Chapter XIV: A Warning Is Uttered

A few evenings after Dick and Owen’s visit to the Empire, on the latter’s return home at the end of his afternoon round, Margaret met him in the surgery and handed him the slate with the names of the callers during his absence. He glanced through it, making one or two remarks, and then, as he laid it down, she pointed to a note lying on the table. The envelope was dirty and thumb-stained.

“Who brought this?” he inquired.

“A little boy, sir. I asked him who it was from, and he didn’t seem to know. He said a man had given it to him, and told him to leave it here.”

“Oh, all right,” and the servant left the room as Owen tore open the envelope. Inside was half a sheet of paper, as dirty and crumpled as the cover, and on it, written in pencil, were the following lines:

“OWEN ODD,—You seem to be getting on; I am not. I’m hard up. Meet me
this evening, at eight-thirty, under the third lamp-post on the south
side of Brook Green, and, for the sake of old times, bring some money
in your pocket. You will then recognise the writer.”

“Infernal cheek!” muttered Owen, as he crumpled up the missive and threw it into the fire, immediately afterwards making a grab at the paper, but too late to save it.

“Hang it! I never thought of that; I might have recognised the writing. Well, it can’t be helped now, and, in any case, I shouldn’t have gone. It was only a try on.” And he dismissed the matter from his mind, more especially as the evening turned out a very busy one for him, and it was late when he found himself finally disengaged.

Some two or three days later another note arrived in the same manner, but the tone of it was different. There was no formal commencement—it began straight away:

“You took no notice of my first letter. I give you another chance. Be
at the place I first mentioned at eight-thirty this evening. If you
cannot come then, come to-morrow night at the same time, and mind and
bring what I asked you for. If you fail me again I shall know how to
act. I am watching you daily. Be wise in time.”

“Who in the name of wonder can have sent this?” muttered Owen, holding the dirty paper under the gas and examining the writing. “A feigned hand, I’m certain, and yet an educated hand. I don’t think it can be one of my patients. Well, I shan’t go. But if this kind of thing continues I shall have to stop it. I’m not going to be badgered and threatened for nothing. But the police shall do it, not I,” and for the second time he put the matter aside and did not allow it to worry him. He, however, took the opportunity of running over to Barnes and showing the last missive to his friend Dick.

“Look here, Owen, do you think it can have anything to do with those fellows we saw following us from the Empire the other evening?” said Jervoise, after glancing over it.

“I should think not; but then, you remember, I did not see them.”

“No, you didn’t. If you should get another of these things you might let me have it, and I’d keep the appointment and see what kind of a man your correspondent is. It would be rather a joke.”

“All right; the next one that comes I’ll send on to you, but it may be only meant as a sell by some fellow who thinks himself devilish clever and funny.”

“Of course it may, there are such heaps of fools about. But now come along with me; I’m going to run up to the club.”

“Can’t, old fellow. Sorry, but I’m far too busy. I must be off,” and the two friends parted.

No more dirty notes arrived for Owen, and he had concluded he was right in setting it down as a sell when one morning, just as he was preparing to start on his round, the surgery bell rang, and on his opening the door he found the major standing outside.

“Ah, doctor, I’m glad I caught you. I was afraid you might have gone.”

“You are only just in time, major. But what is it? Nothing wrong, I hope?”

“Not with me, I’m glad to say. But I wanted a word or two with you, if you can give me a few minutes,” replied his visitor, entering.

“Certainly. Come in and sit down.”

“We shan’t be overheard here?”

“Oh, no. The surgery is as secret as a confessional.”

“Good. Well, I’ve received a most extraordinary communication referring to you, and though I don’t believe a word of it I thought it was only fair you should see it. Just glance your eye over that,” and the major drew a letter from his pocket and passed it across the table.

Owen smiled as he picked it up. A glance at the direction was sufficient to convince him that it came from the same quarter as those he himself had received.

