Читать книгу The Table - Edgar Wallace - Страница 4

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PAUL BARLOW would not have been particularly surprised if, when he reached the front door of Dr. Allerman's house, he had found it separated from the drive by a moat and protected by a portcullis. After the high fence, topped with barbed wire, which surrounded the place, and the massive nail-studded gate which stood at the entrance to the drive, he had expected to find that the house itself was more or less in keeping with the approach to it.

But there was nothing extraordinary about the house. It was a big, rambling place, solidly built and with rather a gloomy appearance, which had at one time, no doubt, been a farm-house, but there were no signs of any such elaborate precautions against intruders as he had remarked when he entered the grounds.

Walking up the two steps that led to the portico, he dumped his bag on the ground and pulled the massive wrought-iron handle that hung beside the front door. He heard a bell clang inside the house, and, while he waited for the door to be opened, turned his attention to the garden. He noted that it was overgrown with weeds and totally uncared for, and decided that, if Dr. Allerman had no objection, he would employ some of his leisure in doing some digging, and thus at the same time keep his muscles from getting flabby and create for Dr. Allerman a garden which would be less like an African jungle. Probably the doctor had not noticed that grass grew thick on the gravel paths and the borders were a riot of groundsel and chickweed. From what he had heard of Allerman, he lived with an eye glued to a microscope and never noticed anything that lay outside the field of vision of his lens.

As no one had opened the door, Paul set the bell clanging again. This time, after a few moments' silence, he heard footsteps approaching and stooped to pick up his bag. As he straightened himself, the door was opened, and it was all Paul could do to smother an exclamation of surprise as he saw the figure that stood framed in the doorway.

It was the figure of a man of massive proportions, unusually tall, with the shoulders of a bullock and the chest of a prize-fighter. He wore a white uniform jacket buttoned right up to his chin, and it seemed to Paul that at any moment it might burst under the strain imposed on it by the gigantic mass of bone and muscle which was confined within it. The man had enormous hands, with thick, gnarled fingers, a bullet head with a close-cropped thatch of grey, bristly hair, and quite the most repulsive face which Paul had ever seen. The general impression of the face at first glance was that it was an utterly expressionless mask, but a moment later Paul realised that the enormous mouth, with its pendulous lower lip, the broad snub nose, the small, deep-set eyes, the prominent cheek-bones, the low forehead and the huge lobeless ears that seemed to be permanently cocked forward, combined to produce an expression of brutality and cunning such as he had never before seen on any human face.

For some moments Paul could only stare in astonishment at this grotesque caricature of a man. Then with an effort, he pulled himself together.

"Is Dr. Allerman in?" he enquired.

The man's beady eyes scrutinised him keenly, but he made no reply.

"Dr. Allerman's expecting me," added Paul. "My name's Barlow. I'm his new assistant."

For several seconds the man continued to stare at him. Then he stepped back, and, opening the door wide, signed to Paul to enter.

The visitor stepped inside and the man, closing the door, turned, and without a glance at Paul set off along the hall. Paul, undecided for a moment whether to stay where he was or follow the man, saw that he had paused outside a door and was signing to him to go forward. Placing his bag on the floor, he crossed the hall. As he reached the door the servant flung it open and waved him into the room.

It was a large apartment, beautifully furnished, with a thick, soft carpet and deep arm-chairs. Against one wall was a grand piano. There was an air of restful comfort about the place, and it struck Paul that, however uninviting might be the outside of Dr. Allerman's house, there was no fault to be found with the inside.

He walked across to the fireplace and turned, to find the servant standing rigidly at attention by the door.

"Tell Dr. Allerman I'm here, please."

For the first time, in a deep, throaty voice, the grotesque creature spoke.

"The master's out."

"You expect him in soon?"

"Yes."

"Then as soon as he comes in please tell him I'm here."

"Yes."

"Barlow is the name—Dr. Barlow."

"Barlow," repeated the man in a mechanical voice.

