The Secrets of Dr. Taverner by Dion Fortune Read Free Book Online Page A

"In all moments of difficulty and danger" --the booming of his deep voice filled the room with echoes--"make this Sign." And I knew that the man who had betrayed his trust had made good and been received back into his old Fraternity.
     
    We returned to the upper world, and the man who was not Robson bade us farewell. "It is necessary that I should go," he said.
     
    "It is indeed," said Taverner. "You had better be out of England till this matter has blown over. Rhodes, will you undertake to drive him down to Southampton? I have other work to do."
     
    As we dropped down the long slope that leads to Liphook, I studied the man at my side. By some strange alchemy Taverner had woken the long dead soul of Pierro della Costa and imposed it upon the present day personality of Peter Robson. Power radiated from him as light from a lamp; even the features seemed changed. Deep lines about the corners of the mouth lent a firmness to the hitherto indefinite chin, and the light blue eyes, now sunken in the head, had taken on the glitter of steel and were as steady as those of a swordsman.
     
    It was just after six in the morning when we crossed the floating bridge into Southampton. The place was already astir, for, a dock town never sleeps, and we inquired our way to the little-known inn where Taverner had directed us to go for breakfast. We discovered it to be an unpretentious public house near the dock gates, and the potman was just drawing the bright curtains of turkey twill as we entered.
     
    It was evident that strangers were not very welcome in the little tavern, and no one offered to take our order. As we stood there irresolute, heavy footsteps thundered down creaking wooden stairs, and a strongly built man wearing the four lines of gold braid denoting the rank of Captain entered the bar parlour. He glanced at us as he came in, and indeed we were sufficiently incongruous to be notable in such a place.
     
    His eyes attracted my attention; he had the keen, out-looking gaze so characteristic of a seaman, but in addition to this he had a curious trick of looking at one without appearing to see one; the focus of the eyes met about a yard behind one's back. It was a thing I had often seen Taverner do when he wished to see the colours of an aura, that curious emanation which, for those who can see it, radiates from every living thing and is so clear an indication of the condition within.
     
    Grey eyes looked into blue as the newcomer took in my companion, and then an almost imperceptible sign passed between them, and the sailor joined us.
     
    "I believe you know my mother," he remarked by way of introduction. Robson admitted the acquaintanceship, though I am prepared to swear he had never seen the man before, and we all three adjourned to an inner room for breakfast, which appeared in response to the bellowed orders of our new acquaintance.
     
    Without any preamble he inquired our business, and Robson was equally ready to communicate it.
     
    "I want to get out of the country as quietly as possible," he said. Our new friend seemed to think that it was quite in the ordinary course of events that a man without luggage should be departing in this manner.
     
    "I am sailing at nine this morning, going down the Gold Coast as far as Loango. We aren't exactly the Cunard, but if you care to come you will be welcome. You can't wear that rig, however; you would only draw a crowd, which I take is what you don't want to do."
     
    He put his head through a half-door which separated the parlour from the back premises, and in response to his vociferations a little fat man with white chin whiskers appeared. A consultation took place between the two, the newcomer being equally ready to lend his assistance. Very shortly a suit of cheap serge reach-me-downs and a peaked cap were forthcoming, these being, the sailor assured us, the correct costume for a steward, in which capacity it was designed that Peter Robson should go to sea.
     
    Leaving the inn