Читать книгу For the Defence: Dr. Thorndyke - R. Austin Freeman - Страница 7

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ANDREW stumbled up the rough sunken road with an appearance of haste and speed which was in curious contrast with his actual lack of conscious purpose. Vaguely, there was in his mind an intention to give information to somebody of the terrible mishap, and a desire to get back to the town to that end. But he was still shaken by the horror of what he had seen, was still haunted by the vision of that great block of chalk resting so flatly where a head had been that there had seemed to be no space underneath it. Quickly as he went, his knees trembled weakly, the faintness and nausea were only beginning to subside and a chaotic whirl of thoughts surged through his mind. To the bearing on the future of the thing that had happened, he was as yet unable to give any consideration. His whole attention was focused on the dreadful disaster that had befallen in the twinkling of an eye; the heavy thud of the falling block, the rattling down of the fragments, and, above all, the sight of those horrible, twitching legs.

When the sunken road at length reached the surface, it strayed away across the fields as a rough, chalky cart-track which seemed to lead in the direction of a distant farm. As it was the only road visible, Andrew followed it automatically without giving any thought to its direction. At least, it led away from the sea and that terrible haunted bay. As to the whereabouts of the town he had only a confused idea; for during the walk out with Ronald, his mind had been so preoccupied that he had taken no note of the way they had come. Ronald had selected the route and he had followed Ronald. Now nothing impinged on his vision with any kind of familiarity. So, for a time, he walked on rather like one in a dream, clearly conscious of nothing and only dimly aware of a certain feeling of discomfort, particularly in his feet.

He had followed the cart-track for close upon a mile when it opened on a road; a small by-road enclosed by dust-whitened hedgerows. The necessity of deciding which way he should turn aroused him from his dreamy, half-conscious state. He wanted to get to Crompton, but he had only the vaguest idea as to the direction in which it lay; and the sinuous road, curving away on either hand, gave little indication as to whither it eventually led. After a few moments of hesitation, he turned towards the right and once more set forth at a quick pace, spurred on to haste by the agitation of his mind rather than by any conscious purpose.

He hurried on along the road for more than half a mile before he met any human creature. Truly, Ronald had been right as to the scarcity of wayfarers in this part of the country. At length there appeared at a bend of the road a miller's cart with its tarpaulin cover raised, in the old-fashioned way, on a sort of ridge-pole, and the driver dimly visible in the dark triangle underneath. As it came in sight, Andrew decided to hail the driver and ask for a direction to Crompton; and then, becoming aware for the first time that his spectacles were not on his face, he instinctively thrust his hand into the pocket in which he usually carried them. But they were not there. Instead, he brought out a cigarette case which was certainly not his.

For a few moments he stood staring foolishly at the case in his hand and wondering how it could have come into his pocket. Then his eye caught the wristband of the shirt which projected from the end of his sleeve; and he saw that the shirt also was not his. On this, with a sudden suspicion that something was amiss, he examined critically the clothes which he was wearing, including the shoes. Of them all, not a single item was his own. In his hurry and agitation, he had put on Ronald's clothes; indeed, he could not have done otherwise, for his own were under that dreadful heap which he could never have brought himself to disturb.

The discovery gave him a shock which was somewhat disproportionate to the occasion. Naturally, he was surprised; but there was really nothing in the affair that need have disturbed him. The clothes were almost exactly like his own, and they fitted him well enough to pass without attracting notice. The error could be easily explained, and he would probably be able to recover his own clothes, or at least the contents of the pockets. But the incident jarred on his already strained nerves as if there were something incriminating in it. Perhaps the need for explanation which would presently arise unnerved him; and certainly the loss of his spectacles and the necessity for going abroad with his hated disfigurement exposed affected him profoundly. So much so that he let the miller's cart pass unhailed and started forward once more, trusting to chance to find the right direction.

By this time, his thought had become a little more coherent, and he began to look about him with some anxiety; for the afternoon was waning, and, at this time of year, the evenings begin to draw in. It was, therefore, with a sense of relief that he found himself approaching a cross-road and perceived at the crossing a four-armed finger-post. But, if he was relieved at the prospect of getting a reliable direction, he was rather disconcerted when he reached the post and read the inscription on the pointer; for it then became clear that he had been walking almost directly away from Crompton from the time when he emerged from the sunken road.

