RETURN OF THE DOCTOR

A voice rang out with excitement. ‘The dead eyes still reflect you, Doyle. Even though the pupils do not dilate in the light. I can see your image in them quite clearly.’ The figure jumped to its feet and Dr Bell deposited his grisly relic on a nearby table. Then he grasped me by the hand. ‘Well,’ he said more politely than accurately, ‘you catch me quite unawares.’

And then he stopped, for he had noted at once the change in my appearance since we last met some weeks earlier. ‘Yes,’ he spoke more slowly, surveying me. ‘But the image in the dead eyes is certainly a poor one, I was unable to see detail.’ It was only too clear what he saw now worried him. His eyes flicked over the scar on my neck, the incongruity of my clothes (for I was still wearing what Middleton had given me) and not least my near-skeletal appearance.

The Doctor insisted we should go downstairs at once. ‘It is, you will admit, unusual, Doyle, for me to leave the door unlocked. The truth is I decided after our London adventures that I needed to be more secure and a locksmith is arriving any minute. He has instructions to go no further than the door for I was anxious to inspect my new acquisition. As soon as his plans are laid, we will talk.’

The locksmith in question, a sandy-haired man with a very serious manner, appeared shortly after we came downstairs and, in view of my anxiety, I was relieved to hear Bell ordering a range of devices for his door including a metal plate for one side of it and a Rutherford lock which would effectively prevent any unauthorised entrance while he was away. I knew from past experience there must be another entrance somewhere but Bell was obviously content with the security of that, for he made no mention of it. Since even I had no idea where it was, I decided it was unlikely Cream would be any better informed.

As soon as the man had gone. Bell suggested we repair for some lunch. ‘We must talk in confidence,’ he said, ‘but if we go now the place will be empty and it seems to me you need all the sustenance you can be given.’

And so it was that we found ourselves in the private dining room of one of the city’s travelling hotels. The place was brightly furnished with a large fireplace and, since Bell was known to its proprietor, we were treated handsomely enough. Even so, that room aroused very sad memories. Long ago Bell had arranged for us to meet my beloved Elsbeth here for some private discussion during the investigation that culminated in her death. The Doctor was not a man to forget such things and I am quite sure he was aware the place might stir associations, but he had always been utterly practical about such matters. It was his firm belief, ever since the loss of his wife, that only by living on in the same places and things could you honour the dead. ‘There is no sense,’ he said to me once, ‘in running away from memories, for it is to run from the love of those we have lost. And they would not wish that.’

So I tried to put such thoughts to one side, though I hardly did the food justice and I noticed my hand was trembling more than ever as I lifted my glass. However, once the waiters had retired and we were alone, I told him everything. At first he was utterly astonished. He found it hard to credit I could be describing events that had commenced only a few minutes after he last saw me when we parted on the streets of London. It troubled him that he had taken his train north with no notion whatsoever of all that was happening to me.’

‘But why did the Morlands not send word to my hotel?’ he said. ‘Even if they assumed you were ill, they should have.’

‘I doubt they would even know where you were staying,’ I said. ‘I had never mentioned it to them.’

He nodded and waved a hand for me to proceed. After that his astonishment seemed to subside a little and he paid the utmost attention to my words, interrupting merely to clarify this or that detail. Sometimes he frowned, though whether this was a frown of worry or of doubt that I was telling the truth, it was impossible to say.

At last I was finished. I suppose I had expected some reaction to the enormity of it all. But he was silent and, as was typical, he sat there, drumming his fingers on the table, looking at me closely.

Then he seemed to remember himself. ‘I apologise,’ he said slowly and uncharacteristically, for in matters of criminal investigation he always did as he pleased without any reference to anyone. ‘Whatever the truth of all this, you have obviously suffered a good deal. I suggest we return to the university now.’

I did not quite know how to take this. But I said nothing and we spoke not at all on the journey back to his rooms. They were as we had left them, the locksmith would not commence his work until the following week. The Doctor unlocked the door leading to his secret room and locked it carefully behind us as we climbed the short staircase.

We walked past the shelves, which contained such a strange assortment of objects connected to murder — as well as photographs, pamphlets and books — until we reached the chairs and fireplace by the window. A fire now burnt here cheerfully and, in normal circumstances, I would have pressed the Doctor to reveal the identity of the mysterious person who tended this room, for it was one secret I had never discovered. But I was in no mood to do so now.

