New Title 1

by Campbell, J R

  I sat down on the chair opposite him across the mighty desk layered with scientific journals and piles of his own scribblings, “Just what landed him in this mess?”

  “Just what landed him in his mess, don’t you mean, I should not be in the same position if I were in his shoes.” I nodded encouragingly and so Challenger continued, “That infamous zoologist came back from an equatorial trip he had engaged to collect samples to prove some preposterous and outdated theory of his and declared that he had found architectural structures of outstanding import from before the time of homo sapiens.

  “ Naturally, coming from such a great man,” he added with bitter sarcasm, “no-one was convinced and since then he has collapsed and been taken care of. As I understand it,” finished my great G. E. C., as I affectionately know my leader in all things intellectual.

  “So, if we can find out where he went, we can verify his statement?” “ I would suppose so,” countered Challenger, as he leaned back in his chair, a faint smile playing upon his lips, “or conclusively prove that he is an utter fraud.”

  “ What we would need is a scientific committee like the one that was formed to find your assertions correct,” I said, wondering how to guide the great man to think the thing out,“I wonder if Professor Summerlee would be available for another trip?”

  “ Summerlee! Be damned man! Why would I want that old wife on another scientific expedition?” bellowed Challenger, his fists pawed his desk and I knew that unless I was able to distract him we could settle this in a tussle. I decided to risk all.

  “There’s a bright fellow I know, Tarp Henry, he’d come, I’m sure,” I suggested easily, flexing my muscles in case it came to blows.

  “I suppose this young fellow of yours writes for another rag?” “ Nature,” I nodded. “I suppose Summerlee isn’t all bad,” reflected Challenger as he sank once more into thought, “and I suppose we will have the company of one competent explorer?”

  “Oh, yes,” I said, keen to be included.

  “So, you can vouch for Lord Roxton, then?”

  “You heard him yourself,” I replied, indicating the telephone whilst not allowing the jibe to sink home.

  “And just how do you think this expedition will be financed then, my young friend?” he asked. “We shall manage, I’m sure,” I answered calmly, knowing that with that barb I had hooked the great fish. All I had to do now was to allow him to land himself and we would be off.

  “I’m terribly busy,” stated Challenger with his chest newly inflated, “therefore I neither have the time, nor the inclination to make the arrangements.”

  “I’ll see to them,” I replied. “ Well, Malone, in that case I will order my affairs for a break in two weeks’ time, if that is alright with you, but any delay and I will be forced to forego this questionable journey,” the professor paused then to stroke the side of one of the thick tomes that squatted on his desk, “Science,” he continued,“is a hard mistress so if you are not in all readiness by then I shall have to decline your kind invitation.

  “ You know your way out,” he stated flatly, turning back to his work. Bemused by his unbowed audacity, I left the study to find Mrs Challenger in the hall.

  “I’m sure everything will be fine,” she said. I nodded in response to this diminutive figure of such a colossal temperament as to put up with The Professor, I was guided to the door as she continued, “Having these excursions does help take him out of himself, I’ll do what I can.”

  “Thank you,” I replied, on finding myself on the doorstep, I heard Challenger’s familiar bellow as she shut the door on me. On the pavement of Enmore Gardens once more, I scratched my head wondering what I should do next when it suddenly occurred to me that Lord Roxton would be the first person I should consult. With this decided I made my way to the Albany. On enquiring at the door, I was allowed in and on my honour, I proceeded to Lord Roxton’s apartment.

  “ By George, young fellah, you don’t waste time, do you?” he greeted me heartily by slapping me on my shoulder before practically hauling me into his private domain. “You’ve come about the whole Doctor Illingford mess, I’m sure,” he said with a grin after he had sat me down with a drink.

  “Yes, I fear I heard the end of your conversation with the good professor…”

  “Ha! Here’s to the old stick!” and he raised his glass before taking a drink, “no budging our genius, is there?”

  “Actually,” I began and that was enough for the quick witted hunter to catch my drift.