He turned away from the post and started on what appeared to be the direct road to the town, though even this was only a larger by-road. But its surface was better than that of the one on which he had been travelling, and he set forth at a swinging pace to cover the three miles that, according to the finger-post, lay between him and the town, regardless of the slight discomfort due to the strange shoes. In spite of the unpleasant surprise of finding himself in the wrong clothes, the halt and the necessity for thought had done him good by diverting his attention from the horrors of his late experience to his present condition and the question as to what he would be called upon to do. He had found a wrist-watch in one of the pockets of the coat, and, as he now strapped it on his wrist and noted the lateness of the hour, he turned this latter question over in his mind.

Someone would have to be informed of the accident, and, when he asked himself. Who? the obvious answer was, the police. He knew where to find the police station, and he decided to make straight for it as soon as he entered the town. The story that he had to tell was perfectly simple. There would be no need for any elaborate questioning on the part of the police. At least, he hoped not; for he was conscious of a very definite shrinking from any discussion of his relations with Ronald. Perhaps he might take the opportunity to mention the incident of the motor bandits. He considered this point, and, possibly influenced by Molly's warning, eventually decided that he had better keep to the subject of the accident and say nothing of the other matter.

Presently another question intruded itself on his mind. At the time of the disaster, the tide was coming in and the margin of the advancing waters was not so very distant from the base of the cliffs. Would there be time for the body to be recovered? And, if there were not; if the corpse should be borne away by the waves and carried out to sea, how would that affect the position? He considered this point at some length and not without a shade of uneasiness, but could arrive at no conclusion, excepting that it would involve disagreeable explanations to Molly. But, in any case, he would have to account for his presence at Crompton.

So, as he strode along the road, his thoughts rambled from one to another of the innumerable consequences of the tragedy that came crowding into his consciousness. Mostly, they were unpleasant to contemplate; and if, in the dim background of his thoughts, there was some faint feeling of relief at the disappearance from his life of this troublesome parasite, he put it away from him with something like a sense of guilt.

When, at last, he entered the town the light was already failing. Nevertheless, he pulled his hat even further down over his face as he yearned for the protection of the lost spectacles, and looked about him furtively. At first, the place seemed to him completely unfamiliar; but, after wandering up one thoroughfare and down another, he came into the High Street and was then able to take his bearings. The police station, he knew was at the end of Barleymow Street and thither he at once directed his steps. He found it without difficulty and turned into it gratefully out of the glare of the High Street with its illuminated shop windows. He crept along in the shade of the houses, glancing uncomfortably at Number 16 as he passed it, and thinking of the fine, manly figure that he had seen standing outside it when he arrived, and of the corpse around which the waves were perhaps already clamouring. But he hurried on and presently came to the archway that led into the passage or alley in which the station was situated.

Here he paused irresolutely, suddenly aware of an unaccountable feeling of nervousness and a reluctance to speak to strangers of the awful thing which he had witnessed. The lamp had been lit outside the arch and it cast its light brilliantly on the notice board and the various bills that were pasted or tacked on it. Conspicuous among these was the bill that he had seen the constable sticking up as he and Ronald had passed. Again his eye caught the heading, printed in bold type: "Wanted for Murder," but he was too much preoccupied with his present business to feel any curiosity as to this crime, whatever it might be; in fact, he was on the point of turning away when two other words in large type arrested his attention. Half-way down the sheet, occupying an entire line, were the words, "KIBBLE'S CROSS". Then there had been a murder; and he was a principal witness.

He turned back and rapidly ran his eye down the bill. Not the whole way though. After a brief and dry statement of the actual circumstances, the announcement went on: "It is believed that more than one man was concerned in the crime, but the only one who was seen was the man who actually fired the shot. He is described as a somewhat fair man with grey eyes, about thirty years of age and easily recognizable by reason of a remarkably deformed nose, which appears to have been broken and is completely flat excepting at the tip, which is rather prominent."

