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Read Ebook: His Great Adventure by Herrick Robert
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Ebook has 2103 lines and 85008 words, and 43 pages
Brainard went back to his patient and leaned over to catch the flutter from the moving lips. At last, as if with great exertion, the murmur came:
"Wh-wh-what are you go-going to do--to do--with me?"
In spite of the faintness of the whisper, it was the voice of one accustomed to being answered.
"I've sent an officer for an ambulance," Brainard replied. "It ought to be here before now, I should think. They'll take you to some hospital and fix you up," he added encouragingly.
The lips twitched into a semblance of a smile, then mumbled:
"No--not--th-this time."
"What's the matter--accident?" Brainard asked.
The sick man did not attempt to reply, as if he considered the question of trifling importance. Instead, his eyes studied the young man's face intently. Evidently his brain was clearing from the shock, whatever had caused it, and he was revolving some purpose. Soon the lips began to move once more, and Brainard bent close to catch the faint sounds.
"Wh-wh-what's your bus-bus-i-ness?"
"Oh, I've had lots of businesses," the young man replied carelessly. "Been on a newspaper, in the ad business, real estate, and so on." He added after a moment, with a little ironical laugh, "Just now I'm in the literary business--a dramatist."
The sick man looked puzzled, and frowned, as if disappointed. Perhaps his cloudy brain could not assort this information with his purpose. Presently his brow contracted, his face twitched violently, the right leg shot out.
"I say! It's too bad," the young man exclaimed sympathetically. "I wish I knew what to do for you. Where can that ambulance be?" He laid one hand on the sick man's hot brow, and held his arm with the other. "Easy now!" he exclaimed, as the right arm began whirling. "There! Steady! It's going off."
Instead of closing his eyes, as he had done after the previous attacks, and relapsing into coma, the sick man made an immediate effort to speak.
"Co-come here," he articulated faintly. "Important, very important."
He groped feebly for his inner pocket.
"You want me to take out this bundle?" Brainard asked, laying his hand on the bulky wallet.
The man made an affirmative sign, and kept his eyes steadily on Brainard while the latter gently extracted the pocketbook.
"You--you will do something for me?" the stranger said more distinctly than he had hitherto spoken, as if urgency were clearing his mind. "You can--you can start to-night?"
"I'm not very busy," the young man said, with a laugh. "I guess I could start for Hong-Kong on a few minutes' notice."
"Not Hong-Kong," the old man labored forth literally. "You're honest?"
It was said in a tone of self-conviction rather than of question.
"Oh, I guess so," the young man answered lightly. "At least, what's called honest--never had a chance to steal anything worth taking!" He added more seriously, to quiet the sick man, who seemed to be laboring under excitement, "Tell me what you want done, and I'll do my best to put it through for you."
The sick man's eyes expressed relief, and then his brow contracted, as if he were summoning all his powers in a final effort to make a clogged brain do his urgent will.
"Lis-lis-listen," he murmured. "No--no, write--write it down," he went on, as Brainard leaned forward.
Brainard looked about his bare room for paper, but in vain. He felt in his pockets for a stray envelope, then drew from his overcoat a roll of manuscript. He glanced at it dubiously for a moment, then tore off the last sheet, which had on one side a few lines of typewriting. With a gesture of indifference, he turned to the sick man and prepared to take his message.
"All ready," he remarked. "I can take it in shorthand, if you want."
"Sev-en, thir-ty-one, and four. Sev-en, thir-tyone, and four. Sev-en, thir-ty-one, and four," he repeated almost briskly.
Brainard looked at him inquiringly, and the stranger whispered the explanation: "Combi-na-tion pri-vate safe--understand?" Brainard nodded.
"Where?"
"Office--San Francisco."
The young man whistled.
"That's a good ways off! What do you want me to do there?"
"What shall I do with the stuff? Bring it here to New York?" the young man inquired, with growing curiosity.
The sick man's blue eyes stared at him steadily, with a look of full intelligence.
"I shall be dead then," he mumbled.
"Oh, I hope not!" Brainard remarked.
But with unflinching eyes, the sick man continued:
"You must have--pow-er--pow-er of attorney."
He brought the words out with difficulty, not wasting his strength by discussing his chances of recovery. He was evidently growing weaker, and Brainard had to bend close to his lips in order to catch the faint whisper, "Take it down!"
And with his face beginning to twitch, and the convulsive tremors running over his body, the sick man summoned all his will and managed to dictate a power of attorney in legal terms, as if he were familiar with the formula. When he had finished, his eyes closed, and his lips remained open. Brainard dropped his paper and felt for the sick man's heart. It was still beating faintly.
After a few moments, the eyes opened mistily, and again the man made an effort to collect himself for another effort.
"What shall I do with the stuff?" Brainard inquired.
"Ge-get it out of the country. Take it to--to Ber-Ber-Ber--"
"Bermuda?" Brainard suggested.
"Oh!" Brainard exclaimed, impressed.
The blue eyes examined the young man steadily, as if they would test his metal. Then, satisfied, the man murmured:
"Quick--must--sign--quick! Now!" he concluded, as his face began to twitch.
Brainard handed him a pen, and held his right arm to steady him while he scrawled his name--"H. Krutzmacht." The sick man traced the letters slowly, patiently, persisting until he had dashed a heavy line across the t's and another beneath the name; then he dropped the pen and closed his eyes.
When another moment of control came to him, he whispered uneasily:
"Witness? Must have witness."
"We'll find some one--don't worry," the young man replied lightly. "The ambulance man, when he comes, if he ever does come!"
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