The Secrets of Dr. Taverner (6 page)

"I understand," said he to the prisoner, "that you have a
friend here who can offer an explanation of the affair, and is
prepared to go surety for you."

The prisoner's face was a study; he looked round, seeking
some familiar face, and when Taverner, well-dressed and of
imposing appearance, entered the witness box, his perplexity
was comical; and then, through all his bewilderment, a flash of
light suddenly shot into the boy's eyes. Some gleam from the
subconscious reached him, and he shut his mouth and awaited
events.

My colleague, giving his name as John Richard Taverner,
doctor of medicine, philosophy and science, master of arts and
bachelor at law, said that he was a distant relation of the prisoner
who was subject to that peculiar malady known as double
personality. He was satisfied that this condition was quite
sufficient to account for the attempt at burglary, some freak of
the boy's other self having led to the crime.

Yes, Taverner was quite prepared to go surety for the boy,
and the magistrate, evidently relieved at the turn affairs had
taken, forthwith bound the prisoner over to come up for
judgement if called upon, and within ten minutes of Taverner's
entry upon the scene we were standing on the steps of the court,
where the Florentine madonna joined us.

"I don't know who you are, sir," the boy was saying, "nor
why you should help me, but I am very grateful to you. May I
introduce my fiancee, Miss Fenner? She would like to thank
you, too."

Taverner shook hands with the girl.

"I don't suppose you two have eaten much breakfast with this
affair hanging over your heads," he said. They admitted that they
had not.

"Then," said he, "you must be my guests for an early lunch."

We all packed into a taxi, and drove to the restaurant where
the metaphysical head waiter held sway. Here Peter Robson
immediately tackled Taverner.

"Look here, sir," he said, "I am exceedingly grateful to you
for what you have done for me, but I should very much like to
know why you did it."

`Do you ever weave daydreams?" inquired Taverner
irrelevantly. Robson stared at him in perplexity, but the girl at
his side suddenly exclaimed:
"I know what you mean. Do you remember, Peter, the stories
we used to make up when we were children? How we belonged
to a secret society that had it headquarters in the woodshed, and
had only to make a certain sign and people would know we were
members and be afraid of us? I remember once, when we had
been locked in the scullery because we were naughty, you said
that if you made this sign, the policeman would come in and tell
your father he had got to let us out, because we belonged to a
powerful Brotherhood that did not allow its members to be
locked in sculleries. That is exactly what has happened; it is
your daydream come true. But what is the meaning of it all?"

"Ah, what, indeed?" said Taverner. Then turning to the boy:
`Do you dream much?" he asked.

"Not as a rule," he replied, "but I had a most curious dream
the night before last, which I can only regard as prophetic in
light of subsequent events. I dreamt that someone was accusing
me of a crime, and I woke up in a dreadful way about it."

`Dreams are curious things," said Taverner, "both day
dreams and night dreams. I don't know which are the stranger.
Do you believe in the immortality of the soul, Mr. Robson?'

"Of course I do."

"Then has it ever struck you the eternal life must stretch both
ways?"

"You mean," said Robson under his breath, "that it wasn't all
imagination. It might be--memory?"

"Other people have had the same dream," said Taverner,
"myself among them." Then he leant across the narrow table and
stared into the lad's eyes.

"Supposing I told you that just such an organization as you
imagined exists; that if, as a boy even, you had gone out into the
main street and made that Sign, someone would have been
almost certain to answer it?

"Supposing I told you that the impulse which made you break
that window was not a blind instinct, but an attempt to carry out
an order from your Fraternity, would you believe me?"

"I think I should," said the lad opposite him. "At any rate, if
it isn't true, I wish it were, for it appeals to me more than
anything I have ever heard."

"If you care to go deeper into the matter," said Taverner,
"will you come this evening to my place in Harley Street, and
then we can talk the matter over?"

Robson accepted with eagerness. What man would refuse to
follow his daydreams when they began to materialize?

After we had parted from our new acquaintance, we took a
taxi to St. John's Wood and stopped at a house whose front
ground floor window was in process of being reglazed. Taverner
sent in his card, and we were ushered into a room decorated with
large bronze Buddhas, statuettes from Egyptian tombs, and
pictures by Watts. In a few minutes Mr. Coates appeared.

"Ah, Dr. Taverner," he said, "I presume you have come about
the extraordinary matter of your young relative who broke into
my house last evening?"

"That is so, Mr. Coates," replied my companion. "I have
come to offer you my sincere apologies on behalf of the family."

"Don't mention it," said our host, "the poor lad was suffering
from mental trouble, I take it?"