He read no farther, but, backing away hastily from the area of light under the lamp, crept into the shadow of the houses and stole along the darkened street, trembling so violently that his legs seemed ready to double up beneath him. The description in the bill had struck him with the force of a thunderbolt. For the moment, he was on the point of mental and physical collapse, conscious of nothing but an overwhelming terror and a horrible feeling of sickness; indeed, so near was he to actually fainting that he was fain to lean against the wall of a house and rest awhile on the low sill of a darkened window.

His terror was natural enough and not without ample cause. For, stunned as he was, the essential position presented itself clearly and unmistakably. There had been two persons in that car. One of them was dead—murdered; and the other, the woman, believed that she had seen him commit the murder. Even in his dazed condition, Molly's words recurred to him; when a woman holds a belief, she knows no doubts. This woman would be ready to go into the witness-box and swear that she saw him fire the shot that had killed her companion. But what answer could there be to the testimony of an eye-witness? There could be none. Nor could there be any extenuation. It had been a cold-blooded murder without provocation or excuse of any kind. He had but to be caught to be set forthwith on the direct road to the gallows. And caught he would assuredly be. The woman had given a correct description of him and she would recognize him instantly and with certainty. And as to escape; how was a man to escape arrest whose face advertised his identity to any chance stranger?

He rose shakily from the window-sill and began once more to creep along the street in the shadow, pulling down his hat over his eyes and lowering his head when he came within the range of a street lamp. His state was pitiable. He was as one already condemned. Hope he had none. He saw the rope dangling before his eyes, the drop of the gallows yawning at his feet. Like some hunted animal, he looked around wildly for some place in which to hide. But where could he hide in this wilderness of men? where every stranger was a possible enemy? Supposing he should make his way back to the country and lurk in the unfrequented fields? To what purpose? Sooner or later he must be found. Someone would see him and report his meeting with the man with "the remarkably deformed nose". He could not hide in the fields for ever. He must have food and drink; unless he could find some remote and obscure place where he could lie in hiding until he should die of starvation. It was a poor chance, though perhaps it was better than being hanged.

As his thoughts rambled on thus, he continued to creep cautiously along the street. In so far as his mind was capable of forming a decision, he had decided to make his way out of the town, and he began to look warily ahead and scan the corner of the street as he approached it; and at this moment he found himself passing a half-lighted window which he recognized by the still visible placards as that of the Beauty Specialist.

He paused and gazed at the placards. There was not enough light to read the inscriptions, but he had no need to read them. He remembered them quite clearly. And as he recalled those ridiculous promises and exhortations, a wild hope sprang up in his heart. Of course, the fellow was a mere quack. But was it possible that he could do something? It mattered not in the least what he did. An additional disfigurement even would answer the purpose if only his appearance could be in some way changed so that his face should cease to be the face which that woman had seen at the window of the car. It was a chance—the only chance that he could see of escape from the gallows.

He looked up and down the street. Not a living creature was in sight. He made an effort to pull himself together. The pallor of his face he could not control, but he could try to muster up some composure of manner. But even in that moment of agitated expectation, one cautionary idea stole into his mind. Supposing the Professor had seen the bill outside the police station! He must be prepared for that contingency. Nevertheless, he determined to take the risk. After another glance up and down the street, he approached the door, and, gripping the handle firmly to control the tremor of his hand, turned it deliberately, pushed open the door, entered and closed it after him. As he turned away from the door, he confronted a pleasant-faced elderly man in shirt-sleeves and a white apron, who was busily engaged in packing one or two large trunks, by the rather dim light of a single electric lamp.

At the sound of the closing door, the man looked up, and a shade of impatience or annoyance stole over his face. Andrew noted it with some misgiving as he inquired nervously: "Are you Professor Booley?"

"I am," was the reply; "or, perhaps, I should say I was, as my professional career in this country has now come to an end. I am just putting my goods together ready for a start to-morrow morning. In twenty-four hours, I hope to be in Liverpool, if not actually on board ship. May I ask what you wanted with me?"

At the Professor's announcement Andrew's heart sank. For a few moments he was unable to answer; but, at length, recovering his outward composure with an effort, he replied: "I had come to ask for your professional help, and I hope you will not refuse to do what you can for me.

