Blind Policy Part 26

"I shall be very glad to," said Chester, warmly, though his conscience smote him for what he felt to be a false pretence.

"I am very, very glad," said the old man, rising, going to an old cabinet and pulling out a drawer, from which he took a key and at the same time something short and black which he cleverly thrust into the breast of his loosely-made, old-fas.h.i.+oned tail-coat. "Now I am about to ask a favour of you, doctor," he said, turning with a pleasant, genial smile upon his countenance. "I have other treasures here down below, besides books. Stored up and rarely brought out, bin after bin of very fine old wine. I am going to ask you to drink a gla.s.s of exceedingly old port with me."

"No, no," said Chester, "you must excuse me. I never drink wine at this time of day. Let me dine with you some time or other, and then--"

"Yes, of course, my dear young friend; I hope many times; but just one gla.s.s now. Don't say no. I feel to need it a little myself, for--don't think me a feeble old dotard--the fact of telling you of my weakness, of confessing to a doctor my fears of coming to an end, have upset my nerves a little, and I can't help fancying that a gla.s.s of good old wine would do me good."

"I am sure it would, sir," said Chester, warmly. "Well, there! I will break a rule, and join you in one gla.s.s."

"Hah!" cried the old man, brightening up; "that is very good of you, doctor--very good. I feel better already in antic.i.p.ation. Now, let me see--let me see."

He opened the library table drawer and took out a box of matches and an old-fas.h.i.+oned, curled-up twist of wax taper, such as was the accompaniment of a writing-table in sealing-wax days, fifty years or so ago. This latter he lit, and then hung a large old key upon his little finger.

"The library next time you come, doctor; the cellar this time. A very fine cellar of wines, my dear sir, but wasted upon me. Just a gla.s.s now and then as a medicine. This way. I hope you will not mind the dust and cobwebs. An old-fas.h.i.+oned notion, but books seem to need the dust of ages, and it is precious upon them, just as old port ought to have its cobwebs and its crust. You will come with me to get a bottle?"

"Oh yes," said Chester, and he followed the old man out of the room into the book-enc.u.mbered hall, and along to the back, past chest and shelf, to where there was the gla.s.s door opening on the stone flight leading down into the bas.e.m.e.nt.

"This way, my dear sir. One moment; there should be a basket here.

Yes, here we are; would you mind lighting me? Thank you."

Chester took the wax taper and lighted the old man, while he took down from behind the gla.s.s door, where it hung upon a hook, one of those cradle-like baskets in which a bottle of rich old wine can recline without destroying its fineness.

"You see," said the old man, "I am a bit of a connoisseur. I like to keep my wine as it has lain in the bin. No decanting for me. Straight on down, my dear sir."

Chester did not hesitate, but led on down the stone stairs, holding the light on high, the tiny taper s.h.i.+ning back upon a pair of flas.h.i.+ng eyes and the wrinkles of a now wonderfully wrinkled face, while in the shadows behind a thin, claw-like hand glided to the breast-pocket of the old-fas.h.i.+oned coat, to draw out one of those misnamed weapons formed of twisted whalebone, ending in a weighty leaden k.n.o.b.

Chester bore the light; behind him seemed to hover upon the dingy walls the Shadow of Death.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

BY THE SKIN OF HIS TEETH.

The Shadow pa.s.sed away.

In another moment a crus.h.i.+ng blow from a life-preserver, delivered by a vigorous arm, would have fallen upon the back of Chester's skull, and sent him headlong down the flight of stairs; but the deadly weapon was thrust back into its owner's breast, and the fierce, vindictive expression pa.s.sed from his face as there was a violent ringing of the largest of the row of bells hanging to their right, and Chester turned sharply round, taper in hand, to look questioningly at the old man.

"Dear me!" he said, smiling, "how tiresome! This is one of the troubles of living quite alone, my dear young friend. I always have to answer my own door. I'm afraid that I must ask you to come back to the front room. Would you mind bringing the light? Thank you; I will take it."

