“Yes; at least she lives in a set of offices that Japp furnished for her, and the lady who rents the rest of the house looks after her. As a matter of fact, the offices are next door to ours; but you had better consider that information as confidential, at any rate while hubby is in the neighbourhood. This is your shanty.”
He halted at the door of a rather small, red brick house, and while I was examining the half-obliterated inscription on the brass plate, he thrust the key into the lock and made ineffectual efforts to turn it. Suddenly there was a loud click from within, followed by the clanking of a chain and the drawing of bolts. Then the door opened slowly, and a long-faced, heavy-browed, elderly woman surveyed us with a gloomy stare.
“Why didn’t you ring the bell?” she demanded, gruffly. “Had a key,” replied Bundy, extracting it, and flourishing it before her face.
“And what’s the good of a key when the door was bolted and chained?”
“But, naturally, I couldn’t see that the door was bolted and chained.”
“I suppose you couldn’t with that thing stuck in your eye. Well, what do you want?”
“I have brought this gentleman, Dr. Strangeways, to see you. He has seen your portraits in the shop windows and wished to be introduced. Also he wants to look over the house. He thinks of taking the practice.”
“Well, why couldn’t you say that before?” she demanded.
“Before what?” he inquired blandly.
She made no reply other than a low growl, and Bundy continued:
“This lady, Dr. Strangeways, is the renowned Mrs. Dunk, more familiarly known as La Giaconda, who administered the domestic affairs of the late Dr. Partridge, and is at present functioning as custodian of the premises.” He concluded the presentation by a ceremonious bow and a sweep of his hat, which Mrs. Dunk acknowledged by turning her back on him and producing a large bunch of keys, with which she proceeded to unlock the doors that opened on the hall.
“The upstairs rooms are unlocked,” she said, adding: “If you want me you can ring the bell,” and with this she retired to the basement stairs and vanished.
My examination of the rooms was rather perfunctory, for I had made up my mind already. The premium was absurdly small, and I could see that the house was furnished well enough for my immediate needs. As to the practice, I had no particular expectations.
“Better have a look at the books,” said Bundy when we went into the little surgery, “though Mr. Turcival has been through them, and I daresay he has told you all about the practice.”
“Yes,” I answered, “he told me that the practice was very small and that I probably shouldn’t get much of it, as Partridge was an old man and I am a young one. Still, I may as well glance through the books.”
Bundy laid the day book and ledger on the desk and placed a stool by the latter, and I seated myself and began to turn over the leaves and note down a few figures on a slip of paper, while my companion beguiled the time by browsing round the surgery, taking down bottles and sniffing at their contents, pulling out drawers and inspecting the instruments and appliances. A very brief examination of the books served to confirm Mr. Turcival’s modest estimate of the practice, and when I had finished, I closed them and turned round to report to Mr. Bundy, who was, at the moment, engaged in “sounding” the surgery clock with the late Dr. Partridge’s stethoscope.
“I think it will do,” said I. “The practice is negligible, but the furniture and fittings are worth the money, and I daresay I shall get some patients in time. At any rate, the premises are all in going order.”
“You are not dependent on the practice, then?” said he.
“No. I have enough just barely to exist on until the patients begin to arrive. But what about the house?”
“You can have a lease if you like, or you can go on with the arrangement that Partridge had. If I were you, I should take the house on a three years’ agreement with the option of a lease later if you find that the venture turns out satisfactorily.”
“Yes,” I agreed, “that seems a good arrangement. And when could I have possession?”
“You’ve got possession now if you agree to the terms. Say yes, and I’ll draft out the agreement when I get back. You and Mrs. Frood can sign it this evening. You give us a cheque and we give you your copy of the document, and the thing is d-u-n, done.”
“And what about this old woman?”
“La Giaconda Dunkibus? I should keep her if I were you. She looks an old devil, but she’s a good servant. Partridge had a great opinion of her, so Japp tells me, and you can see for yourself that the house is in apple-pie order and as clean as a new pin.”
