The Vanishing Man | Page 5

the bargain."
"Whom do you want to see?" she asked.
"Mr. Bellingham."
"Are you the doctor?"
"I am a doctor."
"Follow me upstairs," said Miss Oman, "and don't tread on the paint."
I crossed the spacious hall, and, preceded by my conductress, ascended
a noble oak staircase, treading carefully on a ribbon of matting that ran
up the middle. On the first-floor landing Miss Oman opened a door and,
pointing to the room, said: "Go in there and wait; I'll tell her you're
here."
"I said Mr. Bellingham--" I began; but the door slammed on me, and
Miss Oman's footsteps retreated rapidly down the stairs.
It was at once obvious to me that I was in a very awkward position. The
room into which I had been shown communicated with another, and
though the door of communication was shut, I was unpleasantly aware
of a conversation that was taking place in the adjoining room. At first,
indeed, only a vague mutter, with a few disjointed phrases, came
through the door, but suddenly an angry voice rang out clear and
painfully distinct:
"Yes, I did! And I say it again. Bribery! Collusion! That's what it
amounts to. You want to square me!"
"Nothing of the kind, Godfrey," was the reply in a lower tone; but at
this point I coughed emphatically and moved a chair, and the voices
subsided once more into an indistinct murmur.
To distract my attention from my unseen neighbours I glanced
curiously about the room and speculated upon the personalities of its
occupants. A very curious room it was, with its pathetic suggestion of

decayed splendour and old-world dignity: a room full of interest and
character and of contrasts and perplexing contradictions. For the most
part it spoke of unmistakable though decent poverty. It was nearly bare
of furniture, and what little there was was of the cheapest--a small
kitchen table and three Windsor chairs (two of them with arms); a
threadbare string carpet on the floor, and a cheap cotton cloth on the
table; these, with a set of bookshelves, frankly constructed of grocer's
boxes, formed the entire suite. And yet, despite its poverty, the place
exhaled an air of homely if rather ascetic comfort, and the taste was
irreproachable. The quiet russet of the tablecloth struck a pleasant
harmony with the subdued bluish green of the worn carpet; the
Windsor chairs and the legs of the table had been carefully denuded of
their glaring varnish and stained a sober brown; and the austerity of the
whole was relieved by a ginger-jar filled with fresh-cut flowers and set
in the middle of the table.
But the contrasts of which I have spoken were most singular and
puzzling. There were the bookshelves, for instance, home-made and
stained at the cost of a few pence, but filled with recent and costly
works on archaeology and ancient art. There were the objects on the
mantelpiece: a facsimile in bronze--not bronzed plaster--of the
beautiful head of Hypnos and a pair of fine Ushabti figures. There were
the decorations of the walls, a number of etchings--signed proofs, every
one of them--of Oriental subjects, and a splendid facsimile
reproduction of an Egyptian papyrus. It was incongruous in the extreme,
this mingling of costly refinements with the barest and shabbiest
necessaries of life, of fastidious culture with manifest poverty. I could
make nothing of it. What manner of man, I wondered, was this new
patient of mine? Was he a miser, hiding himself and his wealth in this
obscure court? An eccentric savant? A philosopher? Or--more
probably--a crank? But at this point my meditations were interrupted by
the voice from the adjoining room, once more raised in anger.
"But I say that you are making an accusation! You are implying that I
made away with him."
"Not at all," was the reply; "but I repeat that it is your business to

ascertain what has become of him. The responsibility rests upon you."
"Upon me!" rejoined the first voice. "And what about you? Your
position is a pretty fishy one if it comes to that."
"What!" roared the other. "Do you insinuate that I murdered my own
brother?"
During this amazing colloquy I had stood gaping with sheer
astonishment. Suddenly I recollected myself, and, dropping into a chair,
set my elbows on my knees and slapped my hands over my ears; and
thus I must have remained for a full minute when I became aware of
the closing of a door behind me.
I sprang to my feet and turned in some embarrassment (for I must have
looked unspeakably ridiculous) to confront the sombre figure of a
rather tall and strikingly handsome girl, who, as she stood with her
hand on the knob of the door, saluted me with a formal bow. In an
instantaneous glance