A WARNING IS UTTERED
A few evenings after Dick and Owen’s visit to the Empire, on the
latter’s return home at the end of his afternoon round, Margaret met
him in the surgery and handed him the slate with the names of the
callers during his absence. He glanced through it, making one or two
remarks, and then, as he laid it down, she pointed to a note lying on
the table. The envelope was dirty and thumb-stained.
“Who brought this?” he inquired.
“A little boy, sir. I asked him who it was from, and he didn’t seem to
know. He said a man had given it to him, and told him to leave it here.”
“Oh, all right,” and the servant left the room as Owen tore open the
envelope. Inside was half a sheet of paper, as dirty and crumpled as
the cover, and on it, written in pencil, were the following lines:
“OWEN ODD,—You seem to be getting on; I am not. I’m hard up. Meet me
this evening, at eight-thirty, under the third lamp-post on the south
side of Brook Green, and, for the sake of old times, bring some money
in your pocket. You will then recognise the writer.”
“Infernal cheek!” muttered Owen, as he crumpled up the missive and
threw it into the fire, immediately afterwards making a grab at the
paper, but too late to save it.
“Hang it! I never thought of that; I might have recognised the writing.
Well, it can’t be helped now, and, in any case, I shouldn’t have gone.
It was only a try on.” And he dismissed the matter from his mind, more
especially as the evening turned out a very busy one for him, and it
was late when he found himself finally disengaged.
Some two or three days later another note arrived in the same manner,
but the tone of it was different. There was no formal commencement—it
began straight away:
“You took no notice of my first letter. I give you another chance. Be
at the place I first mentioned at eight-thirty this evening. If you
cannot come then, come to-morrow night at the same time, and mind and
bring what I asked you for. If you fail me again I shall know how to
act. I am watching you daily. Be wise in time.”
“Who in the name of wonder can have sent this?” muttered Owen, holding
the dirty paper under the gas and examining the writing. “A feigned
hand, I’m certain, and yet an educated hand. I don’t think it can
be one of my patients. Well, I shan’t go. But if this kind of thing
continues I shall have to stop it. I’m not going to be badgered and
threatened for nothing. But the police shall do it, not I,” and for the
second time he put the matter aside and did not allow it to worry him.
He, however, took the opportunity of running over to Barnes and showing
the last missive to his friend Dick.
“Look here, Owen, do you think it can have anything to do with those
fellows we saw following us from the Empire the other evening?” said
Jervoise, after glancing over it.
“I should think not; but then, you remember, I did not see them.”
“No, you didn’t. If you should get another of these things you might
let me have it, and I’d keep the appointment and see what kind of a man
your correspondent is. It would be rather a joke.”
“All right; the next one that comes I’ll send on to you, but it may be
only meant as a sell by some fellow who thinks himself devilish clever
and funny.”
“Of course it may, there are such heaps of fools about. But now come
along with me; I’m going to run up to the club.”
“Can’t, old fellow. Sorry, but I’m far too busy. I must be off,” and
the two friends parted.
No more dirty notes arrived for Owen, and he had concluded he was right
in setting it down as a sell when one morning, just as he was preparing
to start on his round, the surgery bell rang, and on his opening the
door he found the major standing outside.
“Ah, doctor, I’m glad I caught you. I was afraid you might have gone.”
“You are only just in time, major. But what is it? Nothing wrong, I
hope?”
“Not with me, I’m glad to say. But I wanted a word or two with you, if
you can give me a few minutes,” replied his visitor, entering.
“Certainly. Come in and sit down.”
“We shan’t be overheard here?”
“Oh, no. The surgery is as secret as a confessional.”
“Good. Well, I’ve received a most extraordinary communication referring
to you, and though I don’t believe a word of it I thought it was only
fair you should see it. Just glance your eye over that,” and the major
drew a letter from his pocket and passed it across the table.
Owen smiled as he picked it up. A glance at the direction was
sufficient to convince him that it came from the same quarter as those
he himself had received.