"I am afraid that is what I shall have to do," the Professor rejoined in a tone of courteous regret. "You see how things are with me. I have finished up and am just making my preparations for departure. I thought I had fastened the door when I turned the lights out. I am real sorry not to be able to do your business, whatever it is. By the way, what was it that you wanted me to do for you?"

"If you will look at my face," said Andrew, "I think that will answer your question; and I do hope you will try to help me if the thing is not absolutely impossible."

The Professor looked at him a little curiously; then, suddenly, his attention sharpened and a somewhat startled expression appeared on his face; whereat Andrew experienced a spasm of alarm. Had this man seen the police bill, and was he recognizing "the man with the remarkably deformed nose?" His terror was not diminished when the Professor strode forward and fixed a look of intense scrutiny on that unfortunate member. But the next question reassured him to some extent. "You were not born like that?"

"No," replied Andrew. "I once had quite a decent-looking nose. This is the result of a blow from a cricket-ball."

"Ah!" said the Professor, "nasty, dangerous things. You must have been a fairly good-looking fellow before you caught that biff."

"I believe I was," Andrew replied, modestly.

The Professor continued to scrutinize the injured nose with the most profound interest and attention. Then from inspection he proceeded to palpation. With an unmistakably expert finger and thumb he explored the sunken bridge, delicately tracing the edges of the flattened nasal bones and pinching up the loose skin which lay over them. "It's an absolutely ideal case," he murmured, rather with the manner of a man speaking to himself. "A good firm base of solid bone and a fair amount of spare skin, all free, without any adhesions to the bone underneath. It's a case in a million."

Recognizing these observations as being of the nature of a soliloquy, Andrew forbore to interrupt. But when the Professor, subsiding into silence, stepped back a pace and stood, still with his eyes riveted on the deformed feature, as if taking in the general effect in relation to the rest of the face, he ventured once more to urge his case. "I hope you are going to relent, Professor," he pleaded, "and give me the benefit of your skill. It means a lot to me, as you can judge for yourself."

How much it meant to him, the Professor was, naturally, unable to judge, having, apparently, not seen the police bill. But the hideous disfigurement of an otherwise comely young man must have seemed to him a matter of sufficient urgency, for he replied in a tone of kindly sympathy: "I can see it does, sonny; and I can't find it in my heart to send you away like that when a bit of trouble on my part may make life a different thing for you. No, sir! We have our duties to one another; and my duty is to let the packing go to blazes and put all the skill and knowledge that I have at your disposal."

Andrew drew a deep breath of relief, and, with a heart bursting with gratitude, he began to stammer out his thanks, when the Professor interrupted him. "Don't be too previous," said he. "When I tell you what I propose to do, perhaps you'll think better of it. If I get busy, you won't enjoy it a little bit. I tell you, it will hurt like blazes. It might be possible to use a local anaesthetic such as dentists use. I do sometimes, but I don't want to in this case because it might easily happen that the anaesthetic would just turn the scale the wrong way and make the operation a failure. And I don't want it to fail. But I give you fair warning. While I am working, you will feel as if you had molten lead running into your nose. And, mind you, you'll have to stick it and not move a muscle or the whole thing will be a failure. Now, what do you say? Can you stick it? It's up to you to decide."

Andrew had no hesitation. What the Professor was going to do, and what the result would be, he had no idea. But whatever the result might be, if only it were to alter his appearance, he would be saved from his present horrible peril. "You can take it," said he, "that I am prepared to put up with any pain that you have to inflict; and I promise you that I will keep absolutely still until you have finished."

"Good!" said the Professor. "I take you at your word; and I think it will be worth your while. But there is one other warning that I ought to give you. There is just the possibility that something may go wrong after the operation. It isn't at all likely, but it has happened in one or two cases, so I think it only right to mention it. Will you take the risk? It's only a small one."