"And in the meantime," added Paul, "you might tell Miss Fayre that I'm here."

"Yes."

The man stood motionless for some seconds, his gaze fixed on Paul. Then, as the latter took no further notice of him, he suddenly performed a quick military about-turn, clicked his heels together smartly and strode from the room.

Paul stared after him in astonishment. If that was a fair specimen of Dr. Allerman's servants his household must be a queer outfit. He was more like some hideous mechanical figure than a man—the sort of grotesque, unnatural creature which might result if some crazy scientist had tried to create a man and had failed in the attempt. No wonder Dr. Allerman had not taken the trouble to dig a moat and erect a portcullis: with a monstrosity like that about the place he need have no fear of intruders.

The young doctor wandered round the room, inspecting the few pictures on the walls and the pile of music on the piano—Chopin, Brahms, Delius, Chopin—and that repulsive creature that had opened the door to him! Allerman must be a queer mixture. He had, of course, that reputation. Among the medical students of the hospital he was always referred to as "queer," though no one seemed to know what form his eccentricity took; but he was recognised, not only by medical students but by the whole medical profession, as a surgeon of outstanding genius, a man whose skilful fingers could do things which no other surgeon would venture to attempt.

Paul, during his time at hospital, had more than once seen Dr. Allerman operate, and had been amazed at the man's uncanny skill and the cool, calm, detached way in which he attempted the seemingly impossible and brilliantly succeeded.

It had always seemed to Paul that there was something inhuman—superhuman, perhaps—about the white-clad figure whose hands wielded the instruments with such unerring precision, such confidence, such calm, unhurried assurance. But even more than his hands it had been Allerman's eyes that had arrested Paul's attention when he had been present at one of the famous surgeon's operations. Never once had he seen Allerman's eyes betray the slightest hint of any emotion. They were cold, hard, perhaps a little cruel, and had always made Paul think that, instead of using a knife on some delicate organ of the human body, where the least slip or misjudgment must mean death to the patient, Allerman might well be using a spanner on the mechanism of his car.

And never once during an operation had he heard Allerman speak. The man's whole mind, when he was working, seemed to be one-pointed, concentrated on the spot where his knife touched, and he appeared to be utterly unaware of the presence of others in the theatre, except when he laid aside an instrument and, without raising his head, held out a hand for another.

He had been amazingly lucky to get this job with Allerman within a few months of becoming qualified. Few of the men who had qualified at the same time would not have been glad to change places with him.

As Paul stood staring thoughtfully through the window at the overgrown garden the door behind him opened and Jeanette Fayre came slowly and quietly into the room. Closing the door silently behind her, she moved across the floor towards the young man at the window. She walked with the aid of a stick, limping slightly. She moved listlessly, as though the effort of crossing the room were hardly worth making.

Rather tall, slim, with a face that was unnaturally pale, and hair which would have been gold if it had not been so lustreless, a casual observer would have seen nothing beautiful in the face of Jeanette Fayre; but one who looked more closely would have seen that, in spite of her thin cheeks and the drawn look about her eyes, the loveliness was there—in the gentleness of her eyes and the wistful tenderness of her mouth. Half-way across the room she paused.

"Paul!"

The young man turned, saw her standing there smiling at him, and went eagerly to her and took her hand.

"It's wonderful to see you again, Jeanette."

She squeezed his hand and nodded.

"It's wonderful to see you, Paul, after all this time. But why are you here?"

"Don't you know?"

She shook her head.

"Hasn't Allerman told you?"

"I didn't even know, Paul, that you knew Dr. Allerman."

Paul took her arm.

"Come and sit down, Jeanette, and I'll tell you myself."

He led her to the settee and sat down beside her.

"I always thought confidential secretaries knew everything, Jeanette. Do you really mean to tell me that Allerman didn't let you know I was coming?"

"He has never mentioned you to me, Paul. But he doesn't tell me everything. I've been his secretary for three years now, but there are still a great many things I don't know about Dr. Allerman."

