The Door of the Unreal Page 8

  He did not answer immediately: and then there was a certain exasperation in his voice, which was quite intelligible under the circumstances.

  “I fail to see,” he began…

  “Yes, of course you do, old chap,” I broke in, determined to bring things to a head, “of course you do. Here am I, your oldest pal, staying in your house and treating you, as you think, though it certainly is not so, as a baby. It is very riling; and I quite appreciate that. On the other hand, think of my position. It is equally rotten for me. Surely I can count on you to ascribe the best intentions to me in a difficult position anything but of my own making? Would you prefer me, in the circumstances, to go back to town and await developments there?”

  It was the only really strained moment of our years of friendship: and I played the card purposely, trading upon his generosity to appreciate my position.

  As the car drove up at the door he held out his hand.

  “God forbid,” he said; and we clasped on it. “I can’t understand things: but God knows I trust you as I trust no one else. So I shall just be content to leave things at your discretion.”

  “Without reservation?” I asked.

  “Without reservation,” he replied in the old cordial tone: and I must add that, during the difficult days that followed, no man could have kept his word more loyally or lessened my own feeling of awkwardness more by his charm of manner, though at times I caught him unawares, frowning and thinking hard with a grim puzzled look on his face. It was a delight to me, and doubled our bond of friendship on my side—if possible.

  III

  It was with no small pleasure that I heard Jevons say, as he took the things out of the car, that Dorothy Wolff was having tea with Ann; and I noticed Burgess’ face light up almost imperceptibly, making me feel more than ever satisfied that I had not yielded to a natural temptation and laid my whole soul bare to him to his distress, rather than risk straining the friendship so dear to me.

  For my own reasons I was particularly anxious to study Dorothy Wolff more closely for better, for worse: and here was the opportunity without delay.

  Ann, delightful as ever with her wonderful fair hair and white dress, ran across the hall and greeted me with her usual frank sisterly kiss, second only to the one reserved for old Burgess.

  “It is good to get you back, Linc,” she said. “We have missed you horribly: and Burge hasn’t known what to do with himself while I have been busy upstairs with the hospital. Where are my chocolates?”

  I handed them over to her. I don’t think I had missed once since she was a little girl in short frocks and she had begun to regard them as a prescriptive right. In fact, I always used to say that I would not dare return without them.

  “Chocolates, Dorothy,” she said, as I greeted the girl, “just at the psychological moment, as superior novelists say, when we have done tea. Tea, Linc, or a drink?”

  “Both, please,” I said, deliberately expropriating Burgess and sitting down next to Miss Wolff—“that is, tea first and the drink some time later, when I get stuffy old Burge by himself sucking at an old pipe and grunting in an armchair.”

  They all laughed: and I had created the atmosphere I wanted. For the next few days it was imperative to keep things going and permit no brooding.

  Dorothy Wolff was looking more charming than ever in the white fur cap which suited her so well, yet at the same time, instinctively raised acute antagonism in me: and I must admit that I was very much drawn to her personally by the frankness of her eyes, her direct look which bred confidence. It gave me to think analytically, if not furiously, as the old melodramatic tag has it: and even frankness is often a disconcerting factor. Somehow—well, we will get to that later.

  “And how is the Herr Professor?” I asked, keeping the lighter vein. “I have run across one or two of my scientific friends in town, who tell me that he is a wonderful man with an alphabet of more than twenty-six inadequate letters after his name and the past-master of his own subject.”

  I noticed Burgess shoot an almost unconscious glance across at me, as though he suspected the fact that I had been making inquiries about the Professor in town; but I went on cheerfully, as though I had seen nothing.

  “I am very anxious to pursue the acquaintance, if I may, Miss Wolff, and would like to call one afternoon and have a chat with him. What is his best time? I mustn’t interrupt his work on any account.”

  “Then come in the afternoon,” said the girl naturally and cordially. “He usually goes out for a walk after lunch—or dinner, as it really is with us—and returns between three and four. So come down with Ann—and Mr. Clymping, too, if he cares to,” she added a little shyly, looking across at Burgess— “and stay on to tea. My father is all right when he finds people there and has to talk to them: but if anyone attempts to make an appointment, he always tries on his side to evade it with the instinct of a recluse, a thing which grows upon him more and more each year. So choose your own afternoon, and come unexpectedly. I am sure to be in, as I go nowhere except here. The very few people who called soon dropped us when they found what a funny household we are and how unapproachable and irresponsive father is. Only Ann took the trouble to think of me, and be kind to me in my loneliness—and Mr. Clymping.”

  “That is the drawback of having a genius for a father,” I said; and it seemed to me as though she were about to say something, but checked herself sharply. “They can’t help having their individualities, which spell peculiarities: and it would be a dull world if we were all turned out of the same ordinary mould, wouldn’t it? I rather like eccentric people myself.”

  “I always regard you as a bit eccentric myself, Linc,” broke in Ann chaffingly, “with your long disappearances into the unknown. I am always expecting you to turn up with one, if not more coloured wives with their blankets on their backs and a long row of papooses, whatever they are. I often wonder where I should put them and what I should feed them on.”

