The Third R. Austin Freeman Megapack

by R. Austin Freeman

  I have said “the days,” but I should rather have said the hours that I spent in the laboratory. They were hours of happiness unalloyed. But with my return to the ward came a reaction. Then I had to face the realities of life, to realize that a dark cloud was rising, ever growing darker and more threatening. For I was now convalescent; and this was a hospital, not an almshouse. My illness was over and it was nearly time for me to go. At any moment now I might get my discharge; and then—but I did not dare to think of what lay before me when I should go forth from the hospital door into the inhospitable streets.

  At last the blow fell. I saw it coming when, instead of sending me out to the garden, the sister bade me stay by my bed when the physician was due to make his visit. So there I stood, watching the procession of students moving slowly round the ward with the feelings of a condemned man awaiting the approach of the executioner. Finally, it halted opposite my bed. The physician looked at me critically, spoke a few kindly words of congratulation, listened to the sister’s report, and, taking the chart-board from her, wrote a few words on the case paper, returned the board to her and moved on to the next bed!

  “When do I go out, Sister?” I asked, anxiously, as she replaced the board on its peg.

  She evidently caught and understood the note of anxiety, for she replied very gently, with a quick glance at my downcast face, “The day after tomorrow,” and turned away to rejoin the procession.

  So the brief interlude of comfort and happiness was over and once more I must go forth to wander, a wretched Ishmaelite, through the cheerless wilderness. What I should do when I found myself cast out into the street, I had no idea. Nor did I try to form any coherent plan. The utter hopelessness of my condition induced a sort of mental paralysis, and I could only roam about the garden (whither I had strayed when sentence had been pronounced) in a state of vague, chaotic misery. Even the appetizing little supper was swallowed untasted, and, for the first time since the dawn of my convalescence, my sleep was broken and troubled.

  On the following morning I presented myself as usual at the laboratory. But its magic was gone. I pottered about in the workroom to finish a repairing job that I had on hand, but even that could not distract me from the thought that I was looking my last on this pleasant and friendly place. Presently, Mr. Thorndyke came in to look at the instrument that I was repairing—it was a rocking microtome—but soon transferred his attention from the instrument to me.

  “What’s the matter, Polton?” he asked: “You are looking mighty glum. Have you got your discharge?”

  “Yes, sir,” I replied. “I am going out tomorrow.”

  “Ha!” said he, “and from what you have told me, I take it that you have nowhere to go.”

  I admitted, gloomily, that this was the case.

  “Very well,” said he. “Now I have a little proposal that I want you to consider. Come and sit down in the laboratory and I’ll tell you about it.”

  He sat me in a Windsor armchair, and, seating himself on the bench stool, continued: “I am intending to set up in practice; not in an ordinary medical practice, but in that branch of medicine that is connected with the law and is concerned with expert medical and scientific evidence. For the purposes of my practice I shall have to have a laboratory, somewhat like this, with a workshop attached; and I shall want an assistant to help me with the experimental work. That assistant will have to be a skilled mechanic, capable of making any special piece of apparatus that may be required, and generally handy and adaptable. Now, from what you have told me and what I have seen for myself I judge that you would suit me perfectly. You have a working knowledge of three crafts, and I have seen that you are skilful, painstaking and quick to take an idea, so I should like to have you as my assistant. I can’t offer much of a salary at first, as I shall be earning nothing, myself, for a time, but I could pay you a pound a week to begin with, and, as I should provide you with food and a good, big bed sitting room, you could rub along until something better turned up. What do you say?”

  I didn’t say anything. I was speechless with emotion, with the sudden revulsion from black despair to almost delirious joy. My eyes filled and a lump seemed to rise in my throat.

  Mr. Thorndyke evidently saw how it was with me, and, by way of easing the situation, he resumed: “There is one other point. Mine will be a bachelor establishment. I want no servants; so that, if you come to me, you would have to render a certain amount of personal and domestic services. You would keep the little household in order and occasionally prepare a meal. In fact, you would be in the position of my servant as well as laboratory assistant. Would you object to that?”

