The Vanishing Man Part 15

"Do you think he suspects that these remains may be those of your uncle?"

"I think so, though he has said nothing to that effect, and, of course, I have not made any such suggestion to him. We always preserve the fiction between ourselves of believing that Uncle John is still alive."

"But you don't think he is, do you?"

"No, I am afraid I don't; and I feel pretty sure that my father doesn't think so either, but he doesn't like to admit it to me."

"Do you happen to remember what bones have been found?"

"No, I don't. I know that an arm was found in the Cuckoo Pits, and I think a thigh-bone was dredged up out of a pond near St. Mary Cray. But Miss Oman will be able to tell you all about it, if you are interested.

She will be delighted to meet a kindred spirit," Miss Bellingham added, with a smile.

"I don't know that I want to claim spiritual kins.h.i.+p with a ghoul," said I; "especially such a very sharp-tempered ghoul."

"Oh, don't disparage her, Doctor Berkeley!" Miss Bellingham pleaded.

"She isn't really bad-tempered; only a little p.r.i.c.kly on the surface. I oughtn't to have called her a ghoul; she is just the sweetest, most affectionate, most unselfish little angelic human hedgehog that you could find if you travelled the wide world through. Do you know that she has been working her fingers to the bone making an old dress of mine presentable because she is so anxious that I shall look nice at your little supper-party."

"You are sure to do that, in any case," I said; "but I withdraw my remark as to her temper unreservedly. And I really didn't mean it, you know; I have always liked the little lady."

"That's right; and now won't you come in and have a few minutes' chat with my father? We are quite early, in spite of the short cuts."

I a.s.sented readily, and the more so inasmuch as I wanted a few words with Miss Oman on the subject of catering and did not want to discuss it before my friends. Accordingly I went in and gossiped with Mr.

Bellingham, chiefly about the work that we had done at the Museum, until it was time for me to return to the surgery.

Having taken my leave, I walked down the stairs with reflective slowness and as much creaking of my boots as I could manage; with the result, hopefully antic.i.p.ated, that as I approached the door of Miss Oman's room it opened and the lady's head protruded.

"I'd change my cobbler if I were you," she said.

I thought of the "angelic human hedgehog," and nearly sn.i.g.g.e.red in her face.

"I am sure you would, Miss Oman, instantly; though, mind you, the poor fellow can't help his looks."

"You are a very flippant young man," she said severely. Whereat I grinned, and she regarded me silently with a baleful glare. Suddenly I remembered my mission and became serious and sober.

"Miss Oman," I said, "I very much want to take your advice on a matter of some importance--to me, at least." (That ought to fetch her, I thought.) The "advice fly"--strangely neglected by Izaak Walton--is guaranteed to kill in any weather. And it did fetch her. She rose in a flash and gorged it, c.o.c.k's feathers, worsted body and all.

"What is it about?" she asked eagerly. "But don't stand out there where everybody can hear but me. Come in and sit down."

Now, I didn't want to discuss the matter here, and, besides, there was not time. I therefore a.s.sumed an air of mystery.

"I can't, Miss Oman. I'm due at the surgery now. But if you should be pa.s.sing and should have a few minutes to spare, I should be greatly obliged if you would look in. I really don't quite know how to act."

"No, I expect not. Men very seldom do. But you're better than most, for you know when you are in difficulties and have the sense to consult a woman. But what is it about? Perhaps I might be thinking it over."

"Well, you know," I began evasively, "it's a simple matter, but I can't very well--no, by Jove!" I added, looking at my watch, "I must run, or I shall keep the mult.i.tude waiting." And with this I bustled away, leaving her literally dancing with curiosity.

CHAPTER IX

THE SPHINX OF LINCOLN'S INN

At the age of twenty-six one cannot claim to have attained to the position of a person of experience. Nevertheless, the knowledge of human nature acc.u.mulated in that brief period sufficed to make me feel pretty confident that, at some time during the evening, I should receive a visit from Miss Oman. And circ.u.mstances justified my confidence; for the clock yet stood at two minutes to seven when a premonitory tap at the surgery door heralded her arrival.

"I happened to be pa.s.sing," she explained, and I forbore to smile at the coincidence, "so I thought I might as well drop in and hear what you wanted to ask me about."

She seated herself in the patients' chair and, laying a bundle of newspapers on the table, glared at me expectantly.

"Thank you, Miss Oman," I said. "It is very good of you to look in on me. I am ashamed to give you all this trouble about such a trifling matter."

She rapped her knuckles impatiently on the table.

"Never mind about the trouble," she exclaimed tartly.

"What--is--it--that--you--want--to--_ask_--me about?"

I stated my difficulties in respect of the supper-party, and, as I proceeded, an expression of disgust and disappointment spread over her countenance. "I don't see why you need have been so mysterious about it," she said glumly.

"I didn't mean to be mysterious; I was only anxious not to make a mess of the affair. It's all very fine to a.s.sume a lofty scorn of the pleasures of the table, but there is great virtue in a really good feed, especially when low-living and high-thinking have been the order of the day."

"Coa.r.s.ely put," said Miss Oman, "but perfectly true."

"Very well. Now, if I leave the management to Mrs. Gummer, she will probably provide a tepid Irish stew with flakes of congealed fat on it, and a plastic suet-pudding or something of that kind, and turn the house upside-down in getting it ready. So I thought of having a cold spread and getting the things in from outside. But I don't want it to look as if I had been making enormous preparations."

"They won't think the things came down from heaven," said Miss Oman.

"No, I suppose they won't. But you know what I mean. Now, where do you advise me to go for the raw materials of conviviality?"

Miss Oman reflected. "You'd better let me do your shopping and manage the whole business," was her final verdict.

This was precisely what I had wanted, and I accepted thankfully, regardless of the feelings of Mrs. Gummer. I handed her two pounds, and, after some protests at my extravagance, she bestowed them in her purse; a process that occupied time, since that receptacle, besides and time-stained bills, already bulged with a lading of draper's samples, ends of tape, a card of linen b.u.t.tons, another of hooks and eyes, a lump of beeswax, a rat-eaten stump of lead-pencil, and other trifles that I have forgotten. As she closed the purse at the imminent risk of wrenching off its fastenings she looked at me severely and pursed up her lips.

"You're a very plausible young man," she remarked.

"What makes you say that?" I asked.

"Philandering about museums," she continued, "with handsome young ladies on the pretence of work. Work, indeed! Oh, I heard her telling her father about it. She thinks you were perfectly enthralled by the mummies and dried cats and chunks of stone and all the other trash. She doesn't know what humbugs men are."

"Really, Miss Oman--" I began.

"Oh, don't talk to me!" she snapped. "I can see it all. You can't impose on _me_. I can see you staring into those gla.s.s cases, egging her on to talk and listening open-mouthed and bulging-eyed and sitting at her feet--now, didn't you?"

"I don't know about sitting at her feet," I said, "though it might easily have come to that with those infernal slippery floors; but I had a very jolly time, and I mean to go again if I can. Miss Bellingham is the cleverest and most accomplished woman I have ever spoken to."

This was a poser for Miss Oman, whose admiration and loyalty, I knew, were only equalled by my own. She would have liked to contradict me, but the thing was impossible. To cover her defeat she s.n.a.t.c.hed up the bundle of newspapers and began to open them out.

"What sort of stuff is 'hibernation'?" she demanded suddenly.