The Jewel of Seven Stars by Bram Stoker (ebook and pdf reader .txt) 📖

the men inside were as dead as the mummies. I’ve had

about enough of it, I tell you. And when I come home, and find the door

of the man I’ve been working for barred, in just the same way and with

the same old answers, it stirs me up the wrong way. Did Mr. Trelawny

leave orders that he would not see me when I should come?”

 

He paused and excitedly mopped his forehead. The servant answered very

respectfully:

 

“I am very sorry, sir, if in doing my duty I have given any offence.

But I have my orders, and must obey them. If you would like to leave

any message, I will give it to Miss Trelawny; and if you will leave your

address, she can communicate with you if she wishes.” The answer came

in such a way that it was easy to see that the speaker was a kind-hearted man, and a just one.

 

“My good fellow, I have no fault to find with you personally; and I am

sorry if I have hurt your feelings. I must be just, even if I am angry.

But it is enough to anger any man to find himself in the position I am.

Time is pressing. There is not an hour—not a minute—to lose! And yet

here I am, kicking my heels for six hours; knowing all the time that

your master will be a hundred times angrier than I am, when he hears how

the time has been fooled away. He would rather be waked out of a

thousand sleeps than not see me just at present-and before it is too

late. My God! it’s simply dreadful, after all I’ve gone through, to

have my work spoiled at the last and be foiled in the very doorway by a

stupid flunkey! Is there no one with sense in the house; or with

authority, even if he hasn’t got sense? I could mighty soon convince

him that your master must be awakened; even if he sleeps like the Seven

Sleepers-”

 

There was no mistaking the man’s sincerity, or the urgency and

importance of his business; from his point of view at any rate. I

stepped forward.

 

“Morris,” I said, “you had better tell Miss Trelawny that this gentleman

wants to see her particularly. If she is busy, ask Mrs. Grant to tell

her.”

 

“Very good, sir!” he answered in a tone of relief, and hurried away.

 

I took the stranger into the little boudoir across the hall. As we went

he asked me:

 

“Are you the secretary?”

 

“No! I am a friend of Miss Trelawny’s. My name is Ross.”

 

“Thank you very much, Mr. Ross, for your kindness!” he said. “My name

is Corbeck. I would give you my card, but they don’t use cards where

I’ve come from. And if I had had any, I suppose they, too, would have

gone last night-”

 

He stopped suddenly, as though conscious that he had said too much. We

both remained silent; as we waited I took stock of him. A short, sturdy

man, brown as a coffee-berry; possibly inclined to be fat, but now lean

exceedingly. The deep wrinkles in his face and neck were not merely

from time and exposure; there were those unmistakable signs where flesh

or fat has fallen away, and the skin has become loose. The neck was

simply an intricate surface of seams and wrinkles, and sun-scarred with

the burning of the Desert. The Far East, the Tropic Seasons, and the

Desert—each can have its colour mark. But all three are quite

different; and an eye which has once known, can thenceforth easily

distinguish them. The dusky pallor of one; the fierce red-brown of the

other; and of the third, the dark, ingrained burning, as though it had

become a permanent colour. Mr. Corbeck had a big head, massive and

full; with shaggy, dark red-brown hair, but bald on the temples. His

forehead was a fine one, high and broad; with, to use the terms of

physiognomy, the frontal sinus boldly marked. The squareness of it

showed “ratiocination”; and the fulness under the eyes “language”. He

had the short, broad nose that marks energy; the square chin-marked

despite a thick, unkempt beard-and massive jaw that showed great

resolution.

 

“No bad man for the Desert!” I thought as I looked.

 

Miss Trelawny came very quickly. When Mr. Corbeck saw her, he seemed

somewhat surprised. But his annoyance and excitement had not

disappeared; quite enough remained to cover up any such secondary and

purely exoteric feeling as surprise. But as she spoke he never took his

eyes off her; and I made a mental note that I would find some early

opportunity of investigating the cause of his surprise. She began with

an apology which quite smoothed down his ruffled feelings:

 

“Of course, had my Father been well you would not have been kept

waiting. Indeed, had not I been on duty in the sick-room when you

called the first time, I should have seen you at once. Now will you

kindly tell me what is the matter which so presses?” He looked at me and

hesitated. She spoke at once:

 

“You may say before Mr. Ross anything which you can tell me. He has my

fullest confidence, and is helping me in my trouble. I do not think you

quite understand how serious my Father’s condition is. For three days

he has not waked, or given any sign of consciousness; and I am in

terrible trouble about him. Unhappily I am in great ignorance of my

Father and his life. I only came to live with him a year ago; and I

know nothing whatever of his affairs. I do not even know who you are,

or in what way your business is associated with him.” She said this

with a little deprecating smile, all conventional and altogether

graceful; as though to express in the most genuine way her absurd

ignorance.

