The Darrow Enigma by Melvin L. Severy (best fiction novels of all time TXT) 📖
- Author: Melvin L. Severy
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my letter and thrown it upon the table with an exclamation of
disgust. “Bah! he has had the effrontery,” he said petulantly, “to
send me what he calls a new mode of treatment and it is in every
essential that of Broadbent, well known for more than a quarter of
a century. New indeed! I shall never find a doctor who has any
scientific acumen. I may as well abandon the search now. Mon Dieu!
and they call medicine a science! Bah!” and with a frown he dropped
his head despondently upon his hand. The young girl passed her hand
gently, soothingly, over his forehead and did not speak for nearly
a minute.
“You are not feeling well tonight, father,” she said at length.
“M. Godin has been here during my absence.”
“M. Godin!” I exclaimed half aloud, catching at the stovepipe lest
I should fall from the stove. “So our rival is hot upon the scent,
- probably even ahead of us. How on earth - ” But I did not finish
the exclamation. My seizure of the pipe upon my side of the
partition had produced an audible vibration of that portion extending
over the heads of my neighbours. The young girl’s quick ear had
detected the sound and she had ceased speaking and fastened her eyes
suspiciously upon the aperture through which I was gazing. It seemed
to me as if she must see me, yet I dared not move. After a little
she seemed reassured and continued: “I knew he had been here. You
are always this way after his visits. Why, of late, does he always
come when I am away?” The question seemed innocent enough, yet the
man to whom it was addressed turned crimson and then as pale as
ashes. When he spoke the effort his self-control cost him was
terribly apparent.
“We have private business, dear,” he said, “private business.” He
hesitated a moment and again his eyes wore the wild look I had first
noticed. “I am selling him something,” he continued, “very dear to
me - as dear as my heart’s blood, and I expect to get enough for it
to guard you from want.”
“And you, father?” the young girl questioned fervently. I thought
I noticed a tremor run through his frame, as drawing her face down
to his, he said, kissing her, “Me? Never mind me, Puss; this cancer
here will take care of me.”
She made no reply, but turned away to hide the tears that sprang to
her eyes. As she did so she raised her face toward me. I have
never been considered particularly sympathetic, - that is, no more
than the average, - but there was something in the expression of her
face that went to my heart like a knife. I felt as if I were about
to sob with her. I do not know what it was that so aroused my
sympathies. We are, I fancy, more apt to feel for those whose beauty
is like to the ideals we have learned to love, than we are to be
moved by the suffering of those whose looks repel us, - and this may
have had something to do with my condition, - for the young girl was
radiantly beautiful, - yet it could hardly have been the real cause
of it.
So rapt was I in the sympathetic contemplation of her that I did not
see Maitland’s entrance or realise I was observed till he plucked me
by the coat and motioned me to get down. I did so and he told me
he had rented the rooms, and laid before me the plan he meant to
pursue.
As soon as he had ceased speaking I said to him: “George, you are
undoubtedly on the right track. The man in there is the one we are
looking for, fast enough, but I am afraid we are a bit too late.”
“Too late!” he exclaimed in a tone that I feared might be overheard.
“What the mischief do you mean?”
“I mean,” I replied, “that M. Godin is already upon the scene.”
In the next ten seconds Maitland turned all colours and I edged
nearer to him, expecting him to fall, but he did not.
“M. Godin!” he ejaculated at length. “How in the name of all the
gods at once - Doc, he’s all they claim for him, and as fascinating
as he is clever;” at which last remark a heavy cloud passed over
Maitland’s face. “Come,” he continued listlessly, “you may as well
tell me all you know about it.”
I then confided to him what I had heard and ended by asking him
what he proposed to do.
“Do?” he replied. “There is but one thing I can do, which makes
the choice decidedly easy,” and he set his jaws together with a
determined expression, the meaning of which I knew full well.
“I shall camp right here,” he said, ” till I learn all I wish to
know of our neighbours yonder. I have already provided myself with
instruments which will enable me to note every movement they make,
indeed to photograph them, if necessary, and to hear and record
every word they utter. You look surprised, but it is easily done.
I will place my lenses there at the chink through which you were
gazing and bring the image down into my camera obscura by a prism
arranged for total internal reflection. As for the hearing, that
is easier yet. I will carefully work away the plaster on this
side tonight till I get through to the paper covering their wall.
