• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

By Root 587 0

An ill man, a very sick man, he thought, a man who, he judged, kept himself alive by sheer willpower. The keen hawk-faced man with him was his special guard dog, presumably. Seeing not so much to his safety as to his welfare. A faithful dog who never left his side. He would have with him restoratives, stimulants, all the medical box of tricks. The Squadron Leader wondered why there wasn’t a doctor also in attendance. It would have been an extra precaution. Like a death’s head, the old man looked. A noble death’s head. Something made of marble in a museum. Henry Horsham the Squadron Leader knew quite well. He knew several of the Security lot. And Colonel Munro, looking slightly less fierce than usual, rather more worried. Not very happy on the whole. There was also a large, yellow-faced man. Foreigner, he might be. Asiatic? What was he doing, flying in a plane to the North of Scotland? The Squadron Leader said deferentially to Colonel Munro:

‘Everything laid on, sir? The car is here waiting.’

‘How far exactly is the distance?’

‘Seventeen miles, sir, roughish road but not too bad. There are extra rugs in the car.’

‘You have your orders? Repeat, please, if you will, Squadron Leader Andrews.’

The Squadron Leader repeated and the Colonel nodded satisfaction. As the car finally drove off, the Squadron Leader looked after it, wondering to himself why on earth those particular people were here on this drive over the lonely moor to a venerable old castle where a sick man lived as a recluse without friends or visitors in the general run of things. Horsham knew, he supposed. Horsham must know a lot of strange things. Oh well, Horsham wasn’t likely to tell him anything.

The car was well and carefully driven. It drew up at last over a gravel driveway and came to a stop before the porch. It was a turreted building of heavy stone. Lights hung at either side of the big door. The door itself opened before there was any need to ring a bell or demand admittance.

An old Scottish woman of sixty-odd with a stern, dour face, stood in the doorway. The chauffeur helped the occupants out.

James Kleek and Horsham helped Lord Altamount to alight and supported him up the steps. The old Scottish woman stood aside and dropped a respectful curtsy to him. She said:

‘Good evening, y’r lordship. The master’s waiting for you. He knows you’re arriving, we’ve got rooms prepared and fires for you in all of them.’

Another figure had arrived in the hall now. A tall lean woman between fifty and sixty, a woman who was still handsome. Her black hair was parted in the middle, she had a high forehead, an aquiline nose and a tanned skin.

‘Here’s Miss Neumann to look after you,’ said the Scottish woman.

‘Thank you, Janet,’ said Miss Neumann. ‘Be sure the fires are kept up in the bedrooms.’

‘I will that.’

Lord Altamount shook hands with her.

‘Good evening, Miss Neumann.’

‘Good evening, Lord Altamount. I hope you are not too tired by your journey.’

‘We had a very good flight. This is Colonel Munro, Miss Neumann. This is Mr Robinson, Sir James Kleek and Mr Horsham, of the Security Department.’

‘I remember Mr Horsham from some years ago, I think.’

‘I hadn’t forgotten,’ said Henry Horsham. ‘It was at the Leveson Foundation. You were already, I think, Professor Shoreham’s secretary at that time?’

‘I was first his assistant in the laboratory, and afterwards his secretary. I am still, as far as he needs one, his secretary. He also has to have a hospital nurse living here more or less permanently. There have to be changes from time to time–Miss Ellis who is here now took over from Miss Bude only two days ago. I have suggested that she should stay near at hand to the room in which we ourselves shall be. I thought you would prefer privacy, but that she ought not to be out of call in case she was needed.’

‘Is he in very bad health?’ asked Colonel Munro.

‘He doesn’t actually suffer,’ said Miss Neumann, ‘but you must prepare yourself, if you have not seen him, that is, for a long time. He is only what is left of a man.’

‘Just one moment before you take us to