Bell himself looked grim as we took chairs on opposite sides of the fireplace just as we had done so often before in happier circumstances. He stared at the fire for a moment and then back at me.

‘You must understand, Doyle, when you hear what I am about to say that, even during the last case, I became very worried about your self-prescribing habits.’ I opened my mouth to protest but he raised a hand to stop me. ‘I was, as you know, extremely concerned about the effect laudanum might be placing upon your constitution. Now you appear before me with every appearance of addiction and tell a story which you admit yourself has certain aspects of a dream. None of its details have any corroboration. I have heard nothing from any of your friends or relatives as to an absence, there is no news of a murder in Wiltshire in the press, let alone a manhunt. Also …’

But he never finished for this was too much. In my agitation I jumped to my feet. ‘You do me a great disservice, Doctor.’ I took a pace away and then back. ‘He wanted to make me an addict and, if he had only kept in the background, I am sure he would have succeeded. But my contempt for him was strong enough to overcome even the spell of drugs. Of course there are no letters to you, for I was in London where nobody at the practice knew of our association. Even if they did, why would they write when they have simply been told I am recuperating from illness? As to the press, I have no idea what the Wiltshire police wish to give out. But a weekend has intervened and I expect you will find something tomorrow. I have to say that I had hoped for a more sympathetic response from the one man in the world who knows what he is.’

And with this I pulled open my shirt to show him the scars on my chest and stomach, loosening my collar to reveal the full extent of the cut on my neck. ‘Do you really think,’ I said, ‘I would have stabbed myself?’

The Doctor got to his feet and studied the wounds with excitement, the physical evidence acting upon him as my words had not. ‘I accept,’ he said, looking troubled. ‘I accept it is unlikely but you will have to be patient with me, Doyle. I will always test the veracity even of a friend in order to be sure of my facts. And these facts are, as I know you will agree, unexpected.’

‘So what are you proposing?’ I said.

‘To lend you some money.’ He moved over to the drawer which he unlocked. ‘You must buy some clothes and whatever else you need. The hotel where we dined can put you up for the night, I have already spoken to them and I doubt it need be any longer than that. I will see you there later and offer you my conclusions.’

I had been so angered by his disbelief that I was in no mood to turn down his offer, indeed I felt it was the least he could do. We parted shortly afterwards and I trudged around some shops buying a coat and jacket of Edinburgh tweed, some shirts and trousers and undergarments as well as shaving tackle. The hotel was, as he said, ready to receive me with every courtesy. I remembered now that Bell had once operated successfully on the proprietor’s mother and I was shown to a suite of rooms that in normal circumstances I would have considered palatial.

Here I fretted and paced, wondering what would occur. He was not there by six, nor by seven, and I was struggling to find some distraction in the morning paper and an article about the situation in Egypt and the fate of poor Captain Moncrieff at the hands of hostile Bedouins in Souakim when there was a sharp knock on the door.

I sprang up to open it. Bell stood there on the threshold and his demeanour was entirely changed. He had a fistful of telegrams and an evening newspaper in his hand, as he strode forward into the room, flushed with excitement.

Scattering the telegrams on the table beside the newspaper, he turned to face me. ‘I will not apologise again, Doyle, I did only what I had to and now we must move on. It is fortunate the student term here is all but over and I will explain I am having to go south to sort out some odd bequests of property Professor Fleming made to the faculty. So he did but it need not take up very much time.’

I seized the first telegram which was from Sally Morland. ‘Yes,’ said Bell, ‘Mrs Sally Morland confirms your account in detail. You were taken away for urgent attention. They were assured you were making a good recovery but are now becoming concerned they have heard nothing of you or, you will note, of their friendly uncle, apart from a cable saying you were all right and convalescing.’

So they were unharmed. It was a massive relief. Silently, too, I blessed Sally for her promptness in the reply. Bell must have read my thoughts. ‘Do not worry,’ he said, ‘I have already replied saying you are safe and we intend to visit them.’

‘Do we?’ I said, for, as so often before, the Doctor had switched from passivity to action at a pace that was dizzying to behold.

‘My dear Doyle,’ said Bell, ‘we have waited five years. I wished to test the ground but now I know it is firm, I have no intention of delay. He has chosen to return to the field. It is the opportunity we sought and we must take it at once.’