The Vanishing Man

by R. Austin Freeman

  CHAPTER IV

  LEGAL COMPLICATIONS AND A JACKAL

  My meditations brought me by a circuitous route, and ten minutes late,to the end of Fetter Lane, where, exchanging my rather abstracted airfor the alert manner of a busy practitioner, I strode forward brisklyand darted into the surgery with knitted brows, as though just releasedfrom an anxious case. But there was only one patient waiting, and shesaluted me as I entered with a snort of defiance.

  "Here you are, then?" said she.

  "You are perfectly correct, Miss Oman," I replied; "in fact, you haveput the case in a nutshell. What can I have the pleasure of doing foryou?"

  "Nothing," was the answer. "My medical adviser is a lady; but I'vebrought a note from Mr. Bellingham. Here it is," and she thrust theenvelope into my hand.

  I glanced through the note and learned that my patient had had a coupleof bad nights and a very harassing day. "Could I have something to giveme a night's rest?" it concluded.

  I reflected a few moments. One is not very ready to prescribe sleepingdraughts for unknown patients, but still, insomnia is a very distressingcondition. In the end, I temporised with a moderate dose of bromide,deciding to call and see if more energetic measures were necessary.

  "He had better take a dose of this at once, Miss Oman," said I, as Ihanded her the bottle, "and I will look in later and see how he is."

  "I expect he will be glad to see you," she answered, "for he is allalone to-night and very dumpy. Miss Bellingham is out. But I must remindyou that he's a poor man and pays his way. You must excuse my mentioningit."

  "I am much obliged to you for the hint, Miss Oman," I rejoined. "Itisn't necessary for me to see him, but I should like just to look in andhave a chat."

  "Yes, it will do him good. You have your points, though punctualitydoesn't seem to be one of them," and with this parting shot Miss Omanbustled away.

  Half-past eight found me ascending the great, dim staircase of the housein Nevill's Court preceded by Miss Oman, by whom I was ushered into theroom. Mr. Bellingham, who had just finished some sort of meal, wassitting hunched up in his chair gazing gloomily into the empty grate. Hebrightened up as I entered, but was evidently in very low spirits.

  "I didn't mean to drag you out after your day's work was finished," hesaid, "though I am very glad to see you."

  "You haven't dragged me out. I heard you were alone, so I just droppedin for a few minutes' gossip."

  "That is really kind of you," he said heartily. "But I'm afraid you'llfind me rather poor company. A man who is full of his own highlydisagreeable affairs is not a desirable companion."

  "You mustn't let me disturb you if you'd rather be alone," said I, witha sudden fear that I was intruding.

  "Oh, you won't disturb me," he replied; adding, with a laugh: "It'smore likely to be the other way about. In fact, if I were not afraid ofboring you to death I would ask you to let me talk my difficulties overwith you."

  "You won't bore me," I said. "It is generally interesting to shareanother man's experiences without their inconveniences. 'The properstudy of mankind is--man,' you know, especially to a doctor."

  Mr. Bellingham chuckled grimly. "You make me feel like a microbe," hesaid. "However, if you would care to take a peep at me through yourmicroscope, I will crawl on to the stage for your inspection, though itis not _my_ actions that furnish the materials for your psychologicalstudies. I am only a passive agent. It is my poor brother who is the_Deus ex machina_, who, from his unknown grave, as I fear, pulls thestrings of this infernal puppet-show."

  He paused, and for a space gazed thoughtfully into the grate as if hehad forgotten my presence. At length he looked up, and resumed:

  "It is a curious story, Doctor--a very curious story. Part of it youknow--the middle part. I will tell it you from the beginning, and thenyou will know as much as I do; for, as to the end, that is known to noone. It is written, no doubt, in the book of destiny, but the page hasyet to be turned.