Even to Andrew, the change in the Professor's attitude was apparent. From reluctance to be disturbed in his preparations for his journey, it had changed into an evident eagerness to proceed with the operation, whatever that might be; and, when Andrew replied that he was fully prepared to accept the risk of subsequent failure and to hold the Professor unaccountable for any such failure, his answer was received with a grunt of satisfaction. "We won't want to be disturbed," said Booley, when this point had been settled, "so I will just lock up and switch out the light."

He locked the front door and retired into an inner room where he switched on the light and invited his patient to enter. Then, having extinguished the light in the outer premises, he closed the inner door. "Now," said he, "let me just explain in a general way what I propose to do. The method that I am going to employ is what is known as the subcutaneous wax method. I'll show you." He opened the drawer of a cabinet and took out a circular cake of a colourless, glassy-looking material, which he exhibited to his patient. "Now, see here," said he, tapping the round mass with his knuckles, "this is paraffin wax; quite a hard substance, as you see, but not in the least brittle. Now, paraffin wax is a very remarkable material. It is one of the most inert substances known. It never changes of itself, it has practically no effect on any other substance, and it is not affected by contact with other materials. And it can be reduced to a liquid by heat—rather a lot of heat, unfortunately, in the case of hard wax like this. Now, what I am going to do is this: I shall melt some of this wax, and, when it is quite liquid, I shall inject a quantity of it into the space under the loose skin of your nose. That will produce a shapeless swelling over the place where the bridge ought to be. Then while the wax is still soft, I shall model that shapeless lump to the shape that you want your nose to be. And now you will see why I am telling you this. I have got to do all the modelling while the wax is soft enough to pinch up into shape. When once it has set solid, it is finished for better or worse. Nothing more can be done. And it is only a matter of seconds before it sets. Consequently, the success or failure is in your hands. No matter how much it hurts, it is up to you to keep quite still until I have finished the modelling. You realize that?"

"Quite," replied Andrew; "and you can rely on me to stick it without moving, however bad it is."

"I believe I can," said the Professor. "You looked in a most almighty funk when you first came in; but, you seem to be your own man now. Which is rather singular. Most people are as bold as brass at first, but get the horrors when it comes to actual business."

The Professor was quite correct in his observations; but he was not in possession of all the facts. What had revived Andrew's confidence was the information that, in any case, there would be some sort of hump over the sunken bridge of his nose. As to the shape of that hump he was not very much concerned. Any kind of hump would transform him so that the woman's description of him would be totally inapplicable. And the mere pain dismayed him not at all. Doubtless it would be extremely disagreeable; but it would be a good deal less disagreeable than being hanged.

Having delivered himself of the above admonitions, the Professor inducted the patient into a sort of modified dental chair and then proceeded to light the gas ring under a water-bath in which was a porcelain vessel containing a quantity of wax shavings. While the water was heating he made his other preparations, beginning by washing his hands very thoroughly in a lavatory basin and then laying out his instruments on a small swivel table such as dentists use. The most conspicuous of them was a hypodermic syringe of large size but fitted with a rather fine needle. From time to time he examined a chemical thermometer which he had placed in the vessel containing the wax, and, meanwhile, carried on encouraging conversation. "By the way," said he, "we haven't settled on the sort of nose that you would like me to build up. We must be quite clear on that point before we start. What was your nose like before that cricket-ball came bumbling along? Was it a straight nose, or was there a curve on the bridge?"

Even while the question was being propounded, Andrew had come to a decision, and a perfectly natural and reasonable one in the special circumstances. In his terror of the gallows, his one object was to shake off his identity-the identity of the man who was "wanted for murder". He would not go back even to what that man had been, if that had been possible. He wanted to break all connection with that man. "It was a slightly curved nose," he replied.

"I thought so," said the Professor; "a moderate Roman. And very becoming it must have been—and will be again. You'll think it cheap at the price of a few minutes' discomfort."

He bent down over the porcelain vessel and again inspected the thermometer. Apparently, the correct temperature had been reached, for he now turned out the gas and placed the water-bath on the little table, which he swung round close to the patient's head. Having lighted a spirit-lamp on the table, he held the needle of the syringe in the flame for a few seconds. Then, dipping the needle into the melted wax, he slowly filled the syringe, emptied it into the vessel, and very slowly and carefully re-filled it. "Now," said he, "get a grip on the arms of the chair and make up your mind to put up with a bit of pain. It will be over in less than a minute. Better shut your eyes."

