Chapter 5

New Wine In An Old Bottle

When Adrian awoke next morning he half thought that the fantastic events of the night were but the outcome of some strange dream, but a single glance in the mirror soon disillusioned him as he saw reflected back the countenance of Dr. Michael Roversmire. It was true then—he had voluntarily placed his soul in the outward semblance of the old man, and would have to lead his life, be bound by his physical restrictions and be to all intents and purposes another person, until such time as the worn-out body died and he could return once more to his own frame. And then there would be the danger of paying the penalty of the crime he had committed. No! there was no safety for him save in the guise of age, and he would have to patiently endure this servitude which he had brought upon himself.

While he was seated on the couch in the disordered sitting-room, wondering what was the first step to take in his new existence, the door opened and a pale, lean man, quietly dressed in black, appeared. This was Dentham, the servant alluded to by Doctor Roversmire, and his appearance by no means impressed Adrian in a favourable manner. Tall, thin and supple, his movements seemed to have the sinuosity of a serpent, and his pallid face, clean shaven and serious, looked cold and cunning under a sparse crop of thin red hair, giving the young man an uneasy feeling of repulsion, similar to that provoked by the sight of a noxious animal. The shifty grey eyes, habitually downcast, the thin lips twitching involuntarily at the corners and the air of self-restraint, all clearly pointed to the fact that this man had a cunning nature and would by no means be averse to performing any treacherous action for the sake of money. Adrian took an immediate dislike to his physiognomy, which dislike was not lessened when he heard the soft, hissing voice which issued from the thin lips.

"Have you not been in bed, sir?" he asked, closing the door softly after him, and coming forward to the centre of the room.

"No," replied Adrian, in a dull voice, feeling it incumbent upon him to keep up the character he had assumed, "I have been engaged in writing and just slept here for a few hours."

Dentham cast a swift glance at the writing materials lying on a desk standing near the window, let his cold glance dwell doubtfully for a moment on his master's face and then spoke again.

"What would you be pleased to have for breakfast, sir?"

"The same as usual," replied Adrian, who had not the slightest idea but that Roversmire might have been a vegetarian, and therefore felt afraid to say anything. "Meanwhile I'll go up to my room and have a bath."

"You will find everything ready, sir," answered Dentham, respectfully holding the door open.

Adrian did not know where the bedroom was, but did not like to ask Dentham, knowing it would look curious in his eyes, so left the room, trusting to chance to find it. Luckily he had not proceeded very far when he saw through an open door a sponge-bath filled with water, and guessing this to be Roversmire's bedroom, went-inside, closing the door after him.

Left alone in the sitting-room, Dentham's manner underwent a rapid change and from wearing an air of cold self-restraint he became as eager and as anxious as a ferret. He glanced rapidly round the room, went across to the writing-desk, turned over the papers quickly with his lean hands, marked the two arm-chairs set opposite one another near the table, noticed that two glasses had been filled with wine, then suddenly caught sight of Adrian's stick, which he had thrown down the previous evening.

"I knew I was right," murmured Dentham to himself, pouncing eagerly on the stick. "It was the voice of a stranger. Someone's been to see him. I wonder what's up; this ain't his stick."

He looked carefully at the stick, a massive oaken staff, round the top of which was a gold band, marked with the letters "A. L.," which discovery seemed to afford him much satisfaction.

"I wonder who it was came," he repeated, twisting the stick round and round. "The letters of his name are 'A. L.,' and he's gone off again, leaving his stick behind him. That's queer! Rum old cove, my master. I can't make him out."

The fact was, Dr. Roversmire's peculiar mode of life had roused the curiosity of Mr. Dentham, who was of a very suspicious nature, and he was anxious to find out the reason of his master's solitary life, and if possible turn it to his own advantage. Up till the present, although he had watched the movements of the doctor closely, nothing had occurred to justify his suspicions that anything was wrong, but on the previous night he had heard two voices in conversation, and now that he saw two separate glasses of wine had been drunk, and had found the tangible evidence of the walking-stick, he became assured that his master had received a visitor during the night.

"Wish I'd listened," said Mr. Dentham, in a disappointed tone. "I might have found out what was up. I wouldn't be a bit surprised to find the old cove was a forger or a thief—there must be some reason for the way he lives, and if I find out anything, I'll make some money out of it."

He went off to his own room, hid the stick safely away, returning with a self-satisfied air to lay the table, fully determined to keep his eyes open and watch the actions of Dr. Roversmire so as to trip him up should he espy anything wrong.

Meanwhile Adrian had freshened himself with a bath, and changed his clothes for some which he found in the wardrobe, still, however, retaining the dressing-gown, as he did not want to make too sudden a change in his outward appearance. He intended to make a close examination of all Roversmire's papers in order to get himself thoroughly conversant with the daily life of the recluse. It was curious that he should take so much trouble in learning all the tricks, manners and daily actions of his usual body, seeing that it was impossible anyone could comprehend the change that had taken place, and however strikingly he altered his habits it would be put down by every person to the well-known eccentricities of the doctor. Assuming a new body as a disguise is very different from assuming a new garb, and it was this very novelty that made Adrian so painfully careful, as it seemed almost impossible to him that no one should notice the transformation.

