Madame Sara | Page 7

have to do with cosmetics and
complexion pills?"
"You don't mean to tell me that your wife has consulted Madame Sara
as a doctor?"
"Not exactly, but she has gone to her about her teeth. She complained
of toothache lately, and Madame's dentistry is renowned. Edith is
constantly going to her for one thing or another, but then Edith is
infatuated."
As Jack said the last words he went over to speak to someone else, and
before I could leave the seclusion of the window I perceived Edith

Dallas and Madame Sara in earnest conversation together. I could not
help overhearing the following words:
"Don't come to me tomorrow. Get into the country as soon as you can.
It is far and away the best thing to do."
As Madame spoke she turned swiftly and caught my eyes. She bowed,
and the peculiar look, the sort of challenge, she had given me before
flashed over her face. It made me uncomfortable, and during the night
that followed I could not get it out of my head. I remembered what
Selby had said with regard to his wife and her money affairs. Beyond
doubt he had married into a mystery--a mystery that Madame knew all
about. There was a very big money interest, and strange things happen
when millions are concerned.
The next morning I had just risen and was sitting at breakfast when a
note was handed to me. It came by special messenger, and was marked
"Urgent". I tore it open. These were its contents:--
"MY DEAR DRUCE, A terrible blow has fallen on us. My
sister-in-law, Edith, was taken suddenly ill this morning at breakfast.
The nearest doctor was sent for, but he could do nothing, as she died
half an hour ago. Do come and see me and if you know any very clever
specialist bring him with you. My wife is utterly stunned by the
shock.--Yours, JACK SELBY."
I read the note twice before I could realize what it meant. Then I rushed
out and, hailing the first hansom I met, said the man:
"Drive to No. 192, Victoria Street, as quickly as you can."
Here lived a certain Mr. Eric Vandeleur, an old friend of mine and the
police surgeon for the Westminster district, which included Eaton
Square. No shrewder or sharper fellow existed than Vandeleur, and the
present case was essentially in his province, both legally and
professionally. He was not at his flat when I arrived, having already
gone down to the court. Here I accordingly hurried, and was informed
that he was in the mortuary.

For a man who, as it seemed to me, lived in a perpetual atmosphere of
crime and violence, of death and coroners' courts, his habitual
cheerfulness and brightness of manner were remarkable. Perhaps it was
only the reaction from his work, for he had the reputation of being one
of the most astute experts of the day in medical jurisprudence, and the
most skilled analyst in toxicological cases on the Metropolitan Police
staff. Before I could send him word that I wanted to see him I heard a
door bang, and Vandeleur came hurrying down the passage, putting on
his coat as he rushed along.
"Halloa!" he cried. "I haven't seen you for ages. Do you want me?"
"Yes, very urgently," I answered. "Are you busy?"
"Head over ears, my dear chap. I cannot give you a moment now, but
perhaps later on."
"What is it? You look excited."
"I have got to go to Eaton Square like the wind, but come along, if you
like, and tell me on the way."
"Capital," I cried. "The thing has been reported then? You are going to
Mr. Selby's, No. 34a; then I am going with you."
He looked at me in amazement.
"But the case has only just been reported. What can you possibly know
about it?"
"Everything. Let us take this hansom, and I will tell you as we go
along."
As we drove to Eaton Square I quickly explained the situation, glancing
now and then at Vandeleur's bright, clean-shaven face. He was no
longer Eric Vandeleur, the man with the latest club story and the merry
twinkle in his blue eyes: he was Vandeleur the medical jurist, with a
face like a mask, his lower jaw slightly protruding and features very

fixed.
"The thing promises to be serious," he replied, as I finished, "but I can
do nothing until after the autopsy. Here we are and there is my man
waiting for me; he has been smart."
On the steps stood an official-looking man in uniform who saluted.
"Coroner's officer," explained Vandeleur.
We entered the silent, darkened house. Selby was standing in the hall.
He came to meet us. I introduced him to Vandeleur, and he at once led