CHAPTER XIII
DR. DAMAR GREEFE
As the crow flies Friar's Park was less than two miles from the AbbeyInn; but the road, which according to a sign-board led "toHainingham," followed a tortuous course through the valley, and whenat last I came to what I assumed to be the gate-lodge, a thunderousebony cloud crested the hill-top above, and its edge, catching theburning rays of the sun, glowed fiercely like the pall of Avalon inthe torchlight. Through the dense ranks of firs cloaking the slopes abreeze presaging the coming storm whispered evilly, and here in thehollow the birds were still.
I stared rather blankly at the ivy-covered lodge, which, ifappearances were to be trusted, was unoccupied. But I pushed open theiron gate and tugged at a ring which was suspended from the wall. Adiscordant clangor rewarded my efforts, the cracked note of a bellwhich spoke from somewhere high up in the building, that seemed to bebuffeted to and fro from fir to fir, until it died away, mournfully,in some place of shadows far up the slope.
In the voice of the bell there was something lonesome, something akinto the atmosphere of desertion which seemed to lie upon the wholeneighborhood--something fearful, too, as though the bell wouldwhisper: "Return! Beware of disturbing the dwellers in this place."
The house, one wing of which I have said was visible from the innwindow, could not be seen at all from the gate. Indeed I had lostsight of it at the moment that I had set out and had never obtained aglimpse of it since.
Ten minutes before, I had inquired the way from a farm-laborer whom Ihad met on the road, and he had answered me with a curiosity butthinly veiled. His directions had been characterized by that rusticvagueness which assumes in the inquirer an intimate knowledge of locallandmarks. But nevertheless I believed I had come aright. I gatheredfrom its name that Friar's Park was in part at least a former monasticbuilding, and certainly the cracked bell spoke with the voice ofancient monasteries, and had in it the hush of cloisters and the sighof renunciation.
Although I had mentioned nothing of the purpose of my journey to minehost of the Abbey Inn or to any of his cronies--and these were few innumber--I had hoped to find Hawkins at the lodge; and a second time Iawoke the ghostly bell-voice. But nothing responded to its call; man,bird and beast had seemingly deserted Friar's Park.
Faintly I detected the lowing of cattle in some distant pasture; theranks of firs whispered secretly one to another; and the pall abovethe hills grew blacker and began to stretch out over the valley.
Amid this ominous stillness of nature I began to ascend thecone-strewn path. Evidently enough the extensive grounds had beenneglected for years, and that few pedestrians and fewer vehicles eversought Friar's Park was demonstrated by the presence of luxuriousweeds in the carriage-way. Having proceeded for some distance, untilthe sheer hillside seemed to loom over me like the wall of a tower, Ipaused, peering about in the ever growing darkness. I was aware of aphysical chill; certainly no ray of sunlight ever penetrated to thistunnel through the firs. Could I have mistaken the path and beproceeding, not towards the house, but away from it, and into thegloom of the woods? Or perhaps the deserted lodge was that of someother, empty establishment.
There was something uncomfortable in this reflection; momentarily Iknew a childish fear of the dim groves. I thought of the "darkness'broidered with luminous eyes," and I walked forward rapidly,self-assertively. Ten paces brought me to one of the many bends in thewinding road--and there, far ahead, as though out of some cavern inthe very hillside, a yellow light shone.
I pressed on with greater assurance, until the house became visible.Now I perceived that I had indeed strayed from the carriage sweep insome way, for the path that I was following terminated at the foot ofa short flight of moss-covered steps. I mounted the steps and foundmyself at the bottom of a terrace. The main entrance was far to myleft and separated from the terrace by a neglected lawn. That portionof the place was Hanoverian and ugly, whilst the wing nearest to mewas Tudor and picturesque. Excepting the yellow light shining out froma window on the right of the porch, no illuminations were visibleabout the house, although the brewing storm had already plunged thehollow into premature night.
My conception of Friar's Park had been wide of the reality--and therewas no sign of occupancy about this strange-looking mansion, whichmight have hidden forgotten for centuries in the horse-shoe of thehills. The stillness of the place was of that sort which almost seemsto be palpable; that can be seen and felt. A humid chill aroseapparently from the terrace, with its stone pavings outlined in moss,and crept up from the wilderness below and down from the fir woodsabove.
I had crossed the terrace and the lawn, and now stood looking throughthe open French window from which light had proceeded into a room thatevidently adjoined the hall. A great still darkness had come, and on alittered table in this room a reading-lamp was burning.
The room was furnished as a library. Every available foot of wallspace was occupied by laden bookcases. The volumes were nearly all oldand many of them were in strange, evidently foreign, bindings. Itemsof chemical apparatus and cases of specimens were visible also as wellas an amazing collection of Egyptian relics strewn about the place inthe utmost disorder.
At the table a man was seated, deep in study of a huge leather-boundvolume. He was strangely gaunt, and apparently very tall. Hisclean-shaven face resembled that of Anubis, the hawk-headed god ofAncient Egypt, and his hair, which was growing white, he wore long andbrushed back from his bony brow. His skin was of a dull, even yellowcolor, and his long thin brown hands betrayed to me the fact that theman was a Eurasian. The crunching of a piece of gravel under footrevealed my presence. The man looked up swiftly.
I started. Those widely-opened black eyes were truly hawk-like intheir dark intensity of gaze, and the uncanny resemblance to Anubiswas heightened by them. More than ever convinced that I had made amistake:
"Forgive me for so rudely disturbing you," I said, "but I was underthe impression that this was Friar's Park, whereas I fear I havetrespassed."