  "The mischief began with my father's death. He was a country clergymanof very moderate means, a widower with two children, my brother John andme. He managed to send us both to Oxford, after which John went into theForeign Office and I was to have gone into the Church. But I suddenlydiscovered that my views on religion had undergone a change that madethis impossible, and just about this time my father came into a quiteconsiderable property. Now, as it was his expressed intention to leavethe estate equally divided between my brother and me, there was no needfor me to take up any profession for a livelihood. Archaeology wasalready the passion of my life, and I determined to devote myselfhenceforth to my favourite study, in which, by the way, I was followinga family tendency; for my father was an enthusiastic student of ancientOriental history, and John was, as you know, an ardent Egyptologist.

  "Then my father died quite suddenly, and left no will. He had intendedto have one drawn up, but had put it off until it was too late. Andsince nearly all the property was in the form of real estate, my brotherinherited practically the whole of it. However, in deference to theknown wishes of my father, he made me an allowance of five hundred ayear, which was about a quarter of the annual income, I urged him toassign me a lump sum, but he refused to do this. Instead, he instructedhis solicitor to pay me the allowance in quarterly instalments duringthe rest of his life; and it was understood that, on his death, theentire estate should devolve on me, or if I died first, on my daughterRuth. Then, as you know, he disappeared suddenly, and as thecircumstances suggested that he was dead, and there was no evidence thathe was alive, his solicitor--a Mr. Jellicoe--found himself unable tocontinue the payment of the allowance. On the other hand, as there wasno positive evidence that my brother was dead, it was impossible toadminister the will."

  "You say that the circumstances suggested that your brother was dead.What circumstances were they?"

  "Principally the suddenness and completeness of the disappearance. Hisluggage, as you may remember, was found lying unclaimed at the railwaystation; and there was another circumstance even more suggestive. Mybrother drew a pension from the Foreign Office, for which he had toapply in person, or, if abroad, produce proof that he was alive on thedate when the payment became due. Now, he was exceedingly regular inthis respect; in fact, he had never been known to fail, either to appearin person or to transmit the necessary documents to his agent, Mr.Jellicoe. But from the moment when he vanished so mysteriously to thepresent day, nothing whatever has been heard of him."

  "It's a very awkward position for you," I said, "but I should thinkthere will not be much difficulty in obtaining the permission of theCourt to presume death and to proceed to prove the will."

  Mr. Bellingham made a wry face. "I expect you are right," he said, "but,unfortunately, that doesn't help me much. You see, Mr. Jellicoe, havingwaited a reasonable time for my brother to reappear, took a very unusualbut, I think, in the special circumstances, a very proper step: hesummoned me and the other interested party to his office andcommunicated to us the provisions of the will. And very extraordinaryprovisions they turned out to be. I was thunderstruck when I heard them.And the exasperating thing is that I feel sure my poor brother imaginedthat he had made everything perfectly safe and simple."

  "They generally do," I said, rather vaguely.

  "I suppose they do," said Mr. Bellingham; "but poor John has made themost infernal hash of his will, and I am certain that he has utterlydefeated his own intentions. You see, we are an old London family. Thehouse in Queen Square where my brother nominally lived, but actuallykept his collection, has been occupied by us for generations, and mostof the Bellinghams are buried in St. George's burial-ground close by,though some members of the family are buried in other churchyards in theneighbourhood. Now, my brother--who, by the way, was a bachelor--had astrong feeling for the family traditions, and he stipulated, notunnaturally, in his will that he should be buried in St. George'sburial-ground among his ancestors, or, at least, in one of the places ofburial appertaining to his native parish. But instead of simplyexp
ressing the wish and directing his executors to carry it out, he madeit a condition affecting the operation of the will."

  "Affecting it in what respect?" I asked.

  "In a very vital respect," answered Mr. Bellingham. "The bulk of theproperty he bequeathed to me, or if I predeceased him, to my daughterRuth. But the bequest was subject to the condition that I havementioned--that he should be buried in a certain place--and if thatcondition was not fulfilled, the bulk of the property was to go to mycousin, George Hurst."

