A Bid for Fortune - Guy Boothby (ready player one ebook TXT) 📗

“Good evening, Mr. Hatteras. I am delighted to see you, and still more pleased to learn that you and my worthy old friend, Baxter, have met before. Won’t you sit down?”

I seated myself on a chair at the further end of the table; Baxter meanwhile looked from one to the other of us as if uncertain whether to go or stay. Presently, however, he seemed to make up his mind, and advancing towards Nikola, said, with an earnestness that I could see was assumed for the purpose of putting me off the scent:

“And so I cannot induce you, Dr. Nikola, to fit out an expedition for the work I have named?”

“If I had five thousand pounds to throw away,” replied Nikola, “I might think of it, Mr. Baxter, but as I haven’t you must understand that it is impossible.” Then seeing that the other was anxious to be going, he continued, “Must you be off? then good night.”

Baxter shook hands with us both with laboured cordiality, and having done so slunk from the room. When the door closed upon him Nikola turned to me.

“There must be some fascination about a missionary’s life after all,” he said. “My old tutor, Baxter, as you are aware, has a comfortable position with the young Marquis of Beckenham, which, if he conducts himself properly, may lead to something really worth having in the future, and yet here he is anxious to surrender it in order to go back to his missionary work in New Guinea, to his hard life, insufficient food, and almost certain death.”

“He was in New Guinea then?”

“Five years⁠—so he tells me.”

“Are you certain of that?”

“Absolutely!”

“Then all I can say is that, in spite of his cloth, Mr. Baxter does not always tell the truth.”

“I am sorry you should think that. Pray what reason have you for saying so?”

“Simply because in a conversation I had with him at Bournemouth he deliberately informed me that he had never been near New Guinea in his life.”

“You must have misunderstood him. However that has nothing to do with us. Let us turn to a pleasanter subject.”

He rang the bell, and the landlord having answered it, ordered more refreshment. When it arrived he lit another cigarette, and leaning back in his chair glanced at me through half-closed eyes.

Then occurred one of the most curious and weird circumstances connected with this meeting. Hardly had he laid himself back in his chair before I heard a faint scratching against the table leg, and next moment an enormous cat, black as the Pit of Tophet, sprang with a bound upon the table and stood there steadfastly regarding me, its eyes flashing and its back arched. I have seen cats without number, Chinese, Persian, Manx, the Australian wild cat, and the English tabby, but never in the whole course of my existence such another as that owned by Dr. Nikola. When it had regarded me with its evil eyes for nearly a minute, it stepped daintily across to its master, and rubbed itself backwards and forwards against his arm, then to my astonishment it clambered up on to his shoulder and again gave me the benefit of its fixed attention. Dr. Nikola must have observed the amazement depicted in my face, for he smiled in a curious fashion, and coaxing the beast down into his lap fell to stroking its fur with his long, white fingers. It was as uncanny a performance as ever I had the privilege of witnessing.

“And so, Mr. Hatteras,” he said slowly, “you are thinking of leaving us?”

“I am,” I replied, with a little start of natural astonishment. “But how did you know it?”

“After the conjuring tricks⁠—we agreed to call them conjuring tricks, I think⁠—I showed you a week or two ago, I wonder that you should ask such a question. You have the ticket in your pocket even now.”

All the time he had been speaking his extraordinary eyes had never left my face; they seemed to be reading my very soul, and his cat ably seconded his efforts.

“By the way, I should like to ask you a few questions about those selfsame conjuring tricks,” I said. “Do you know you gave me a most peculiar warning?”

“I am very glad to hear it; I hope you profited by it.”

“It cost me a good deal of uneasiness, if that’s any consolation to you. I want to know how you did it!”

“My fame as a wizard would soon evaporate if I revealed my methods,” he answered, still looking steadfastly at me. “However, I will give you another exhibition of my powers, if you like. In fact, another warning. Have you confidence enough in me to accept it?”

“I’ll wait and see what it is first,” I replied cautiously, trying to remove my eyes from his.

“Well, my warning to you is this⁠—you intend to sail in the Saratoga for Australia on Friday next, don’t you? Well, then, don’t go; as you love your life, don’t go!”

“Good gracious! and why on earth not?” I cried.

He stared fixedly at me for more than half a minute before he answered. There was no escaping those dreadful eyes, and the regular sweep of those long white fingers on the cat’s black fur seemed to send a cold shiver right down my spine. Bit by bit I began to feel a curious sensation of dizziness creeping over me.

“Because you will not go. You cannot go. I forbid you to go.”

I roused myself with an effort, and sprang to my feet, crying as I did so:

“And what right have you to forbid me to do anything? I’ll go on Friday, come what may. And I’d like to see the man who will prevent me.”

Though he must have realised that his attempt to hypnotise me (for attempt it certainly was) had proved a failure, he was not in the lesst disconcerted.

“My dear fellow,” he murmured gently, knocking off the ash of his cigarette against the table edge as he did so, “no one is seeking to prevent you.