The Secrets of Dr. Taverner (36 page)

He turned, and I rose, and with the girl between us, we left
the room in the midst of dead silence. I closed the door softly
behind us, and, finding that the key was in the lock, took the
precaution to turn it.

In the darkened hall, unlit save for the rays of a street lamp
through the fanlight, Taverner confronted the bewildered girl.

She had pushed back her cowl, and her bright hair fell in
disorder about her face. He placed his hands on her shoulder.

"My daughter," he said. "You cannot advance save by the
path of duty. You cannot rise to the higher life on broken faith
and neglected obligations. The man who has given his name and
heart into your keeping cannot have a home unless you make
him one; cannot have a child unless you give him one. You may
free yourself from him, but he cannot free himself from you. In
this incarnation you have elected to choose the Path of the
Hearth-fire, and therefore no other is open to you. Return, and
see that the fire is lit and that hearth swept and garnished, and I
will come to you and show you how illumination may be
obtained upon that Path. You have invoked the Council of
Seven, and have therefore come under the discipline of the
Council of Seven, and coming under the discipline, you have
come under the protection. Depart in peace."

And he opened the door and put her outside.

We hastily collected our impedimenta and followed her. A
violent ringing of electric bells in the basement showed that the
people upstairs had discovered that they were locked in.

The night drive down to Hindhead cleared my brain, which
whirled strangely. A vision of Taverner in cope and head-dress
danced before my eyes, which the everyday appearance of my
chief in frieze overcoat and muffler did nothing to allay. At
length we reached our destination, put the car to bed, and stood
for a moment under the tranquil stars before entering the silent
house, long since wrapt in slumber, and as I thought of the
events of the evening I seemed to move in a dream. Suddenly
recollection hit me on the solar plexus and I woke with a start.

"Taverner!" I said, "supposing someone delivers a load of
coals on top of Josephus--?"

***********************

A Son of the Night

I
It was not often that people attempted to `use' Taverner for
their own ends, and it was only because the Countess of Cullan
was so sure of her powers that the attempt was made. She was a
very great lady, though somewhat blown upon as to reputation;
she had reason to believe in her power over men, and never
doubted that Taverner and I, given sufficient encouragement,
would worship at her well-served shrine. She was a neighbour of
ours, the grounds of the nursing home, in fact, being carved out
of the Cullan estate during the days when the old earl was using
capital as income. The present earl was a man of a very different
type; so different, in fact, from what might have been expected
of a scion of the house of Cullan, that rumour had it that he was
`not quite all there.' Be that as it may, he was at least `there'
enough to keep a tight hand on the family finances and insisted
on allowing the goose of capital to lay the golden eggs of
interest instead of having it killed then and there to assuage the
family hunger. This, rumour added, was a very sore point, and
productive of much rancour in the home life.

The opening move in the game took place when Taverner and
I were invited to a garden party at Cullan Court, and needless to
say, did not go. The next move was when the Countess drove
over in her two-seater and insisted that I should return forthwith
to make up a set at tennis. I was cornered and could not escape;
and, having been assigned my flapper, duly patted balls over the
net at the Honourable John, younger brother of the earl, and his
flapper, who returned them in a resigned kind of fashion, till we
came to the conclusion that a single might not, after all, be
without its charms, deposited our flappers in the shade, and set
to work in earnest.

Having a long reach, a steady eye, and a good wind, I take
kindly to games, though they are not my enthusiasm as they are
with some people who are able to acquit themselves adequately;
to the Honourable John, however, sport took the place of
religion, and in whatever game he played he had to excel; and to
give him his due, he generally succeeded in doing so.

In the first set he beat me after a struggle; in the second set I
beat him in a thrilling contest, and in the third we settled down
to a life-and-death battle. All his debonair charm was gone, and
the face that looked at me across the net was positively
malignant as the score slowly turned against him. When the
game concluded in my favour, it was all he could do to
remember his manners. The cloud soon blew away, however,
and after a pleasant tea on the terrace, the Countess drove me
home again with her own fair hands. I had grown much more
inclined to accept future invitations.

But, although I was quite willing to play the Honourable John
at tennis, I was distinctly anxious to steer clear of the Countess,
for, though old enough to be my aunt, if not my mother, she
blatantly flirted with me.