  "But in that case," said I, "as you can't produce the body, neither ofyou can get the property."

  "I am not so sure of that," he replied. "If my brother is dead, it ispretty certain that he is not buried in St. George's or any of the otherplaces mentioned, and the fact can easily be proved by production of theregisters. So that a permission to presume death would result in thehanding over to Hurst of almost the entire estate."

  "Who is the executor?" I asked.

  "Ah!" he exclaimed, "there is another muddle. There are two executors;Jellicoe is one, and the other is the principal beneficiary--Hurst ormyself, as the case may be. But, you see, neither of us can become anexecutor until the Court has decided which of us is the principalbeneficiary."

  "But who is to apply to the Court? I thought that was the business ofthe executors."

  "Exactly. That is Hurst's difficulty. We were discussing it when youcalled the other day, and a very animated discussion it was," he added,with a grim smile. "You see, Jellicoe naturally refuses to move in thematter alone. He says he must have the support of the other executor.But Hurst is not at present the other executor; neither am I. But thetwo of us together are the co-executor, since the duty devolves upon oneor other of us, in any case."

  "It's a complicated position," I said.

  "It is; and the complication has elicited a very curious proposal fromHurst. He points out--quite correctly, I am afraid--that as theconditions as to burial have not been complied with, the property mustcome to him, and he proposes a very neat little arrangement, which isthis: That I shall support him and Jellicoe in their application forpermission to presume death and administer the will, and that he shallpay me four hundred a year for life; the arrangement to hold good _inall eventualities_."

  "What does he mean by that?"

  "He means," said Bellingham, fixing me with a ferocious scowl, "that ifthe body should turn up at any future time, so that the conditions as toburial should be able to be carried out, he should still retain theproperty and pay me the four hundred a year."

  "The deuce!" said I. "He seems to know how to drive a bargain."

  "His position is that he stands to lose four hundred a year for the termof my life if the body is never found, and he ought to stand to win ifit is."

  "And I gather that you have refused his offer?"

  "Yes; very emphatically, and my daughter agrees with me; but I am notsure that I have done the right thing. A man should think twice, Isuppose, before he burns his boats."

  "Have you spoken to Mr. Jellicoe about the matter?"

  "Yes, I have been to see him to-day. He is a cautious man, and hedoesn't advise me one way or the other. But I think he disapproves of myrefusal; in fact, he remarked that a bird in the hand is worth two inthe bush, especially when the whereabouts of the bush is unknown."

  "Do you think he will apply to the Court without your sanction?"

  "He doesn't want to; but I suppose, if Hurst puts pressure on him, hewill have to. Besides, Hurst, as an interested party, could apply on hisown account, and after my refusal he probably will; at least, that isJellicoe's opinion."

  "The whole thing is a most astonishing muddle," I said, "especially whenone remembers that your brother had a lawyer to advise him. Didn't Mr.Jellicoe point out to him how absurd the provisions were?"

  "Yes, he did. He tells me that he implored my brother to let him drawup a will embodying the matter in a reasonable form. But John wouldn'tlisten to him. Poor old fellow! he could be very pig-headed when hechose."

  "And is Hurst's proposal still open?"

  "No, thanks to my peppery temper. I refused it very definitely, and senthim off with a flea in his ear. I hope I have not made a false step; Iwas quite taken by surprise when Hurst made the proposal and got ratherangry. You remember, my brother was last seen alive at Hurst'shouse--but there, I oughtn't to talk like that, and I oughtn't to pesteryou with my confounded affairs when you have come in for a friendlychat, though I gave you fair warning, you remember."

  "Oh, but you have been highly entertaining. You don't realise what aninterest I take in your case."

  Mr. Bellingham laughed somewhat grimly. "My case!" he repeated. "Youspeak as if I were some rare and curious sort of criminal lunatic.However, I'm glad you find me amusing. It's more than I find myself."

