Chapter X

It was eleven o’clock that evening when Trench got away from his last consultation. Having no car of his own, he dropped off the trolley-car at his corner, and stood fanning himself with his straw hat. Theatre crowds were going home, and Halsted was alive with young folks. Opposite his house a screaming woman was being put into the patrol wagon. Down the side streets everybody was out of doors. Babies were sleeping on steps and pavements, and passersby were careful not to tread on them. On the porch of a synagogue men were lying like the dead on a battlefield.

Halsted Street runs for thirty miles north and south over the level bed of an ancient lake. Trench thought of the St. Mary’s, that stream of melted glacier, and wished that such waters once more rested here. If the lake were back again, it would reach to the top of his house. His eye travelled upward, and he saw a light in Jaffer’s room.

Burglars? No. Ameen had probably found a tenant. He would go up and see. He let himself in by the side door, ascended wearily to the third story, and knocked. There was no answer. He turned the knob, and was driven back by a burst of gas. The light he had seen came from an electric bulb in the study. He groped his way to the hall window, pushed it up, and stood gasping. Then he took a long breath and went through the rooms, turning off the gas and opening windows.

In a few minutes the rooms cleared, and he switched on the light at the head of the bed. What greeted him was apparently the body of a young and oriental Bonaparte, dead before he had won a victory. The shaded white ray fell on both their faces when Trench bent above the body, as some pitying Girondist might have bent above the Corsican, had he died as a cadet. Then down on his knees went the doctor, with ear pressed to the boy’s chest. What he heard reassured him.

He took the pulse now at the wrist. As he sat on the edge of the bed he loosened the high collar, for the stranger was fully dressed, and in so doing noticed at the nape of the neck a long scar, faintly flushed, and apparently the work of a sword. Still holding the wrist, Trench shifted the shade of the electric bulb till the ray fell squarely on the closed eyes. In a few seconds the stimulus was effective. The eyelids quivered, opened, and closed again. Trench shifted the shade back, and took his seat at some distance from the bed.

In a few minutes Bonaparte stirred, moaned, and began to mutter incoherent words of some stock unknown to Trench. The incoherence passed, and the boy lay still. Presently a low voice began to speak English.

“Is it Dr. Trench?”

“Yes. I apologise for interrupting the experiment.”

“I am damn fool configuration of energy called Saadi Sereef, and I am sick in solar plexus.”

“Your stomach will be all right in a little while, and you will find me in the next room.” So saying, Trench went into the study and began to consider his appointments for the next day.

By and by the low musical voice called to him. “It is better now, but my head will split.”

“In a minute,” said Trench, and slipped downstairs for a sedative. When this was administered, Saadi lifted himself in bed, and the doctor propped him with pillows.

“Before I died I was going to ask you, doctor? Are you Christian?”

“No.”

“Do you believe in Bog?”

“What is ‘Bogue’?”

“Excuse me. I mean gaseous vertebrate called Allah. Do you believe?”

“No.”

“That is good. Do you believe Saadi has ghost?”

“No.”

“That is good again. It is bad enough to die with Dr. Trench’s perfectly good gas, but it would be too much if perfectly good gaseous vertebrate should lecture ghost. Half hour ago I was happy nothing. But now I am same old fool something. Too—bad! Why you wake me up?”

“I don’t know.”

“You do not care if I should die?”

“No.”

“If I would have typhus, would you nurse me?”

“Of course.”

The low pleasant voice summed up conclusions. “You care not one damn if I die, but you would die for me.”

Trench smiled. “It does sound rather absurd.”

“It is not absurd, doctor. It is deep.”

Trench was silent.

“Doctor does not ask questions, and Saadi is much obliged. What is in medicine?”

“Only bromides and codein.”

“Of course. It does business. By and by I will sleep.”

“You can’t begin too soon, Mr. Sereef.”

“You will call me Saadi. You have saved my damn fool configuration of energy. It is kismet to be grateful. When you call I will answer.”

“Thank you,” said Trench dryly. “Meanwhile, what assurance have I that you will be alive to answer?”

“Well, I could go down and sleep on divan in doctor’s office.”

“Are you afraid of yourself?”

“Yes, doctor.”

For answer, Trench gently pulled a pillow from under his patient’s head, and settled him in bed. He let a light hand rest for a moment on the boy’s temples. Then he darkened the room, and lay down on Jaffer’s leather couch.