A dinner party was arranged shortly after that; Taverner
could not escape it, even with all his wiliness, and duly led in
the Countess, who, to my intense amusement, flirted with him
also. I had the very pretty daughter (who seemed to take after her
mother in more than her looks) for my partner. But while the
mother appeared bent on making an impression on Taverner, the
daughter seemed equally bent on making me realize that I had
made an impression on her, and each glanced at the other
occasionally to see how she was getting on. It gave me an odd
and unpleasant feeling to see these two women of a great family
making a `dead set' at a couple of commoners like Taverner and
myself; and as I saw Taverner succumbing to the lure I got more
and more disgusted, sulky, and silent with my companion until it
struck me that there might be a method in Taverner's madness;
he was, at the best of times, the least impressionable of men, and
very unlikely to be attracted by this overblown rose of a woman
who was wooing him so blatantly. So I in my turn allowed
myself to succumb to the daughter, and received in exchange the
confidence that there was a great sorrow in their lives, and that
she herself was under the shadow of fear and felt dire need of
the protection of a masculine arm. Did I ever ride out on the
moors? She did, every morning, so perhaps some day we might
meet, far from watching eyes, and then, perhaps, I might be able
to help her with a little advice, for she felt the need of a man's
advice. For nothing more than advice did she ask upon this
occasion, and then she changed the subject.

They disgusted me, these women. They were so blatant and
sure of their power to charm. It also struck me as strange that the
master of the house not only never appeared, but was never
referred to; he might have been non-existent for all the part he
played in this elaborate menage, which seemed to be run by the
mother for the exclusive benefit of herself and her two younger
children.

`Taverner," I said as we drove away, "what do you suppose
they want with us?"

"They have not shown their hand yet," he answered, "but I do
not fancy we shall be kept long in suspense. They are not exactly
backward in coming forward."

As we came out of the park gates, Taverner suddenly
swerved the car just in time to avoid someone who was entering,
and I saw for a moment in the glare of the headlights a
strange-looking face--high-cheekboned, hooknosed, and
haggard, with a rough crop of unkempt black hair surmounting
it. The darkness swallowed him up and he vanished without a
word spoken, yet he left upon me the impression that I had seen
someone who mattered. I cannot express it more clearly than that
nor give a reason for my feeling, yet he impressed me as being
far more than a random pedestrian whom we had nearly run
down. His face haunted me, I could not get it out of my mind; I
had a curious feeling that I had seen it somewhere before--and
then it suddenly came to me where I had seen it. In a
neighbouring village lived an old parson who had a very similar
cast of countenance; probably the stranger was a son, or even a
grandson of his; but what was he doing, going hatless up to
Cullan Court at that hour of the night, I could not imagine.

I did not ride with that scion of nobility, the Lady Mary, but
Taverner hobnobbed shamelessly with her formidable parent.

"I have had my instructions," he said, and no other ex-
planation would he give; but for me nowadays no other
explanation was needed, for I knew quite well that there were
Those under which Taverner worked, just as I worked under
him, though They were not of this plane of existence. I do not
think that at the time Taverner himself had any inkling of what
was afoot; he merely knew that here was a matter in which
Those to whom he looked desired him to take a hand, and so he
gave the Countess of Cullan opportunity to develop her intrigues
in her own way, biding his time.

The intrigue took longer than we expected to develop, and I
began to suspect that the Countess was as anxious for its
conclusion as we were. At last the opportunity for which she had
been waiting arrived, and she phoned for us to come at once. Her
eldest son, it seems, was having one of his attacks, and she
wanted Taverner to see him actually in the throes of it, and was
therefore anxious for his speedy arrival lest the invalid should
recover and cease to be interesting. She expressly desired that I
should come too; the reason for this she would explain upon our
arrival as she did not care to confide it over the telephone.

Ten minutes in the car brought us to Cullan Court, and we
were shown forthwith into the boudoir of the Countess, a room
as pink and overblown as she. In a few seconds she came in, clad
in filmy black, followed by her daughter in virginal white; they
made a lovely picture for those who like stage effects, but I am
afraid I despised the two women too heartily to appreciate them.
A minute later the Honourable John came in also, and supported
by her family, the Countess opened her heart to us.

"We have a great sorrow in our lives, Dr. Taverner, upon
which we want to ask your advice and help--and yours, too, Dr.
Rhodes," she added, including me as an afterthought.

I was of the opinion that exasperation rather than sorrow
would best describe their condition, but I bowed politely and
said nothing.

"You are so sympathetic," she continued to my partner, my
existence having once more slipped her memory. "You have
such wonderful insight. I knew as soon as I met you that you
would understand, and I was sure also" here she lowered her
voice to a whisper-- "that you would help." She laid her hand
upon Taverner's sleeve and gazed back. The Honourable John
turned his back and looked out of the window, and I felt pretty
certain that he shared with me an irresistible desire to burst out
laughing.

"It is my eldest son, poor Marius," continued the Countess. "I
am afraid we have got to face the fact that he is quite, quite
insane." She paused, and dabbed her eyes. "We have delayed
and delayed as long as ever we could, perhaps too long. Perhaps,
if we had had him treated earlier we might have saved him.
Don't you think so, John?"