He blew out the clear little flame as they reached the gla.s.s door, and then set down the basket, before leading the way back into the library, where he glanced from the window.

"Dear me!" he said. "More books. So very late in the day too. They always come at awkward times. Pray sit down or look at some of my works. You'll find something to interest you, I feel sure. Yes--yes; I'm coming," he said, as the bell rang loudly again. "Don't be so impatient, my good men, don't be so impatient."

"One moment; if you have business, I will go now," said Chester.

"Oh, by no means," said the old man. "I shall not be many moments.

Pray take a book and my chair, there. It is only the railway men. I shall soon be done."

Chester did not take the chair, but began to inspect the dusty shelves, while he heard the front door open and after a time the sound of heavy feet upon the steps, and then the b.u.mp down of what sounded like a heavy chest. Then more steps outside, the rattle of a chain belonging to the tail-board of a van, and the steps again.

Then he ceased to hear anything that was going on, for his thoughts had run to the adjoining house and his experiences there, but only to be succeeded by an indescribable sensation of dread--a singular feeling of malaise which troubled his faculties. It was like a portent of something hanging over him, or over her who occupied so much of his thoughts.

"I can't stay here," he said to himself. "I must get out into the open air. This place makes me feel sick and faint."

He picked up one of the many books lying about, and threw it down again impatiently, to walk to the door, where he could hear the old student directing the men who had brought the consignment; while from the sounds it was evident that they were carrying the chests or whatever they were, down into the bas.e.m.e.nt.

Feeling that it would be rude to interrupt his host then, he went back to the table.

"What is the matter with me?" he muttered, as he s.h.i.+vered involuntarily.

"Is it from cold, or from over-thought and worry? Not going to be ill, am I, and at such a time?"

"I know," he thought, at the end of a few minutes; "it is this place.

The air is close and mephitic. I don't believe the windows are ever open. I cannot stay here. I feel as if I should faint. Rude or not, I must go."

He had sunk into a chair, and now started up, just as the old man re-entered.

"Just done," he said cheerfully. "One moment. Heavy boxes, and these men like to have a gla.s.s. Not my old port, though. They would not appreciate it. A little of this--a little of this brandy."

He kept on talking softly as he took out a bottle and gla.s.ses from a cellarette, filled a couple, set the bottle down again, and carried the gla.s.ses out; and as the door swung to, Chester caught up the bottle quickly, held it to his lips, and gulped down a mouthful.

"Hah!" he muttered, as he set the brandy down and sank back in the chair; "that is stimulating. But how strange that I should feel like this. Ugh!"

He shuddered, for a cold chill ran through him, and the sensation of fear increased.

"Can it be something threatening her?" he muttered. "How strange! I have not felt like this since I lost my first patient," and the chill of coming dissolution seemed to hang in the air.

"Pooh! Fancy. It is a slight chill. That brandy will soon take it off."

The voices reached him again, and the steps were heard outside; then the front door was closed, and the old man came in smiling.

"Always at such inconvenient times," he said. "Generally when I am studying some intricate pa.s.sage by an old author; but to-day when I have had my first visitor for months. I'm afraid you have found me very long."

"Oh no, don't name it," said Chester, hurriedly, "but--"

"Ah! your kindness of heart makes you speak thus," said the old man, hastily. "Two heavy chests of books, and I was obliged to make the men take them downstairs, or they would block the pa.s.sage. But now for the gla.s.s of wine and our chat."

"I'm afraid that I shall be obliged to ask you to excuse me to-day,"

said Chester, who had risen.

"Oh, surely not," cried the old man in a disappointed tone. "I was reckoning so upon asking your opinion, my dear sir. Like liquid rubies.

It will not take long."

"No, it would not take long," replied Chester, who now spoke rather excitedly, while the old man's eyes glittered strangely behind his gla.s.ses; "but I have been here some time now, and I must get back."

"But, my dear sir--"

"Don't press me, please. I, am rather unwell."