"Didn't he tell you he was engaging an assistant?" She glanced at him quickly.

"Yes, he did mention that. But, Paul, you don't mean that you—"

"I am the assistant, Jeanette. Dr. Meredith managed it for me. He's a friend of Allerman's, and he thinks I'm a coming young man and all that sort of thing, so when he heard that Allerman was looking for an assistant to help him with his experiments he mentioned my name to him. I saw Allerman last week and fixed it up—-and here I am."

The girl was gazing at him with a troubled, rather frightened expression in her eyes.

"Aren't you glad, Jeanette?"

"I wish I had known, Paul—sooner."

"Why?"

"Because I wouldn't have let you come. I wouldn't have let you take the job. I'd have warned you—"

"Warned me? Good heavens, Jeanette, you don't seem to realise! This is the biggest bit of luck that could possibly have come my way. Why, there are hundreds of men who would give their right hand for a chance like this. Allerman's the greatest surgeon in the country—-probably in the world. I shall learn more here, working with him, in six months than I should learn in ten years anywhere else. It will absolutely be the making of me."

Jeanette shook her head.

"I wish you hadn't come."

"But why? You must see it's a chance that I couldn't possibly afford to miss. Allerman is known all over the world, and the man who's lucky enough to work with him—"

She cut him short with a gesture.

"You mustn't work with him, Paul. You mustn't stay here. You must tell him you've changed your mind and he must get some other assistant. You must, Paul."

She was terribly in earnest and Paul gazed at her in bewilderment.

"I don't understand, Jeanette," he said. "I thought you'd be delighted that I'd got the job. I thought you'd understand that it's a job in a million."

She smiled faintly.

"A job in a million! Yes, it probably is that."

"Yet you want me to turn it down?"

"You must turn it down, Paul." And then, as he began to protest again: "Oh, don't ask me why. I can't explain. It's just that I have a feeling that you shouldn't take the job—that you wouldn't be happy here—that later on you would wish you'd never got mixed up with Dr. Allerman and his experiments."

"But—" he began.

"I know. He may be all you say he is, Paul—a genius—the greatest surgeon in the world—a man who succeeds where other doctors wouldn't even have the courage to try. But I have a feeling—oh, I don't know. It must all sound vague and silly and unreasonable, but I don't want you to take the job. You'd be far happier doing what you always intended to do—setting up in practice on your own—"

"Curing mumps and measles and chicken-pox?" smiled Paul. "Removing tonsils and adenoids and an occasional appendix?" He shook his head. "I'd die of boredom, Jeanette. I'm not cut out for that sort of thing. I've always meant to specialise, to go in for research work. I'm an explorer, a pioneer, and I'd be a fool to chuck away the chance of going exploring with Allerman. And apart from that, there's the money. Allerman's paying me well—a thousand a year to begin with. It would be a long time, Jeanette, before I made a thousand a year out of mumps and measles."

"But there's no hurry, Paul. You don't need a thousand a year now, and you'd much better wait—"

The young man laid his hand on hers.

"That's just where you're wrong, my dear. I do need a thousand a year now, and I'm tired of waiting. I've kept you waiting long enough; with a thousand a year there's no need for us to wait any longer. I shall talk to Allerman. The arrangement was that I should live here, but I don't suppose he'd insist on it if I told him that I was getting married. I could find a little house somewhere near by—"

She raised a hand to stop him.

"Paul, please!" she begged. "Don't let's start that all over again. We've talked of it so often—"

"And now we've done with talking about it, Jeanette. We're going to get married."

She shook her head.

"We're going to get married," repeated Paul. "No, don't say anything, dear, because I know all the stupid things you're going to say, and not one of them can make the least difference. You've said them all before, and none of them has ever made the least difference. I still want to marry you just as much as I ever did." He smiled. "And you still want to marry me, Jeanette, don't you?"

She shot him a smiling glance.

