In the days when a young and promising draper, called Mr. John
Barker, had recently opened a small shop in the High Street,
Kensington, Campden Hill was a singularly attractive place to live
in. The favourite resort of affluent artists, retired judges, and
other persons of culture and dignity, it still managed to retain a
semi-rural tranquillity unknown to any other part of central London.
Time, however, which has dealt nobly with Mr. Barker, has
unfortunately robbed the district of most of its former charm. Of
the old-fashioned houses which stood formerly in their own pleasant
grounds only a sadly thinned remnant now survive. Tucked away in odd
corners, amid an ever-encroaching flood of "desirable modern
residences," they seem to wait sadly for the hour when, in a cloud of
dust and mortar, the relentless tapping of the pick serves for their
funeral bell.
The Red Lodge, the home of Professor Carter, dated back to the
leisured days of George the Third. It was a square, creeper-clad
house, surrounded by a high wall, with a covered passageway leading
up from the street to the front door. Through the outside gate, the
upper half of which consisted of an iron grille, the curiously minded
passer-by could, by straining his neck, just obtain a glimpse into
the neglected garden. Whether it were worth his while to indulge in
such contortions, however, was a matter of some doubt, for a desolate
expanse of ill-kept lawn, dotted here and there with stunted bushes
and overhung by gaunt trees, was the only prospect that rewarded his
enterprise.
Standing on the pavement, Colin inspected what was probably his
future residence with a considerable amount of curiosity. He was not
in the least fanciful, but even to a thoroughly healthy imagination
the old house certainly presented a forlorn and rather mysterious
aspect. There seemed to him nothing surprising in the fact that,
having once been burgled, the Professor had begun to feel the need of
a trustworthy assistant, especially if he were engaged in researches
which would undoubtedly possess a large financial value.
On the right of the gate a rusty bell-handle lolled out dejectedly
from its socket. Colin gave it a vigorous pull, and a distant
jingling somewhere inside the house told him that the wire was still
in working order.
Looking through the grille, he waited patiently for the best part of
a minute. At last he heard the sound of somebody fumbling with a
chain, then the front door opened, and an old, bent woman came slowly
down the steps.
Holding her shawl together with one hand, she shuffled along to the
end of the passage and peered at him through the ironwork.
"Are you the gentleman that's expected?" she asked suspiciously.
"It's quite likely," said Colin. "Anyhow, I had a telegram from
Professor Carter asking me to call at three-thirty."
"That must be right, then," was the somewhat grudging answer, and,
turning the lock, she pulled back the gate just wide enough for him
to enter.
Following her up the passageway and through the front door, Colin
found himself in a big, well-lighted hall, at the back of which a
couple of French windows opened out into the garden behind. Several
pieces of massive Victorian furniture were ranged symmetrically round
the walls, and a broad, thickly carpeted staircase led up to the
landing above.
"If you'll step into the library," observed his guide, "I'll tell Mr.
Carter you've come."
She opened a door on the right, and, accepting her invitation, Colin
passed through into a long, cheerless apartment, three sides of which
were almost completely lined with books. There was no fire in the
grate, and such chairs as there were looked so extremely
uncomfortable that only the most hardened man of letters could have
described it as an agreeable resort.
Colin did not attempt to sit down. After a cursory glance round he
walked over to the nearest bookcase and began to examine the titles
of some of the volumes, all of which appeared to deal with scientific
subjects, a fair proportion of them being in French and German. He
was deep in this occupation when he heard the door open, and,
wheeling round quickly, he found the Professor coming toward him.
Like every other young investigator, Colin was more or less familiar
with photographs of his host, but all the same the latter's
appearance in real life came to him with something of a shock. A
very old man, wearing a skull cap, from which long white hair hung
down over his collar, he seemed at first sight to be almost pitifully
frail and feeble. It was only when a second glance revealed the
gleam which still lurked behind his gold spectacles and the dour,
obstinate lines of his mouth and chin that this sense of physical
weakness was swept away by a sudden impression of extraordinary
intellectual power and immense force of character.
With a little exclamation of annoyance he advanced to where Colin was
standing.
"I am sorry that you should have been left alone in this ice house,"
he began in a high, quavering voice. "I can't imagine why Mrs.
Ramsay showed you in here, except that she happens to be a born fool."
Colin accepted the thin, veined hand which the old scientist offered
him.
"I have been quite happy, thank you, sir," he said. "I have been
inspecting your library."
"I trust that you found something to entertain you," was the answer.