 

He looked steadily at her for perhaps a quarter of a minute; then he

spoke, beginning at once as though his mind were made up and his

confidence established:

 

“My name is Eugene Corbeck. I am a Master of Arts and Doctor of Laws

and Master of Surgery of Cambridge; Doctor of Letters of Oxford; Doctor

of Science and Doctor of Languages of London University; Doctor of

Philosophy of Berlin; Doctor of Oriental Languages of Paris. I have

some other degrees, honorary and otherwise, but I need not trouble you

with them. Those I have name will show you that I am sufficiently

feathered with diplomas to fly into even a sick-room. Early in life-fortunately for my interests and pleasures, but unfortunately for my

pocket-I fell in with Egyptology. I must have been bitten by some

powerful scarab, for I took it bad. I went out tomb-hunting; and

managed to get a living of a sort, and to learn some things that you

can’t get out of books. I was in pretty low water when I met your

Father, who was doing some explorations on his own account; and since

then I haven’t found that I have many unsatisfied wants. He is a real

patron of the arts; no mad Egyptologist can ever hope for a better

chief!”

 

He spoke with feeling; and I was glad to see that Miss Trelawny coloured

up with pleasure at the praise of her father. I could not help

noticing, however, that Mr. Corbeck was, in a measure, speaking as if

against time. I took it that he wished, while speaking, to study his

ground; to see how far he would be justified in taking into confidence

the two strangers before him. As he went on, I could see that his

confidence kept increasing. When I thought of it afterward, and

remembered what he had said, I realised that the measure of the

information which he gave us marked his growing trust.

 

“i have been several times out on expeditions in Egypt for your Father;

and I have always found it a delight to work for him. Many of his

treasures-and he has some rare ones, I tell you-he has procured through

me, either by my exploration or by purchase-or-or-otherwise. Your

Father, Miss Trelawny, has a rare knowledge. He sometimes makes up his

mind that he wants to find a particular thing, of whose existence-if it

still exists-he has become aware; and he will follow it all over the

world till he gets it. I’ve been on just such a chase now.”

 

He stopped suddenly, as suddenly as thought his mouth had been shut by

the jerk of a string. We waited; when he went on he spoke with a

caution that was new to him, as though he wished to forestall our asking

any questions:

 

“I am not at liberty to mentions anything of my mission; where it was

to, what it was for, or anything at all about it. Such matters are in

confidence between Mr. Trelawny and myself; I am pledged to absolute

secrecy.”

 

He paused, and an embarrassed look crept over his face. Suddenly he

said:

 

“You are sure, Miss Trelawny, your Father is not well enough to see me

today?”

 

A look of wonderment was on her face in turn. But it cleared at once;—

she stood up, saying in a tone in which dignity and graciousness were

blended:

 

“Come and see for yourself!” She moved toward her father’s room; he

followed, and I brought up the rear.

 

Mr. Corbeck entered the sick-room as though he knew it. There is an

unconscious attitude or bearing to persons in new surroundings which

there is no mistaking. Even in his anxiety to see his powerful friend,

he glanced for a moment round the room, as at a familiar place. Then

all his attention became fixed on the bed. I watched him narrowly, for

somehow I felt that on this man depended much of our enlightenment

regarding the strange matter in which we were involved.

 

It was not that I doubted him. The man was of transparent honesty; it

was this very quality which we had to dread. He was of that courageous,

fixed trueness to his undertaking, that if he should deem it his duty to

guard a secret he would do it to the last. The case before us was, at

least, an unusual one; and it would, consequently, require more liberal

recognition of bounds of the duty of secrecy than would hold under

ordinary conditions. To us, ignorance was helplessness. If we could

learn anything of the past we might at least form some idea of the

conditions antecedent to the attack; and might, so, achieve some means

of helping the patient to recovery. There were curios whish might be

removed… .My thoughts were beginning to whirl once again; I pulled

myself up sharply and watched. There was a look of infinite pity on the

sun-stained, rugged face as he gazed at his friend, lying so helpless.

The sternness of Mr. Trelawny’s face had not relaxed in sleep; but

somehow it made the helplessness more marked. It would not have

troubled one to see a weak or an ordinary face under such conditions;

but this purposeful, masterful man, lying before us wrapped in

impenetrable sleep, had all the pathos of a great ruin. The sight was

not a new one to us; but I could see that Miss Trelawny, like myself,

was moved afresh by it in the presence of the stranger. Mr. Corbeck’s

face grew stern. All the pity died away; and in its stead came a grim,

hard look which boded ill for whoever had been the cause of this mighty

downfall. This look in turn gave place to one of decision; the volcanic

energy of the man was working to some definite purpose.