Читать книгу The Phantom Car - Fred M. White - Страница 3

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I. — MORNING

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Margaret Ferris came down the broad stone steps leading from the house into the garden and from thence into the serenity of that perfect May morning. It was early yet with the dew on the grass, and in the lofty elms around the house which, so to speak, christened it, the birds were singing to the glory of the day. And in all that lovely garden there was no fairer flower than Peggy Ferris herself.

She was tall and slim, a poem in white and gold, like her own Madonna lilies which were blooming in the borders—in short, all that a beautiful English girl might be. There was a filmy introspection in those deep, violet eyes of hers and a faint suggestion of mysticism which might have been inherited from some far off Eastern ancestors, a dreaminess that was not one of the least of her charms.

She glanced round that fair domain of hers with a sense of pleasure and happiness that is born of perfect health and youth at its best and brightest. Because Peggy was young with all the world before her and not even the shadow of a trouble in sight. Because Long Elms was absolutely her own property and the princely income that went with it was entirely in her own discretion. A lovely old house in its green setting which was a part of Peggy's very being. Small wonder, then, that she glanced about her with a certain innocent pride in the knowledge that all this, and more, was hers.

It was early yet and Peggy had not breakfasted. She walked down between the wide herbaceous borders, across the tennis lawn and thence to a rose garden, beyond which stood a pair of hammered iron gates, leading to the road. So far, there was nobody in sight, so that she had the whole of the fair prospect to herself. Then, from somewhere outside the great gates came the sound of wheels, and, a few moments later, an invalid chair pulled up on the other side of the bars.

"You are early this morning, Mr. Wilde," Peggy cried.

The man in the chair looked up with a slow benevolent smile. He was without a hat and his venerable grey hair that reached to his shoulders and his flowing beard were slightly ruffled by the morning breeze. He presented a fine picturesque figure as he leaned back in his invalid chair and the long arms with which he had been propelling himself by means of a pair of levers resting by his side. He might have been some great statesman or ambassador, so striking was his personality, and a natural dignity seemed to cling to his shoulders like a garment. For, according to all accounts, Sebastian Wilde was a great man indeed. Even the most critical would have been prepared to admit that, without knowing more of Wilde than might have been gleaned from his personal appearance. He seemed to be paralysed from his hips downwards, which, indeed, was the case, though his arms were vigorous enough and his affliction had not robbed him of the brightness of his eyes or blunted the edge of his amazing intellect. He looked up now with a slow smile dawning upon those striking features of his.

"Ah, Miss Peggy," he said, in a deep musical voice. "It does an old man like me good to see youth and beauty greeting this perfect morn. May I come inside?"

"Why, of course," Peggy cried. "But, tell me, Mr. Wilde, how do you come to be about so early?"

"Because I came to see you," the great man smiled. "I came to bring you those books I promised. I want you, one of these evenings, to come over to my house and discuss the matter about which we have spoken more than once. Not that there is any hurry. I am rather busy myself with a treatise I am writing on occult influences. I have been working on that ever since I came here two years ago."

"Then you have finished it?" Peggy asked.

"Well, not quite," Wilde said. "You see, there has been so much to do. And when everything seemed to be going so smoothly, this unfortunate trouble came upon me. That is why I had to abandon my scientific investigations in South Africa and hasten back home. It is a great blow to me, but I am getting resigned to it now. After all, I have a lot to be thankful for. I can still work as well as ever."

There was a world of sympathy and pity in Peggy's eyes as she glanced down at the stricken giant in the bath chair. Two years ago, Sebastian Wilde had come into that neighbourhood looking for peace and quietness and the placid atmosphere which was necessary to his recovery and, since then, Peggy and her old aunt, who more or less acted as her chaperone, had seen a great deal of the Anglo-American who had settled down in what had once been an old priory, half a mile further along the road. There he seemed to spend most of his time in strict seclusion, together with his secretary, James Ebbsmith, and an elderly couple called Brettle, who presided over his modest wants and took care of his household.

Naturally enough, the neighbours had been rather curious when the elderly man with the leonine face and noble head first came into the locality and speculation had been aroused. But as time went on, all that had been forgotten and now Sebastian Wilde was accepted as part and parcel of the place. He had no friends and no visitors; he was content, he said, to work quietly at the task of his lifetime and perhaps, when that was finished, he might emerge from his obscurity and take his proper place in the great world once more. Meanwhile, he was content with his labours and an occasional visit to Long Elms, where he could bask in the society of Peggy and that pleasant old aunt of hers who was supposed to keep watch and ward over her.