“You think she would be willing to stay?”
Bundy grinned (he was a good deal given to grinning, and he certainly had a magnificent set of teeth). “Willing?” he exclaimed. “She’s going to stay whether you want her or not. She has been here the best part of her life and nothing short of a torpedo would shift her. You’ll have to take her with the fixtures, but I don’t think you’ll regret it.”
As Bundy was speaking, I had been, half-unconsciously, looking him over, interested in the queer contrast between his almost boyish appearance and gay irresponsible manner on the one hand, and, on the other, his shrewdness, his business capacity, and his quick, decisive, evidently forceful character.
To look at, he was just a young “nut,” small, spruce, dandified, and apparently not displeased with himself. His age I judged to be about twenty-five, his height about five feet six. In figure, he was slight, but well set-up, and he seemed active and full of life and energy. He was extraordinarily well turned-out. From his close-cropped head, with the forelock “smarmed” back in the correct “nuttish” fashion, so that his cranium resembled a large black-topped filbert, to his immaculately polished and remarkably small shoes, there was not an inch of his person that had not received the most careful attention. He was clean-shaved; so clean that on the smooth skin nothing but the faint blue tinge on cheek and chin remained to suggest the coarse and horrid possibilities of whiskers. And his hands had evidently received the same careful attention as his face; indeed, even as he was talking to me, he produced from his pocket some kind of ridiculous little instrument with which he proceeded to polish his fingernails.
“Shall I ring the bell?” he asked after a short pause, “and call up the spirit of the Dunklett from the vasty deep? May as well let her know her luck.”
As I assented he pressed the bell-push, and in less than a minute Mrs. Dunk made her appearance and stood in the doorway, looking inquiringly at Bundy, but uttering no sound.
“Dr. Strangeways is going to take the practice, Mrs. Dunk,” said Bundy, “inclusive of the house, furniture, and all effects, and he is also prepared to take you at a valuation.”
As the light of battle began to gleam in Mrs. Dunk’s eyes, I thought it best to intervene and conduct the negotiations myself.
“I understand from Mr. Bundy,” said I, “that you were Dr. Partridge’s housekeeper for many years, and it occurred to me that you might be willing to act in the same capacity for me. What do you say?”
“Very well,” she replied. “When do you want to move in?”
“I propose to move in at once. My luggage is at the station.”
“Have you checked the inventory?” she asked.
“No, I haven’t, but I suppose nothing has been taken away?”
“No,” she answered. “Everything is as it was when Dr. Partridge died.”
“Then we can go over the inventory later. I will have my things sent up from the station, and I shall come in during the afternoon to unpack.”
She agreed concisely to this arrangement, and, when we had settled a few minor details, I departed with Bundy to make my way to the station and thereafter to go in search of lunch.
“You think,” said I, as we halted opposite the station approach, “that we can get everything completed today?”
“Yes,” he replied, “I will get the agreement drawn up in th
e terms that we have just settled on, and will make an appointment with Mrs. Frood. You had better look in at the office about half-past six.”
He turned away with a friendly nod and a flash of his white teeth, and bustled off up the street, swinging his smart cane jauntily, and looking, with his trim, well-cut clothes, his primrose-coloured gloves, and his glistening shoes, the very type of cheerful, prosperous, self-respecting and self-satisfied youth.
CHAPTER III
Angelina Frood
Punctually at half-past six I presented myself at the office of Messrs. Japp and Bundy. The senior partner was seated at a writing-table covered with legal-looking documents, and, as I entered, he looked up with a genial, wrinkly smile of recognition, and then turned to his junior.
“You’ve got Dr. Strangeways’s agreement ready, haven’t you, Bundy?” he asked.
“Just finished it five minutes ago,” was the reply. “Here you are.”
Bundy swung round on his stool and held out the two copies. “Would you mind going through it with Dr. Strangeways?” said Japp. “And then you might go with him to Mrs. Frood’s and witness the signatures. I told her you were coming.”