“Read it, doctor, read it,” said the major, closely watching Owen’s
face as he drew out the usual half sheet, containing the following
words:
“MAJOR GORDON,—As a friend I warn you against Doctor Odd, who has
insinuated himself like a snake in the grass into your flat! He is
no fit companion for your daughter or yourself. You have merely to
ask him about Exeter, and my words will be proved. A doctor given to
drink is one to be avoided.”
“This is getting beyond a joke!” exclaimed Owen hotly, as he finished
reading. “I shall place the matter in the hands of the police at once.”
“Well, I really think you ought to, though, mind you, I don’t believe a
word of the insinuation in it. And I ask you nothing.”
“Oh, for my own sake, I can’t leave it there, though I confess I am not
quite clear what the blackguard is driving at in mentioning Exeter. I’m
very glad you came round, major, and showed me this, for it is not the
first I have seen.” And Owen gave his visitor an account of the receipt
of the two previous notes, and then said:
“About Exeter. I certainly was in practice there, and was grossly
deceived in my partner. It is true I did not pay much for my share of
the practice, because I was given to understand that it was a small
one, but that it only required working up. The books, such as they
were, seemed all right, and showed a certain amount of profit, but the
patients were anything but high class, save in one or two instances.
Still, as a young man, I had hope that by sticking to work I might
in the end make a good thing of it. But it was not long before I
discovered what kind of a man my partner was. He was more frequently
to be found in the public house than the surgery, and his character
was well known in the town. But when all right he was clever as an
operator. I had invested most of my capital in the venture, so I could
not well withdraw, and for some years I fought on. I have every reason
to believe that as far as I was concerned I was respected and liked,
and I obtained several public appointments. But in the end I found it
would not do. I should never be any better. My partner was a millstone
round my neck that I could not shake off, so I determined to ‘cut my
loss,’ and start once more. I dissolved the partnership, and for a time
took _locum tenens_, till I came here as assistant to Doctor Maureward.”
“It seems hard on you, doctor, but I suppose you were not sufficiently
careful in making inquiries at first, eh?”
“No, I was young and green, and too anxious to get to work and make
money, and I looked on people as honest till I found them the reverse.”
“And what was your partner’s name, if it’s fair to ask?”
“Jakes, Benjamin Jakes, and about as big a walking beer-barrel as
you’ll come across in a day’s march. But he soon came to the end of his
tether.”
“I expect so.”
“He had relied on me, and when I left him he rapidly went to utter
grief, was sold up, and, I heard, left the place; and since then I’ve
entirely lost sight of him.”
“Did you part good friends? I expect not.”
“Well, not exactly bad ones. He didn’t like my going, but he could not
stop me, and so had to make the best of it.”
“And you’ve never heard of him since?”
“Never.”
“Do you think he is the sender of these letters?”
“I can’t say. It is not his writing, but, at any rate, they are from
someone who is acquainted with Exeter.”
“Well,” continued the major, rising, “you will take what steps you
think best, and the sooner you get hold of the blackguard the better.
I’m glad I came round to you first thing; and remember this, doctor,
what you have told me will make no difference in our relations, and
both my daughter and myself will always be glad to see you at our house
when you can spare the time to run in.”
“Thank you, major, thank you. Will you mention this matter to Miss
Gordon?” as Owen remembered some words had fallen from her lips that
first evening he had been in her company, when she had been examining
his hand.
“Just as you like.” And then, after a pause, “No, I don’t think I will.
Some girls are quick to get silly notions into their heads—not that Amy
does. Still, perhaps it would be better not,” and the two men left the
surgery together.
On Owen’s return, some hours later, he had not been in the surgery many
minutes when the telephone bell rang.
“Well?” he shouted, taking up the receiver.
“Are you Doctor Odd?”
“Yes. Who are you?”
“Never mind. But you see I have kept my promise, and this is only the
commencement——”
“You thundering scamp! I only wish I was at your end of the line for a
couple of minutes,” growled Owen, trembling with rage.
A light laugh rang in the receiver by way of answer. “Don’t get raggy,”
continued the voice. “You know how you can put an end to it all.