“Read it, doctor, read it,” said the major, closely watching Owen’s face as he drew out the usual half sheet, containing the following words:

“MAJOR GORDON,—As a friend I warn you against Doctor Odd, who has
insinuated himself like a snake in the grass into your flat! He is
no fit companion for your daughter or yourself. You have merely to
ask him about Exeter, and my words will be proved. A doctor given to
drink is one to be avoided.”

“This is getting beyond a joke!” exclaimed Owen hotly, as he finished reading. “I shall place the matter in the hands of the police at once.”

“Well, I really think you ought to, though, mind you, I don’t believe a word of the insinuation in it. And I ask you nothing.”

“Oh, for my own sake, I can’t leave it there, though I confess I am not quite clear what the blackguard is driving at in mentioning Exeter. I’m very glad you came round, major, and showed me this, for it is not the first I have seen.” And Owen gave his visitor an account of the receipt of the two previous notes, and then said:

“About Exeter. I certainly was in practice there, and was grossly deceived in my partner. It is true I did not pay much for my share of the practice, because I was given to understand that it was a small one, but that it only required working up. The books, such as they were, seemed all right, and showed a certain amount of profit, but the patients were anything but high class, save in one or two instances. Still, as a young man, I had hope that by sticking to work I might in the end make a good thing of it. But it was not long before I discovered what kind of a man my partner was. He was more frequently to be found in the public house than the surgery, and his character was well known in the town. But when all right he was clever as an operator. I had invested most of my capital in the venture, so I could not well withdraw, and for some years I fought on. I have every reason to believe that as far as I was concerned I was respected and liked, and I obtained several public appointments. But in the end I found it would not do. I should never be any better. My partner was a millstone round my neck that I could not shake off, so I determined to ‘cut my loss,’ and start once more. I dissolved the partnership, and for a time took _locum tenens_, till I came here as assistant to Doctor Maureward.”

“It seems hard on you, doctor, but I suppose you were not sufficiently careful in making inquiries at first, eh?”

“No, I was young and green, and too anxious to get to work and make money, and I looked on people as honest till I found them the reverse.”

“And what was your partner’s name, if it’s fair to ask?”

“Jakes, Benjamin Jakes, and about as big a walking beer-barrel as you’ll come across in a day’s march. But he soon came to the end of his tether.”

“I expect so.”

“He had relied on me, and when I left him he rapidly went to utter grief, was sold up, and, I heard, left the place; and since then I’ve entirely lost sight of him.”

“Did you part good friends? I expect not.”

“Well, not exactly bad ones. He didn’t like my going, but he could not stop me, and so had to make the best of it.”

“And you’ve never heard of him since?”

“Never.”

“Do you think he is the sender of these letters?”

“I can’t say. It is not his writing, but, at any rate, they are from someone who is acquainted with Exeter.”

“Well,” continued the major, rising, “you will take what steps you think best, and the sooner you get hold of the blackguard the better. I’m glad I came round to you first thing; and remember this, doctor, what you have told me will make no difference in our relations, and both my daughter and myself will always be glad to see you at our house when you can spare the time to run in.”

“Thank you, major, thank you. Will you mention this matter to Miss Gordon?” as Owen remembered some words had fallen from her lips that first evening he had been in her company, when she had been examining his hand.

“Just as you like.” And then, after a pause, “No, I don’t think I will. Some girls are quick to get silly notions into their heads—not that Amy does. Still, perhaps it would be better not,” and the two men left the surgery together.

On Owen’s return, some hours later, he had not been in the surgery many minutes when the telephone bell rang.

“Well?” he shouted, taking up the receiver.

“Are you Doctor Odd?”

“Yes. Who are you?”

“Never mind. But you see I have kept my promise, and this is only the commencement——”

“You thundering scamp! I only wish I was at your end of the line for a couple of minutes,” growled Owen, trembling with rage.

