The thing in the woods
fingers stained a little with acids as though in photography, the
nails smooth and closely trimmed.
The scratches were ugly. I had slipped an emergency case of tabloids
into my pocket on starting, and asking for fresh water, I dissolved
two in it. The girl watched me steadily, holding the bowl of
solution while I cleansed the cuts carefully, bit by bit, and I
fancied that in her presence Lessing was at particular pains not to
flinch. The man's endurance was extraordinary. I had noticed
something else on his arm, but of that I did not immediately speak.
"You want iodoform?" said the girl. "There is some in the house."
She fetched it, with diachylon and a roll of sterilized gauze such as
is used in hospitals, from the drawer of a Japanese cabinet. I
dressed the cuts--it took some little time--and helped him into the
clean shirt she brought me. When I straightened my back at last we
were alone.
"Do you mind," said Lessing, "going to the cabinet there and getting
me a bottle that's in the top left-hand cupboard? There's a glass
with it."
I found both. I drew the glass stopper from the bottle and smelled
it. It contained a familiar cardiac stimulant.
"It's all right. It's the stuff Lennox gave me."
I poured him a dose and he drank it. Then he dropped back on the
cushions again, watching me. I drew a chair up, but on second
thought remained standing.
"Well, Mr. Lessing," I said, "I don't know that I'm able to do
anything more for you under the present circumstances. If you feel
like wanting me you know where to send."
"What are you in a hurry for?"
"I am in no hurry."
"Then sit down."
"If you think there is anything to be gained."
I sat down. I had dealt with his type before, and I waited.
"Well?" he said.
"You must know, my good fellow, that there's no use calling a medical
man in to tell this kind of nonsense! I'm not a fool."
"Then there," he answered, "you differ most charmingly from old
Lennox!"
I could no more be angry with him than with a sick child.
"No dog made these scratches!"
"I said you might call it a dog," he reminded me.
"I might call it an ourang-outang and be nearer the mark! Am I to
conclude that you keep a menagerie in your house, Mr. Lessing?"
"Suppose I told you I did it myself?"
"I should call you a liar," I said. "I have seen your hands."
"Old Lennox swore I did. I told you he was a fool."
"We'll drop the scratches," I said, walking to the window. "I don't
know that it really matters if you choose to tell me they were done
by a tame mud-turtle in the back yard. But one or two things you'll
have to stop if I'm looking after you."
"Such as?"
"You want sleep, man! You look as if you hadn't seen bed for a week."
"I sleep in the daytime. I have to work at night."
"What--photography?"
"Chemistry ... of sorts."
"Chemistry doesn't have to be done at night, of necessity," I
answered. "You're overworked and you're using yourself up. You know
you've hardly a whole nerve left in your body at this moment."
"I've plenty in my shoulder," he returned drily, and I smiled
involuntarily as our eyes met. There was a fascination in the man,
despite his eccentricity, his absurd persistence in what seemed to be
a tissue of childish and reasonless lies, to which I held no clue.
"That won't hurt you long. I'll look in again tomorrow." I wheeled
on him abruptly, of purpose. "How long have you been taking morphia?"
I expected denial. Instead his eyes merely narrowed, appreciatively.
"A year, more or less. I take it when I can't sleep."
"Lately?"
"Not for several weeks."
"Yes, you have," I thought. Aloud I said: "I'll make you up
something else, for a change. Can you sleep now?"
"I'll have a try."
"Better get to bed."
"I sleep better here," he said, and without more ado turned over with
his face to the wall. I waited a moment, but he took no further
notice of my presence, and I went out.
The girl who had helped me with the dressing was outside, feeding
sugar to the mare. The two seemed old friends. I saw, as I drew
near, that she bore a strong resemblance to Lessing himself,
sufficient to proclaim her his sister. She had the same deep hazel
eyes, but her hair was lighter; it showed a bronze glint as she stood
bare-headed in the sunshine. It would have been an attractive face
but for a look of cynicism, almost a hardness, in the lines of her
mouth. I was glad that it was she I encountered instead of Mrs.
Lessing. Here was at least one practical person in this puzzling
household.
She turned as I came near, but without moving.
"Your brother will do all right," I said without preamble. "Keep him
quiet today, and if possible make him sleep. He wants rest badly."
She nodded, brushing the crumbs of sugar from her hands.
"How long has this been going on?"
"The not sleeping?" She looked at me sharply. "About four or five
nights."
"I thought so. Can't you make him?"
She looked at me almost contemptuously, as though wondering that my
interview with Lessing had taught me so little. "Does he look as if
I could?"
"You can do it if anyone can," I said. "I shall be back tomorrow.
If by any chance I am wanted..."
"I'll come and fetch you," she said.
"Good." I turned to unfasten the mare, then paused. "You have a dog
here, I think. May I see it?"
For a moment she seemed about to hesitate. "If you like," she said
then.
I followed her round to the side of the house. A small sort of
tool-shed stood not far from the odd building I had noticed, and
which I saw now was not an annex, but separate from the house. The
door of the shed was closed, and from within a whining and scratching
greeted our approach. Without a word she turned the key and threw
open the door.