  Would I object! I could have fallen down that instant and kissed his boots. What I did say was that I should be proud to be his servant and only sorry that I was not more worthy of that honourable post.

  “Then,” said he, “the bargain is struck; and each of us must do his best to make it a good bargain for the other.”

  He then proceeded to arrange the details of my assumption of office, which included the transfer of five shillings “to chink in my pocket and pay the cabman,” and, when all was settled, I went forth, at his advice, to take a final turn in the garden; which I did with a springy step and at a pace that made the other patients stare.

  As I entered the ward, the sister came up to me with a rather troubled face.

  “When you go out tomorrow, Number Six, what are you going to do? Have you any home to go to?”

  “Yes, Sister,” I replied, triumphantly. “Mr. Thorndyke had just engaged me as his servant.”

  “Oh, I am so glad,” she exclaimed. “I have been rather worried about you. But I am quite happy now, for I know that you will have the very best of masters.”

  She was a wise woman, was that sister.

  I pass over the brief remainder of my stay in hospital. The hour of my discharge, once dreaded, but now hailed with joy, came in the middle of the forenoon; and, as my worldly goods were all on my person, no preparations were necessary. I made the round of the ward to say farewell to my fellow-patients, and, when the sister had given me a hearty handshake (I should have liked to kiss her), I was conducted by the nurse to the secretary’s office and there formally discharged. Then, pocketing my discharge ticket, I made my way to the main entrance and presented myself at the porter’s lodge.

  “Ah!” said the porter when I had introduced myself “so you are Mr. Thorndyke’s young man. Well, I’ve got to put you into a hansom and see that you know where to go. Do you?”

  “Yes,” I answered, producing the card that my master had given me and reading from it. “The address is ‘Dr. John Thorndyke, 5A King’s Bench Walk, Inner Temple, London, E.G.’”

  “That’s right,” said he; “and remember that he’s Doctor Thorndyke now. We call him Mister because that’s the custom when a gentleman is on the junior staff, even if he is an M.D. Here’s a hansom coming in, so we shan’t have to fetch one.”

  The cab came up the courtyard and discharged its passenger at the entrance, when the porter hailed the driver, and, having hustled me into the vehicle, sang out the address to which I was to be conveyed and waved his hand to me as we drove off and I returned his salutation by raising my hat.

  I enjoyed the journey amazingly, surveying the busy streets over the low doors with a new pleasure and thinking how cheerful and friendly they looked. I had never been in a hansom before and I suppose I never shall again. For the hansom is gone; and we have lost the most luxurious and convenient passenger vehicle ever devised by the wit of man.

  That cabman knew his business. Londoner as I was, the intricacies of his route bewildered me completely; and when he came to the surface, as it were, in Chancery Lane, which I recognized, he almost immediately finished me off by crossing Fleet Street and passing through a great gateway into a narrow lane bordered by ancient timber houses. Half-way down this lane he turned into another, at the entrance to which I read the name, “Crown Office Row,” and this ended in a great open squa
re surrounded by tall houses. Here I was startled by a voice above my head demanding:

  “You said Five A, didn’t you?”

  I looked up, and was astonished to behold a face looking down on me through a square opening in the roof; but I promptly answered “Yes,” whereupon the face vanished and I saw and heard a lid shut down, and a few moments later the cab drew up opposite the portico of a house on the eastern side of the square. I hopped out, and, having verified the number, asked the cabman what there was to pay; to which he replied, concisely, “Two bob,” and, leaning down, held out his hand. It seemed a lot of money, but, of course, he knew what his fare was, so, having handed up the exact amount, I turned away and stepped into the entry, on the jamb of which was painted: “First pair, Dr. John Thorndyke.”

  The exact meaning of this inscription was not quite clear to me, but as the ground floor was assigned to another person, I decided to explore the staircase; and having ascended to the first-floor landing, was reassured by observing the name “Dr. Thorndyke” painted in white lettering over a doorway, the massive, iron-bound door of which was open, revealing an inner door garnished by a small and very tarnished brass knocker. On this I struck a single modest rap, when the door was opened by Dr. Thorndyke, himself.

