DR. DAMAR GREEFE
As the crow flies Friar's Park was less than two miles from the Abbey
Inn; but the road, which according to a sign-board led "to
Hainingham," followed a tortuous course through the valley, and when
at last I came to what I assumed to be the gate-lodge, a thunderous
ebony cloud crested the hill-top above, and its edge, catching the
burning rays of the sun, glowed fiercely like the pall of Avalon in
the torchlight. Through the dense ranks of firs cloaking the slopes a
breeze presaging the coming storm whispered evilly, and here in the
hollow the birds were still.
I stared rather blankly at the ivy-covered lodge, which, if
appearances were to be trusted, was unoccupied. But I pushed open the
iron gate and tugged at a ring which was suspended from the wall. A
discordant clangor rewarded my efforts, the cracked note of a bell
which spoke from somewhere high up in the building, that seemed to be
buffeted to and fro from fir to fir, until it died away, mournfully,
in some place of shadows far up the slope.
In the voice of the bell there was something lonesome, something akin
to the atmosphere of desertion which seemed to lie upon the whole
neighborhood--something fearful, too, as though the bell would
whisper: "Return! Beware of disturbing the dwellers in this place."
The house, one wing of which I have said was visible from the inn
window, could not be seen at all from the gate. Indeed I had lost
sight of it at the moment that I had set out and had never obtained a
glimpse of it since.
Ten minutes before, I had inquired the way from a farm-laborer whom I
had met on the road, and he had answered me with a curiosity but
thinly veiled. His directions had been characterized by that rustic
vagueness which assumes in the inquirer an intimate knowledge of local
landmarks. But nevertheless I believed I had come aright. I gathered
from its name that Friar's Park was in part at least a former monastic
building, and certainly the cracked bell spoke with the voice of
ancient monasteries, and had in it the hush of cloisters and the sigh
of renunciation.
Although I had mentioned nothing of the purpose of my journey to mine
host of the Abbey Inn or to any of his cronies--and these were few in
number--I had hoped to find Hawkins at the lodge; and a second time I
awoke the ghostly bell-voice. But nothing responded to its call; man,
bird and beast had seemingly deserted Friar's Park.
Faintly I detected the lowing of cattle in some distant pasture; the
ranks of firs whispered secretly one to another; and the pall above
the hills grew blacker and began to stretch out over the valley.
Amid this ominous stillness of nature I began to ascend the
cone-strewn path. Evidently enough the extensive grounds had been
neglected for years, and that few pedestrians and fewer vehicles ever
sought Friar's Park was demonstrated by the presence of luxurious
weeds in the carriage-way. Having proceeded for some distance, until
the sheer hillside seemed to loom over me like the wall of a tower, I
paused, peering about in the ever growing darkness. I was aware of a
physical chill; certainly no ray of sunlight ever penetrated to this
tunnel through the firs. Could I have mistaken the path and be
proceeding, not towards the house, but away from it, and into the
gloom of the woods? Or perhaps the deserted lodge was that of some
other, empty establishment.
There was something uncomfortable in this reflection; momentarily I
knew a childish fear of the dim groves. I thought of the "darkness
'broidered with luminous eyes," and I walked forward rapidly,
self-assertively. Ten paces brought me to one of the many bends in the
winding road--and there, far ahead, as though out of some cavern in
the very hillside, a yellow light shone.
I pressed on with greater assurance, until the house became visible.
Now I perceived that I had indeed strayed from the carriage sweep in
some way, for the path that I was following terminated at the foot of
a short flight of moss-covered steps. I mounted the steps and found
myself at the bottom of a terrace. The main entrance was far to my
left and separated from the terrace by a neglected lawn. That portion
of the place was Hanoverian and ugly, whilst the wing nearest to me
was Tudor and picturesque. Excepting the yellow light shining out from
a window on the right of the porch, no illuminations were visible
about the house, although the brewing storm had already plunged the
hollow into premature night.
My conception of Friar's Park had been wide of the reality--and there
was no sign of occupancy about this strange-looking mansion, which
might have hidden forgotten for centuries in the horse-shoe of the
hills. The stillness of the place was of that sort which almost seems
to be palpable; that can be seen and felt. A humid chill arose
apparently from the terrace, with its stone pavings outlined in moss,
and crept up from the wilderness below and down from the fir woods
above.
I had crossed the terrace and the lawn, and now stood looking through
the open French window from which light had proceeded into a room that
evidently adjoined the hall. A great still darkness had come, and on a
littered table in this room a reading-lamp was burning.
The room was furnished as a library. Every available foot of wall
space was occupied by laden bookcases. The volumes were nearly all old
and many of them were in strange, evidently foreign, bindings. Items
of chemical apparatus and cases of specimens were visible also as well
as an amazing collection of Egyptian relics strewn about the place in
the utmost disorder.
At the table a man was seated, deep in study of a huge leather-bound
volume. He was strangely gaunt, and apparently very tall. His
clean-shaven face resembled that of Anubis, the hawk-headed god of
Ancient Egypt, and his hair, which was growing white, he wore long and
brushed back from his bony brow. His skin was of a dull, even yellow
color, and his long thin brown hands betrayed to me the fact that the
man was a Eurasian. The crunching of a piece of gravel under foot
revealed my presence. The man looked up swiftly.
I started. Those widely-opened black eyes were truly hawk-like in
their dark intensity of gaze, and the uncanny resemblance to Anubis
was heightened by them. More than ever convinced that I had made a
mistake:
"Forgive me for so rudely disturbing you," I said, "but I was under
the impression that this was Friar's Park, whereas I fear I have
trespassed."