"Does it matter what I want, Paul? If I wanted to marry you more than anything else on earth, that wouldn't make the least difference, would it? You know it wouldn't. It's dear of you, Paul, but you know it's not possible."

"I don't know anything of the sort, Jeanette. Listen, dear. If you were strong—"

"But I'm not strong, and that makes all the difference. I know what you were going to say: if I were strong and healthy like other girls, if I didn't have to hobble about with a stick, I would not refuse to marry you. That's quite true, Paul. It wouldn't be the least use denying it, because you know it's true. I'd marry you and thank God for making life so beautiful. But I'm not strong." Again she smiled at him and her fingers touched his cheek. "And I'm not going to let you play the chivalrous knight for my sake, Paul."

"It's not a question of chivalry."

"Then it simply means that you don't realise what you would be undertaking—and missing. But you would realise later on, and when that happened you'd be bound to regret. No, Paul, I'm not risking it. If I were beautiful—"

"You are beautiful, Jeanette."

"If I had a beautiful body—strong and healthy and able to give you children—But why talk about it? It's hopeless, and we're only hurting ourselves."

"I don't agree," replied Paul. "I don't believe it's hopeless, Jeanette. I don't believe there's any reason why you shouldn't have a body just as strong and healthy as anyone else. Nowadays doctors can do so much, and now I've got money I'm going to do what I have always wanted to do: scour the country—the world if necessary—for someone who can make you as strong and healthy and beautiful as you want to be. There must be someone. I'm going to talk to Allerman about it and see if he can help."

She drew her hand away sharply.

"Oh, no, Paul—please—not Dr. Allerman."

"Why on earth not? He's marvellous! I've seen him at work, and it's hard to believe there's anything he can't do."

She shook her head.

"Not Dr. Allerman," she repeated. And then, as Paul gazed at her with a puzzled look: "It wouldn't be the least use troubling Dr. Allerman any more. He has examined me several times and has told me that he can do nothing. If Dr. Allerman can't cure me, nobody can. Don't let's talk about it any more. Just do as I ask and give up this job—go away somewhere and try to forget—"

"I'm not going away, and I'm not going to give up the job and try to forget. I'm staying here as Dr. Allerman's assistant, and I'm going to spend every spare moment I get trying to make you change your mind. That's all settled, so we won't argue about it. Now tell me one or two things. Who's the animated gargoyle who let me in?"

"You mean Stark? Oh, he's the servant—the only one except the cook."

"Seems a queer sort of fish."

"If you really mean to stay here, Paul, you'll find that lots of things are queer. Stark is only one of them."

"But where on earth did Allerman find him? I expected the door to be opened by a butler, or something pretty smart in the servant line, and when I saw that monstrosity I nearly turned tail and ran away."

"He's a wonderful servant," Jeanette told him. "Dr. Allerman trusts him absolutely, and I've never known Stark do a single thing wrong since I've been here. He's like a perfect machine that never makes a mistake. He's rather uncanny really. And he's utterly devoted to the doctor. I don't know for certain, but Dr. Allerman once hinted to me that Stark is the result of one of his successful experiments. If he hadn't happened to come across Stark," he said, "Stark would have been dead years ago."

"If that's so, no wonder the man's attached to him. But I can't say I like the look of the brute. He seems hardly human. And now, tell me, Jeanette, since you're Allerman's secretary, what lines is he working on? What's he trying to get at with his experiments?" Her eyes met his gravely.

"Don't you know, Paul?"

"Well, of course, I've a rough sort of idea. I know he's a brain specialist."

"And without knowing what sort of work he's doing you've accepted the post of assistant to him?"

"You bet I have! Allerman's name is good enough for me, and whatever he's doing is bound to be interesting. But I suppose he doesn't talk to you about his experiments and you can't tell me much more than I know already?"

Jeanette sighed.

"I can't tell you anything at all."

There came a sharp knock. The door opened and Stark stepped quickly into the room, clicked his heels together and stood stiffly at attention.

"The master comes," he announced.