To-night at the place and time I named, and mind and bring plenty with
you.”
“I’m hanged if I do. You don’t get a penny from me.”
“All right, old man; I shall have to try stronger measures. Ta-ta,” and
the speaker was cut off.
Without moving from the instrument Owen rang and gave Dick’s number at
Barnes. He was at home, and his friend gave him a hurried account of
what had taken place.
“This is better, old fellow. We shall get hold of the villain now,
or I’m a Dutchman,” answered Dick. “But who are this Miss and Major
Gordon? You have never mentioned them before.”
Owen had somehow brought Amy’s name into the story without thinking,
and replied in as careless a way as he could assume:
“Patients of mine.”
“The former beautiful and the latter gallant, I’ll be sworn,” and Owen
could hear an amused chuckle as he replied, “Now, no fooling, Dick;
this is a serious matter.”
“It is, my boy, it is, and I’m going to help you if you want me. I’ll
be with you about seven, if you’ll be in, and then I’ll take the job
on. Miss Gordon wouldn’t like you to run any risks, eh? But, I say,
what about the little Alza—what will she have to say?”
“Shut up, and don’t be an ass. I’ll be in at seven, and show you this
last effusion. Good-bye,” and he rung off.
Dick turned up punctually at the time mentioned, and the two friends
had a long conversation, when it was decided that Jervoise should go
alone to the rendezvous and see if he could recognise any one, Owen
remaining at home till his return.
Brook Green is not a particularly lively spot at any time, and on
this exceptionally cold spring evening it attracted few loiterers.
One or two couples of lovers huddled close together on the seats,
but everyone else seemed more intent on getting along as quickly as
possible than lingering about. There was, of course, a stream of
pedestrians passing along the west side, where is the road leading from
Shepherd’s Bush to Hammersmith; but there was no lingering here either.
Dick rather enjoyed the idea of doing some amateur detective work, and
set about it in what he considered the orthodox way. Making his way to
the north side he walked briskly along, stopping opposite the third
lamp-post on the other side the Green, presumably to light his pipe,
but at the same time taking a glance over the grass to see if there was
anyone waiting about.
Beyond a man who was walking in the direction of London as quickly as
he himself had been he could see no one.
He continued his pace, keeping level with this individual, until the
end of the Green was reached, and then saw him disappear down one of
the adjoining streets.
Waiting a few moments, to ascertain if his actions were a blind, and
he would return, Dick crossed to the south side and made his way back
again. Three or four people passed him, but there was nothing about any
of them to call for attention, and he was fain to admit that he was at
a serious disadvantage, and with small hope of discovering anything,
unless the opening movement came from the other side.
Again and again he passed the indicated lamp-post, and once, when a
man, about whom he had his doubts, overtook him there, he stopped him
and asked him for a light. His request was civilly complied with, but
nothing further came of it; and after an hour of this kind of work Dick
threw up the sponge and returned to the surgery.
“Well, what luck?” was Owen’s greeting.
“None; I’ve drawn blank. No one came, or else I was spotted and my
presence not appreciated,” and he proceeded to give his friend an
account of his wanderings.
They had been talking some ten minutes when there was a rattle at the
letter box in the outer door, and Owen going to it found another of
the dirty thumb-stained envelopes. Returning with it, and scanning the
contents, he exclaimed:
“Confound the fellow! Listen to this:
“‘It’s no use your playing this fool-game. Old birds are not caught
with that kind of chaff. Either you come yourself or leave it alone.
Your friend, Dick Jervoise, is about as poor hand at aping a “tec” as
I’ve seen. I’ll try something stronger now, so look out, and then you
may hear from me again.’”
“Umph! That’s pleasant,” growled Dick. “Not content with doing me he
chaffs me. By Jove! I should like to get at him.”
“Oh, I’m not going to stand any more of this!” exclaimed Owen angrily.
“I’ll put it in the hands of the police at once. Come along, old man,
we won’t humbug about it any more,” and together the two friends made
their way to the Hammersmith police station.