The intense gaze never left my face for a moment, but:
"There is no trespass," answered the man at the table, speaking in ahigh harsh voice and with a marked but evasive accent. "All visitorsare welcome--chance ones, or otherwise. But you have certainly lostyour way; this is the Bell House."
"And am I far from Friar's Park?"
"No great distance. May I ask if Lady Coverly knew of your proposedvisit?"
"She did not," I said with surprise.
"Then I fear your journey has been fruitless. She is an invalid andcan receive no one."
There was something peremptory and imperious in his manner which Iresented, and evidently perceiving this resentment:
"I am Lady Coverly's medical adviser," added the Eurasian. "Possibly Ican afford you some assistance. In any event I fear you will have toaccept my poor hospitality for the nonce. The alternative is adrenching."
Even as he spoke, the hollow was illuminated by a blinding flash oflightning, and indeed his last words were drowned in the thunder thatboomed and crashed in deepening peals over the hills.
In a sudden tropical torrent the rain descended, and I stepped forwardinto the room. Its occupant rose to his great height to greet me.
"I am Dr. Damar Greefe," he said, and bowed formally.
I made myself known to him in turn, and with a sort of statelycourtesy he set a high-backed chair for me and himself resumed hisformer seat.
"You are a stranger to this neighborhood, I gather?" he continued.
Now, in spite of his polished courtesy, there was that about Dr. DamarGreefe which I did not and could not like. The voice was the voice ofa gentleman, but the face was a mask--a mask of Anubis; and seatedthere in that strange untidy apartment, amid varied relics of the pastand obscure experiments possibly designed to pry into the future,whilst thunder boomed high over the Bell House, I determined towithhold from Dr. Damar Greefe the true nature of my mission. In factalready I regretted having told him my name--although to have given afictit
ious one would have been a gross violation of hospitalityunhesitatingly offered.
Even now I find it hard to explain the mingled sentiments whichclaimed me on the occasion of this my first meeting with a verysingular man.
"I am taking a brief rest cure," I replied; "and as I am given tounderstand that Friar's Park is of much historical interest, I hadpurposed seeking permission to look over the place and if possible totake a few photographs."
Dr. Damar Greefe inclined his head gravely.
"A former monastic house, Mr. Addison," he replied. "And as you say,of great archaeological interest. But the regrettably poor health ofLady Coverly makes it impossible for her to entertain visitors."
Something in the tone of his voice, which now he had lowered so thatsome of its natural harshness was disguised, set me wondering where Ihad heard it before. It needed no further scrutiny of the hawk face toconvince me that I had never hitherto met Dr. Damar Greefe; but Icertainly believed that I had previously heard his voice, although Iquite failed to recall where and under what circumstances.
"Sir Burnham has been dead for several years, I believe?" I askedtentatively.
"For several years, yes."
Without returning to the peremptory tone which had distinguished hisearlier manner, Dr. Damar Greefe coldly but courteously blocked mypath to discussion of the Coverly family; and after several abortiveattempts to draw him out upon the point, I recognized this deliberatedesign and abandoned the matter.
The storm was moving westward, and although brilliant flashes oflightning several times lighted up the queer room, gleaming upon thegayly-painted lid of an Egyptian sarcophagus or throwing into horridrelief some anatomical specimen in one of the cases, the thundercrashed no more over the house. But its booming reached my ears fromaway upon a remote spur of the hills. I became aware of a growinguneasiness in the company of my chance host, who sat by the oddlylittered table, watching me with those birdlike eyes.
"Surely," I said, "the rain has ceased?"
"Temporarily," he replied, glancing toward the terrace. "But I shouldadvise you to delay a few minutes longer. There is every threat of aconcluding downpour to come ere long."
"Many thanks," I returned; "I'll risk it. I have already trespassedunwarrantably upon your time, Dr. Greefe. It was good of you to giveme shelter."
He rose, a tall thin figure, vaguely repellent, upon realizing that Iwas set on departure, and conducted me out by way of the front door.Standing in the porch:
"At any time that you chance to be again in my neighborhood, Mr.Addison," he said, "I beg of you to call. I have few visitors."
By what process, whether of reasoning or intuition, I came to theconclusion, I know not; but as I turned the bend of the tree-roofeddrive and saw the deserted lodge ahead, I knew beyond any possibilityof doubt that Dr. Damar Greefe had not returned to his studies, buthad swiftly passed along some path through the trees so as to head meoff! His purpose in so doing I knew not, but that he had cherishedthis purpose and proposed to act upon it I had divined in some way atthe moment that I had left him in the porch.
Now, hastening my steps, I began to wonder if his design was tointercept me or merely to watch which way I should turn on gaining themain road. That it was the latter I presently learned; for although myunpleasant imagination pictured the gaunt hawk-like figure lurkingamid the shadows which hemmed me in, I played the part of innocenceand never once looked back.
Coming out into the highroad, I turned sharply left, retracing theroute by which I had come to the Eurasian doctor's abode. If he hadsuspected that I had intended to call at Friar's Park despite hisassurance that such a visit would prove futile, then he wasdisappointed. A new and strange theory to account for "the _Oritoga_mystery" had presented itself to me--a horrible theory, yet, so far asmy present data went, a feasible one. Above all, I realized that I hadcommitted a strategical error in openly seeking an interview with LadyCoverly. But I had not, when I had formed that plan, known of theexistence of Dr. Damar Greefe.
I uttered a sigh of relief upon emerging upon the highroad. Thecertainty that the white-haired Eurasian was dogging me through thetrees was an unpleasant one. And now I perceived that several coursespresented themselves; but first I must obtain more information. Iperceived a mystery within a mystery; for I was not likely to forgetthat in Dr. Damar Greefe's collection I had noted a number of_Bubastite cats_.