  “What are his conditions?” asked Sir John Roxton.

  “That we leave in a fortnight but no more than that,” I answered bluntly. “He’ll stick to that alright, knowing him, the old buf foon, but my this will be fine copy for you alright,” he spoke slowly now, allowing himself to think through the presenting issues. “We’ll have to follow the good Doctor Illingford’s footsteps and that means we’ll have to charter our very own ship and arrange provisions thereon.”

  “ You leave that to me,” Sir John decided, “I still know some captains from my hunting days in Africa, one’ll be in port and they’ll have me back whatever else they’ve arranged I’m sure,” he said with a sparkle in his eyes. “Leave that to me, my lad and I’ll carry the burden of this adventure, after all, if it was not for you and your paper we wouldn’t have our collection of stones now, would we?”

  “Well, no,” I started to protest.

  “That’s settled then,” shot the hunter,“Now what we have to do is to get to Illingford or the ship’s log that he travelled on.” “ Well, Summerlee was at least acquainted with this Doctor Illingford,” I replied, “at least he is aware of the man’s reputation.”

  “ A lot of good that stood him in. The only time Challenger and Summerlee were at peace was when they were firing off in the direction of this poor fellow’s reputation, but still, you might be on to something. Let’s divide the labour; I’ll tackle the shipping and you get to grips with this Doctor.”

  “I know just the chap to see,” I replied.

  “Good,” said Lord Roxton before he finished his drink and then stood. I realised that the interview had come to its end and so I followed suit before making my way, a little unsteady on my feet, to the door. I was given a hearty slap on the back as farewell and somehow I made it back to the Savage Club. Fortunately, Tarp

  Henry was still inhabiting the place, so I made my way to him.

  “My word, Malone!” exclaimed my friend on seeing me. “ Hello again, Tarp,” I replied as I sank into a leather chair. I briefly explained my need to get to Doctor Illingford as the staff provided me with my favourite drink. I looked at my brandy and water as one might stare at a venomous snake and, not wanting to appear unmanned by Lord Roxton’s hospitality, decided to sip it slowly.

  “Whether or not Summerlee’s around it’ll be mighty difficult to get hold of Illingford,” said Tarp.

  “What do you mean?” I asked. “Why he’s been holed up in that private sanatorium I was telling you about,” he explained,“and besides that, his sister seems intent, by all accounts to vet any approach to her brother. Don’t give me any guff about having your journalist’s way of getting around her. There is no getting around her sort unless you’ve got your idea straight beforehand. Look, don’t say I gave you this, but here’s the address of Illingford’s sanatorium,” he scribbled on a copy of my beloved Gazette, “I know you won’t get me involved in your schemes.”

  “Not unless you want to tag along, old chum,” I replied charitably as I took the offered invitation. “That’s very kind of you, Malone,” he replied, “I hope I’ve been of some use to you, but I do have to go and write up some copy for my periodical,” and with that he left me.

  All things considered, I thought to myself as I nursed my drink, I had had a rather full day, so I decided to get back to my digs in Streatham before I was utterly done in. The morning would find me refreshed and raring to go, I thought as I decided to call it a day.

  The next day
found me struggling with a fuzzy head as the morning light blazed through my thin curtains. I had been lucky in finding a landlady that would keep my lodgings for my various transports, but they were not of the highest quality. Breakfast came with thunderous blows upon my door and on opening my portcullis upon the world, my landlady breezed past me, placed the tray on the table and then was out before I could collect myself enough to wish her a good day.

  It was whilst I was enjoying my tea, after the hearty repast she had laid on for me that I finally examined the directions of Tarp. Here, at least, was a definitive lead, I thought to myself. The address was of a sanatorium that I had not even heard about, so I calculated it must be of the first order in discretion. I therefore made plans for the day ahead; first I would try there and then on towards collecting Summerlee’s attendance on our expedition.

  I was just at reception, and about to explain after my first rebuttal that I was more than willing to lay on an expedition for Dr Illingford’s reputation when a sharp clear voice cut through my attempts with the receptionist.

