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The Traveler asked her why she did not take the child to see a doctor without letting her husband know, but she said she would not dare. He would find out somehow, however dark she kept it; the child might tell him, for she knew that the two talked together sometimes when they were alone. And suppose he did get to know, her brother asked, what then? I don’t know, she said, but I’m frightened of him. And so was he, a little, the Traveler realized; still, he must do what he could for his sister, who was clearly ready to break down. He told her that if she would tell her husband, in front of him, that she insisted on the child’s being properly treated and refused to give him any more of the drug, he would support her as best he could. But she must nerve herself to face it out this evening, for to-morrow business would call him back to London. She seemed grateful for the offer, but was afraid, she said, to be left alone with her husband afterwards. Nonsense, he said; he’s never ill-treated you, has he? Look, you speak to him to-night, and to-morrow morning we’ll both take the child along to see the doctor; then we’ll come back here together and the three of us can talk it over quietly and see whether he’ll abide by what the doctor says: if the doctor says, as he’s sure to, that the child must take nothing but what he prescribes himself, then your husband will have to agree to it, of course, and if he goes back on his word you just send a wire to me and let me know. In the meantime I’ll make a few inquiries and find out the rights of the case in law. What can he do to you, anyway? You mustn’t let your nerves get out of hand, you know. Why, even suppose the man was a homicidal lunatic, you’ve got the neighbors at hand to help you; and perhaps you could get some one in to sleep with you...

This time he was prepared and turned as the door opened. The Chemist entered noiselessly, placing on the table a medicine glass half full of a clear liquid. He looked across at his wife with an air of malevolent inquiry. She gazed back at him helplessly and at last gave a timid answer, Very well. He nodded and silently left the room.

He knows, he knows, she whispered when the door was shut; didn’t you see the way he looked at me? Well, he may have guessed, said her brother uneasily; you should have told him then, you know. I couldn’t, she said. The Traveler found himself infected by her fear. It was absurd; the Chemist was a big brute, far more powerful than himself, but it was ridiculous to suppose that there would be appeal to physical force. Angry with himself for his qualms he took up the glass and threw its contents into the fire. There, he said, that’s the end of that; I’ll speak to him when he comes back; don’t you worry.

She left him to put the child to bed, coming back later to lay the cold supper. The Chemist joined them in his shirt-sleeves, his fingers browned with acid. Not two words were spoken throughout the meal. As they rose from the table the Chemist said, Did you give it him? No, said the Traveler, she did not. The Chemist ignored him and asked his wife again, Did you give it him? No, she said, very white, I... knocked it over. That’s not true, said her brother; I threw it on the fire; the child must see a doctor; you can’t go on treating him yourself, he’s getting worse and worse. The Chemist still looked across the table at his wife. You won’t give it him, then? he asked. The Traveler nodded urgently at his sister. No, she said desperately, I won’t. The Chemist gave a low chuckle, nodded, and left the room in his stockinged feet.

There, said the Traveler when he was gone, that’s over now; that wasn’t so bad, was it? She was still white with the strain. That’s not all, she said; he’ll not take it as quietly as that. Nonsense, said her brother; what can he do? After all, there are two of us. I don’t know, she said; but he’ll come back, I know he will. The Traveler, although he laughed at his sister’s fears, was careful to take a seat from which he could command the door. They sat there in uncomfortable silence until gradually, since all was quiet, the woman’s color returned and they found themselves in conversation. They spoke of old friends, names forgotten for ten or twenty years, reviving childish memories as the only common ground between them. The Traveler, a lonely man, wondered why he had seen his sister so rarely in the past, resented her marriage with this dour brute of a husband. It was true, he said to himself, blood was thicker than water after all; and he told her that if this trouble should end in a breach with her husband she might look to him; she could keep house for him and bring the child; he was not a marrying man, but he found it a poor life that was spent in furnished rooms and commercial hotels.

The evening passed for them both in a gentle melancholy which made them loth to leave the fireside. Well, said the Traveler at last, it’s getting late; it’s been a quiet evening after all, you see; you’ll be all right now, won’t you? I’ll sit up with you if you’d rather. Yes, I’m all right now, she said; thank you, you’ve been very kind to me... I’ll show you to your room. That’s all right, he said; and we’ll go and see the doctor in the morning. He opened the door while his sister drew back the curtains and opened the window top and bottom to air the room. Outside there was a high wind which made a sudden draught in the close atmosphere. The stairs and landing were dark and the house was in complete silence.

As he stood there with his hand on the door knob he heard his sister behind him give a little gasp. What’s up now? he said, looking round. She was staring at the gas-burner over the mantelpiece. The flame flickered and then ceased, leaving the room dark except for what dim, diffused light filtered through the driving clouds and in at the narrow window. He said, What’s wrong with it; does it want a shilling? No, she said breathlessly, it’s not a slot meter; I’ve never known it do this before. Well, he said, there’s not much odds now we’re off to bed; you’ve got candles... Hush, she said, didn’t you hear it, didn’t you... She stopped, breathless. He could hear a slight rustling like wind among the leaves, a tiny click-click from the landing; then suddenly, framed in the doorway, enormous in the gloom, stood the Chemist, an axe raised above his shoulder. The Traveler recoiled instinctively, and on the instant the man was through the door and making straight across the room at his wife. There was a scream, a scuffle, and a crash. Crossing the room in panic the Traveler found his sister still cowering against the further wall while the Chemist lay inert upon the floor, his head in the hearth. The Traveler examined his face in what small glow came from the dying fire; the forehead was wet with blood. Realizing quickly that he had tripped and stunned himself he feverishly tried to turn his mind to action. Quick, he said, we must tie him up before he comes round; what have you got? Have you got any rope? Quick, for God’s sake; tear the table-cloth into strips; if he comes round first he’ll kill the two of us; he’s killing-mad. He struck a match to find the axe, which he hid in a corner. Here you are, said his sister; will these do? She was stuttering with fear, but she had kept her nerve. That’s right, he said; here, you must help me; we must do it in the dark, there’s no time to get a candle. In the dim light they fumbled with the limp wrists and ankles, lashing them together as tightly as they could with the clumsy strips of serge. Pull, said the Traveler; never mind hurting him; it’s either him or us. At last they had him tied, dragged and pushed him towards the table, and made him fast as best they could to the legs. Now, said the Traveler, get a candle, several, and some rope or cord; here are the matches; I’ll watch him till you come back. I’m frightened, she said; I daren’t go downstairs alone. You must, he said urgently; I can’t leave you with him, he isn’t safe like this; quick, now, there’s a good girl. She went.