The Devil Doctor | Page 3

patient.

"I shall take a little walk," announced Eltham; "for I gather that you don't expect to be
detained long? I shall never be out of sight of the door, of course."
"Very well," I replied, and ran up the steps.
There were no lights to be seen in any of the windows, which circumstance rather
surprised me, as my patient occupied, or had occupied when last I had visited her, a
first-floor bedroom in the front of the house. My knocking and ringing produced no
response for three or four minutes; then, as I persisted, a scantily clothed and half-awake
maid-servant unbarred the door and stared at me stupidly in the moonlight.
"Mrs. Hewett requires me?" I asked abruptly.
The girl stared more stupidly than ever.
"No, sir," she said: "she don't, sir; she's fast asleep!"
"But some one 'phoned me!" I insisted, rather irritably, I fear.
"Not from here, sir," declared the now wide-eyed girl. "We haven't got a telephone, sir."
For a few moments I stood there, staring as foolishly as she; then abruptly I turned and
descended the steps. At the gate I stood looking up and down the road. The houses were
all in darkness. What could be the meaning of the mysterious summons? I had made no
mistake respecting the name of my patient; it had been twice repeated over the telephone;
yet that the call had not emanated from Mrs. Hewett's house was now palpably evident.
Days had been when I should have regarded the episode as preluding some outrage, but
to-night I felt more disposed to ascribe it to a silly practical joke.
Eltham walked up briskly.
"You're in demand to-night, doctor," he said. "A young person called for you almost
directly you had left your house, and, learning where you were gone, followed you."
"Indeed!" I said, a trifle incredulously. "There are plenty of other doctors if the case is an
urgent one."
"She may have thought it would save time as you were actually up and dressed,"
explained Eltham; "and the house is quite near to here, I understand."
I looked at him a little blankly. Was this another effort of the unknown jester?
"I have been fooled once," I said. "That 'phone call was a hoax--"
"But I feel certain," declared Eltham earnestly, "that this is genuine! The poor girl was
dreadfully agitated; her master has broken his leg and is lying helpless: number 280
Rectory Grove."
"Where is the girl?" I asked sharply.

"She ran back directly she had given me her message."
"Was she a servant?"
"I should imagine so: French, I think. But she was so wrapped up I had little more than a
glimpse of her. I am sorry to hear that some one has played a silly joke on you, but
believe me"--he was very earnest--"this is no jest. The poor girl could scarcely speak for
sobs. She mistook me for you, of course."
"Oh!" said I grimly; "well, I suppose I must go. Broken leg, you said?--and my surgical
bag, splints and so forth, are at home!"
"My dear Petrie!" cried Eltham, in his enthusiastic way, "you no doubt can do something
to alleviate the poor man's suffering immediately. I will run back to your rooms for the
bag and rejoin you at 280 Rectory Grove."
"It's awfully good of you, Eltham--"
He held up his hand.
"The call of suffering humanity, Petrie, is one which I may no more refuse to hear than
you."
I made no further protest after that, for his point of view was evident and his
determination adamantine, but told him where he would find the bag and once more set
out across the moon-bright common, he pursuing a westerly direction and I going east.
Some three hundred yards I had gone, I suppose, and my brain had been very active the
while, when something occurred to me which placed a new complexion upon this second
summons. I thought of the falsity of the first, of the improbability of even the most
hardened practical joker practising his wiles at one o'clock in the morning. I thought of
our recent conversation; above all I thought of the girl who had delivered the message to
Eltham, the girl whom he had described as a French maid--whose personal charm had so
completely enlisted his sympathies. Now, to this train of thought came a new one, and,
adding it, my suspicion became almost a certainty.
I remembered (as, knowing the district, I should have remembered before) that there was
no number 280 Rectory Grove.
Pulling up sharply, I stood looking about me. Not a living soul was in sight; not even a
policeman. Where the lamps marked the main paths across the common nothing moved;
in the shadows about me nothing stirred. But something