The Best Horror Stories of Arthur Conan Doyle by Arthur Doyle Read Free Book Online Page A

lady’s ways and condone them, or was he a mere blind, doting fool? It was a point to be discussed over the teacups in snug little drawing-rooms, or with the aid of a cigar in the bow windows of clubs. Bitter and plain were the comments among men upon his conduct. There was but one who had a good word to say for him, and he was the most silent member in the smoking room. He had seen him break in a horse at the University, and it seemed to have left an impression upon his mind.
    But when Douglas Stone became the favourite all doubts as to Lord Sannox’s knowledge or ignorance were set for ever at rest. There was no subterfuge about Stone. In his high-handed, impetuous fashion, he set all caution and discretion at defiance. The scandal became notorious. A learned body intimated that his name had been struck from the list of its vice-presidents. Two friends implored him to consider his professional credit. He cursed them all three, and spent forty guineas on a bangle to take with him to the lady. He was at her house every evening, and she drove his carriage in the afternoons.There was not an attempt on either side to conceal their relations; but there came at last a little incident to interrupt them.
    It was a dismal winter’s night, very cold and gusty, with the wind whooping in the chimneys and blustering against the window-panes. A thin spatter of rain tinkled on the glass with each fresh sough of the gale, drowning for the instant the dull gurgle and drip from the eaves. Douglas Stone had finished his dinner, and sat by his fire in the study, a glass of rich port upon the malachite table at his elbow. As he raised it to his lips, he held it up against the lamplight, and watched with the eye of a connoisseur the tiny scales of beeswing which floated in its rich ruby depths. The fire, as it spurted up, threw fitful lights upon his bold, clear-cut face, with its widely-opened grey eyes, its thick and yet firm lips, and the deep, square jaw, which had something Roman in its strength and its animalism. He smiled from time to time as he nestled back in his luxurious chair. Indeed, he had a right to feel well pleased, for, against the advice of six colleagues, he had performed an operation that day of which only two cases were on record, and the result had been brilliant beyond all expectation. No other man in London would have had the daring to plan, or the skill to execute, such a heroic measure.
    But he had promised Lady Sannox to see her that evening and it was already half-past eight. His hand was outstretched to the bell to order the carriage when he heard the dull thud of the knocker. An instant later there was the shuffling of feet in the hall, and the sharp closing of a door.
    â€œA patient to see you, sir, in the consulting room,” said the butler.
    â€œAbout himself?”
    â€œNo, sir; I think he wants you to go out.”
    â€œIt is too late,” cried Douglas Stone peevishly. “I won’t go.”
    â€œThis is his card, sir.”
    The butler presented it upon the gold salver which had been given to his master by the wife of a Prime Minister.
    â€œ ‘Hamil Ali, Smyrna.’ Hum! The fellow is a Turk, I suppose.”
    â€œYes, sir. He seems as if he came from abroad, sir. And he’s in a terrible way.”
    â€œTut, tut! I have an engagement. I must go somewhere else. But I’ll see him. Show him in here, Pim.”
    A few moments later the butler swung open the door and ushered in a small and decrepit man, who walked with a bent back and with the forward push of the face and blink of the eyes which goes with extreme short sight. His face was swarthy, and his hair and beard of the deepest black. In one hand he held a turban of white muslin striped with red, in the other a small chamois-leather bag.
    â€œGood evening,” said Douglas Stone, when the butler had closed the door. “You speak English, I presume?”
    â€œYes, sir. I am from Asia Minor, but I