Doctor Who_ The Banquo Legacy - Andy Lane [12]
‘Please do not disturb my books,’ he half whispered, and I could hear the anger choked back in his voice. Anger and also, unaccountably, fear. He closed the book carefully. ‘I have spent a long time in ordering these shelves,’ he continued somewhat more calmly, ‘and everything must be replaced exactly as it was.’
So saying, he slid the thick leather-bound volume back into place. My surprise had now abated somewhat, and my eyes met Harries’s with little difficulty.
‘When I removed it,’ I pointed out, hoping to undermine something of his officious manner, ‘that book was the other way up.’
Harries had started to turn away to move back to his chair, but as I spoke he froze, as if captured in a painting. ‘Impossible,’ he said; but his voice was so faint that I barely heard it.
‘I am not in the habit of lying, sir,’ I said, perhaps a little forcefully, and he turned back to face me.
The change in him was remarkable. I fancied that he had again given way to anger, but after a moment I saw that it was fear. His lips had drawn back over the teeth and his cheeks had paled and sunk. His skin seemed stretched far too tight about his black-rimmed eyes. It was like staring at the mirthless smile of a skull. The effect endured for only a second and then his face seemed to sag, to fill out again into some semblance of life. His reddened eyes dulled and he stared at the bookshelves for a moment.
‘I apologise,’ he muttered. ‘I have been working very hard, and it must have been I who replaced the book upside down.’
I made to answer, but he continued, his voice vibrant and husky. ‘After all, who else could it have been?’
As Harries walked slowly and stiffly back to the cluttered table in the centre of the room I could see the fear in his gait, as I had tasted it on his breath. It took him several minutes to recover his composure and for his features to regain their boyish set. The act of explaining something of his work to me seemed excellent therapy, however, and soon he was well into his stride.
‘I will give you a small-scale but practical demonstration of the effect I will want you and the others to witness tonight,’ he said suddenly as I leafed through an incomprehensible – not to say illegible – bundle of notes which Harries had thrust into my hand. I looked up, partly glad to be able to cease pretending that I understood anything of his scribbles, and partly surprised that he was so forthcoming and enthusiastic towards someone he could scarcely count as a friend. The excitement of his work seemed to take hold, no matter to whom he explained it.
‘I cannot overemphasise the importance of what you will see,’ he went on. He never once looked at me as he prepared. ‘Sir George is a man of repute and –’ he paused as if in amusement – ‘respectability. Gordon Seavers brings scientific integrity.’ Again I fancied there was a hint of amusement in his voice. ‘Dr Friedlander has considerable expertise in the new science of forensics. He is, I am reliably informed, the foremost practitioner and most experienced of his discipline in Europe.’ Now he did look at me, as he said, ‘And I also need an unbiased observer who has no preconceptions but is of unimpeachable integrity within a respected professional field. In short, yourself.’
He returned immediately to his work before I could comment, clearing a wide space on the table. This he achieved in the main by sweeping piles of paper and several books on to a nearby chair. Then he lifted a large wooden contraption into the clear area.
I thought at first that it was merely a shallow box, but looking inside I could see that there were walls within it too, and an opening at