeting
her on the stairs, she would certainly have carried out her scheme of
vile and secret murder. The poison she had bought in another city, and
the hole in the partition she had herself cut. This had been done at
first for the purpose of observation, she having detected in passing
by Miss Wilcox's open door that a banner of painted silk hung over
that portion of the wall in such a way as to hide any aperture which
might be made there.

Afterward, when Miss Wilcox fell sick, and she discovered by short
glimpses through her loop-hole that the glass of medicine was placed
on a table just under this banner, she could not resist the temptation
to enlarge the hole to a size sufficient to admit the pushing aside of
the banner and the reaching through of her murderous hand. Why she did
not put poison enough in the glass to kill Miss Wilcox at once I have
never discovered. Probably she feared detection. That by doing as she
did she brought about the very event she had endeavored to avert, is
the most pleasing part of the tale. When the gentleman of whom I have
spoken learned of the wicked attempt which had been made upon Miss
Wilcox's life, his heart took pity upon her, and a marriage ensued,
which I have every reason to believe is a happy one.





Next: Shall He Wed Her?

Previous: The Black Cross



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