the man who was thursday-第17部分

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buildings　which　they　had　seen　from　across　the　river；　and　began　in　silence　to　mount　the　naked　and　numberless　stone　steps；　only　pausing　now　and　then　to　make　short　remarks　on　the　rail　of　the　banisters。　At　about　every　other　flight　they　passed　a　window；　each　window　showed　them　a　pale　and　tragic　dawn　lifting　itself　laboriously　over　London。　From　each　the　innumerable　roofs　of　slate　looked　like　the　leaden　surges　of　a　grey；　troubled　sea　after　rain。　Syme　was　increasingly　conscious　that　his　new　adventure　had　somehow　a　quality　of　cold　sanity　worse　than　the　wild　adventures　of　the　past。　Last　night；　for　instance；　the　tall　tenements　had　seemed　to　him　like　a　tower　in　a　dream。　As　he　now　went　up　the　weary　and　perpetual　steps；　he　was　daunted　and　bewildered　by　their　almost　infinite　series。　But　it　was　not　the　hot　horror　of　a　dream　or　of　anything　that　might　be　exaggeration　or　delusion。　Their　infinity　was　more　like　the　empty　infinity　of　arithmetic；　something　unthinkable；　yet　necessary　to　thought。　Or　it　was　like　the　stunning　statements　of　astronomy　about　the　distance　of　the　fixed　stars。　He　was　ascending　the　house　of　reason；　a　thing　more　hideous　than　unreason　itself。

By　the　time　they　reached　Dr。　Bull's　landing；　a　last　window　showed　them　a　harsh；　white　dawn　edged　with　banks　of　a　kind　of　coarse　red；　more　like　red　clay　than　red　cloud。　And　when　they　entered　Dr。　Bull's　bare　garret　it　was　full　of　light。

Syme　had　been　haunted　by　a　half　historic　memory　in　connection　with　these　empty　rooms　and　that　austere　daybreak。　The　moment　he　saw　the　garret　and　Dr。　Bull　sitting　writing　at　a　table；　he　remembered　what　the　memory　wasthe　French　Revolution。　There　should　have　been　the　black　outline　of　a　guillotine　against　that　heavy　red　and　white　of　the　morning。　Dr。　Bull　was　in　his　white　shirt　and　black　breeches　only；　his　cropped；　dark　head　might　well　have　just　come　out　of　its　wig；　he　might　have　been　Marat　or　a　more　slipshod　Robespierre。

Yet　when　he　was　seen　properly；　the　French　fancy　fell　away。　The　Jacobins　were　idealists；　there　was　about　this　man　a　murderous　materialism。　His　Dosition　gave　him　a　somewhat　new　appearance。　The　strong；　white　light　of　morning　coming　from　one　side　creating　sharp　shadows；　made　him　seem　both　more　pale　and　more　angular　than　he　had　looked　at　the　breakfast　on　the　balcony。　Thus　the　two　black　glasses　that　encased　his　eyes　might　really　have　been　black　cavities　in　his　skull；　making　him　look　like　a　death's…head。　And；　indeed；　if　ever　Death　himself　sat　writing　at　a　wooden　table；　it　might　have　been　he。

He　looked　up　and　smiled　brightly　enough　as　the　men　came　in；　and　rose　with　the　resilient　rapidity　of　which　the　Professor　had　spoken。　He　set　chairs　for　both　of　them；　and　going　to　a　peg　behind　the　door；　proceeded　to　put　on　a　coat　and　waistcoat　of　rough；　dark　tweed；　he　buttoned　it　up　neatly；　and　came　back　to　sit　down　at　his　table。

The　quiet　good　humour　of　his　manner　left　his　two　opponents　helpless。　It　was　with　some　momentary　difficulty　that　the　Professor　broke　silence　and　began；　〃I'm　sorry　to　disturb　you　so　early；　comrade；〃　said　he；　with　a　careful　resumption　of　the　slow　de　Worms　manner。　〃You　have　no　doubt　made　all　the　arrangements　for　the　Paris　affair？〃　Then　he　added　with　infinite　slowness；　〃We　have　information　which　renders　intolerable　anything　in　the　nature　of　a　moment's　delay。〃

Dr。　Bull　smiled　again；　but　continued　to　gaze　on　them　without　speaking。　The　Professor　resumed；　a　pause　before　each　weary　word

