The bell announced the arrival of my first guests at precisely 7 o’clock. I had no doubt that the hand of Dr. Borée held the other end of the bellcord, for he, with his wife, were always the first to arrive and the last to depart from any social function. My valet confirmed my suspicion by announcing “Dr. and Madam Enrique Borée” as they were still shedding their rain gear like snakes shedding their skins.
“I am so glad that you could come, Doctor,” I said with forced enthusiasm as I grasped his sweaty hand. He was a short, dark, clean-shaven man of late middle age, and his small eyes shifted nervously before he released an embarrassed giggle. “We seem to be the first ones here,” he observed.
“And you, Madam, look as lovely as ever,” was the meaningless platitude I directed at his plump and somewhat silly-looking wife. She employed rouge and lipstick much as Grimaldi makes use of greasepaint. A worn fox stole hung about her distended neck, and the rest of her attire reminded one of second-hand luxury. She batted her eyelashes at my compliment, and held out her pudgy hand so as to allow me to kiss it. I pretended not to notice, however, and turned my head toward the stairs with a perfunctory “excuse me.”
“What’s that, Jacob?” I called to no one. After a moment I turned back to face my two guests, the larger of whom still held out her hand. “My valet seems to be experiencing some difficulty. Please make yourselves at home. I shan’t be a moment,” I murmered as I escaped up the stairs.
As I reached the upstairs landing I found myself staring into the two black recesses that once housed Prof. Glauben’s eyes. “Shall I come down now?” he stage-whispered excitedly.
“No!” I hissed. “Not until I give the signal! Go sit down for a few hours…and stay out of sight!” Before the Teutonic assemblage of bones could reply to my admonitions the bell again sounded. Knowing that my valet would momentarily pass us on his way downstairs to the door, I pushed Prof. Glauben into the broom closet behind him and slammed the door. The closet resonated with a muffled sound that resembled wind chimes. As I had predicted, Jacob then passed by me to attend to his duty. I followed a few steps behind him and rejoined my guests.
“Did you settle the difficulty?” inquired Dr. Borée, replacing an ancient sabre which he had removed from its stand.
“I beg your pardon? Oh yes. It was nothing,” I replied. “Really.”
“Dr. Harmon T. Rumbody III,” announced my valet, and a tall, grey-haired, military presence entered the room. “Good evening, Mr. Fenwick,” he roared at me, removing his gloves and pumping my hand like he was drawing a bucket of water. Dr. Rumbody was an excellent surgeon and a man of high breeding, and he endeavored to make everyone aware of those facts. He smoothed down his white mustache and muttonchops and adjusted his monocle before turning to the other guests. “Ah, Dr. Borée, how good to see you again,” he announced loudly. “And I’m delighted to see that you’ve brought your charming wife.” Here Mrs. Borée again extended her puffy hand, at which cue the worthy surgeon chose to remove and clean his monocle with a handkerchief, seemingly oblivious to the lady’s gesture.
At 8 o’clock, after I had received a dozen more persons, the last of the guests arrived in the form of my close friend Hargrove. “James,” he said after we had moved to a corner of the room, “Just what is going on here?” I smiled and asked him to be patient. He continued his efforts to extract information from me, but I resisted his entreaties, insisting that he wait for the official disclosure to the entire group. I then changed the subject, soliciting his opinion on the aesthetic merits of Professor Marshal’s daughter, who sat alone at the other end of the room. “She is a beauty, to be sure,” he observed, scrutinizing the long, dark hair framing the olive face and brown eyes. “Yes, to be sure,” he repeated.
I then mentioned to my friend that I was attracted to the young lady, and hoped to gain her favor. “You are not the only one,” he confided in a conspiratorial voice.
“Then why is she sitting alone,” I asked
“She has a suitor, who is at sea for six months.”
“That is no matter,” I announced, and I made my way toward Prof. Marshal in search of an introduction.
PART 11 WILL APPEAR ON WEDNESDAY
Chasing Phantoms 