by Sapper
Chapter 5
In which Mr William Robinson loses his self-control
He was met at the front door by Freyder, who led him at once to the room which he had set apart for his Chief’s own particular and private use. In every house taken by Mr William Robinson – to adopt, at once, his new name – there was one such room into which no one, under any pretext whatever, might enter without his permission, once he was in residence. Freyder himself would not have dreamed of doing so; and even the girl, who was still enjoying the sunshine at Montreux, invariably knocked before she went into the holy of holies.
“Capital, Freyder,” he remarked, glancing round the room with a critical eye. “And how is our friend?”
“Getting damned angry, Chief,” answered the other. “Talking about legal proceedings and infamous conduct. The poor old bloke was wedged up against a nail in the packing-case, and it’s made him as mad as the devil.”
“A pity,” murmured Mr Robinson. “Still, I don’t know that it matters very much. It would have been pleasanter, of course, if we could have kept the proceedings on an amicable basis, but I always had grave doubts. A pig-headed old man, Freyder; but there are ways of overcoming pig-headedness.” He smiled genially; he still felt he wanted to hear the birds sing. “And now I will just make one or two alterations in my personal appearance. Then I will interview our friend.”
“Very good, Chief. By the way – the dynamo is installed, also the most modern brand of electric furnace. But, of course, I haven’t been able to do anything with regard to the chemicals as yet.”
“Of course not. You’ve done extremely well, my dear fellow – extremely well. He will have to tell me what chemicals he requires this evening, and you will go up to London first thing tomorrow and obtain them.”
With a wave of his hand he dismissed his subordinate, and then for over an hour he occupied himself in front of a mirror. Mr William Robinson was being created. It was his first appearance in public, and so a little licence was allowable. There would be no one to point an accusing finger at his nose and say it had grown larger in the night or anything awkward of that sort. This was creation, pure and simple, giving scope to the creator’s artistic mind. He could make what he would. Once made, a series of the most minute measurements with gauges recording to the hundredth of an inch would be necessary. Each would be entered up with mathematical precision in a book kept specially for the purpose, along with other details concerning the character. But that came later, and was merely the uninteresting routine work. The soul of the artist need not be troubled by such trifles.
And since the soul of the artist was gay within him, he fashioned a genial old man with twinkling eyes and mutton-chop whiskers. His nose was rather hooked; his horn spectacles reposed on his forehead as if they had been absent-mindedly pushed up from their proper position. His scanty grey hair was brushed back untidily (it was the ruthless thinning out of his normal crop with a razor that he disliked most); his clothes were those of a man who buys good ones and takes no care of them. And, finally, his hands were covered with the stains of the chemist.
At length he had finished, and having surveyed himself from every angle he rang the bell for Freyder, who paused in genuine amazement at the door. Accustomed as he was to these complete metamorphoses of his Chief, he never ceased to marvel at them.
“How’s that, Freyder?” demanded Mr Robinson.
“Wonderful, Chief,” said the other. “Simply wonderful. I congratulate you.”
“Then I think I’ll go and see our friend – my dear, dear brother. Doubtless a little chat will clear the air.”
With a curious shambling gait he followed Freyder up the stairs to the top of the house. Then rubbing his hands together genially, he entered the room which Freyder had pointed to and closed the door behind him.
Professor Goodman rose as he came in and took a step forward.
“Are you the owner of this house, sir?” he demanded angrily.
“Yes,” said the other. “I am. I hope my servants have made you comfortable.”
“Then I demand to know by what right you dare to keep me a prisoner. How dare you, sir – how dare you? And where am I, anyway?”
With a sudden little gesture of weakness Professor Goodman sat down. He was still bewildered and shaken at his treatment, and Mr Robinson smiled affably.
“That’s better,” he remarked. “Let us both sit down and have a friendly talk. I feel that one or two words of explanation are due to you, which I trust, my dear Professor, you will receive in a friendly and – er – brotherly spirit. Brotherly, because you are my brother.”
“What the devil do you mean, sir?” snapped the Professor. “I haven’t got a brother; I’ve never had a brother.”
“I know,” murmured the other sadly. “A most regrettable oversight on your parents’ part. But isn’t it nice to have one now? One, moreover, who will surround you with every care and attention in your illness.”
“But, damn you!” roared the unhappy man, “I’m not ill.”
Mr Robinson waved a deprecating hand.
“I implore of you, do not excite yourself. In your weak mental state it would be most injurious. I assure you that you are my partially insane brother, and that I have taken this house entirely on your account. Could altruism go farther?”
Professor Goodman was swallowing hard, and clutching the arms of his chair.
“Perhaps you’ll say what you really do mean,” he muttered at length.
“Certainly,” cried Mr Robinson benevolently. “It is for that express purpose that we are having this interview. It is essential that you should understand exactly where you are. Now, perhaps you are unaware of the fact that you died yesterday.”
“I did – what?” stammered the other.
“Died,” said Mr Robinson genially. “I thought you might find that bit a little hard to follow, so I’ve brought you a copy of one of the early evening papers. In it you will find a brief account of the inquest – your inquest.”