〃Please　do　not　think　me　excessively　abrupt；　but　I　advise　you　to　alter　those　plans；　or　if　it　is　too　late　for　that；　to　follow　your　agent　with　all　the　support　you　can　get　for　him。　Comrade　Syme　and　I　have　had　an　experience　which　it　would　take　more　time　to　recount　than　we　can　afford；　if　we　are　to　act　on　it。　I　will；　however；　relate　the　occurrence　in　detail；　even　at　the　risk　of　losing　time；　if　you　really　feel　that　it　is　essential　to　the　understanding　of　the　problem　we　have　to　discuss。〃

He　was　spinning　out　his　sentences；　making　them　intolerably　long　and　lingering；　in　the　hope　of　maddening　the　practical　little　Doctor　into　an　explosion　of　impatience　which　might　show　his　hand。　But　the　little　Doctor　continued　only　to　stare　and　smile；　and　the　monologue　was　uphill　work。　Syme　began　to　feel　a　new　sickness　and　despair。　The　Doctor's　smile　and　silence　were　not　at　all　like　the　cataleptic　stare　and　horrible　silence　which　he　had　confronted　in　the　Professor　half　an　hour　before。　About　the　Professor's　makeup　and　all　his　antics　there　was　always　something　merely　grotesque；　like　a　gollywog。　Syme　remembered　those　wild　woes　of　yesterday　as　one　remembers　being　afraid　of　Bogy　in　childhood。　But　here　was　daylight；　here　was　a　healthy；　square…shouldered　man　in　tweeds；　not　odd　save　for　the　accident　of　his　ugly　spectacles；　not　glaring　or　grinning　at　all；　but　smiling　steadily　and　not　saying　a　word。　The　whole　had　a　sense　of　unbearable　reality。　Under　the　increasing　sunlight　the　colours　of　the　Doctor's　complexion；　the　pattern　of　his　tweeds；　grew　and　expanded　outrageously；　as　such　things　grow　too　important　in　a　realistic　novel。　But　his　smile　was　quite　slight；　the　pose　of　his　head　polite；　the　only　uncanny　thing　was　his　silence。

〃As　I　say；〃　resumed　the　Professor；　like　a　man　toiling　through　heavy　sand；　〃the　incident　that　has　occurred　to　us　and　has　led　us　to　ask　for　information　about　the　Marquis；　is　one　which　you　may　think　it　better　to　have　narrated；　but　as　it　came　in　the　way　of　Comrade　Syme　rather　than　me〃

His　words　he　seemed　to　be　dragging　out　like　words　in　an　anthem；　but　Syme；　who　was　watching；　saw　his　long　fingers　rattle　quickly　on　the　edge　of　the　crazy　table。　He　read　the　message；　〃You　must　go　on。　This　devil　has　sucked　me　dry！〃

Syme　plunged　into　the　breach　with　that　bravado　of　improvisation　which　always　came　to　him　when　he　was　alarmed。

〃Yes；　the　thing　really　happened　to　me；〃　he　said　hastily。　〃I　had　the　good　fortune　to　fall　into　conversation　with　a　detective　who　took　me；　thanks　to　my　hat；　for　a　respectable　person。　Wishing　to　clinch　my　reputation　for　respectability；　I　took　him　and　made　him　very　drunk　at　the　Savoy。　Under　this　influence　he　became　friendly；　and　told　me　in　so　many　words　that　within　a　day　or　two　they　hope　to　arrest　the　Marquis　in　France。

So　unless　you　or　I　can　get　on　his　track〃

The　Doctor　was　still　smiling　in　the　most　friendly　way；　and　his　protected　eyes　were　still　impenetrable。　The　Professor　signalled　to　Syme　that　he　would　resume　his　explanation；　and　he　began　again　with　the　same　elaborate　calm。

〃Syme　immediately　brought　this　information　to　me；　and　we　came　here　together　to　see　what　use　you　would　be　inclined　to　make　of　it。　It　seems　to　me　unquestionably　urgent　that〃

All　this　time　Syme　had　been　staring　at　the　Doctor　almost　as　steadily　as　the　Doctor　stared　at　the　Professor；　but　quite　without　the　smile。　The　nerves　of　both　comrades…in…arms　were　near　snapping　under　that　strain　of　motionless　amiability；　when　Syme　suddenly　leant　forward　and　idly　tapped　the　edge　of　the　table。　His　message　to　his　ally　ran；　〃I　have　an　intuition。〃