  "I didn't say amusing; I said interesting. I view you with deep respectas the central figure of a stirring drama. And I am not the only personwho regards you in that light. Do you remember my speaking to you ofDoctor Thorndyke?"

  "Yes, of course I do."

  "Well, oddly enough, I met him this afternoon and we had a long talk athis chambers. I took the liberty of mentioning that I had made youracquaintance. Did I do wrong?"

  "No. Certainly not. Why shouldn't you tell him? Did he remember myinfernal case, as you call it?"

  "Perfectly, in all its details. He is quite an enthusiast, you know, anduncommonly keen to hear how the case develops."

  "So am I, for that matter," said Mr. Bellingham.

  "I wonder," said I, "if you would mind my telling him what you have toldme to-night. It would interest him enormously."

  Mr. Bellingham reflected awhile with his eyes fixed on the empty grate.Presently he looked up, and said slowly:

  "I don't know why I should. It's no secret; and if it were, I hold nomonopoly in it. No; tell him, if you think he'd care to hear about it."

  "You needn't be afraid of his talking," I said. "He is as close as anoyster; and the facts may mean more to him than to us. He may be able togive a useful hint or two."

  "Oh, I'm not going to pick his brains," Mr. Bellingham said quickly andwith some wrath. "I'm not the sort of man who goes round cadging forfree professional advice. Understand that clearly, Doctor."

  "I do," I answered hastily. "That wasn't what I meant at all. Is thatMiss Bellingham coming in? I heard the front door shut."

  "Yes, that will be my girl, I expect; but don't run away. You're notafraid of her, are you?" he added as I hurriedly picked up my hat.

  "I'm not sure that I'm not," I answered. "She is a rather majestic younglady."

  Mr. Bellingham chuckled and smothered a yawn, and at that moment hisdaughter entered the room; and, in spite of her shabby black dress anda shabbier handbag that she carried, I thought her appearance and mannerfully justified my description.

  "You come in, Miss Bellingham," I said as she shook my hand with coolcivility, "to find your father yawning and me taking my departure. So Ihave my uses, you see. My conversation is the infallible cure forinsomnia."

  Miss Bellingham smiled. "I believe I am driving you away," she said.

  "Not at all," I replied hastily. "My mission was accomplished, that wasall."

  "Sit down for a few minutes, Doctor," urged Mr. Bellingham, "and letRuth sample the remedy. She will be affronted if you run away as soon asshe comes in."

  "Well, you mustn't let me keep you up," I said.

  "Oh, I'll let you know when I fall asleep," he replied, with a chuckle;and with this understanding I sat down again--not at all unwillingly.

  At this moment Miss Oman entered with a small tray and a smile of whichI should not have supposed her to be capable.

  "You'll take your toast and cocoa while they're hot, dear, won't you?"she said coaxingly.

  "Yes, I will, Phyllis, thank you," Miss Bellingham answered. "I am onlyjust going to take off my hat," and she left the room, followed by theastonishingly transfigured spinster.

  She returned almost im
mediately as Mr. Bellingham was in the midst of aprofound yawn, and sat down to her frugal meal, when her fathermystified me considerably by remarking:

  "You're late to-night, chick. Have the Shepherd Kings been givingtrouble?"

  "No," she replied; "but I thought I might as well get them done. So Idropped in at the Ormond Street library on my way home and finishedthem."

  "Then they are ready for stuffing now?"

  "Yes." As she answered she caught my astonished eye (for a stuffedShepherd King is undoubtedly a somewhat surprising phenomenon) andlaughed softly.

  "We mustn't talk in riddles like this," she said, "before DoctorBerkeley, or he will turn us both into pillars of salt. My father isreferring to my work," she explained to me.

  "Are you a taxidermist, then?" I asked.

  She hastily set down the cup that she was raising to her lips and brokeinto a ripple of quiet laughter.

  "I am afraid my father has misled you with his irreverent expressions.He will have to atone by explaining."