Bundy pulled out his watch, and glared at it through his great spectacles.
“By Jove!” he exclaimed, “I’m afraid I can’t. There’s old Baldwin, you know. I’ve got to be there at a quarter to seven.”
“So you have,” said Japp, “I had forgotten that. You had better be off now. I’ll see to Dr. Strangeways, if he isn’t in a hurry for a minute or two.”
“I’m not in a hurry at all,” said I. “Don’t put yourself out for me.”
“Well, if you really are not,” said Japp, “I’ll just finish what I am doing, and then I’ll run in with you and get the agreement completed. You might look through it while you are waiting and see that it is all in order.”
Bundy handed me the agreement, and, as I sat down to study it, he removed his spectacles, hopped off his perch, brought forth his hat, gloves, and stick, and, having presented his teeth for my inspection, took his departure.
I read through the agreement carefully to ascertain that it embodied the terms agreed on verbally and compared the two copies. Then, while Mr. Japp continued to turn over the leaves of his documents, I let my thoughts stray from the trim, orderly office to the house of mystery in London and the strange events that had befallen there on that rainy night more than a year ago. Once more I called up before the eyes of memory the face of my mysterious patient, sweet and gracious in spite of its deathly pallor. Many a time, in the months that had passed, had I recalled it: so often that it seemed, in a way, to have become familiar. In a few minutes I was going to look upon that face again—for there could be no reasonable doubt that my prospective landlady was she. I looked forward expectantly, almost with excitement, to the meeting. Would she recognize me? I wondered. And if she did not, should I make myself known? This was a difficult question, and I had come to no decision upon it when I was aroused from my reverie by a movement on the part of Mr. Japp, whose labours had apparently come to an end. Folding up the documents and securing them in little bundles with red tape, he deposited them in a cupboard with his notes, and from the same receptacle took out his hat.
“Now,” said he, “if you find the agreement in order, we will proceed to execute it. Are you going to pay the premium now’”
“I have my cheque-book with me,” I replied. “When we have signed the agreement, I will settle up for everything.”
“Thank you,” said he. “I have prepared a receipt which is, practically, an assignment of the furniture and effects and of all rights in the practice.”
He held the door open and I passed out. We descended the steps, and passing the central door common to the two houses, ascended to that of the adjoining house, where Mr. Japp executed a flourish on a handsome brass knocker. In a few moments the door was opened by a woman whom I couldn’t see very distinctly in the dim hall, especially as she turned about and retired up the stairs. Mr. Japp advanced to the door of the front room and rapped with his knuckles, whereupon a high, clear, feminine voice bade him come in. He accordingly entered, and I followed.
The first glance disposed of any doubts that I might have had. The lady who stood up to receive us was unquestionably my late patient, though she looked taller than I had expected. But it was the well-remembered face, less changed, indeed, than I could have wished, for it was still pale, drawn, and weary, as I could see plainly enough in spite of the rather dim light; for, although it was not yet quite dark, the curtains were drawn and a lamp lighted on a small table, beside which was a low easy-chair, on which some needlework had been thrown down.
Mr. Japp introduced me to my future landlady, who bowed, and having invited us to be seated, took up her needlework and sat down in the easy-chair.
“You are not looking quite up to the mark,” Japp observed, regarding her critically, as he turned over the papers.
“No,” she admitted, “I think I am a little run down.”
“H’m,” said Japp. “Oughtn’t to get run down at your age. Why, you are only just wound up. However, you’ve got a doctor for a tenant, so you will be able to take out some of the rent in medical advice. Let me see, I told you what the terms of the agreement were, but you had better look through it before you sign.”
