The Doctor of Pimlico | Page 8

in his
keen eyes.
"I am perfectly well now. I do not see why my stepfather should betray
such anxiety on my account."
"The general is greatly concerned about you," Weirmarsh said, seated
cross-legged at his writing-chair, toying with his pen and looking into
the girl's handsome face.
"He wished me to see you. That is why I wrote to you."
"Well," she said, wavering beneath his sharp glance, "I am here. What
do you wish?"
"I wish to have a little private talk with you, Miss Enid," he replied
thoughtfully, stroking his small greyish moustache, "a talk concerning

your own welfare."
"But I am not ill," she cried. "I don't see why you should desire me to
come to you to-night."
"I have my own reasons, my dear young lady," was the man's firm
response, his eyes fixed immovably upon hers. "And I think you know
me well enough to be aware that when Dr. Weirmarsh sets his mind
upon a thing he is not easily turned aside."
A slight, almost imperceptible, shudder ran through her. But
Weirmarsh detected it, and knew that this girl of extraordinary and
mysterious charm was as wax in his hands. In the presence of the man
who had cast such a strange spell about her she was utterly helpless.
There was no suggestion of hypnotism--she herself scouted the
idea--yet ever since Sir Hugh had taken her to consult this man of
medicine at a small suburban villa, five years ago, he had entered her
life never again to leave it.
She realised herself irresistibly in his power whenever she felt his
presence near her. At his bidding she came and went, and against her
better nature she acted as he commanded.
He had cured her of an attack of nerves five years ago, but she had ever
since been beneath his hated thraldom. His very eyes fascinated her
with their sinister expression, yet to her he could do no wrong.
A thousand times she had endeavoured to break free from that strong
but unseen influence, but she always became weak and easily led as
soon as she fell beneath the extraordinary power which the obscure
doctor possessed. Time after time he called her to his side, as on this
occasion, on pretence of prescribing for her, and yet with an ulterior
motive. Enid Orlebar was a useful tool in the hands of this man who
was so unscrupulous.
She sighed, passing her gloved hand wearily across her hot brow.
Strange how curiously his presence always affected her!

She had read in books of the mysteries of hypnotic suggestion, but she
was far too practical to believe in that. This was not hypnotism, she
often declared within herself, but some remarkable and unknown power
possessed by this man who, beneath the guise of the hard-working
surgeon, was engaged in schemes of remarkable ingenuity and
wondrous magnitude.
He held her in the palm of his hand. He held her for life--or for death.
To her stepfather she had, times without number, expressed fear and
horror of the sharp-eyed doctor, but Sir Hugh had only laughed at her
fears and dismissed them as ridiculous. Dr. Weirmarsh was the
general's friend.
Enid knew that there was some close association between the pair, but
of its nature she was in complete ignorance. Often the doctor came to
Hill Street and sat for long periods with the general in that small, cosy
room which was his den. That they were business interviews there was
no doubt, but the nature of the business was ever a mystery.
"I see by your face that, though there is a great improvement in you,
you are, nevertheless, far from well," the man said, his eyes still fixed
upon her pale countenance.
"Dr. Weirmarsh," she protested, "this constant declaration that I am ill
is awful. I tell you I am quite as well as you are yourself."
"Ah! there, I'm afraid, you are mistaken, my dear young lady," he
replied. "You may feel well, but you are not in quite such good health
as you imagine. The general is greatly concerned about you, and for
that reason I wished to see you to-night," he added with a smile as,
bending towards her, he asked her to remove her glove.
He took her wrist, holding his stop-watch in his other hand. "Hum!" he
grunted, "just as I expected. You're a trifle low--a little run down. You
want a change."
"But we only returned from Scotland yesterday!" she cried.

"The North does not suit such an exotic plant as yourself," he said. "Go
South--the Riviera, Spain, Italy, or Egypt."
"I go with Mrs. Caldwell at the end of November."
"No," he said decisively, "you must go now."
"Why?" she asked, opening her eyes in astonishment at his dictatorial
manner.