  “I do not believe that you will see my brother today.” On turning around I faced a tall, gaunt, elderly figure with one of the widest hats I had ever seen, “Allow me to introduce myself, my good la…”I tried, before she swathed past my remarks once again.

  “ Edward Malone of The Gazette, I believe,” she held out her hand for me to take and remembering that manners, sometimes, opened doors, I bowed to the glove and obediently placed a kiss on the back of that taut, burgundy, leathered hand. “Allow me to introduce myself; I am Mrs Rowena Moster, eldest sister, or should I say, eldest surviving sister of the good doctor.

  “ I am afraid that one of my nieces is stepping out with a friend of your Mister Tarp Henry. I wish to speak with you and,” here she gave me a withering glance, “your associates about this whole business. If we leave now, we should be in time for my appointment at the Challenger’s. I had thought you would be rather earlier than this but we will just have to make do.”

  “You’re not a guest of the Professor?”I asked, trailing behind her. “ Of Mrs Challenger,” she answered as her electric brougham pulled towards us, “although how that poor angel suffers for her love is quite beyond me.”

  “I see,” I said and kept silent as we travelled towards what I could only expect to be an explosive interview. Austin answered the door and graciously ushered us in. We had heard raised voices on the street but the house suddenly descended into silence. I looked at Austin, hoping for some discreet rendering of his master’s mood like some strange barometer of Challenger’s mood, but Mrs Moster coughed when she had arrived at the door to the study, pulling Austin back to his duty as makeshift butler.

  Bowing slightly, he opened the portal to allow us in to the great man’s inner sanctum. As I passed him he did, however, manage to raise his eyebrows significantly. It was all the warning I needed, Challenger must have been as suddenly appraised of his guests as I was.

  “Ah, Mrs Challenger, how good of you to invite me on such short notice,” Mrs Moster was graciousness personified with her smooth voice, catching me by surprise. “Mrs Moster, what an honour it is to have you…” began the beautiful, petite figure of Mrs Challenger.

  “Enough of this banter!” exclaimed her husband. “ Challenger! You forget yourself, dear sir,” Mrs Moster was proving to be a match for my hero. He hardly knew what to do. His hands flexed instinctively at his side as if he would wrestle a sabre toothed tiger but was unable to deal effectively with the gentler sex. If he was this upset with his wife, I believed he would have just popped her onto the high pedestal in the hall, but even he knew that you could not do that to a female guest.

  Coming to my journalistic senses, I scanned the room to find that Mr Summerlee and Lord Roxton were present as well.

  “Good show, I say,” said Roxton, obviously enjoying the spectacle, “Now why don’t we at least hear her out?” “ Indeed,” growled Challenger at the lord before continuing, “Very well, we shall hear her out and then throw her out,” and with that he folded his hands upon his belly and half closed his eyes. This was his most receptive posture we were likely to have from him in this interview. Mrs Moster plunged ahead.

  “ I know that for your own reasons, you wish to see whether my brother has spoken correctly of his findings or not,”she paused to look at each of us before continuing, “I am in possession of the relevant co-ordinates and have made the appropriate arrangements for our journey. I shall forward you with the details of the shipping so that you may inform me of any and all equipment you deem necessary for this expedition if you agree to my accompanying you.”

  “ My dear lady,” began Challenger in his most condescending tone, “how could you possibly come with us without a chaperone? My delicate wife will not be coming on this, quite possibly dangerous, trip.”

  “ I do not believe that any who can suffer you, sir, could be deemed delicate no matter how beautiful,” she pressed on, blithely ignoring the red cheeks, shining through that black beard of Challenger, “and besides, I have made arrangements for my own chaperone. So, you see that you either agree to my terms or you do not.”

  “ If it is a scientific expedition, as long as men of science are there,” piped up Summerlee, “I do not see any difficulty in having others as well. Otherwise we would never have had Lord Roxton or Malone along with us on our previous trip.”