"A passing mania," said Taverner, brushing it away with a
wave of his hand. He glanced round the room. "I see by your
books that you are interested in a hobby of my own, the ancient
mystery religions. I think I may claim to be something of an
Egyptologist." Coates rose to the bait at once.

"I came across the most extraordinary document the other
day," said our new acquaintance. "I should like to show it to
you. I think you would be interested."

He drew from his pocket a bunch of keys, and inserted one in
the lock of a drawer in a bureau. To his astonishment the key
pushed loosely through the hole, and he pulled the drawer open
only to find that the lock had been forced off. He ran his hand to
the back of the drawer, and withdrew it empty! Coates looked
from Taverner to myself and back again in astonishment.

"That manuscript was there when I went to the police court
this morning," he said. "What is the meaning of this
extraordinary business? First of all a man breaks into my house
and makes no attempt to steal anything, and then someone else
breaks in and, neglecting many objects of value, takes a thing
that can be of no interest to anyone but myself."

"Then the manuscript which has been stolen is of no
particular value?" said Taverner.

"I gave half-a-crown for it," replied Coates.

"Then you should be thankful to have got off so light," said
Taverner.

"This is the devil, Rhodes," he went on, as we re-entered the
waiting taxi. "Someone from a Chelsea Black Lodge, knowing
Coates would be at the police court this morning, has taken that
manuscript."

"What is to be the next move?" I inquired.

"Get hold of Robson; we can only work through him." I
asked him how he intended to deal with the situation that had
arisen.

"Are you going to send Robson after the manuscript again?" I
inquired.

"I shall have to," said Taverner.

"I do not think there is the makings of a successful buccaneer
in Robson."

"Neither do I," agreed Taverner; "we shall have to fall back
on Pierro della Costa."

Robson met us at Harley Street, and Taverner took him out to
dinner.

After dinner we returned to the consulting room, where
Taverner handed round cigars, and set himself to be an agreeable
host, a task in which he succeeded to perfection, for he was one
of the most interesting talkers I have ever met.

Presently the talk led round to Italy during the Renaissance,
and the great days of Florence and the Medici; and then he
began to tell the story of one, Pierro della Costa, who had been a
student of the occult arts in those days, and had brewed love
philtres for the ladies of the Florentine court. He told the story
with considerable vividness, and in great detail, and I was
surprised to see that the attention of the lad was wandering, and
that he was apparently pursuing a train of thought of his own,
oblivious of his surroundings. Then I realized that he was sliding
off into that trance condition with which my experience of my
colleague had made me familiar.

Still Taverner talked on, telling the history of the old
Florentine to the unconscious boy--how he rose to be custodian
of the archives, was offered a bribe, and betrayed his trust in
order that he might buy the favour of the Woman he loved Then,
as he came to the end of the story, his voice changed, and he
addressed the unconscious lad by name.

"Pierro della Costa," he said, "why did you do it?"

"Because I was tempted," came the answer, but not in the
voice in which the boy had talked to us, it was a man's voice
calm, deep, and dignified, vibrating with emotion

"Do you regret it?" asked Taverner.

"I do," returned the voice that was not the boy's voice. "I
have asked of the Great Ones that I may be permitted to restore
that which I stole."

"Thy request is granted," said Taverner. "Do that which thou
hast to do, and the blessing of the Great Ones be upon thee."

Slowly the boy rolled over and sat up, but I saw at a glance
that it was not the same individual who confronted us: a man,
mature, of strong character and determined purpose, looked out
of the boy's blue eyes.

"I go," he said, "to restore that which I took. Give me the
means."

We went round, he and Taverner and I, to the garage, and got
out the car. "Which way do you want to go?" asked my
colleague. The lad pointed to the south-west, and Taverner
turned the car in the direction of the Marble Arch. Piloted by the
man who was not Robson, we went south down Park Lane, and
finally came out in the tangle of mean streets behind Victoria
Station; thence we turned east. We pulled up behind the Tate
Gallery, and the boy got out.

"From here," he said, "I go on alone," and he disappeared
down a side street.

Although we waited for a matter of half-an-hour, Taverner
did not stop the engine. "We may want to get out of here quick,"
he said. Then, just as I was beginning to wonder if we were
going to spend the night in the open, we heard running footsteps
coming down the street, and Robson leapt into the car. That
Taverner's precaution in not stopping the engine was justified
was proved by the fact that close upon Robson's heels other
footsteps sounded.

"Quick, Rhodes," cried Taverner. "Hang the rug over the
back." I did as I was bid, and succeeded in obscuring the number
plate, and as the first of our pursuers rounded the corner, the big
car leapt into its stride, and we drew clear.