  “Come in, Polton,” said he, smiling on me very kindly and shaking my hand. “Come into your new home—which is my home, too; and I hope it will be a happy one for us both. But it will be what we make it. Perhaps, if your journey hasn’t tired you, you would like me to show you over the premises.”

  I said that I was not tired at all, so he led me forth at once and we started to climb the stairs, of which there were four flights to the third-floor landing.

  “I have brought you to the top floor,” said the Doctor, “to introduce you to your own domain. The rest of the rooms you can explore at your leisure. This is your bedroom.”

  He threw open a door, and when I looked in I was struck dumb with astonishment and delight. It was beyond my wildest dreams—a fine, spacious room with two windows, furnished in a style of which I had no previous experience. A handsome carpet covered the floor, the bed surpassed even the hospital beds, there were a wardrobe, a chest of drawers, a set of book shelves, a large table by one of the windows and a small one beside the bed, a fine easy chair and two other chairs. It was magnificent. I had thought that only noblemen lived in such rooms. And yet it was a very picture of homely comfort.

  I was struggling to express my gratitude when the Doctor hustled me down to the second floor to inspect the future laboratory and workshop. At present they were just large, empty rooms, but the kitchen was fully furnished and in going order, with a gas-cooker and a dresser filled with china, and the empty larder was ready for use.

  “Now,” said the Doctor, “I must run off to the hospital in a few minutes, but there are one or two matters to settle. First, you will want some money to fit yourself out with clothes. I will advance you ten pounds for that purpose. Then, until we are settled down, you will have to get your meals at restaurants. I will give you a couple of pounds for those and any stores that you may lay in, and you will keep an account and let me know when you want any more money. And remember that you are a convalescent, and don’t stint your diet. I think that is all for the present except the latch-keys, which I had better give you now.”

  He laid the money and the two keys on the table, and was just turning to go when it occurred to me to ask if I should get an evening meal prepared for him. He looked at me with a smile of surprise and replied: “You’re a very enterprising convalescent, Polton, but you mustn’t try to do too much at first. No, thank you. I shall dine in the board-room tonight and get home about half-past nine.”

  When he had gone, I went out, and, having taken a substantial lunch at a restaurant near Temple Bar, proceeded to explore the neighbourhood with a view to household stores. Eventually I found in Fetter Lane enough suitable shops to enable me to get the kitchen and the larder provided for a start, and, having made my purchases, hurried home to await the delivery of the goods. Then I spent a delightful afternoon and evening rambling about the house, planning the work shop, paying repeated visits to my incomparable room, and inaugurating the kitchen by preparing myself an enormous high tea; after which, becoming extremely sleepy, I went down and paced up and down the Walk to keep myself awake.

  When The Doctor came home I would have expounded my plans for the arrangement of the workshop. But he cut me short with the admonition that convalescents should be early birds, and sent me off to bed; where I sank at once into a delicious slumber and slept until it was broad daylight and a soft-toned bell informed me that it was seven o’clock.

  This day is the last that I shall record; for it saw the final stage of that wonderful transformation that changed the old Nathaniel Polton, the wretched, friendless outcast, into the pampered favourite of Fortune.

  When I had given the Doctor his breakfast (which he praised, warmly, but begged me to remember in future that he was only one man) and seen him launched on his way to the hospital, I consumed what he had left on the dish—one fried egg and a gammon rasher—and, having tidied up the Doctor’s bedroom and my own, went forth to wind up the affairs of Polton, the destitute, and inaugurate Polton, the opulent; to “ring out the old and ring in the new.” First, I visited a “gentlemen’s outfitters,” where I purchased a ready-made suit of a sober and genteel character (I heard the shopman whisper something about “medium boy’s size “) and other garments appropriate to it, including clerical grey socks, a pair of excellent shoes and a soft felt hat. The parcel being a large and heavy one I bought a strong rug-strap with which to carry it, and so was able, with an occasional rest, to convey it to Foubert’s Place, where I proposed to settle any arrears of rent that Mr. Stokes might claim. However, he claimed none, having let my room when I failed to return. But he had stored my property in an attic, from which he very kindly assisted me to fetch it, so that I had, presently, the satisfaction of seeing all my worldly goods piled up on the counter: the tool-chest that I had made in Mr. Beeby’s workshop, my whole collection of clockmaker’s tools, and my beloved books, including Mr. Denison’s invaluable monograph. When they were all assembled, I went out and chartered a four-wheeled cab, in which I stowed them all—chest, tools, books, and the enormous parcel from the out-fitters. Then I bade Mr. Stokes a fond farewell, gave the cabman the address (at which he seemed surprised; and I am afraid that I was a rather shabby little ragamuffin) shut myself in the cab and started for home.