  “I’m with Summerlee,” declared Sir John.

  I gave my nod of agreement when Challenger passed his gaze over me.

  “Very well,” muttered our leader, and our company was formed. “There’s a ship leaving in two days for the Canaries, I will forward you the details, and from there we will make the final leg on a steamer, that I shall charter. The captain of the vessel I have in mind oversaw my brother’s trip, so he should be able to find the particular island in question.

  “Any questions?” she asked and on receiving the silence of the room, left us, followed by Mrs Challenger.

  “I say, that is a lady,” observed Roxton.

  “What a lady,” sneered Challenger, unable to admit he had been outmanoeuvred.

  “I shall put my affairs in order and see you at the docks,” said Summerlee and that seemed to settle it. The one surprise we had on the trip was that Mrs Moster’s chaperone was a man, by the name of Hayward; a short commonplace man of advancing middle age. The only impression he made upon me was that he was capable, but, of what, I wondered as we sailed along. We hardly saw him, with or without the indomitable Mrs Moster.

  It was Lord Roxton who drew attention to the fact that we were heading south after clearing the African continent, “I say,” he had said to our captain, “ain’t we heading into the Doldrums?”

  “We are,” replied the captain calmly.

  “Won’t that pose a problem?” asked Summerlee, wondering what the significance of Roxton’s remark was.

  “Is this a sailing ship?” the captain asked.

  “No,” I answered, joining them for this conference. “ Then it should not be a problem, should it, captain?” answered Challenger from his position, lying on the forward deck with his eyes closed but forever alert.

  “ Just so,” returned the captain, somewhat abashed by this attention from his passengers before he retired. I think our reputations had preceded us.

  It was a day or so before I was able to bring myself to ask Roxton, “Just what are the Doldrums?” unwilling both to reveal my ignorance and to disturb the delicate peace of the ship that even such an innocent question could break.

  “ Well, young fellah, just look here,” he answered me, “it’s this here area where the winds can just die right away and strand the old sailing ships.”

  “ Many wonderful and erroneous tales were told by mariners who had run out of virtually everything and suffered, no doubt, from hallucinations,” chipped in Challenger, unable to allow an opportunity to pass to show his vast, accumulated knowledge.

  “Aboard a modern steamer and
you’re perfectly safe,” added the captain as he continued his rounds. Challenger snorted in response to that and muttered, I am sure, “Hurricanes,” under his breath but everyone pretended not to hear him.

  As we approached the equator, the days became ever stranger. The wind died down and apart from the draft that we cut, we would have felt no wind upon us. The vision of the sea all around as flat as a table top was unnerving after the first couple of days. The only mark that we were in motion was the disturbance from our ship.

  “You don’t worry about Challenger’s hurricanes,” the captain said to me, “Just so long as we get into dock first and then we’ll be fine.”

  Shocked at this announcement, I could only watch the retreating figure as he checked the conditions on deck. Challenger had informed me that where we were and in the direction we were going, there was nothing. Not a speck of chartered rock. It was two days after this encounter that a speck of unchartered rock came into view. Hard as it was to remember in such a flat expanse that the curvature of the Earth still hid things over the horizon as the speck became an island. How many discarded stories of delirious sailors were true, I wondered to myself.

  “Obviously, this cannot be a man-made formation,” Challenger started to ruminate over the appearance.

  “Certainly, I concur,” said Mrs Moster, smoothly arriving at the opportune moment.

  “Next you will argue that it is a construction of some sort?” he replied. It was odd, watching Challenger test another’s theory after I had spent so long watching him defend his own ideas, ideas that had been deemed so wild as to make him a laughing stock until he could bring back incontrovertible evidence. I decided to stay out of it and observe the exchanges, knowing the minds of Challenger and Summerlee were out of my league.

  “Well, it is there. It exists,” answered Mrs Moster.

  “What it means, I have no idea,” said Sir John, echoing my own thoughts,“but it does seem to be there.”