"There are some interesting books here, but, unfortunately, they are
mixed up with a good deal of trash. Every ignoramus who airs his
views on some subject about which he knows nothing seems to think it
necessary to send me a copy." He turned toward the entrance. "You
had better come into my study," he added. "There is a nice fire
there, and we can talk in comfort."
Leading the way to the door, he conducted Colin across the hall into
another and almost similarly shaped room exactly opposite. Here also
the walls were lined with bookcases, but, thanks to the fire and one
or two easy chairs, there was a certain air of homeliness altogether
lacking in the library.
The Professor made a gesture towards a dilapidated couch.
"Sit down, Mr. Gray," he continued. "I don't know whether you
appreciate a good cigar, but if you do I can offer you something a
little out of the ordinary. Of course, if you are sufficiently young
and barbarous to prefer a pipe don't hesitate to say so."
"Well, I'm not an expert," admitted Colin. "All the same, I like to
improve my education when I get the chance."
The old man smiled grimly, and, moving across to a black oak bureau
in the corner, returned with a box of long, delicately shaped Havanas.
"Smoking is the one pleasure left which I can still enjoy," he
explained. "Under the circumstances, I take particular care to have
the best."
He waited until Colin had lighted up, and then, following his
example, placed the box on the table between them and seated himself
in a big armchair in front of the fire.
"And now, my young friend," he said, "let us get to business. I
believe that Onslow has said something to you about my reasons for
asking you to come and see me."
Colin nodded. "Sir George called at the hospital yesterday," he
said. "I understood from him that you were thinking of engaging a
resident assistant, and that he had suggested me as a possible
choice."
The Professor drew down the corners of his mouth in a dry smile.
"Oh, you understood that, did you?" he remarked. "Well, it's hardly
the impression which Onslow conveyed to me. From the enthusiastic
fashion in which he spoke about your abilities I gathered that I
should be remarkably fortunate if you would even consider the
proposal."
Colin flushed handsomely. "Sir George has always been uncommonly
kind to me," he said, "but he knows that I should regard it as a
tremendous honour to be allowed to work under you."
The Professor looked at him over the top of his spectacles.
"Well, I am glad to hear you speak so sensibly. Most clever young
men are intolerably conceited." He paused. "I think I ought to make
the situation quite plain before we go any further. As Onslow may
have mentioned, this suggested arrangement of mine isn't quite the
compliment to your professional skill which it appears to be on the
surface."
Colin laughed. "Yes, I know about that, sir," he replied. "I can
only say that if you will allow me to assist you in the daytime I
don't care how many burglars I have to tackle at night."
"It's hardly likely to be a regular feature of your duties," returned
the Professor. "Still, the fact remains that this house has been
broken into once, and there seems to be no apparent reason why the
same thing shouldn't happen again."
"Did you lose much?" asked Colin.
The old man shook his head. "Nothing that I am aware of. My
visitor, whoever he was, got into this room by the window. The only
thing damaged was that desk in the corner." He nodded toward the
black oak bureau. "The safe over there in which I generally keep a
certain amount of money, was absolutely untouched."
"He might have been interrupted in the middle of his job," suggested
Colin.
"He might have been," assented the Professor, "but as it happens he
wasn't. It was not until Mrs. Ramsay came in here the next morning
that we had the least idea anything was wrong."
Colin leaned forward and knocked off his ash into the fireplace. "It
seems rather an extraordinary thing," he remarked. "Had you any
specially valuable papers--I mean, anything like a description of
some new scientific process--which people might want to get hold of?"
"I daresay I had," was the answer, "but if so it was certainly not in
that desk. I keep everything relating to my work in a special
cabinet in the laboratory. You would think that a gentleman who was
sufficiently intelligent to try to steal things of that nature would
at least assure himself first that he was on the right ground."
"What had the police got to say about it?" Colin inquired. "I
suppose you called them in?"
"I did nothing of the sort," returned the Professor abruptly. "I
have only a very limited amount of time remaining to me, and there
are plenty of excellent ways in which I can occupy it. Because some
lunatic chooses to break open my desk and rummage through my papers I
fail to see why I should waste several valuable hours standing in a
witness box answering superfluous and probably impertinent questions.
All the same, these sorts of experiences are extremely upsetting to a
man of my age. They alarm the household and they distract me from my
work. In case of a similar experience, I should be glad to feel that
there was someone on the premises who could be trusted to act with
promptness and efficiency."
"You can depend on me for that," said Colin, "as long as I'm not
asleep."
There was a brief pause while the Professor took off his spectacles
and polished them with a red silk handkerchief.