A light laugh rang in the receiver by way of answer. “Don’t get raggy,” continued the voice. “You know how you can put an end to it all. To-night at the place and time I named, and mind and bring plenty with you.”

“I’m hanged if I do. You don’t get a penny from me.”

“All right, old man; I shall have to try stronger measures. Ta-ta,” and the speaker was cut off.

Without moving from the instrument Owen rang and gave Dick’s number at Barnes. He was at home, and his friend gave him a hurried account of what had taken place.

“This is better, old fellow. We shall get hold of the villain now, or I’m a Dutchman,” answered Dick. “But who are this Miss and Major Gordon? You have never mentioned them before.”

Owen had somehow brought Amy’s name into the story without thinking, and replied in as careless a way as he could assume:

“Patients of mine.”

“The former beautiful and the latter gallant, I’ll be sworn,” and Owen could hear an amused chuckle as he replied, “Now, no fooling, Dick; this is a serious matter.”

“It is, my boy, it is, and I’m going to help you if you want me. I’ll be with you about seven, if you’ll be in, and then I’ll take the job on. Miss Gordon wouldn’t like you to run any risks, eh? But, I say, what about the little Alza—what will she have to say?”

“Shut up, and don’t be an ass. I’ll be in at seven, and show you this last effusion. Good-bye,” and he rung off.

Dick turned up punctually at the time mentioned, and the two friends had a long conversation, when it was decided that Jervoise should go alone to the rendezvous and see if he could recognise any one, Owen remaining at home till his return.

Brook Green is not a particularly lively spot at any time, and on this exceptionally cold spring evening it attracted few loiterers. One or two couples of lovers huddled close together on the seats, but everyone else seemed more intent on getting along as quickly as possible than lingering about. There was, of course, a stream of pedestrians passing along the west side, where is the road leading from Shepherd’s Bush to Hammersmith; but there was no lingering here either.

Dick rather enjoyed the idea of doing some amateur detective work, and set about it in what he considered the orthodox way. Making his way to the north side he walked briskly along, stopping opposite the third lamp-post on the other side the Green, presumably to light his pipe, but at the same time taking a glance over the grass to see if there was anyone waiting about.

Beyond a man who was walking in the direction of London as quickly as he himself had been he could see no one.

He continued his pace, keeping level with this individual, until the end of the Green was reached, and then saw him disappear down one of the adjoining streets.

Waiting a few moments, to ascertain if his actions were a blind, and he would return, Dick crossed to the south side and made his way back again. Three or four people passed him, but there was nothing about any of them to call for attention, and he was fain to admit that he was at a serious disadvantage, and with small hope of discovering anything, unless the opening movement came from the other side.

Again and again he passed the indicated lamp-post, and once, when a man, about whom he had his doubts, overtook him there, he stopped him and asked him for a light. His request was civilly complied with, but nothing further came of it; and after an hour of this kind of work Dick threw up the sponge and returned to the surgery.

“Well, what luck?” was Owen’s greeting.

“None; I’ve drawn blank. No one came, or else I was spotted and my presence not appreciated,” and he proceeded to give his friend an account of his wanderings.

They had been talking some ten minutes when there was a rattle at the letter box in the outer door, and Owen going to it found another of the dirty thumb-stained envelopes. Returning with it, and scanning the contents, he exclaimed:

“Confound the fellow! Listen to this:

“‘It’s no use your playing this fool-game. Old birds are not caught
with that kind of chaff. Either you come yourself or leave it alone.
Your friend, Dick Jervoise, is about as poor hand at aping a “tec” as
I’ve seen. I’ll try something stronger now, so look out, and then you
may hear from me again.’”

“Umph! That’s pleasant,” growled Dick. “Not content with doing me he chaffs me. By Jove! I should like to get at him.”

“Oh, I’m not going to stand any more of this!” exclaimed Owen angrily. “I’ll put it in the hands of the police at once. Come along, old man, we won’t humbug about it any more,” and together the two friends made their way to the Hammersmith police station.