With a trembling hand the Professor took the paper.
“But I don’t understand,” he said after he had read it. “For Heaven’s sake, sir, won’t you explain? I remember nothing from the time when I was chloroformed in my laboratory till I came-to in a packing-case. It wasn’t I who was blown up?”
“Obviously,” returned the other. “But the great point is, Professor, that everyone thinks it was. The cream of the scientific world, in fact, will attend the burial of somebody else’s foot, in the firm belief that they are honouring your memory. Whose foot it is you needn’t worry about; I assure you he was a person of tedious disposition.”
“But I must go at once and telephone.” He rose in his agitation. “It’s the most dreadful thing. Think of my poor wife.”
“I know,” said Mr Robinson sadly. “Though not exactly married myself, I can guess your feelings. But I’m afraid, my dear brother, that your wife must remain in ignorance of the fact that she is not a widow.”
Professor Goodman’s face went grey. He knew now what he had only suspected before – that he was in danger.
“Possibly things are becoming clearer to you,” went on the other. “The world thinks you are dead. No hue-and-cry will be raised to find you. But you are not dead – far from it. You are, as I explained, my partially insane brother, whom no one is allowed to see. I admit that you are not insane nor are you my brother – but qu’importe. It is not the truth that counts, but what people think is the truth. I trust I make myself clear?”
Professor Goodman said nothing; he was staring at the speaker with fear in his eyes. For the mask of benevolence had slipped a little from Mr Robinson’s face: the real man was showing through the assumed role.
“From your silence I take it that I do,” he continued. “No one will look for you as Professor Goodman; no one will be permitted to s
ee you as my brother. So – er – you will not be very much disturbed.”
“In plain language, you mean I’m a prisoner,” said the Professor. “Why? What is your object?”
“You have recently, my dear Professor,” began Mr Robinson, “made a most remarkable discovery.”
“I knew it,” groaned the other. “I knew it was that. Well, let me tell you one thing, sir. If this infamous outrage has been perpetrated on me in order to make me keep silent about it – I still refuse utterly. You may detain me here in your power until after the meeting of the Society, but I shall give my discovery to the world all the same.”
Mr Robinson gently stroked his side whiskers.
“A most remarkable discovery,” he repeated as if the other had not spoken. “I congratulate you upon it, Professor. And being a chemist in a small way myself, I am overcome with curiosity on the subject. I have therefore gone to no little inconvenience to bring you to a place where, undisturbed by mundane trifles, you will be able to impart your discovery to me, and at the same time manufacture diamonds to your heart’s content. I should like you to make hundreds of diamonds during the period of your retirement; in fact, that will be your daily task…”
“You want me to make them,” said the bewildered man. “But that’s the very thing Blantyre and those others didn’t want me to do.”
Mr Robinson stroked his whiskers even more caressingly.
“How fortunate it is,” he murmured, “that we don’t all think alike!”
“And if I refuse?” said the other.
Mr Robinson ceased stroking his whiskers.
“You would be unwise, Professor Goodman – most unwise. I have methods of dealing with people who refuse to do what I tell them to do which have always succeeded up to date.”
His eyes were suddenly merciless, and with a sick feeling of fear the Professor sat back in his chair.
“A dynamo has been installed,” went on Mr Robinson after a moment or two. “Also the most modern type of electric furnace. Here I have the retort which you use in your process” – he placed it on the table beside him – “and all that now remains are the necessary chemicals. Your notes are a trifle difficult to follow, so you will have to prepare a list yourself of those chemicals and they will be obtained for you tomorrow.”
He took the papers from his pocket and handed them to the Professor.
“Just one word of warning. Should anything go wrong with your process, should you pretend out of stupid obstinacy that you are unable to make diamonds – may God help you! If there is anything wrong with the apparatus, let me know, and it will be rectified. But don’t, I beg of you, try any tricks.”
He rose, and his voice became genial again.
“I am sure my warning is unnecessary,” he said gently. “Now I will leave you to prepare the list of the salts you require.”
“But these are the wrong notes,” said Professor Goodman, staring at them dazedly. “These are my notes on peptonised proteins.”
Mr Robinson stood very still.
“What do you mean?” he said at length. “Are those not the notes on your process of making diamonds?”
“Good gracious – no,” said the Professor. “These have got nothing to do with it.”
“Are the notes necessary?”
“Absolutely. Why, I can’t even remember all the salts without them – let alone the proportions in which they are used.”
“Do you know where they are?”
The Professor passed his hand wearily across his forehead.
“Whom was I lunching with?” he murmured. “It was just before I went to meet Professor Scheidstrun, and I gave them to him to take care of. And by the way – what has happened to Scheidstrun? Surely it wasn’t he who was killed.”
“Don’t worry about Scheidstrun,” snarled Mr Robinson. “Whom were you lunching with, you damned old fool?”
“I know – I remember now. It was Captain Drummond. I lunched at his club. He’s got them. Good God! why are you looking like that?”
