THE MESSAGE
Betty was mute. A cold sensation ran down her spine; her knees
trembled beneath her. Again the old man spoke.
“O Golden Voice of Supreme Justice, what word have you from the planes
beyond?”
She could only thrust forward the letter. It was unaddressed. In the
top left-hand corner was a queer sign which had excited her curiosity
before, and which was now to have an extraordinary effect upon her
strange visitor. No sooner did his eyes fall upon the scrawl than he
fell on his knees, and, stooping, kissed the hem of her dress.
“I have your leave to go, O Long Desired?”
She nodded, and, incapable of speech, stood, frozen to the spot, long
after the door had closed behind him.
Within ten minutes of his departure the door was flung open, and Dr.
Laffin came in. He was pale, unusually excited, betraying an agitation
which was foreign to him.
“Well, girl, what happened?” he asked, the affectation eliminated
from his voice.
“I don’t know,” she said, dully. “What does it mean… that man in the
strange dress, with the long white hair… he kissed my dress. Oh,
doctor, what does it mean?”
“You gave him the letter? You’re sure--you gave him the message?”
Laffin’s eagerness was like nothing she had ever seen in him.
“Change and come home,” he said, speaking rapidly.
“Doctor, I can’t come here any more,” she said, desperately. “I don’t
care what you do, I can’t come!”
To her amazement, he nodded.
“No, I do not want you to come again. Your work is not finished, but
it does not lie here.”
He turned to the little manager, and paralysed him with his next
announcement.
“Close this store to-morrow morning; get everything cleared out. I
engaged you for a month, and I’ll give you a month’s salary.”
“But what about selling the desks?” stammered the little man.
Dr. Laffin did not vouchsafe an answer.
The crowd had dispersed with the drawing of the window shades, and
there was no person in Duke Street curious enough to glance at her
when she came out with the doctor.
“I’ll go home on top of a ’bus, Doctor,” she said. “I have a
headache, and I----”
“You’re coming home with me, my friend,” said Laffin, who had
regained his old imperturbability. “I have something to say to you.”
“But I promised I would go to tea with Clive----”
“You’re coming home with me. Clive can wait--if by Clive you mean that
impecunious young man, Lord Lowbridge.”
She could not make a scene in the street, and nothing was to be gained
by further argument. She preceded him into the car, resolved to make
the forthcoming interview short.
The car drew up before the house in Camden Road; the doctor jumped out
and offered his hand to her; and at that moment came a horrible sense
of danger, a premonition of peril beyond her understanding.
“I don’t think I’ll go in with you, Doctor,” she said. “Can’t you get
the chauffeur to drive us round the park and say what you have to say
then? I must be home before dinner…”
“You will come inside for a few moments… no longer. I promise you I
will not keep you more than five minutes.”
Fear of making a scene induced her to yield. Without a glance to left
or right, she followed him through the badly fitting gate, and did not
so much as notice that there had been one interested spectator. Mr.
William Holbrook had both seen and heard.