Mrs. Vorse dropped her eyes, then smiled and met his gaze frankly. “Much better. Our doctor has been wonderful.”
“I’m glad to hear it! What is your doctor’s name?”
The woman shook her head.
“I’m sorry — he does not want it disclosed just yet. He has a reason.”
Agent “X” sat silent for a moment. He was puzzled. The woman was evading — but her evasions were not those of a person who fears to betray his own guilt. She was under some sort of constraint — a constraint that obviously troubled her.
She cast a startled glance at her visitor as a child’s voice rang out suddenly upstairs. It was the clear, strong voice of a little girl. Not the voice of an invalid — not the blurred mumbling of a patient in the coma of sleeping sickness. Agent “X” spoke quietly:
“You have only one daughter, Mrs. Vorse. That must have been her voice. You have been most fortunate in her recovery!”
“Most,” agreed the woman fervently. “I can never thank enough the man who did this for us.”
Agent “X” rose abruptly.
“I’d like to see your daughter if I may, Mrs. Vorse.”
Tenseness had crept into his tone, and there was a look in his eyes that seemed to intimidate the woman.
“Why, yes — I think so. I–I’ll speak to my husband.”
She left the room, returning almost immediately with Stephen Vorse. He was a large man, and there was no mistaking his good humor. He beamed at “X” and extended a cordial hand. “I understand you wish to see Mary, our daughter,” he aaid. “But I’m sure you will not insist. The child is still convalescing and must not be excited. A strange face—”
He finished the sentence with a gesture that seemed to take for granted the Agent’s understanding of the matter. But the voice of Agent “X” became suddenly as firm as granite.
“I comprehend your feelings, Mr. Vorse. But I’m afraid I must insist. I promise not to excite the child. I’m used to dealing with them — perhaps you forget that I myself am a doctor.”
A panicky note came into Mrs. Vorse’s voice. “But really, doctor, you must be guided by what my husband says. We have had such luck so far—”
With what appeared to be complete callousness Agent “X” walked toward the stairs. Mr. Vorse’s voice, calling after him, was harsh instead of cordial now.
“I tell you, I won’t allow it, sir!”
Agent “X” paused and looked down at them from the first broad landing of the curved staircase.
“Perhaps,” he said slowly, “you have something to conceal?”
THE words seemed to have a quieting effect on the Vorses. They stared uneasily at each other, then followed “X” up the stairway. The child’s voice sounded again, guiding him to a door which he opened. It was a luxurious nursery, and beneath the silken covers of a small bed a little girl was sitting up playing with a set of dolls. Her eyes widened at sight of Agent “X.” He smiled reassuringly.
“The governor of the state wants to congratulate you on getting well, Mary,” he said.
“Oooo — are you the governor?”
“No — but I’m delivering his message. He hopes a lot of other little girls will get well, too.”
As “X” talked to gain the child’s confidence, he was studying her. That she was convalescing was evident. The horrible traces of sleeping sickness had left and her eyes were bright and alert, without a vestige of the fatal drowsiness apparent.
“You must have a good doctor, Mary,” “X” said.
Her parents put their fingers to their lips, but the child spoke quickly.
“He cured me, but I don’t like him. He wears a mask and sticks things in my arm. He won’t talk to me at all.” She turned suddenly to her mother. “Now I’m well, mummy, I won’t have to go out and see him any more, will I?”
The child’s mother was silent.
“X” spoke quickly. “You have to leave the house to meet your doctor?”
“Yes! They wrap me in blankets and take me out at night. And I’m afraid of the dark.”
Agent “X” nodded slowly. “It must be a very funny doctor you have, Mary. I should think they’d bring your medicine here and not make you go out at night.”
“Maybe he knows my mummy wouldn’t like him to stick pins in my arm.”
“It wasn’t a pin, dear,” said Mrs. Vorse. “It was an injection. It drove all the sickness away.”
The Agent patted the child’s hand, then motioned to the parents, who followed him downstairs. There he faced them questioningly.
“I don’t like your high-handed methods, doctor,” said Stephen Vorse. “I think they’re rather uncalled for. But you’ve discovered the truth. We did send Mary away to be cured by a doctor in this city smart enough to have worked out a remedy for sleeping sickness. He has reasons of his own for wanting to keep his name hidden.”
“What are those reasons, Mr. Vorse?”
“He has only a small quantity of serum in his possession. Not enough, I imagine, to deal with the hundreds of cases which have developed. He has restricted himself to the early victims of the disease.”
The Agent’s lips grew suddenly white. He could not hide the fire that burned in his eyes.
“Nothing to get excited about,” said Mr. Vorse. “I promised our doctor not to speak to anyone of this. But you’ve snooped and ferreted it out. His serum is rare, hard to procure. We are rich — and were able to make it worth while for him to cure our daughter.”
“I see,” said the Agent slowly. But the Vorses did not know that what he saw were the completed outlines of a plot too horrible to be believed. These people were unconscious dupes. They did not know that they were victims of one of the most preposterous and ghastly rackets Agent “X” had ever uncovered in his entire career.
“You are sure you don’t know even this doctor’s name?”
“No — he called us on the telephone and said he could cure our little girl. We thought he was a quack at first. But our own doctor seemed unable to do anything. Mary got steadily worse — passed into the coma. We were desperate. When this doctor who would not give us his name called again, we decided to comply with his request. We took Mary out in the car to a spot designated and parked there until another car came by. The doctor’s assistants were in this car. We were fearful when they drove off with her. But they brought her back, and she began to show signs of recovery at once. She had several more treatments, and the coma gradually passed.”
“I see,” said the Agent again. “I’m sorry I seemed impertinent, Vorse. But it is my business to cover the entire field.”
MRS. VORSE laid her hand on his arm as he rose to go. “You will not speak of this to anyone?” she pleaded. “We gave our promise to the doctor whose skill cured our little girl. He says he is using the money we gave him to develop more of the wonderful serum.”
“I shall not speak of it,” said “X,” “unless—”
He stopped abruptly, and all three heads turned. From the street outside had come a sudden wave of sound. It was a babble of voices, shrill with excitement. They grew louder and louder. Then steps sounded on the front veranda of the house and the doorbell rang violently.
The Vorses’ maid ran to the door. They heard her protesting, arguing with some one. Another voice, gruff and truculent, rose over her own. She gave a little cry. There were footsteps in the hall, and a figure suddenly appeared in the doorway. It was that of Vronsky, the radical. He held his cap in his hand, but his broad, ugly face was aggressive.
“Sorry to intrude,” he said in a tone which made an insult of the apology. “I came here to find out if it was true that your daughter has been cured.”
The maid turned frightened, imploring eyes toward the Vorses.