"Well, now that we understand each other," he continued, "I think it
would be as well to discuss one or two practical details. With
regard to your remuneration, for instance. I don't know what you are
getting at St. Christopher's, but I propose to give you four hundred
a year. You will have no expenses living in the house, so unless you
are foolishly extravagant that ought to be quite an adequate salary."
"It will do me very nicely," said Colin. "As a matter of fact, I've
got a little money of my own, and the only extravagant habit I've
developed so far is keeping a car."
The Professor grunted. "When I was your age," he remarked, "young
men either walked or rode. Still, as long as you are capable of
amusing yourself it doesn't matter to me how you spend your leisure
time." He replaced his spectacles and returned the handkerchief to
his breast pocket "I shall give instructions that you are to be
properly looked after, but whether they will be carried out is
another matter. Since my man Kennedy left me I have had no one in
the house except Mrs. Ramsay and the cook. They are both old, like
myself, and my own wants are so simple that their ideas of catering
are probably a little on the Spartan side. If you find you are
uncomfortable, or that you are not getting enough to eat and drink,
you must let me know." He paused. "As for recreation or
entertainment--well, if you are expecting anything of that nature you
are coming to the wrong place. The only visitor I ever have is my
solicitor, Mr. Medwin, whom, by the way, I am expecting this
afternoon. I warn you frankly that unless you can throw yourself
into your work you will find life here intolerably dull."
Colin shook his head. "I don't think we need discuss that, sir," he
said cheerfully. "Anyway, as far as my present feelings are
concerned I wouldn't change places with any one in England."
With another and rather more approving grunt the Professor hoisted
himself slowly out of his chair.
"You seem to have some sense, my young friend," he observed. "How
would you like to come along and look at the laboratory? I don't
suppose Medwin will be here for another twenty minutes."
"I should like it very much," said Colin promptly.
He rose to his feet, and, dropping the stump of his cigar into the
fire, followed his host out of the room and along the hall. On
reaching the French windows the Professor turned to the left, and,
having descended a couple of steps, pulled up in front of a
solid-looking door, which he proceeded to unlock with a Yale key.
"This, of course, is not part of the original house," he explained.
"I had it built on about twenty years ago, and one way and another
it's cost me a pretty penny, I can tell you."
He led the way inside, and, with an air of pride that he made no
effort to conceal, turned on the electric light.
For a private laboratory the place was certainly unique. A large,
lofty room, roofed with glass and lined with white tiles, it appeared
to have been fitted up with a complete disregard for expense that
would have excited envy in the most lavishly endowed American
university.
For several seconds Colin stood looking round in voiceless
appreciation. His eyes wandered in turn over the shining array of
taps and switches, the enamelled basins, the big electric furnace,
and all the other up-to-date appliances which gleamed invitingly
under the hard, unshaded light.
At last, with a sigh of satisfaction, he turned to the Professor.
"As long as I can work here," he said, "I don't care what I have to
eat or drink."
Evidently pleased with his companion's enthusiasm, the old man closed
the door carefully behind them, and, having replaced the key in his
pocket, started off on an explanatory tour of the room. With the
absorption of an expert loosed upon his favourite topic, he moved
methodically along from one spot to another, stopping in front of
each object in turn to explain or demonstrate its various uses.
Colin, who was more than content to play the part of a listener,
followed him round in absolute silence. Familiar as he was with all
the latest developments in research, his acquaintance with many
branches was naturally of a rather superficial nature, and, although
he was prepared for something of the sort, the apparent depth and
accuracy of the Professor's knowledge filled him with amazed respect.
To what height this feeling might have attained it is impossible to
say, for just as they had arrived at the electric furnace a sudden
tap on the door interrupted their proceedings.
With an impatient click of his tongue the aged scientist glanced
sharply round in the direction of the sound.
"Now who the devil's that?" he exclaimed. "I have given orders
repeatedly that when I'm in here I am not to be disturbed."
He shuffled wrathfully down the room, and, jerking open the door,
revealed the lean figure of Mrs. Ramsay.
"What's the matter?" he demanded. "Why don't you obey my
instructions?"
"It's no good getting cross," returned the housekeeper impassively.
"You asked Mr. Medwin to call, and you can't leave 'im sitting in the
study."
"Oh, he's come, has he?" was the slightly mollified answer. "Well,
in that case I suppose we had better go along and make ourselves
civil to him." He turned to Colin, who had followed him to the door.
"You will stay to tea, of course?" he added.
Colin, who was trying hard not to smile, expressed his willingness,
and, having closed and locked the laboratory, the Professor conducted
him back through the hall to the room which they had recently quitted.
A big, clean-shaven, middle-aged man, who was standing in front of
the fire, stepped forward at their entrance.