  "You see, Doctor," said Mr. Bellingham, "Ruth is a literary searcher--"

  "Oh, don't call me a 'searcher'!" Miss Bellingham protested. "Itsuggests the female searcher at a police-station. Say investigator."

  "Very well, investigator or investigatrix, if you like. She hunts upreferences and bibliographies at the Museum for people who are writingbooks. She looks up everything that has been written on a given subject,and then, when she has crammed herself to bursting-point with facts, shegoes to her client and disgorges and crams him or her, and he or shefinally disgorges into the Press."

  "What a disgusting way to put it!" said his daughter. "However, that iswhat it amounts to. I am a literary jackal, a collector of provender forthe literary lions. Is that quite clear?"

  "Perfectly. But I don't think that, even now, I quite understand aboutthe stuffed Shepherd Kings."

  "Oh, it was not the Shepherd Kings who were to be stuffed. It was theauthor! That was mere obscurity of speech on the part of my father. Theposition is this: A venerable archdeacon wrote an article on thepatriarch Joseph--"

  "And didn't know anything about him," interrupted Mr. Bellingham, "andgot tripped up by a specialist who did, and then got shirty--"

  "Nothing of the kind," said Miss Bellingham. "He knew as much asvenerable archdeacons ought to know; but the expert knew more. So thearchdeacon commissioned me to collect the literature on the state ofEgypt at the end of the seventeenth dynasty, which I have done; andto-morrow I shall go and stuff him, as my father expresses it, andthen--"

  "And then," Mr. Bellingham interrupted, "the archdeacon will rush forthand pelt that expert with Shepherd Kings and Seqenen-Ra and the wholetag-rag and bobtail of the seventeenth dynasty. Oh, there'll be wigs onthe green, I can tell you."

  "Yes, I expect there will be quite a lively little skirmish," said MissBellingham. And thus dismissing the subject, she made an energeticattack on the toast while her father refreshed himself with a colossalyawn.

  I watched her with furtive admiration and deep and growing interest. Inspite of her pallor, her weary eyes, and her drawn and almost haggardface, she was an exceedingly handsome girl; and there was in her aspecta suggestion of purpose, of strength and character that marked her offfrom the rank and file of womanhood. I noted this as I stole anoccasional glance at her or turned to answer some remark addressed tome; and I noted, too, that her speech, despite a general undertone ofdepression, was yet not without a certain caustic, ironical humour. Shewas certainly a rather enigmatical young person, but very decidedlyinteresting.

  When she had finished her repast she put aside the tray and, opening theshabby handbag, asked:

  "Do you take any interest in Egyptian history? We are as mad as hatterson the subject. It seems to be a family complaint."

  "I don't know much about it," I answered. "Medical studies are ratherengrossing and don't leave much time for general reading."

  "Naturally," she said. "You can't specialise in everything. But if youwould care to see how the business of a literary jackal is conducted, Iwill show you my notes."

  I accepted the offer eagerly (not, I fear, from pure enthusiasm for thesubject), and she brought forth from the bag four blue-covered, quartonote-books, each dealing with one of the four dynasties from thefourteenth to the seventeenth. As I glanced through the neat and orderlyextracts with which they were filled we discussed the intricacies of thepeculiarly difficult and confused period that they covered, graduallylowering our voices as Mr. Bellingham's eyes closed and his head fellagainst the back of his chair. We had just reached the critical reign ofApepa II when a resounding snore broke in upon the studious quiet ofthe room and sent us both into a fit of silent laughter.

  "Your conversation has done its work," she whispered as I stealthilypicked up my hat, and together we stole on tiptoe to the door, which sheopened without a sound. Once outside, she suddenly dropped her banteringmanner and said quite earnestly:

  "How kind it was of you to come and see him to-night! You have done hima world of good, and I am most grateful. Good night!"

  She shook hands with me really cordially, and I took my way down thecreaking stairs in a whirl of happiness that I was quite at a loss toaccount for.