A magnificent orange setter rushed out nearly knocking her down.
There was nothing savage in his demeanor; he licked her hands and
face and even tried to include me in the demonstration, but what
caught my attention was his inexplicable behavior the next moment.
He bounded straight toward the big outbuilding, but within a few
paces of it he stopped, whining and sniffing, his ears laid back, his
body trailed near to the ground, as though in some abject fear.
Whining still, he dragged himself back to our feet and crouched
there, trembling. Miss Lessing's voice broke the silence.
"Do you advise," she said, "that he should be destroyed as dangerous?"
"I think," I replied, "that is hardly necessary, at present. What's
the matter with him?"
Her lip curled a little as she looked at me. She shrugged her
shoulders.
"He is frightened. Do you believe in the instinct of dogs, Doctor
Haverill?"
"What is that building used for?" I asked curtly.
"It is my brother's laboratory."
"Then what in heaven's name----?" I checked the exclamation on my
lips. She was looking at me as her brother had done, but she seemed,
at all events, to make up her mind more quickly. "Come with me," she
said quietly.
We walked to the building. There was a door at the side fitted with
a Yale lock, but it stood slightly ajar. She pushed it open. The
interior consisted of one single room, that seemed from its fittings
half laboratory, half workshop. There were shelves around,
containing bottles, chemical apparatus, a few books stacked together.
A long table, littered with tubes and glasses, stood almost directly
under the skylight. One corner of the room, to the right of the
table, was screened off to form a dark-room, with the ordinary square
of red glazed fabric let into the door.
I looked around the place with curiosity. There was nothing here to
account for the dog's behavior. The contents of the table at one end
were confused and overthrown, and a strip of cocoa matting, which had
evidently lain under or near the table, had been rolled and flung in
one corner. The boards were noticeably cleaner where it had been
lying, and near the edge of this clean space there was a stain,
smudged as though purposely by someone's foot, but to my eyes an
obvious blood-stain.
Directly under the skylight, which was some four feet square, was the
apparatus that for the moment puzzled me. It was mounted on a high
stand that brought it near to the glass, and it looked like an
acetylene lamp with very powerful concave reflectors; the kind of
reflector, on a smaller scale, that is used in some lighthouses. The
size of the lamp was quite outside the requirements of the room for
ordinary lighting purposes, and the reflector seemed planned to throw
the light outside the building, and in any desired direction. As I
looked at it there flashed across my mind the recollection of the
curious sort of searchlight I had seen the night before from my
porch. Here was the solution of it, but I was puzzled to imagine
what Lessing could be doing with an apparatus of this kind in such a
place.
I turned to Miss Lessing.
"Was it here that your brother spent last evening?"
"Yes. He came out here about nine o'clock, after dinner. He often
works late, and we never sit up for him. My sister-in-law went to
bed soon after; she had one of her bad headaches that she has been
subject to for the last eighteen months. I sleep in the room next to
hers, and I went to bed about eleven. I am an early riser, as a
rule, and when I came out of my room this morning I met my brother
just coming into the house." She paused, and I could see that she
was struggling with the recollection. "He wouldn't let me touch him,
and he only said something about wanting to sleep, and that I should
send Doctor Lennox up to him. I left him in the sitting-room and
went straight off."
"Cycled?"
"No, walked. I have no cycle here. My brother doesn't like me using
one. If I had, it would have saved time. I came through the woods."
"You were quick, anyway," I said approvingly. "Now listen, Miss
Lessing. Your brother has had a severe shock; of what sort I know no
more than you. He will probably tell us in his own time. For the
present, I don't want him worried in any way. I shall come again
tomorrow. If I may advise you, I would lock this place and keep the
key until he asks you for it. Have you touched anything in the room
since this morning?"
"No. It is as he left it."
Then Lessing himself had removed the tell-tale carpet. I thought a
moment.
"Was your brother wearing pyjamas when he went out last evening?"
"He changed into them after dinner, I remember. It is hot in here of
an evening, and he nearly always wears them to work in."
"Did you hear any noise last night?"
"No." She hesitated a moment. "My sister-in-law was very restless
last night, and she was talking in her sleep. She seemed to be in
pain, so I went in to her, but she was sound asleep and I went back
to bed. I heard nothing outside."
"Where was the dog?"
"Shut up. We used to have him loose, but he's sometimes noisy at
night, and lately my brother has taken a fancy to have him shut up."
"It doesn't seem likely that he would trouble him here," I said.
She bit her lip.
"Doctor Haverill, what is it?"
"My dear young lady," I said, "I can know nothing until your brother
is able to give us some account." I had almost said "chooses," but I
changed the word on a look at her face. "After all," I said lightly,
"you must remember I am here only as a doctor, and a stranger at
that!"
I turned back to where the mare was waiting, and she followed me,
locking the door behind her.
"I shall be at the house all day, if I'm wanted, but I don't think I
shall be. Meantime, you'll remember what I've told you. Your
brother will have to make up sleep before he can tell us anything at
all."