  “No, never that, my dear Ann, I promise you,” I answered solemnly—“any eccentricity short of matrimony either in the singular or the plural. I swear to you that, if ever I contemplate the greatest adventure of all, I’ll bring the poor creature round for your inspection and opinion first: and, more than that, unlike most futile folk in love who go through this formality, but in their egotism brook nothing but effusive approval, I’ll guarantee to abide by your mature and well-balanced decision. What are your views upon the subject of marriage, Miss Wolff?”

  “I haven’t any, to be frank,” she answered, looking at me candidly with her big solemn blue eyes. “It is a thing which has never come under my immediate notice.”

  “Then you are rather like old Burgess here,” I said, perhaps a trifle wickedly. “He has kept clear of the snares set for such a charming and eligible young fellow with the imperviousness of a misogynist.”

  “Don’t be an ass, Linc,” said Burgess, reddening little, to my amusement.

  Ann laughed.

  “Burge has got me,” she said, patting his hand with an air of ownership: “and that ought to be enough for any man.”

  “Perhaps it will be some day,” I said, “if not too much.”

  “Oh, shut up, Linc, I hate you,” said the girl. “Have a chocolate to keep you quiet? You are incorrigible. You have come back from town in a very bad mood. What did you do with yourself?”

  “Nothing I couldn’t tell you or any other nice young girl in her teens,” I replied. “I went to see my lawyer and made a codicil to my will, leaving you an annuity of chocolates; and, talking of lawyers, I renewed my acquaintance with Fitzroy Manders and took him to dinner at the club, a carnal joy which appeals much more to sensible men of our age than all your unsubstantial fantasies of love and sugary sentiment.”

  “A very nice man,” said Ann. “You might have done much worse. I liked him very much: he is so clever.”

  There was nothing in our tea-table talk, as we babbled on—purposely lightly on my part: but it served my object, and gav
e me the chance I wanted of drawing out Dorothy Wolff and forming my own opinion of her. Candidly it was all, more than all, in her favour. She was charmingly frank and unaffected: and nothing could lurk behind the complete candour of those solemn blue eyes. In fact, she was as unsophisticated as a child; and the real wonder was that she was so fresh and natural considering the strangeness of her surroundings. And I felt more than ever that it was up to me to penetrate the mystery that lay behind it all— if I were not mistaken, the victim of an hallucination of my own deliberate creation.

  Then came the old question which has broken up so many happy interludes in life.

  “What is the time?” the girl asked, as the grandfather clock in the hall chimed.

  “A quarter to six,” answered Burgess reassuringly; “but it’s all right. I told Wilson to leave the car at the door, and I’ll drive you home: so you won’t be late.”

  The girl gave him a grateful look; and it struck me how typical it was of Burgess’ thoughtfulness of detail for others, and what a good husband he would make when the time came for me to stand beside him at the chancel rails as his best man.

  Ann and I saw them off; and then I lit a cigar.

  “You shall play me something nice and thoughtful and soothing, Ann,” I said, “if you don’t think it will disturb the hospital or reach the Bullingdon ward. It’s so nice to be home.”

  And I settled myself down in a big chair in front of the fire and was soon deep in thought, while Ann, knowing my habits, played on by instinct just what I wanted without my realizing particularly what it was. Such music helps to co-ordinate thought.

  IV

  The next three days, much to Burgess’ disgust—and Ann’s, too, for that matter—I was busy writing. It was the document for my solicitor and, ultimately, Scotland Yard, covering the possibilities ahead and working out my theory in detail on paper. It was difficult writing in a way, but it helped me more than I was aware of in many respects to put the thing on paper in a logical, well-elaborated fashion, giving my reasons and references, scientific and personal: and, apart from acting as a covering document in certain eventualities—a precaution, I may add, many doctors and other persons placed in strange anomalous positions would often be well advised to take—it not only relieved my mind from the point of view of regularizing the irregular as far as humanly possible, but served to convince me more than ever, in my own mind, that I had hit upon no wild fantasy, no bizarre hallucination, no lunatic theory, but the key to the weirdest and most gruesome thing that had ever befallen sedate old England in these latter days of alleged civilization, which is, after all, only the conventional veneer adopted to cover the primitive that is in us all, be it deep down or near the surface.

  The conviction that I was correct, however, despite the relief of having finished my unwelcome task, left a dull weight behind it: and I blotted the last page with a heavy anxious heart in view of what I felt was ahead, just as it was time to dress for dinner on Sunday, the third day of my self-imposed task, which Ann believed to be a dry-as-dust contribution to one of the big reviews. Burgess, I could see, knew better, though, sportsman that he always is, he made my task easier by never saying a word, far less asking a question. I admired his splendid loyalty, under the circumstances, more than I can ever say, as I know what it all meant to him, and how inwardly he was irked by this atmosphere of secrecy and reserve, which he naturally could not appreciate.

  At dinner that night I announced my intention of running up to town the next day. I felt, though I did not say so, that, after all, I hardly dared trust my document to the post, even though registered, and would prefer to deliver it into my solicitor’s hands myself. It was not a thing to risk falling into anyone else’s hands at the moment: and it was not worth leaving such a thing to chance, small as the danger really was.