He handed her one of the documents, which she took from him, and, dropping her needlework in her lap, leaned back in her chair to read it. Meanwhile, I examined her with a good deal of interest and curiosity, wondering how she had fared and what had happened to her in the months that had elapsed since I had last seen her. The light was not very favourable for a minute inspection, for the lamp on the table was the sole luminary, and that was covered by a red silk shade. But I was confirmed in my original impression of her. She was more than ordinarily good-looking, and rather striking in appearance, and I judged that under happier conditions she might have appeared even more attractive. As, it was, the formally parted dark hair, the strongly marked, straight eyebrows, the firm mouth, rather compressed and a little drawn down at the corners, and the pale complexion imparted to her face a character that was somewhat intense, sombre, and even troubled. But, for this I could fully account from my knowledge of her circumstances, and I was conscious of looking on her with a very sympathetic and friendly eye.
“This is quite satisfactory to me,” she said at length, in the clear, high-pitched voice to which Bundy had objected, “and if it is equally so to Dr. Strangeways, I suppose I had better sign.”
She laid the paper on the table, and, taking the fountain-pen that Japp proffered, signed her name, Angelina Frood, in a bold, legible hand, and then returned the pen to its owner; who forthwith affixed his signature as witness and spread out the duplicate for me to sign. When this also was completed, he handed me the copy signed by Mrs. Frood and the receipt for the premium, and I drew a cheque for the amount and delivered it to him.
“Many thanks,” said he, slipping it into a wallet and pocketing it. “That concludes our business and puts you finally in possession. I wish you every success in your practice. By the way, I mentioned to Mrs. Frood that you had seen her husband and that you know how she is placed; and she agreed with me that it was best that you should understand the position in case you should meet him again.”
“Certainly,” Mrs. Frood agreed. “There is no use in trying to make a secret of it. He came down with you from London, Mr. Japp tells me.”
“Not from London,” said I. “He got in at Dartford.” Here Mr. Japp rose and stole towards the door. “Don’t let me interrupt you,” said he, “but I must get back to the office and hear what Bundy has to report. Don’t get up. I can let myself out.”
He made his exit quietly, shutting the door after him, and as soon as he was gone Mrs. Frood asked:
“Do you mean that he changed into your train at Dartford?”
“No,” I answered. “I think he came to Dartford on foot. He looked tired and his boot
s were covered with white dust.”
“You are very observant, Dr. Strangeways,” she said.
“I wonder what made you notice him so particularly?”
“He is rather a noticeable man,” I said, and then, deciding that it was better to be quite frank, I added: “But the fact is I had seen him before.”
“Indeed!” said she. “Would you think me very inquisitive if I asked where you had seen him?”
“Not at all,” I answered. “It was a little more than a year ago, about twelve o’clock at night, in a house near Regent’s Park, to which I was taken in a closed car to see a lady.”
As I spoke she dropped her needlework and sat up, gazing at me with a startled and rather puzzled expression. “But,” she said, “you are not the doctor who came to see me that night?”
“I am, indeed,” said I.
“Now,” she exclaimed, “isn’t that an extraordinary thing? I had a feeling that I had seen you somewhere before. I seemed to recognize your voice. But you don’t look the same. Hadn’t you a beard then?”
“Yes, I am but the shaven and shorn remnant of my former self, but I am your late medical attendant.”
She looked at me with an odd, reflective, questioning expression, but without making any further comment. Presently she said:
“You were very kind and sympathetic though you were so quiet. I wonder what you thought of it all.”
“I hadn’t much to go on beyond the medical facts,” I replied evasively.
“Oh, you needn’t be so cautious,” said she, “now that the cat is out of the bag.”
“Well,” I said, “it was pretty obvious that there had been trouble of some kind. The door had been broken open, there was one man in a state of hysterics, another man considerably upset and rather angry, and a woman with the mark on her neck of a cord or band—”
“It was a knitted silk necktie, to be accurate. But you put the matter in a nut-shell very neatly; and I see that you diagnosed what novelists call ‘the eternal triangle.’ And to a certain extent you were right; only the triangle was imaginary. If you don’t mind, I will tell you just what did happen. The gentleman who came for you was a Mr. Fordyce, the lessee of one or two provincial theatres—I was on the stage then; but perhaps you guessed that.”
The Second R. Austin Freeman Megapack Page 49