For perhaps the first time in his life every vestige of self-control had left the master-criminal’s face and he looked like a wild beast.
“Drummond!” he shouted savagely. “Not Captain Hugh Drummond, who lives in Brook Street?”
“That’s the man,” said the Professor. “Such a nice fellow, though rather stupid. Do you know him by any chance?”
How near Professor Goodman was to a violent death at that moment it is perhaps as well he did not know. In mild perplexity he watched the other man’s face, diabolical with its expression of animal rage and fury, and wondered vaguely why the mention of Hugh Drummond’s name should have produced such a result. And it was a full minute before Mr Robinson had recovered himself sufficiently to sit down and continue the conversation. Drummond again – always Drummond. How, in the name of everything conceivable and inconceivable, had he got mixed up in this affair? All his carefully worked out and brilliantly executed plan frustrated and brought to nothing by one miserable fact which he could not possibly have foreseen, and which, even now, he could hardly believe.
“What induced you to give the notes to him?” he snarled at length.
“He said he didn’t think it was safe for me to carry them about with me,” said the other mildly. “You see, I had received a threatening letter in the morning – a letter threatening my life…” He blinked apologetically.
So it was Lewisham’s letter that had done it, and the only ray of comfort in the situation lay in the fact that at any rate he’d killed Lewisham.
“Did you give him any special instructions?” he demanded.
“No – I don’t think so,” answered the Professor. “I think he said something about handing them over to the bank.”
Mr Robinson rose and started to pace up and down the room. The blow was so staggering in its unexpectedness that his brain almost refused to work. That Drummond of all people should again have crossed his path was as far as his thoughts would go. The fact that Drummond was blissfully unaware that he had done so was beside the point; it seemed almost like the hand of Fate. And incredible though it may seem, for a short time he was conscious of a feeling of genuine superstitious fear.
But not for long. The prize, in this case, was too enormous for any weakness of that sort. If Captain Drummond had the notes, steps would have to be taken to make him give them up. The question was – what were those steps to be?
With an effort he concentrated on the problem. The thing must be done with every appearance of legality; it must be done naturally. From Drummond’s point of view, which was the important one to consider, the situation would be a simple one. He was in the possession of valuable papers belonging to a dead man – papers to which he had no right; but papers to which he – being the type of person he was – would continue to stick to if he had the faintest suspicion of foul play. And since he had seen the threatening letter, those suspicions must be latent in his mind already. To keep them latent and not arouse them was essential.
And the second and no less important part of the problem was to ensure that once the notes had left Drummond’s hands they should pass with a minimum of delay into his. The thought of anything happening to them or of someone else obtaining possession of them turned him cold all over.
He paused in his restless pacing up and down, and thoughtfully lit a cigar. His self-control was completely recovered; Mr William Robinson was himself again. A hitch had occurred in an otherwise perfect plan – that was all. And hitches were made to be unhitched.
“What is the name of your lawyer?” he said quietly.
“Mr Tootem of Tootem, Price & Tootem,” answered Professor Goodman in mild surprise. “Why do you want to know?”
“Never mind why. Now here’s a pen and some paper. Write as I dictate. And don’t let there be any mistake
about the writing, my friend.
“‘DEAR DRUMMOND,
“‘I have been discussing things with my friend Scheidstrun this afternoon, and he agrees with you that it is better that I should not carry about the notes I gave you. So will you send them to Tootem, Price & Tootem.’…
“What’s the address? Austin Friars. Well – put it in.
“‘They will keep them for me until the meeting of the Royal Society. And if, as Scheidstrun humorously says, I shall have blown myself up before then with my new blasting powder, it is my wish that he should be given the notes. He is immensely interested in my discovery, and I know of no one to whom I would sooner bequeath it. But that, my dear Drummond, is not likely to occur.
“‘Yours sincerely,’
“Now sign your name.”
The Professor laid down his pen with a sigh.
“It is all very confusing,” he murmured. “And I do hope I’m not going to get blood poisoning where that nail in the packing-case ran into my leg.”
But Mr Robinson evinced no interest in such an eventuality. He stood with the letter in his hand, pulling thoughtfully at his cigar, and striving to take into account every possible development which might arise. For perhaps a minute he remained motionless while Professor Goodman rubbed his injured limb; then he made a decisive little gesture oddly out of keeping with his benevolent appearance. His mind was made up; his plan was clear.
“Address an envelope,” he said curtly, “to Captain Drummond.”
He took the envelope and slipped the letter inside. There was no time to be lost; every moment was valuable.
“Now, Professor Goodman,” he remarked, “I want you to pay close attention to what I am going to say. The fact that you have not got the notes of your process constitutes a slight check in my plans. However, I am about to obtain those notes, and while I am doing so you will remain here. You will be well looked after, and well fed. A delightful bedroom will be placed at your disposal, and I believe, though I have not personally verified the fact, that there is a very good library below. Please make free use of it. But I must give you one word of warning. Should you make any attempt to escape, should you make the slightest endeavour even to communicate with the outside world you will be gagged and put in irons in a dark room.”