Grey Face/Chapter 20

T NO great distance from that house in Pennyfields in which a half-caste woman had recently—died under extraordinary circumstances was a building which at some time had constituted the warehouse and offices of a firm of Indo-Chinese importers. From the big doors of the warehouse the title of the firm had been so carelessly effaced that one suffiiently curious might have been enabled to decipher it.

A small painted board bearing the legend "Weissler & Company" had been nailed upon these doors to indicate the change of tenancy, but the activities of Weissler & Company were not evident. The dilapidated premises, which formerly had shown some signs of commercial life, with vans loading and unloading, and the coming and going of a considerable staff, now were gloomily silent.

Shortly after the time that Muir Torrington left Bruton Street, a scene which must have been of great interest to the young physician and his friend was tak- ing place in a room in the Limehouse premises which formerly had been the manager's office.

Seated at an extraordinarily large writing table, resembling one of those seen in board rooms, upon which were a multitude of books, documents, files of correspondence, photographs, microscopes, test tubes, and other scientific paraphernalia, was a man of arresting personality.

He wore a white overall upon which were many chemical stains and burns, and, having his elbow on the table, he rested his chin in one hand-a strangely slender, white, and delicate hand for so florid a man to possess. His clean-shaven face was remarkable for its fresh, high colour, and was crowned by a perfect mane of snow-white hair. He wore spectacles with tortoise- shell rims, and above these rims craggily protruded tufted brows. From beneath them, magnified by the lenses, penetrating greenish-brown eyes looked out.

Before the table and facing the one who sat there were two men. The first, heavily built, might have been anything from a retired prize fighter to a successful greengrocer. He wore a bowler and a blue serge suit. His clean-shaven face was bronzed, his grey hair cropped close. His bearing was curiously independent. He seemed by nature to be taciturn, but he had none of the manners of a servant. A close observer who had studied his odd rolling gait might have formed the opinion that at some time he had followed the sea; and he carried his big hands, too, in a way that was characteristic.

His companion afforded a singular contrast to himself. He was equally tall, but his figure was athletic and slender. He was dressed with taste. His wavy dark hair showed slightly grey at the temples, which may have been an indication of age or of suffering. He wore a small moustache and that kind of abbreviated beard at one time known as an imperial.

There was hauteur in the way he carried himself, but his widely opened eyes possessed a strange quality; for whereas at one moment their expression would be proudly contemptuous, in the next they would grow vacant. They would be suddenly lowered as if this handsome and distinguished-looking man found himself abashed or sought to recollect something which had escaped his memory. It was a strange trio.

"I suggest, Mr. Michael," said the spectacled man seated at the table—and his use of gutturals indicated a possible German origin—"I suggest that your reason for silence is not the one you would have us believe."

Mr. Michael, who had been contemplating the floor as if in a brown study, raised his eyes and gazed contemptuously at the speaker.

"I reply," he returned, "that a—" he hesitated and vagueness crept again into his eyes—"that a man of my family does not lie, Doctor Weissler."

"Ah!" Doctor Weissler continued to regard him unmovedly. "You would have me believe that you wish to sever association with my establishment from purely altruistic motives."

"No," the other replied sharply. "If I did my whole duty I should act otherwise." He seemed to consider the point. "But I am bound to secrecy. If only I had known! You may trust me, but I must go. I can remain here no longer."

His glance grew vacant and dropped to the floor again. A swift interchange of looks took place between Doctor Weissler and the man who stood at the speaker's elbow.

"This might be arranged," Doctor Weissler continued. "Although you have neglected to consider your source' of Income if you leave my employment. But there is one point which must be cleared up. You were on duty last night, and it appears that No, 6 Crucible broke/'

At last the speaker removed his singular gaze from the face of Michael, consulting a form which lay upon the table before him.

"In every other respect your entries seem to be accurate. But your log-book is silent respecting Crucible No. 6."

"Lucky I fell to it," growled the big man.

"I agree," said Doctor Weissler quietly. "But I do not remember having asked for your opinion, Teak."

"Well, you've got it," was the truculent reply. "I've saved the ship and I know it."

And whilst this cross-talk was carried on between Doctor Weissler and the man he addressed as Teak, whose accent identified him as hailing from the East Side, New York, the third member of the trio slipped again into some dream-world, staring vacantly about him, oblivious, it seemed, of this brewing storm, and always striving to recollect something which just eluded his memory. Doctor Weissler fixed his penetrating gaze upon Teak, and:

"You may go," he said. "I will detain you no longer."

For a moment Teak hesitated, his attitude ominous of rebellion, but finally, cowed by the gaze of those strange eyes focussed upon him through the pebbles:

"Very good," he said, went out and closed the door; whereupon:

"Now," Doctor Weissler continued, "give me your confidence, Mr. Michael. Overlook Teak's roughness. He followed you this morning because the accident which you had neglected to report filled him with suspicion. His is a suspicious nature. He is without that culture which makes doubt impossible between gentlemen. You have returned, and now I ask you, Mr. Michael, to give me some account of what took place. I have employed you in what I believe to be congenial work because I recognize a clever man even though he may not be qualified. Your salary is generous, your movements are unrestricted, and your hours of duty, if peculiar, are not long. Therefore, surely, you owe me this. Come, be frank. Crucible No. 6 was not empty; and when it burst"—a feverish note informed the guttural voice—"when it burst, what became of its contents? It is impossible"—he pressed his slender hands firmly upon the table—"that the whole of the contents should have been dissipated, rendered gaseous. You are not justified in your silence, Mr. Michael."

That the other was touched by this appeal became immediately evident. He conquered that strange retrospective mood which seemed frequently to claim him and fixed his imperious gaze upon Doctor Weissler.

"You are right," he replied. "But when I accepted your offer of employment I did not appreciate the nature of your experiments. What I have done, I have done from no personal motive. You have only to assure me that you aim not at individual gain or profit, but that a passion for science alone has inspired you, and your secret will be safe in my hands. But if this thing is to be used commercially, then I say that it is monstrous and criminal. It will bring ruin to thousands. You have bought my silence, but I insist upon retiring from your establishment. The fact that I have been kept so much in the dark alone is suspicious. If you had worked for science, you would have allowed me to share your ideals."

The speaker, from being the defendant, had become the accuser. He seemed to tower over Doctor Weissler majestically. For a few moments there was silence in the room. Michael did not relapse into his mood of abstraction, but fearlessly met the gaze of the greenish-brown eyes. Then:

"I appreciate your sentiments, Mr. Michael," said Doctor Weissler. He swiftly touched a bell upon the table beside him. "One thing I do not appreciate in a gentleman such as yourself, I refer to your silence respecting the contents of the crucible. It was these contents which led to your sudden resolve, your sudden change of opinion respecting my motives. Oh! you have admitted it yourself. I ask you, Mr. Michael, what have you done with that which you found?"

A moment Michael hesitated, then:

"I acted in haste," he admitted, "but the result of the experiment is in safe keeping. It shall be returned to you. I recognize, however, that your principal anxiety"—he pointed to the chart on the table—"is due to the fact that I have not recorded the point at which the crucible burst." As he spoke he watched Doctor Weissler closely, but the latter made no sign. "And the degree of temperature which led to this result, you are entitled to know. You shall know—when you accept my resignation and when, therefore, I am in a position to dictate terms. I would not profit by your discovery. But neither shall I allow you to do so. Therefore, our agreement must finish."

Doctor Weissler slightly inclined his head.

"It is agreed," he said. "If you will go down to Teak's office he will settle the necessary formalities with you. I shall join you there later."

"Very well," Michael replied, bowed stiffly, and went out.