This I will leave intact to use as a diaphragm. I have then only
to fasten my carbon to it, and, behold, we have a microphone or
telephone - whichever you choose to call it. All I have to look
out for is that I get it high enough to avoid the danger of the
paper being accidentally broken from the other side, and that I
work quietly while removing the plaster. I shall, of course, cover
it with a bit of black felt to prevent our light from showing, and
to deaden any sounds from this side. This will enable us to hear
all that goes on in the other room, but this may not be enough.
We may need a phonographic record of what transpires.
“The device whereby I secure this at such a distance is an invention
of my own which, for patent reasons - I might almost say ‘patent
patent reasons’ - I will ask you to kindly keep to yourself. To the
diaphragm there I fasten this bit of burnished silver. Upon this I
concentrate a pencil of light which, when reflected, acts
photographically upon a sensitised moving tape in this little box,
and perfectly registers the minutest movement of the receiving
diaphragm. How I develop, etch, and reproduce this record, and
transform it into a record of the ordinary type, you will see in
due time - and will kindly keep secret for the present. You had
better go now and send me the things on this list, as soon as
possible,” and he passed me a paper, continuing:
“We will not despair yet. Our clever rival may not be ready to
prove his case so quickly as we. At all events, when he comes again
I shall be in a condition to ascertain how far he has progressed. I
have some things I must settle before I can ask for an arrest, and
I am not at all sure that M. Godin is in any better condition in
this regard than I am. By Jove! I’d give something to know how
that wizard has gotten so far without so much as a single sign
to indicate that he had even moved in the matter. I say, Doc, it
beats me, blessed if it doesn’t! Please say to Miss Darrow that I
am at work upon a promising clue-promising for someone, anyway - and
may not see her for some time yet.”
I did as he requested, and, if I am any judge of feminine
indications, my message did not yield Gwen unmixed pleasure; still,
she said nothing to warrant such a supposition on my part. I
visited Maitland every day to learn what he might wish me to bring
him, and also to carry him his mail, for he had determined to remain
constantly on the watch at his new quarters.
I have thus far, in the narration of these incidents been perfectly
candid both as regards my friends and myself, and, therefore, that
I may continue in like manner to the end, I shall suppress certain
qualms which are urging me to silence, and confess myself guilty of
some things of which you will, perhaps, think I may well be ashamed.
Be that as it may, you shall have the whole truth, however it may
affect your opinion of me. One reason why I went to Maitland’s new
quarters so often, and stayed there so long, was because I was always
permitted to relieve him of his watch. With a telephone receiver
strapped to my right ear, and my eyes fastened upon the screen of
the camera obscura, I would sit by the hour prying into the affairs
of the two people in the next room. I tried for a number of days
to ease my conscience by telling myself that I was labouring in
the cause of justice, and was not a common eavesdropper. This
permitted me to retain a sort of quasi self-respect for a day or two
till my honesty rallied itself, and forced me to realise and to
admit that I was, to all intents and purposes, a common Paul Pry,
performing a disreputable act for the gratification it gave me. I
determined I would at least be honest with myself - and this was my
verdict. You will, perhaps, fancy that when I arrived at this
decision I at once mended my ways and resigned my seat of observation
to Maitland’s entirely professional care. This, doubtless, I should
have done, if we fallible human beings governed our conduct by our
knowledge of what is right and proper. Inasmuch, however, as desires
and emotions are the determining factors of human conduct, I did
nothing of the sort. I simply watched there day after day, with
ever-increasing avidity, until at length I got to be impatient of
the duties that took me away, and more than half inclined to neglect
them.
I shall gain nothing by attempting to make you believe it was the
man in the neighbouring room that interested me, so I shall not
essay it. I confess, with a feeling of guilt because I am not
more ashamed of it - that it was the young lady who attracted me.
You will, I trust, assume I had enough interest in her father to
palliate my conduct in a measure. Be generous in your judgment.
How do you know you will not be in the same predicament? Think
of it! A young woman beautiful beyond my feeble powers of
description; her eyes of a heavenly blue; her luxuriant hair like
a mass of spun gold; her complexion matched to the tint and
transparency of the blush rose - and such a throat! From it came
a voice as musical as the unguided waters when Winter rushes down
the hills in search of Spring. Never you mind, that’s the way I
felt about it, and, if you had been in my place, you’d have been
just as bad as I; come, now, you know you would. Suppose I was a
bachelor, and almost old enough to be her father. Does that help
matters any? Is the heart
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