The　Professor；　with　scarcely　a　pause　in　his　monologue；　signalled　back；　〃Then　sit　on　it。〃

Syme　telegraphed；　〃It　is　quite　extraordinary。〃

The　other　answered；　〃Extraordinary　rot！〃

Syme　said；　〃I　am　a　poet。〃

The　other　retorted；　〃You　are　a　dead　man。〃

Syme　had　gone　quite　red　up　to　his　yellow　hair；　and　his　eyes　were　burning　feverishly。　As　he　said　he　had　an　intuition；　and　it　had　risen　to　a　sort　of　lightheaded　certainty。　Resuming　his　symbolic　taps；　he　signalled　to　his　friend；　〃You　scarcely　realise　how　poetic　my　intuition　is。　It　has　that　sudden　quality　we　sometimes　feel　in　the　coming　of　spring。〃

He　then　studied　the　answer　on　his　friend's　fingers。　The　answer　was；　〃Go　to　hell！　〃

The　Professor　then　resumed　his　merely　verbal　monologue　addressed　to　the　Doctor。

〃Perhaps　I　should　rather　say；〃　said　Syme　on　his　fingers；　〃that　it　resembles　that　sudden　smell　of　the　sea　which　may　be　found　in　the　heart　of　lush　woods。〃

His　companion　disdained　to　reply。

〃Or　yet　again；〃　tapped　Syme；　〃it　is　positive；　as　is　the　passionate　red　hair　of　a　beautiful　woman。〃

The　Professor　was　continuing　his　speech；　but　in　the　middle　of　it　Syme　decided　to　act。　He　leant　across　the　table；　and　said　in　a　voice　that　could　not　be　neglected

〃Dr。　Bull！〃

The　Doctor's　sleek　and　smiling　head　did　not　move；　but　they　could　have　sworn　that　under　his　dark　glasses　his　eyes　darted　towards　Syme。

〃Dr。　Bull；〃　said　Syme；　in　a　voice　peculiarly　precise　and　courteous；　〃would　you　do　me　a　small　favour？　Would　you　be　so　kind　as　to　take　off　your　spectacles？〃

The　Professor　swung　round　on　his　seat；　and　stared　at　Syme　with　a　sort　of　frozen　fury　of　astonishment。　Syme；　like　a　man　who　has　thrown　his　life　and　fortune　on　the　table；　leaned　forward　with　a　fiery　face。　The　Doctor　did　not　move。

For　a　few　seconds　there　was　a　silence　in　which　one　could　hear　a　pin　drop；　split　once　by　the　single　hoot　of　a　distant　steamer　on　the　Thames。　Then　Dr。　Bull　rose　slowly；　still　smiling；　and　took　off　his　spectacles。

Syme　sprang　to　his　feet；　stepping　backwards　a　little；　like　a　chemical　lecturer　from　a　successful　explosion。　His　eyes　were　like　stars；　and　for　an　instant　he　could　only　point　without　speaking。

The　Professor　had　also　started　to　his　feet；　forgetful　of　his　supposed　paralysis。　He　leant　on　the　back　of　the　chair　and　stared　doubtfully　at　Dr。　Bull；　as　if　the　Doctor　had　been　turned　into　a　toad　before　his　eyes。　And　indeed　it　was　almost　as　great　a　transformation　scene。

The　two　detectives　saw　sitting　in　the　chair　before　them　a　very　boyish…looking　young　man；　with　very　frank　and　happy　hazel　eyes；　an　open　expression；　cockney　clothes　like　those　of　a　city　clerk；　and　an　unquestionable　breath　about　him　of　being　very　good　and　rather　commonplace。　The　smile　was　still　there；　but　it　might　have　been　the　first　smile　of　a　baby。

〃I　knew　I　was　a　poet；〃　cried　Syme　in　a　sort　of　ecstasy。　〃I　knew　my　intuition　was　as　infallible　as　the　Pope。　It　was　the　spectacles　that　did　it！　It　was　all　the　spectacles。　Given　those　beastly　black　eyes；　and　all　the　rest　of　him　his　health　and　his　jolly　looks；　made　him　a　live　devil　among　dead　ones。〃

〃It　certainly　does　make　a　queer　difference；〃　said　the　Professor　shakily。　〃But　as　regards　the　project　of　Dr。　Bull〃

〃Project　be　damned！〃　roared　Syme；　beside　himself。　〃Look　at　him！　Look　at　his　face；　look