  Home! I had not known the word since Aunt Judy and Uncle Sam had flitted away out of my ken. But now, as the cab rattled over the stones until it made my teeth chatter, I had before me the vision of that noble room in the Temple which was my very own, to have and to hold in perpetuity, and the gracious friend and master whose presence would have turned a hovel into a mansion.

  As soon as we arrived, I conveyed my goods—in relays—upstairs; and when I had paid off the cabman, I proceeded to dispose of them. The tools I deposited in the future workshop as the first instalment of its furnishing, the books and parcel I carried up to my own apartment. And there the final scene was enacted. When I had arranged my little library lovingly in the bookshelves, I opened the parcel and laid out its incredible contents on the bed. For a while I was so overcome by their magnificence that I could only gloat over them in ecstasy. I had never had such clothes before, and I felt almost shy at their splendour. However, they were mine, and I was going to wear them; and so reflecting, I proceeded boldly to divest myself of the threadbare, frayed and faded habiliments that had served me so long until I had stripped to the uttermost rag (and rag is the proper word). Then I inducted myself cautiously into the new garments, finishing up (in some discomfort) with a snowy and rather stiff collar, a silk necktie, and the sober but elegant black coat.

  For quite a long time I stood before the mirror in the wardrobe door surveying, with something of amused surprise and a certain sense of unreality, the trimly-dres
sed gentleman who confronted me. At length, I turned away with a sigh of satisfaction, and, having carefully put away the discarded clothing for use in the workshop, went down to await the Doctor’s return.

  And here I think I had better stop, leaving Dr. Jervis to relate the sequel. Gladly would I go on—having now got into my stride—to tell of my happy companionship with my beloved master, and how he and I fitted out the workshop, and then, working on our joiner’ bench, gradually furnished the laboratory with benches and shelves. But I had better not. My tale is told; and now I must lay down my pen and hold my peace. Yet still I love to look back on that wonderful morning in the hospital laboratory when a few magical words banished in an instant the night of my adversity and ushered in the dawn.

  But it was not only the dawn; it was the sunrise. And the sun has never set. A benevolent Joshua has ordained that I shall live the days of my life in perpetual sunshine; and that Joshua’s name is John Thorndyke.

  MR POLTON EXPLAINS [Part 2]

  PART II: THE CASE OF MOXDALE DECEASED

  Narrated by Christopher Jervis, M.D.

  CHAPTER X

  Fire

  To an old Londoner, the aspect of the town in the small hours of the morning, in “the middle watch” as those dark hours are called in the language of the mariner, is not without its attractions. For however much he may love his fellow-creatures, it is restful, at least for a time, to take their society in infinitesimal doses, or even to dispense with it entirely, and to take one’s way through the empty and silent streets free to pursue one’s own thoughts undistracted by the din and hurly-burly that prevail in the daylight hours.

  Thus I reflected as I turned out of Marylebone Station at about half-past two in the morning, and, crossing the wide, deserted road, bore away south-east in the direction of the Temple. Through what side streets I passed I cannot remember, and in fact never knew, for, in the manner of the born-and-bred Londoner, I simply walked towards my destination without consciously considering my route. And as I walked in a silence on which my own footfalls made an almost startling impression, I looked about me with something like curiosity and listened for the occasional far-off sounds which told of some belated car or lorry wending its solitary way through some distant street.