Madame Sara | Page 9

lady, and
also of his own young wife. The absolute disappearance of the
step-brother, in view of his previous character, is in the highest degree
strange. Knowing, as we do, that between him and two million sterling
there stood two lives--one is taken!"
A deadly sensation of cold seized me as Vandeleur uttered these last
words. I glanced at Selby. His face was colourless and the pupils of his
eyes were contracted, as though he saw something which terrified him.
"What happened once may happen again," continued Vandeleur. "We
are in the presence of a great mystery, and I counsel you, Mr. Selby, to
guard your wife with the utmost care."
These words, falling from a man of Vandeleur's position and authority
on such matters, were sufficiently shocking for me to hear, but for
Selby to be given such a solemn warning about his young and beautiful
and newly-married wife, who was all the world to him, was terrible
indeed. He leant his head on his hands.

"Mercy on us!" he muttered. "Is this a civilized country when death can
walk abroad like this, invisible, not to be avoided? Tell me, Mr.
Vandeleur, what I must do."
"You must be guided by me," said Vandeleur, "and, believe me, there is
no witchcraft in the world. I shall place a detective in your household
immediately. Don't be alarmed; he will come to you in plain clothes
and will simply act as a servant. Nevertheless, nothing can be done to
your wife without his knowledge. As to you, Druce," he continued,
turning to me, "the police are doing all they can to find this man Silva,
and I ask you to help them with your big agency, and to begin at once.
Leave your friend to me. Wire instantly if you hear news."
"You may rely on me," I said, and a moment later I had left the room.
As I walked rapidly down the street the thought of Madame Sara, her
shop and its mysterious background, its surgical instruments, its
operating-table, its induction coils, came back to me. And yet what
could Madame Sara have to do with the present strange, inexplicable
mystery?
The thought had scarcely crossed my mind before I heard a clatter
alongside the kerb, and turning round I saw a smart open carriage,
drawn by a pair of horses, standing there. I also heard my own name. I
turned. Bending out of the carriage was Madame Sara.
"I saw you going by, Mr. Druce. I have only just heard the news about
poor Edith Dallas. I am terribly shocked and upset. I have been to the
house, but they would not admit me. Have you heard what was the
cause of her death?"
Madame"s blue eyes filled with tears as she spoke.
"I am not at liberty to disclose what I have heard Madame," I answered,
"since I am officially connected with the affair."
Her eyes narrowed. The brimming tears dried as though by magic. Her
glance became scornful.

"Thank you," she answered; "your reply tells me that she did not die
naturally. How very appalling! But I must not keep you. Can I drive
you anywhere?"
"No, thank you."
"Good-bye, then."
She made a sign to the coachman, and as the carriage rolled away
turned to look back at me. her face wore the defiant expression I had
seen there more than once. Could she be connected with the affair? The
thought came upon me with a violence that seemed almost conviction.
Yet I had no reason for it--none.
To find Henry Joachim Silva was now my principal thought.
Advertisements were widely circulated. My staff had instructions to
make every possible inquiry, with large money rewards as incitements.
The collateral branches of other agencies throughout Brazil were
communicated with by cable, and all the Scotland Yard channels were
used. Still there was no result. The newspapers took up the case; there
were paragraphs in most of them with regard to the missing
step-brother and the mysterious death of Edith Dallas. Then someone
got hold of the story of the will, and this was retailed with many
additions for the benefit of the public. At the inquest the jury returned
the following verdict:--
"We find that Miss Edith Dallas died from taking poison of unknown
name, but by whom or how administered there is no evidence to say."
This unsatisfactory state of things was destined to change quite
suddenly. On the 6th of August, as I was seated in my office, a note
was brought me by a private messenger. It ran as follows:--
"Norfolk Hotel, Strand.
"DEAR SIR,--I have just arrived in London from Brazil, and have seen
your advertisements. I was about to insert one myself n order to find
the whereabouts of my sisters. I am