Doctor Claudius, A True Story Part 3

Claudius laughed a little, but Barker did not smile. He was apparently occupied in inventing a patent transformation landscape on wheels. In reality, he was thinking out a _menu_ for dinner whereby he might feed his friend without starving himself. For Mr. Barker was particular about his meals, and accustomed to fare sumptuously every day, whereas he had observed that the Doctor was fond of sausages and decayed cabbage. But he knew such depraved tastes could not long withstand the blandishments and caressing hypersensualism of Delmonico, if he ever got the Doctor so far.

Having successfully accomplished the business of dining, Mr. Barker promised to return in an hour, and sallied out to find the British aristocracy, whom he knew. The British aristocracy was taking his coffee in solitude at the princ.i.p.al _cafe_, and hailed Mr. Barker's advent with considerable interest, for they had tastes in common.

"How are you, Duke?"

"Pretty fit, thanks. Where have you been?"

"Oh, all over. I was just looking for you."

"Yes?" said the aristocracy interrogatively.

"Yes. I want you to introduce me to somebody you know."

"Pleasure. Who?"

"She has black eyes and dark hair, very dark complexion, middling height, fine figure; carries an ivory-handled parasol with a big M and a crown." Mr. Barker paused for a look of intelligence on the Englishman's face.

"Sure she's here?" inquired the latter.

"I won't swear. She was seen in Heidelberg, admiring views and dropping her parasol about, something like three weeks ago."

"Oh! ah, yes. Come on." And the British aristocracy settled the rose in his b.u.t.ton-hole and led the way. He moved strongly with long steps, but Mr. Barker walked delicately like Agag.

"By the by, Barker, she is a countrywoman of yours. She married a Russian, and her name is Margaret."

"Was it a happy marriage?" asked the American, taking his cigar from his mouth.

"Exceedingly. Husband killed at Plevna. Left her lots of tin."

They reached their destination. The Countess was at home. The Countess was enchanted to make the acquaintance of Monsieur, and on learning that he was an American and a compatriot, was delighted to see him. They conversed pleasantly. In the course of twenty minutes the aristocracy discovered he had an engagement and departed, but Mr. Barker remained.

It was rather stretching his advantage, but he did not lack confidence.

"So you, too, Countess, have been in Heidelberg this summer?"

"About three weeks ago. I am very fond of the old place."

"Lovely, indeed," said Barker. "The castle, the old tower half blown away in that slovenly war--"

"Oh, such a funny thing happened to me there," exclaimed the Countess Margaret, innocently falling into the trap. "I was standing just at the edge with Miss Skeat--she is my companion, you know--and I dropped my parasol, and it fell rattling to the bottom, and suddenly there started, apparently out of s.p.a.ce--"

"A German professor, seven or eight feet high, who bounded after the sunshade, and bounded back and bowed and left you to your astonishment.

Is not that what you were going to say, Countess?"

"I believe you are a medium," said the Countess, looking at Barker in astonishment. "But perhaps you only guessed it. Can you tell me what he was like, this German professor?"

"Certainly. He had long yellow hair, and a beard like Rip van Winkle's, and large white hands; and he was altogether one of the most striking individuals you ever saw."

"It is evident that you know him, Mr. Barker, and that he has told you the story. Though how you should have known it was I--"

"Guess-work and my friend's description."

"But how do you come to be intimate with German professors, Mr. Barker?

Are you learned, and that sort of thing?"

"He was a German professor once. He is now an eccentricity without a purpose. Worth millions, and living in a Heidelberg garret, wis.h.i.+ng he were poor again."

"What an interesting creature! Tell me more, please."

Barker told as much of Claudius's history as he knew.

"Too delightful!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the Countess Margaret, looking out of the window rather pensively.

"Countess," said the American, "if I had enjoyed the advantage of your acquaintance even twenty-four hours I would venture to ask leave to present my friend to you. As it is--" Mr. Barker paused.

"As it is I will grant you the permission unasked," said the Countess quietly, still looking out of the window. "I am enough of an American still to know that your name is a guarantee for any one you introduce."

"You are very kind," said Mr. Barker modestly. Indeed the name of Barker had long been honourably known in connection with New York enterprise.

The Barkers were not Dutch, it is true, but they had the next highest t.i.tle to consideration in that their progenitor had dwelt in Salem, Ma.s.sachusetts.

"Bring him in the morning," said the Countess, after a moment's thought.

"About two?"

"Oh no! At eleven or so. I am a very early person. I get up at the screech of dawn."

"Permit me to thank you on behalf of my friend as well as for myself,"

said Mr. Barker, bending low over the dark lady's hand as he took his departure.

"So glad to have seen you. It is pleasant to meet a civilised countryman in these days."

"It can be nothing to the pleasure of meeting a charming countrywoman,"

replied Mr. Barker, and he glided from the room.

The dark lady stood for a moment looking at the door through which her visitor had departed. It was almost nine o'clock by this time, and she rang for lights, subsiding into a low chair while the servant brought them. The candles flickered in the light breeze that fanned fitfully through the room, and, finding it difficult to read, the Countess sent for Miss Skeat.

"What a tiny little world it is!" said Margaret, by way of opening the conversation.

Miss Skeat sat down by the table. She was thin and yellow, and her bones were on the outside. She wore gold-rimmed eyegla.s.ses, and was well dressed, in plain black, with a single white ruffle about her long and sinewy neck. She was hideous, but she had a certain touch of dignified elegance, and her face looked trustworthy and not unkind.

"Apropos of anything especial?" asked she, seeing that the Countess expected her to say something.

"Do you remember when I dropped my parasol at Heidelberg?"

"Perfectly," replied Miss Skeat.

"And the man who picked it up, and who looked like Niemann in _Lohengrin_?"

"Yes, and who must have been a professor. I remember very well."