Very dexterously, Wilde steered his chair through the gate and up the drive till the house was reached. There he paused to make a few scholarly and learned remarks on the subject of some late bulbs which were flowering under the dining-room window. He was still discussing these when the iron gates were flung open and a young man came up the path.

"Cheerio, Peggy," he cried. "Am I too late or too early? What I mean is, have you breakfasted?"

"No, I haven't, Trevor," Peggy smiled. "And I should be surprised to hear that you have either. I was tempted outside by the loveliness of the morning and wandered as far as the gate, when I found Mr. Wilde making an early call."

"Ah, good morning, sir," Trevor Capner cried heartily. "What an example to set us young people. Do you often get out in your chair as early as this?"

"Very seldom," Wilde admitted. "But it was so perfect that I couldn't sleep. You see, I can manage to dress myself and get about the ground floor on two sticks. So I tumbled out of bed and—well—here I am. This is one of the advantages of having a bedroom on the ground floor. Even my man Ebbsmith has not the remotest notion that I have ventured out this morning. But don't let me detain you, Miss Peggy."

"Oh, there is no hurry," Peggy said. "Now you are here, why not come in and have breakfast with us?"

"Does that include me?" Capner asked smilingly.

"Oh, well, you are a law unto yourself," Peggy retorted. "I was thinking more about Mr. Wilde than you."

"Alas, that I have to decline," Wilde said resignedly. "You see, dear young lady, breakfast is a meal I never touch. I find it interferes with my work and there is no time like the morning for clear thinking. Just give me a hand and I will let you have those books I spoke about."

"What books are those?" Trevor asked.

"Two scientific treatises," Wilde explained. "They are by a German professor who is the greatest authority living to-day on which I might call psychic reactions. Not exactly spiritualism, if you understand what I mean, but scientific measurement of phenomena. Ah, you may shake your head, young fellow, but there is more in that business than you imagine."

Trevor Capner scowled slightly. There was a dogged expression on his face and a gleam in his eye.

"I dare say there is, sir," he said coldly. "But it is not the sort of stuff for outsiders to play with. I take the same view of spiritualism as the churches do. It is dangerous and morbid and calculated to undermine faith in the hereafter. I know of a very sad case of a young and impressionable girl, not unlike Peggy, who got bitten with that sort of thing and eventually committed suicide. If you take my advice, my dear girl, you will thank Mr. Wilde for his offer and tell him politely to take his books back again."

It was a challenge in a way and a claim to interference which Peggy was inclined to resent. Just for a moment, her eyes flashed and a flush mounted to her cheeks. It seemed to her that Trevor was taking just a little too much upon himself. She was exceedingly fond of him and knew that he literally worshipped the ground she trod on, knew—too, that if nothing happened, they would marry, ere long—but this was a case where Trevor's air of possession had been carried a step too far.

"What nonsense," she said, almost angrily. "My dear boy, you don't suppose there is anything morbid about me, do you? Why shouldn't I take an interest in this psychic business?"

"Because it is not good for you," Capner said almost curtly. "It isn't good for any woman, unless she happens to be one of the modern, scientific school. I hate the whole thing. I would just as soon see you take up surgery."

"Again why not?" Peggy asked. "There are several celebrated lady surgeons to-day. My dear boy, because you happen to be a famous airman, which means that you haven't any nerves, you seem to imagine that women are not endowed with the same strength of mind. Now, Mr. Wilde, if you will let me have those books, we will talk about something else."

With a deeper frown between his brows, Capner turned on one side, whilst Peggy helped Wilde to retrieve the books from the depths of his chair. All this time Wilde had said nothing, though, under those penthouse brows of his, he had been watching the little scene with a sort of benevolent malice.

"There you are, my dear young lady," he said. "Take the books and keep them as long as you like. But don't try to understand too much. If you get into a tangle, let me know and I will do my best to put it right for you. Now, if you don't mind, I will go. Far be it for a selfish old bachelor like me to keep youth and beauty from its breakfast."

"I will come with you a little way, if you don't mind," Capner said. "There is something I have to say. You go in to breakfast, Peggy, and I will come along later on and discuss that tennis tournament with you. I may not be able to play myself, but I can't say definitely till after the middle-day post comes in. Now, sir, let me give you a shove along the road."

"As you like," Peggy said coldly, as she turned towards the house. "I am not going out this morning."

Capner turned away without another word.