  Ann made a face of disappointment; and Burgess looked up quickly.

  “I’ll drive you up, if you like,” he offered; “and we can come back after lunch. I want to go to my tailor.”

  “It’s awfully good of you,” I answered noncommittally. “We’ll talk it over later on.”

  But over our last cigar I told him frankly that I could not risk his being away even for the inside of a day, in case anything should happen: and he nodded without a word, perhaps not displeased in a way to think he was essential after all. Once Burgess has made up his mind, there never was a fellow like him to play the prescribed game, whatever it might be, down to the most meticulous detail without question or reproach: and in this great tragic game in which we were involved he had accepted me as captain. I went up by the morning train, deposited my document, lunched at the club, and was back again at four-thirty, with Burgess on the platform to meet me—this time with no inconvenient questions.

  V

  During the days just covered all had gone smoothly, and without hitch or complication both indoors and out—greatly to my relief, but for certain reasons not altogether contrary to my expectation.

  The best of accounts came from the “hospital” of young Bullingdon’s progress: and not only was he pronounced quite out of danger, but gaining strength and making progress, though no one had been allowed to see or question him for fear of throwing him back. His extreme weakness and the mental reaction made him apathetic; and he did not seem to worry, sleeping long recuperative hours, taking his nourishment without question, and satisfied simply to be where he was without undue questioning. His system, both mentally and physically, had been exhausted by the delirium: but youth was obviously asserting itself, and Sir Humphrey promised that in a day or two, if all went well, possibly Major Blenkinsopp might see him for a few minutes and talk to him more in the guise of a new doctor than as a detective.

  The delirium had quite gone, and his mind seemed a blank with regard to “the big dog with green eyes jumping over the moon,” or any such seeming absurdities of an uncontrolled mind; and he had not even mentioned Miss St. Chair. The nurses, however, reported that he had once or twice, during the time I was in town, worn a puzzled look and appeared as though he wanted to ask a question: but from the inertia of absolute weakness he had apparently let things slide and relapsed into a state of contentment.

  He had recognized Sir Humphrey Bedell, whom he had known all his life, and had smiled when he told him to lie still and be a good boy, adding that he had been very ill, but was in the best of hands and doing well. He had also told him to ask no questions, but had deputed Burgess or myself to see him, if he grew restless and worried.

  So far, so good: but I felt morally certain that there could be nothing to be learnt from him that would help things forward. Whatever it was, it had obviously all been too sudden and complete for him to tell us more than we knew already.

  With regard to the Professor I had not been, for my own reasons, anxious to hurry things in the absence of Manders or any report from him or—of fresh developments, shall I say? Above all, I was anxious not to make this strange recluse suspicious by any sign of eagerness that I had any but a purely scientific interest in him. A recluse by the very essence of things resents intrusion, and this natural resentment of itself breeds unnatural suspicion: and such people, especially in the position in which I found myself placed, have to be approached ostensibly casually, yet with the utmost tact. Moreover, beyond studying his habits and personality in his own chosen surroundings, in his case, too, I felt I could really do little that was practical until the time for action came—the psychological moment that Ann had made fun of—when action would of necessity be short and sharp to be decisive and successful. Therefore, it was essential to lay all my lines with scrupulous care. Nevertheless, I was by no means sorry to find Dorothy Wolff again at tea, and took the opportunity to arrange that we would all drop in casually the following afternoon and stay to tea.

  The more I saw of the girl, the more I liked her, I must admit: but there were still things I could not quite understand or reconcile. Of the fact that Burgess had at last fallen a victim to the oldest commonpl
ace in the world’s history, which to each individual pair seems the height both of originality and bliss, I felt no longer in doubt: yet, much as I liked Dorothy personally, God knows there was much at the back of my mind to make me strangely worried and anxious as to the outcome of his passion, which, quiet and unobtrusive as it was, would, I knew, prove a very strong and virile thing, overriding all difficulties and objections, and lifelong in its reaction if things went agley. It was a constant thought that lived with me after I had realized the fact itself: yet, awful as I knew the intermediate stage must be, I felt with a strange totally illogical optimism that somehow, by some means—by the grace of God— it would come right in the end.

  And thus Dorothy was after all the principal reason why I dared not, would not take my dearest and oldest friend into my confidence, until Fate, fortified by facts, forced my hand: and I had a fear at the back of my mind at times lest she might, after all, be destined—even temporarily—to come between Burgess and myself after so many years of such close intimacy and understanding with never a cloud, far less a quarrel, to look back on. Yet, as I have said, I was nevertheless strangely drawn to Dorothy, the rock of danger upon which our treasured friendship might split and find shipwreck, as so often the case with a woman and two men, even where there has been neither jealousy nor competition: and I could not persuade myself that destiny, with all its spite and freakishness, held anything but friendship for Dorothy and myself. But in the background of it all lurked the unknown quantity that might make shipwreck of the happiness of all of us: and, at best, she was destined to suffer much before we could any of us hope to take up the threads of life and face a future of happiness. But the ordeal would be short and sharp in its dénouement.

  Burgess again took the opportunity of driving her home; and Ann laughed happily.