The intense gaze never left my face for a moment, but:
"There is no trespass," answered the man at the table, speaking in a
high harsh voice and with a marked but evasive accent. "All visitors
are welcome--chance ones, or otherwise. But you have certainly lost
your way; this is the Bell House."
"And am I far from Friar's Park?"
"No great distance. May I ask if Lady Coverly knew of your proposed
visit?"
"She did not," I said with surprise.
"Then I fear your journey has been fruitless. She is an invalid and
can receive no one."
There was something peremptory and imperious in his manner which I
resented, and evidently perceiving this resentment:
"I am Lady Coverly's medical adviser," added the Eurasian. "Possibly I
can afford you some assistance. In any event I fear you will have to
accept my poor hospitality for the nonce. The alternative is a
drenching."
Even as he spoke, the hollow was illuminated by a blinding flash of
lightning, and indeed his last words were drowned in the thunder that
boomed and crashed in deepening peals over the hills.
In a sudden tropical torrent the rain descended, and I stepped forward
into the room. Its occupant rose to his great height to greet me.
"I am Dr. Damar Greefe," he said, and bowed formally.
I made myself known to him in turn, and with a sort of stately
courtesy he set a high-backed chair for me and himself resumed his
former seat.
"You are a stranger to this neighborhood, I gather?" he continued.
Now, in spite of his polished courtesy, there was that about Dr. Damar
Greefe which I did not and could not like. The voice was the voice of
a gentleman, but the face was a mask--a mask of Anubis; and seated
there in that strange untidy apartment, amid varied relics of the past
and obscure experiments possibly designed to pry into the future,
whilst thunder boomed high over the Bell House, I determined to
withhold from Dr. Damar Greefe the true nature of my mission. In fact
already I regretted having told him my name--although to have given a
fictitious one would have been a gross violation of hospitality
unhesitatingly offered.
Even now I find it hard to explain the mingled sentiments which
claimed me on the occasion of this my first meeting with a very
singular man.
"I am taking a brief rest cure," I replied; "and as I am given to
understand that Friar's Park is of much historical interest, I had
purposed seeking permission to look over the place and if possible to
take a few photographs."
Dr. Damar Greefe inclined his head gravely.
"A former monastic house, Mr. Addison," he replied. "And as you say,
of great archæological interest. But the regrettably poor health of
Lady Coverly makes it impossible for her to entertain visitors."
Something in the tone of his voice, which now he had lowered so that
some of its natural harshness was disguised, set me wondering where I
had heard it before. It needed no further scrutiny of the hawk face to
convince me that I had never hitherto met Dr. Damar Greefe; but I
certainly believed that I had previously heard his voice, although I
quite failed to recall where and under what circumstances.
"Sir Burnham has been dead for several years, I believe?" I asked
tentatively.
"For several years, yes."
Without returning to the peremptory tone which had distinguished his
earlier manner, Dr. Damar Greefe coldly but courteously blocked my
path to discussion of the Coverly family; and after several abortive
attempts to draw him out upon the point, I recognized this deliberate
design and abandoned the matter.
The storm was moving westward, and although brilliant flashes of
lightning several times lighted up the queer room, gleaming upon the
gayly-painted lid of an Egyptian sarcophagus or throwing into horrid
relief some anatomical specimen in one of the cases, the thunder
crashed no more over the house. But its booming reached my ears from
away upon a remote spur of the hills. I became aware of a growing
uneasiness in the company of my chance host, who sat by the oddly
littered table, watching me with those birdlike eyes.
"Surely," I said, "the rain has ceased?"
"Temporarily," he replied, glancing toward the terrace. "But I should
advise you to delay a few minutes longer. There is every threat of a
concluding downpour to come ere long."
"Many thanks," I returned; "I'll risk it. I have already trespassed
unwarrantably upon your time, Dr. Greefe. It was good of you to give
me shelter."
He rose, a tall thin figure, vaguely repellent, upon realizing that I
was set on departure, and conducted me out by way of the front door.
Standing in the porch:
"At any time that you chance to be again in my neighborhood, Mr.
Addison," he said, "I beg of you to call. I have few visitors."
By what process, whether of reasoning or intuition, I came to the
conclusion, I know not; but as I turned the bend of the tree-roofed
drive and saw the deserted lodge ahead, I knew beyond any possibility
of doubt that Dr. Damar Greefe had not returned to his studies, but
had swiftly passed along some path through the trees so as to head me
off! His purpose in so doing I knew not, but that he had cherished
this purpose and proposed to act upon it I had divined in some way at
the moment that I had left him in the porch.
Now, hastening my steps, I began to wonder if his design was to
intercept me or merely to watch which way I should turn on gaining the
main road. That it was the latter I presently learned; for although my
unpleasant imagination pictured the gaunt hawk-like figure lurking
amid the shadows which hemmed me in, I played the part of innocence
and never once looked back.
Coming out into the highroad, I turned sharply left, retracing the
route by which I had come to the Eurasian doctor's abode. If he had
suspected that I had intended to call at Friar's Park despite his
assurance that such a visit would prove futile, then he was
disappointed. A new and strange theory to account for "the _Oritoga_
mystery" had presented itself to me--a horrible theory, yet, so far as
my present data went, a feasible one. Above all, I realized that I had
committed a strategical error in openly seeking an interview with Lady
Coverly. But I had not, when I had formed that plan, known of the
existence of Dr. Damar Greefe.
I uttered a sigh of relief upon emerging upon the highroad. The
certainty that the white-haired Eurasian was dogging me through the
trees was an unpleasant one. And now I perceived that several courses
presented themselves; but first I must obtain more information. I
perceived a mystery within a mystery; for I was not likely to forget
that in Dr. Damar Greefe's collection I had noted a number of
_Bubastite cats_.