Having finished his toilet, he returned to the sitting-room and found the table spread for breakfast consisting of milk, eggs, watercress and fruit.

Dentham was in attendance, but Adrian speedily dismissed him, as he felt ill at ease under the stealthy glances which the servant bestowed upon him whenever he felt himself unobserved.

"I wonder if he notices any difference," said Adrian to himself when Dentham had retired, closing the door softly after him, "Pshaw! of course not—it would be a clever person who could find the soul of Adrian Lancaster in the body of Michael Roversmire."

He made a very good breakfast and was about to devote himself to the task of looking over Roversmire's private papers, when he suddenly recollected his hat, cloak and stick, not wishing to leave them about, lest the keen eyes of Dentham should see them and an awkward explanation might ensue. Although he searched the sitting-room yet he could not find them; then suddenly recollected that he might have taken them down with him to the secret chamber. In order to be certain of this and set his mind at rest, he lighted a candle, touched the spring and having replaced the fireplace in its normal condition so as to obviate discovery by Dentham, descended into the vault, turned on the electric light and looked around.

The sight of his former body lying so still and deathlike gave him a momentary pang, and he could not help contrasting its handsome face and fine figure with his present uncouth exterior, for owing to the ordeals to which it had been subjected, the body of Dr. Roversmire was in a rather battered condition. Adrian saw that his own frame was still wrapped in the ulster, and the hat lay beside the couch on the floor, but although he hunted in every corner of the vault he could not find the stick. With a thrill of terror he extinguished the electric light and then in the darkness, feebly lighted by the glimmering taper, he seemed to feel the spiritual presence of the old fakir, who had doubtless returned to see how the occupant of his body was getting on. A cold breath of air seemed to break suddenly into the warm atmosphere of the vault, and Adrian half thought he saw a luminous cloud hovering near him. The half vision however soon vanished, and the young man put it down to the excited state of his mind. Still, the vault seemed to be occupied by some strange presence, and he hurriedly left this nether apartment and returned hurriedly to the upper room, which he luckily found still untenanted.

"Thank heaven that infernal servant didn't discover my absence," he thought, blowing out the candle. "I don't trust him in any way, and the old doctor was more easily gulled than I should have thought possible if he believed in a man with such a treacherous face."

At this moment the subject of his reflections entered the room and proceeded to clear away the breakfast things, at the same time handing the Daily Telegraph of the day to his master.

"By-the-way, Dentham, you did not see a walking-stick lying about here—an oak stick with a gold band round it?" asked Adrian unfolding the paper.

"No sir, I did not," replied Dentham, telling the lie without moving a muscle of his pale face, "was it yours sir?"

"Yes! I carried it yesterday and left it lying about the room."

"I did not know you were out yesterday, sir."

"You don't know a good many things," said Adrian tartly, smoothing out the newspaper, "you can go."

Dentham withdrew without a word and smiled subtly to himself when safe outside.

"Says it's his own stick," he muttered under his breath. "Oh, yes, I dare say—but your name don't begin with 'A. L.' Dr. Roversmire—there's something queer about all this; I believe he's the head of a gang of forgers and one of 'em came to see him. I'll keep my eyes open in case there's a row."

Adrian soon dismissed the episode of the stick from his mind, as he did not remember all the events of the previous night and half thought he might have lost the stick in his journey from the garden door to the house. Meantime he looked at the paper anxious to see if there was anything about his crime of the previous night. As he anticipated there was a short statement, but owing to the late hour at which the affair had taken place, a very full report had not come to hand.

The paragraph was headed "A Curious Affair," and it stated that a gentleman called Lancelot Alther, had gone up to Mr. Adrian Lancaster's rooms early in the morning and found the owner absent, and a mutual friend, Mr. Philip Trevanna, lying half-dead on the floor. He had been stunned, but on administration of remedies had revived, although he could not give any explanation of the assault as he was now in a high fever, and it was doubtful if he would recover. Mr. Lancaster had disappeared and no trace of him had been discovered.

Adrian laid down the paper with a sigh of relief as he read the news.

"I didn't kill him after all," he said in a thankful tone, "he was only stunned, and it would have been better if I had remained and explained the affair, although in any case I would certainly have been arrested. At all events, even if he does recover, it's too late now to do anything. I'm imprisoned in this body, and, unless something happens, will have no opportunity of becoming Adrian Lancaster again. I have indeed vanished completely from the world, and I don't think all the police in London will be able to trace my whereabouts. I must just wait patiently for the chapter of accidents to redeem me—curses on me for a fool in accepting Roversmire's offer so readily—I am lost to the world—to Olive and to everything else, and all by my own act. I'll wait and see if Philip Trevanna recovers, then some chance may release me from this mask of old age, and I'll be able to face my fellow men once more as Adrian Lancaster."