"I hope I am not too punctual," he began, in a curiously smooth
voice. "I think four o'clock was the time you mentioned in your
letter."
He shook hands with his host, and at the same time his glance
travelled inquisitively toward Colin.
"That's quite correct," replied the Professor. "I was just showing
the laboratory to my young friend here. By the way, let me introduce
you. Doctor Gray--Mr. Medwin."
Colin felt his hand enveloped in a large, soft palm, while a pair of
very acute eyes rapidly scanned his face.
"I am delighted to meet you," said Mr. Medwin.
"It's a pleasure that you will probably have on future occasions,"
observed the Professor. "Doctor Gray is coming to live here as my
resident assistant."
It seemed to Colin that in spite of his bland manner the lawyer was
momentarily disconcerted.
"Really," he observed, after a slight hesitation, "I had no idea that
you were contemplating anything of that sort."
"I don't suppose you had," said the Professor drily. "The idea only
occurred to me last week, but when I make up my mind I generally act
upon it at once. If you will forgive my saying so, Medwin, it's a
habit that some members of your profession might cultivate with
advantage."
Mr. Medwin, who appeared to have recovered his self-possession,
smiled affably.
"I won't dispute the statement," he said. "There's no doubt that,
taking us altogether, we're a dilatory lot."
The arrival of Mrs. Ramsay with the tea made a temporary diversion,
and, having requested Colin to officiate, the Professor seated
himself on the couch alongside his visitor.
"What I chiefly wanted to see you about," he began, "was that new
agreement with the American Dye Company. I had a letter from them
yesterday, and, with their usual transatlantic hustle, they are
anxious to get the matter settled up at once."
"Well, there's no reason why it shouldn't be," returned the other.
"I went through the papers last night, and they all seem to be in
order. If I had known you were in a hurry I would have brought them
along." He paused. "Perhaps Doctor Gray would be good enough to
stroll back with me as far as my house after tea. In that case I can
hand them over to him. I would fetch them myself, but,
unfortunately, I have an engagement."
"I can manage that all right," said Colin. "I sha'n't be wanted at
the hospital until seven."
He finished pouring out the tea, and, having distributed the cups,
took the vacant seat on the farther side of the fireplace.
Somehow or other the personality of the big, suave solicitor had
already inspired him with a vague distrust. He always disliked men
with soft hands and that particular type of voice, especially when,
as in the present case, their eyes were unpleasantly close together.
He had, too, an instinctive feeling that, in spite of his apparent
friendliness, Mr. Medwin was by no means disposed to regard him as a
desirable addition to the Red Lodge. Whether it was a mere whim of
the latter's, or whether he resented the prospect of anybody else
being mixed up with the Professor's business affairs, it was
impossible to guess. The only thing Colin felt sure about was that
the announcement of his engagement had come to the other as a
distinctly unwelcome surprise.
After chatting away amiably for about twenty minutes, Mr. Medwin at
length rose to his feet and announced that it was time for him to be
taking his departure.
"I live quite close by, in Albert Terrace," he added, turning to
Colin, "so if you are in no special hurry it's hardly worth while
bothering about a taxi. You can walk there and back in a quarter of
an hour."
"And I shall be extremely obliged to you for your trouble, Gray,"
interposed the Professor. "It will be a great convenience to me to
have the papers to-night. I am really beginning to wonder how I have
managed to get along all this time without you."
Colin laughed, and, picking up his hat from the side table where he
had originally placed it, followed the still smiling Mr. Medwin out
into the hall and along the covered passageway.
They exchanged no remark until the iron gate had closed behind them,
when, turning down the hill, his new acquaintance addressed him with
an air of good-natured amusement.
"A queer character, our old friend," he observed. "I always say he
might have stepped bodily out of one of Dickens's books." He paused,
and eyed Colin again with that sharp, penetrating glance of his.
"Have you known him long?" he added.
"Not very," said Colin. "About an hour, to be exact."
Mr. Medwin raised his eyebrows.
"Really!" he exclaimed. "Then I suppose your arrangement to come and
live at the Red Lodge was only decided this afternoon?"
Colin nodded.
"I wonder what put the idea into his head," continued the lawyer.
"It's almost the last thing one would have expected from such a
confirmed old hermit."
For a moment Colin hesitated. The question was natural enough, but
since the Professor had chosen to remain silent he thought it better
to keep his own counsel.
"There is a lot of hard work in connection with research," he
replied. "When a man gets to his age he's bound to require a certain
amount of help."
