The Doings of Raffles Haw, Arthur Conan Doyle [best large ebook reader .TXT] 📗

you have transplanted me. But would you ease my mind, Mr. Haw, by showing me how this thing is done?”

“It is the merest toy—a complex plaything, nothing more. Allow me to explain. I have a line of very large greenhouses which extends from one end of my smoking-room. These different houses are kept at varying degrees of heat and humidity so as to reproduce the exact climates of Egypt, China, and the rest. You see, our crystal chamber is a tramway running with a minimum of friction along a steel rod. By pulling this or that handle I regulate how far it shall go, and it travels, as you have seen, with amazing speed. The effect of my hot-houses is heightened by the roofs being invariably concealed by skies, which are really very admirably painted, and by the introduction of birds and other creatures, which seem to flourish quite as well in artificial as in natural heat. This explains the South American effect.”

“But not the Egyptian.”

“No. It is certainly rather clever. I had the best man in France, at least the best at those large effects, to paint in that circular background. You understand, the palms, cacti, obelisk, and so on, are perfectly genuine, and so is the sand for fifty yards or so, and I defy the keenest-eyed man in England to tell where the deception commences. It is the familiar and perhaps rather meretricious effect of a circular panorama, but carried out in the most complete manner. Was there any other point?”

“The crystal box? Why was it?”

“To preserve my guests from the effects of the changes of temperature. It would be a poor kindness to bring them back to my smoking-room drenched through, and with the seeds of a violent cold. The crystal has to be kept warm, too, otherwise vapour would deposit, and you would have your view spoiled. But must you really go? Then here we are back in the smoking-room. I hope that it will not be your last visit by many a one. And if I may come down to Elmdene I should be very glad to do so. This is the way through the museum.”

As Robert McIntyre emerged from the balmy aromatic atmosphere of the great house, into the harsh, raw, biting air of an English winter evening, he felt as though he had been away for a long visit in some foreign country. Time is measured by impressions, and so vivid and novel had been his feelings, that weeks and weeks might have elapsed since his chat with the smoke-grimed stranger in the road. He walked along with his head in a whirl, his whole mind possessed and intoxicated by the one idea of the boundless wealth and the immense power of this extraordinary stranger. Small and sordid and mean seemed his own Elmdene as he approached it, and he passed over its threshold full of restless discontent against himself and his surroundings.

 

CHAPTER V.

LAURA’S REQUEST.

 

That night after supper Robert McIntyre poured forth all that he had seen to his father and to his sister. So full was he of the one subject that it was a relief to him to share his knowledge with others. Rather for his own sake, then, than for theirs he depicted vividly all the marvels which he had seen; the profusion of wealth, the regal treasure-house of gems, the gold, the marble, the extraordinary devices, the absolute lavishness and complete disregard for money which was shown in every detail. For an hour he pictured with glowing words all the wonders which had been shown him, and ended with some pride by describing the request which Mr. Raffles Haw had made, and the complete confidence which he had placed in him.

His words had a very different effect upon his two listeners. Old McIntyre leaned back in his chair with a bitter smile upon his lips, his thin face crinkled into a thousand puckers, and his small eyes shining with envy and greed. His lean yellow hand upon the table was clenched until the knuckles gleamed white in the lamplight. Laura, on the other hand, leaned forward, her lips parted, drinking in her brother’s words with a glow of colour upon either cheek. It seemed to Robert, as he glanced from one to the other of them, that he had never seen his father look so evil, or his sister so beautiful.

“Who is the fellow, then?” asked the old man after a considerable pause. “I hope he got all this in an honest fashion. Five millions in jewels, you say. Good gracious me! Ready to give it away, too, but afraid of pauperising any one. You can tell him, Robert, that you know of one very deserving case which has not the slightest objection to being pauperised.”

“But who can he possibly be, Robert?” cried Laura. “Haw cannot be his real name. He must be some disguised prince, or perhaps a king in exile. Oh, I should have loved to have seen those diamonds and the emeralds! I always think that emeralds suit dark people best. You must tell me again all about that museum, Robert.”

“I don’t think that he is anything more than he pretends to be,” her brother answered. “He has the plain, quiet manners of an ordinary middle-class Englishman. There was no particular polish that I could see. He knew a little about books and pictures, just enough to appreciate them, but nothing more. No, I fancy that he is a man quite in our own position of life, who has in some way inherited a vast sum. Of course it is difficult for me to form an estimate, but I should judge that what I saw to-day—house, pictures, jewels, books, and so on—could never have been bought under twenty millions, and I am sure that that figure is entirely an under-statement.”