The Professor had not exaggerated. It was an appalling experience. First, Andrew was aware of the prick of the needle in the loose skin over the nose. That was nothing to complain of. But it was followed immediately by the most horrible pain that he had ever experienced. The Professor's words exactly described it. He felt as if molten lead were being poured into his nose. In his agony, he held his breath and clutched the arms of the chair until his knuckles seemed to be bursting through the skin. His eyes were closed, but the tears welled up between the lids and trickled down his face in a little stream towards his ears. But, by a supreme effort, he resisted the natural impulse to shrink away from the torturing hand. Throughout the whole proceeding, he held his head rigidly still and uttered not a sound.

Meanwhile, the Professor, murmuring at intervals little phrases of sympathy and encouragement, went about his work with unhurried skill and concentrated attention, but yet with a certain air of suppressed excitement. Having completed the injection, he laid aside the syringe and made a critical inspection of the rounded, blister-like swelling which had arisen over the sunken bridge of the nose. After a few seconds, he began cautiously to manipulate it at the edges, persuading the liquid wax towards the middle line. Then, as the wax began to thicken, he proceeded quickly and deftly to model it to the desired shape, darting from one side of the chair to the other to view the growing member from its different aspects. Yet, in spite of his eagerness and excitement, his movements were quite deliberate and controlled. Evidently, in his mind, he had a perfectly clear picture of the state of the invisible wax, and, as its consistency increased and it gradually approached the solid condition, the touch of the flexible, sensitive fingers became firmer and more decisive.

It was, as he had said, only a matter of seconds, but to the unfortunate patient, sitting with the muscles of his neck contracted into tense cords and his hands holding the arms of the chair in a vice-like grip, it seemed hours before the Professor, straightening himself up with a gentle sigh, announced: "There, my son; that's finished. The wax is set solid, though it won't be quite hard for an hour or two. How is it feeling?"

"Not as bad as it did," Andrew replied, faintly, "but it still hurts a good deal."

"I've no doubt that it does," the Professor rejoined, sympathetically, "but it will soon be all right now. You've been a good lad. You stuck it like a Trojan."

"What does it look like?" Andrew asked, without much eagerness and with his eyes still shut.

"You shall see for yourself presently," the Professor replied in a tone of deep satisfaction, regarding his work with his head on one side. "But don't move just for a minute. I must touch up the colour a trifle so that it shan't be too noticeable. At present it's as red as a strawberry."

Having recourse once more to the inexhaustible cabinet, he produced therefrom a stick of yellowish grease-paint and a little jar of powder. With the former he laid a fairly thick tint of opaque yellowish white over the restored nose (to the patient's extreme discomfort), smoothing it out with the tip of his finger until the tint was perfectly even. Then, with a tiny puff, he covered the greasy surface with a thin coating of powder, finishing off with a few delicate touches of a ball of cotton wool. "There," he said, "I think that will do. It looks quite a natural colour now. When the irritation from the heat goes off and the redness dies away, it will look a bit queer and tallowy. Then you'll have to wash the paint off. And I need not warn you that, although the wax will be quite hard and firm, you've got to be careful in the way you handle that nose. It will stand any ordinary treatment in reason; but you've got to remember that it's only a lump of wax after all, and that if you knock it out of shape, it's going to remain out of shape. It can't be melted soft again."

"Yes," said Andrew, "I realize that; and you may take it that I shall keep out of the way of cricket-balls in the future. Can I see what it is like, now?"

"You can," replied the Professor, who still showed a tendency to dodge about from side to side of the chair and take ecstatic glances at the new nose from various points of view. "I am going to show it to you this instant."

As he spoke, he wheeled away the swivel table, and in its place wheeled up an appliance somewhat like a reading-stand with a largish mirror in the position usually' occupied by the book-rest. Deliberately, he trundled it up to the side of the chair, arranged the mirror at exactly the correct angle, and then swung the brass arm round so as to bring the glass precisely opposite the patient's face. "Now," said he triumphantly, "tell me what you think of the result."