"Yes, yes, that's true, of course," assented the other. "As a matter
of fact, I have suggested to him several times myself that he was
overtaxing his strength. The only thing that surprises me is his
proposal that you should live in the house." He paused. "If you
won't think me inquisitive, may I ask how you came to make his
acquaintance?"
"There was nothing very remarkable about it," said Colin. "I happen
to be house surgeon at St. Christopher's, and Sir George Onslow, one
of the visiting physicians, was good enough to mention my name to
him."
"I have often heard of St. Christopher's," returned Mr. Medwin
pleasantly. "A client of mine, Lord Cleveland, was vice-chairman for
several years. You'll find your new existence rather dull, won't
you, after the life and bustle of a big hospital?"
"I don't expect to," said Colin. "I am extremely interested in
research work, and from what I have seen of the Professor I think we
shall get along together very nicely."
As he spoke they came out into the High Street, and, not knowing
which way to turn, he glanced inquiringly at his companion.
"Straight across the road," said Mr. Medwin. "It's only just round
the corner out of Kensington Square."
They made their way through the traffic, and a few minutes' walk
brought them to a row of small white, semi-detached houses, each one
standing back behind a narrow strip of garden.
Mr. Medwin pulled up in front of the third, and opened the gate for
Colin.
"This is my chateau," he announced. "Not quite so magnificent as the
Red Lodge, but it does well enough for a middle-aged bachelor."
He proceeded up the path, and, unlocking the front door, ushered
Colin into a tiny hall, the walls of which were hung round with
valuable sporting prints.
"I prefer a small house to a flat," he continued, "and I am lucky
enough to have a French manservant and his wife, who run the entire
place for me."
He opened a door to the left, and, switching on the electric light,
revealed a charmingly furnished dining-room.
"Perhaps you won't mind waiting in here for a moment," he added.
"You will find some whisky and soda and a box of cigarettes on the
sideboard. Make yourself at home while I go and fetch the papers."
With another genial smile he disappeared into the opposite apartment,
and, accepting his invitation, Colin strolled across the room and
helped himself to a cigarette.
It was quite evident that, although he was contented with a small
house, Mr. Medwin was a gentleman of taste and means. The fine
Persian carpet, the harmoniously coloured curtains, and the admirably
preserved Chippendale chairs could only have been the choice of a man
who was blessed with an ample income and a cultivated feeling for
beautiful surroundings.
Having surveyed everything with leisurely appreciation, Colin mixed
himself a drink and sauntered back to the fireplace. He had taken a
sip and was reaching up to deposit his glass upon the mantelpiece
when a small photograph in a silver frame suddenly attracted his
attention. He paused mid-way and stared at it with interest. It was
a snapshot of a man upon horseback--a rough amateur effort,
apparently taken just before the start of a steeplechase.
The rider's face was turned full toward him, and, slightly out of
focus as the negative was, the features seemed curiously familiar.
He lifted it down and examined it more closely. The impression that
it was a picture of someone whom he had met became stronger than
ever, but although he racked his memory he could get no nearer toward
placing the original.
He was still puzzling over the problem when he heard footsteps
crossing the hall. Replacing the frame in its former position, he
faced round toward the door, and the next moment Mr. Medwin entered
carrying a large envelope in his hand.
"There are the papers," he said, handing them to Colin. "I am sorry
to have kept you waiting." His eye fell upon the glass, and with an
approving nod he turned away in the direction of the sideboard. "I
think I shall have to follow your example," he added, "if it's merely
to drink success to your new venture."
He splashed some spirit into a tumbler and filled it up with water.
"My best wishes!" he said heartily, "and I hope that the experiment
will prove a complete success."
"I hope so, too," returned Colin. "It certainly looks promising
enough as far as it's gone at present."
The lawyer emptied his glass and replaced it beside the tantalus.
"I shall be very interested to hear how you get on," he continued.
"The Professor is a wonderful old gentleman, but of course he's
inclined to be a trifle eccentric. With a little tact, however, I
think you ought to manage him excellently. As soon as you have
settled down you must come round to dinner one night and tell me all
about it."
Colin made some conventional reply to the effect that he would be
delighted, though, as a matter of strict accuracy, the prospect of
his confiding in Mr. Medwin seemed to him to be a particularly remote
one.
However, he shook hands cordially enough, and, escorted by his host
as far as the garden gate, started off briskly down the terrace on
his return journey.
He had reached the corner and was just turning into Kensington Square
when his thoughts suddenly went back to the photograph which he had
been examining in the dining-room.
At the same moment a flash of memory darted through his mind, and he
pulled up short with a half-stifled exclamation.
He knew now!
It was a portrait of Major Fenton, the man to whom Nancy had
introduced him outside her studio.