“I never knew but one Haw,” said old McIntyre, drumming his fingers on the table; “he was a foreman in my pin-fire cartridge-case department. But he was an elderly single man. Well, I hope he got it all honestly. I hope the money is clean.”

“And really, really, he is coming to see us!” cried Laura, clapping her hands. “Oh, when do you think he will come, Robert? Do give me warning. Do you think it will be to-morrow?”

“I am sure I cannot say.”

“I should so love to see him. I don’t know when I have been so interested.”

“Why, you have a letter there,” remarked Robert. “From Hector, too, by the foreign stamp. How is he?”

“It only came this evening. I have not opened it yet. To tell the truth, I have been so interested in your story that I had forgotten all about it. Poor old Hector! It is from Madeira.” She glanced rapidly over the four pages of straggling writing in the young sailor’s bold schoolboyish hand. “Oh, he is all right,” she said. “They had a gale on the way out, and that sort of thing, but he is all right now. He thinks he may be back by March. I wonder whether your new friend will come to-morrow—your knight of the enchanted Castle.”

“Hardly so soon, I should fancy.”

“If he should be looking about for an investment. Robert,” said the father, “you won’t forget to tell him what a fine opening there is now in the gun trade. With my knowledge, and a few thousands at my back, I could bring him in his thirty per cent. as regular as the bank. After all, he must lay out his money somehow. He cannot sink it all in books and precious stones. I am sure that I could give him the highest references.”

“It may be a long time before he comes, father,” said Robert coldly;” and when he does I am afraid that I can hardly use his friendship as a means of advancing your interest.”

“We are his equals, father,” cried Laura with spirit. “Would you put us on the footing of beggars? He would think we cared for him only for his money. I wonder that you should think of such a thing.”

“If I had not thought of such things where would your education have been, miss?” retorted the angry old man; and Robert stole quietly away to his room, whence amid his canvases he could still hear the hoarse voice and the clear in their never-ending family jangle. More and more sordid seemed the surroundings of his life, and more and more to be valued the peace which money can buy.

Breakfast had hardly been cleared in the morning, and Robert had not yet ascended to his work, when there came a timid tapping at the door, and there was Raffles Haw on the mat outside. Robert ran out and welcomed him with all cordiality.

“I am afraid that I am a very early visitor,” he said apologetically; “but I often take a walk after breakfast.” He had no traces of work upon him now, but was trim and neat with a dark suit, and carefully brushed hair. “You spoke yesterday of your work. Perhaps, early as it is, you would allow me the privilege of looking over your studio?”

“Pray step in, Mr. Haw,” cried Robert, all in a flutter at this advance from so munificent a patron of art; “I should be only too happy to show you such little work as I have on hand, though, indeed, I am almost afraid when I think how familiar you are with some of the greatest masterpieces. Allow me to introduce you to my father and to my sister Laura.”

Old McIntyre bowed low and rubbed his thin hands together; but the young lady gave a gasp of surprise, and stared with widely-opened eyes at the millionaire. Maw stepped forward, however, and shook her quietly by the hand,

“I expected to find that it was you,” he said. “I have already met your sister, Mr. McIntyre, on the very first day that I came here. We took shelter in a shed from a snowstorm, and had quite a pleasant little chat.”

“I had no notion that I was speaking to the owner of the Hall,” said Laura in some confusion. “How funnily things turn out, to be sure!”

“I had often wondered who it was that I spoke to, but it was only yesterday that I discovered. What a sweet little place you have here! It must be charming in summer. Why, if it were not for this hill my windows would look straight across at yours.”

“Yes, and we should see all your beautiful plantations,” said Laura, standing beside him in the window. “I was wishing only yesterday that the hill was not there.”

“Really! I shall be happy to have it removed for you if you would like it.”

“Good gracious!” cried Laura. “Why, where would you put it?”

“Oh, they could run it along the line and dump it anywhere. It is not much of a hill. A few thousand men with proper machinery, and a line of rails brought right up to them could easily dispose of it in a few months.”

“And the poor vicar’s house?” Laura asked, laughing.

“I think that might be got over. We could run him up a facsimile, which would, perhaps, be more convenient to him. Your brother will tell you that I am quite an expert at the designing of houses. But, seriously, if you think it would be an improvement I will see what can be done.”

“Not for the world, Mr. Haw. Why, I should be a traitor to the whole village if I were to encourage such a scheme. The hill is the one thing which gives Tamfield the slightest individuality. It would be the height of selfishness to sacrifice it in order to improve the view from Elmdene.”

“It is a little