The Finishing Stroke Read Free

and behind them a lamplit little house. At the fence stood an iron standard, with a swinging black sign on which some gilt lettering glistened in the moonlight.
    Sebastian peered, breathing in long white gasps.
    Cornelius F. Hall , the sign said. MD.
    A great joy seized him. He wrenched the little gate open, floundered up the walk, and began to punch the doctor’s door.
    â€˜I’m afraid it’s more serious than a broken leg and a head wound, Mr. Sebastian,’ Dr. Hall said. He was a slow-moving little man of perhaps forty with bristly red hair and tired brown eyes. ‘I’ve set the leg and treated the wound, although I won’t know the extent of the concussion for some time. But just now that’s the least of it.’
    John Sebastian heard the little doctor dimly. The noise in his head had become a dull roar through which the real world had difficulty making itself heard. He could hardly remember how they had managed to free Claire and carry her to the doctor’s house. He had crouched in the chilly parlour before the smoky little fire for over two hours while the doctor and his thin-lipped, untalking wife – a trained nurse, he recalled Dr. Hall’s assuring him – worked mysteriously over Claire beyond the closed door. The tea Mrs. Hall had given him had grown cold between his hands.
    â€˜The least of what?’ he asked stupidly.
    The doctor gave him a sharp glance. ‘Are you sure you’re all right, Mr. Sebastian? I’d better look you over now, while I have the chance.’
    â€˜No. My wife, take care of my wife. Don’t stand here jawing, man! What’s the matter with her?’
    â€˜Her injuries, the shock of the accident, they’ve induced labour, Mr. Sebastian. She’s going to give birth prematurely.’ Dr. Hall looked unhappy. ‘Mrs. Hall is getting things ready now. Will you excuse me, please?’
    â€˜Wait, wait, I don’t follow,’ the publisher muttered. One of the several Gibson-Collier’s drawings on the parlour walls was lopsided; it kept distracting him. ‘You mean my wife is going to have her baby – now, here?’
    â€˜Yes, Mr. Sebastian.’
    â€˜But she can’t. She mustn’t!’
    Dr. Hall’s fair skin reddened. ‘Man proposes and God disposes, sir. I’m afraid you have no choice.’
    â€˜I won’t permit it!’ The blood vessels in Sebastian’s temples jumped. ‘Her own doctor – Rye … Where’s your telephone?’
    â€˜I don’t have one, Mr. Sebastian,’ Dr. Hall said.
    â€˜Then an auto – sleigh – anything. What kind of quack are you, anyway? I’ll go for him!’
    â€˜I have no auto, sir, and my sleigh cracked a runner this afternoon on my way back from a sick-call. My rig is in the barn, but on that ice neither you nor my horse would get fifty yards.’ The little doctor’s voice hardened. ‘Every moment you delay me is endangering your wife’s life, Mr. Sebastian. She’s your wife, but I suggest you don’t take too long making up your mind.’
    Sebastian sank into a Morris chair. Dr. Hall stared down at him with some bitterness. The mysterious door opened. Mrs. Hall called urgently to her husband, ‘Doctor.’
    Sebastian gaped beyond her. Claire was stretched out on a bed like a corpse, a corpse that whimpered in a doglike way. Mrs. Hall vanished. And there was the door again.
    â€˜Hurry, Mr. Sebastian. Do I go ahead, or don’t I?’
    â€˜Yes,’ the publisher whispered. ‘You’ll do everything you can, Doctor?’
    â€˜You understand, Mr. Sebastian, your wife is in a seriously weakened condition.’
    â€˜I understand. Go on, man. For God’s sake, go to her!’
    Ages passed.
    At first John Sebastian thought that if the screams did not stop his head would explode. But when they stopped, he found himself praying that they would begin