Conspiracies -- Fiction; Domestic fiction; Ireland -- Fiction; Married women -- Fiction; Secret societies -- Fiction; Suspense fiction
The foreman had discovered two letters. Iris read her own name on one
of them. The other was addressed "To the person who may find my body."
She tore the envelope open. It contained one of Mr. Vimpany's cards,
with these desperate words written on it in pencil: "Take me to the
doctor's address, and let him bury me, or dissect me, whichever he
pleases." Iris showed the card to the foreman. "Is it near here?" she
asked. "Yes, Miss; we might get him to that place in no time, if there
was a conveyance of any kind to be found." Still preserving her
presence of mind, Fanny pointed in the direction of "The Spaniards"
inn. "We might get what we want there," she said. "Shall I go?"
Iris signed to her to attend to the wounded man, and ascended the
sloping ground. She ran on towards the road. The men, directed by
Fanny, raised the body and slowly followed her, diverging to an easier
ascent. As Iris reached the road, a four-wheel cab passed her. Without
an instant's hesitation, she called to the driver to stop. He pulled up
his horse. She confronted a solitary gentleman, staring out of the
window of the cab, and looking as if he thought that a lady had taken a
liberty with him. Iris allowed the outraged stranger no opportunity of
expressing his sentiments. Breathless as she was, she spoke first.
"Pray forgive me--you are alone in the cab--there is room for a
gentleman, dangerously wounded--he will bleed to death if we don't find
help for him--the place is close by--oh, don't refuse me!" She looked
back, holding fast by the cab door, and saw Fanny and the men slowly
approaching. "Bring him here!" she cried.
"Do nothing of the sort!" shouted the gentleman in possession of the
cab.
But Fanny obeyed her mistress; and the men obeyed Fanny. Iris turned
indignantly to the merciless stranger. "I ask you to do an act of
Christian kindness," she said. "How can you, how dare you, hesitate?"
"Drive on!" cried the stranger.
"Drive on, at your peril," Iris added, on her side.
The cabman sat, silent and stolid, on the box, waiting for events.
Slowly the men came in view, bearing Lord Harry, still insensible. The
handkerchiefs on his throat were saturated with blood. At that sight,
the cowardly instincts of the stranger completely mastered him. "Let me
out!" he clamoured; "let me out!"
Finding the cab left at her disposal, Iris actually thanked him! He
looked at her with an evil eye. "I have my suspicions, I can tell you,"
he muttered. "If this comes to a trial in a court of law, I'm not going
to be mixed up with it. Innocent people have been hanged before now,
when appearances were against them."
He walked off; and, by way of completing the revelation of his own
meanness, forgot to pay his fare.
On the point of starting the horse to pursue him, the cabman was
effectually stopped. Iris showed him a sovereign. Upon this hint (like
Othello) he spoke.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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