TW08 The Dracula Caper NEW (2 page)

"What is it, Doctor?" Grayson said. "What do you see?"

"See for yourself," said Conan Doyle.

Grayson squinted through the eyepiece, then straightened up with an apologetic shrug. "I never studied zoology," he said. "I couldn't tell that bit of hair from one plucked out of my own head.”

"If that sample
had
been obtained from your own head." said Conan Doyle. "I would be tempted to make a most unorthodox diagnosis of your condition, Grayson. In that event, I would suspect that you were suffering from a disease generally regarded as a form of insanity."

"And what disease would that be, Doctor?"

"Lycanthropy. Inspector Grayson. The belief that one is capable of becoming a wolf or, more specifically. a legendary creature known in folklore as a werewolf.”

The man who came to the door of 7 Mornington Place in northwest London was of medium build, with blue eyes, light brown hair parted neatly on the side and a large, full and slightly drooping moustache that somehow did not quite seem to fit his boyish face. His eyes were expressive and alert as he gazed past Amy Robbins at the three strangers on his doorstep. They were well dressed: two men and a young woman. One man was clean-shaven, with angular features, blond hair and a hooked nose. The other was heavyset, muscular. with dark red hair and a full beard. The woman was very blond, statuesque, with an erect carriage and a very striking face.

"These people insist on speaking with you," Amy Robbins said. "I have told them you were very busy—"

"That's all right, Jane." he said, using her pet name. "How may I help you?"

"Mr. Wells?" said Finn Delaney.

"I am
H. G. Wells. We have not met before?"

"No, sir. we haven't. My name is Finn Delaney. This is Mr. Creed Steiger and this is Miss Andre Cross. We have come a long way to speak with you on a matter of some importance. It concerns your writing. We understand that you are a busy man and we are quite prepared to compensate you for your time."

"Well, I must say, your offer is appreciated. but quite unnecessary. Do come in."

They entered the modest, but comfortable rooms. "May I offer you some tea?" said Wells.

"Please don't trouble yourself, Mr. Wells,” said Steiger. "We won't take up much of your time.•"

"No trouble at all. Please, come this way."

He led them to a small and tidy study, filled with bookshelves and a writing desk. The desk had some papers spread out on it and a wastebasket beside the desk was filled with crumpled paper. Several of the crumpled sheets had missed the wastebasket.

"I have been busy writing articles for the
Pall Mall Gazette,"
said Wells, picking up the errant litter. "Merely some light sketches, dialogues and essays, an occasional book review . . . excuse me, you are American, are you not?"

"Yes, Mr. Delaney and I are from the States." said Steiger. "Miss Cross is originally from southwest France."

"I see. Again, how may I help you? You mentioned something about my writing. I am astonished that anyone in America could be familiar with it. I have only recently begun my journalistic career."

"We were not quite so much interested in your articles for the
Gazette."
said Andre, "as in a story you once wrote called 'The Chronic Argonauts.' "

"Good God!" said Wells, sitting back with surprise. "That was some seven years ago! It was printed in the
Scienc
e Schools Journal.
I was only twenty-one at the time and woefully incompetent at writing fiction. I abandoned it after only three installments because I realized that it was hopeless and that I could not go on with it." He shook his head. "The story was clumsily invented and loaded with irrelevant sham significance, an entirely inept romance with the most absurd, rococo title. What possible interest could you have in it?"

Steiger spoke carefully. "Well, actually, Mr. Wells, it was not the story itself so much as the idea that intrigued us. The idea of traveling through time, that is. We are academicians of a sort, specializing in the sciences, and as such, our reading tends to be quite diversified. We were struck by the fascinating combination of ingredients in your story, philosophy, science, fiction. .. ."

"Science fiction," said Wells, pursing his lips thoughtfully. He smiled.

"Something of a contradiction in terms, is it not? You know, it's interesting that you should say that, because lately I have been giving a good deal of thought to writing some short fictional pieces with a sort of scientific slant. My editor, Harry Cush mentioned that Lewis Hind, the literary editor of the Gazette's supplement, the Budget. might be interested in just that sort of thing. Short pieces that can be read in one sitting, you know. I had even given some thought to resurrecting that old story you just mentioned, rewriting it perhaps, with an entirely different slant."

"How did you happen to come by it?" said Andre. "I mean, what suggested it to you?"

Wells frowned. “I honestly don't recall. Miss Cross. You see, for years, I had been seeking rare and precious topics, 'Rediscovery of the Unique!' 'The Universe Rigid!' The more I was rejected, the higher my shots had flown. All the time, as it turned out, I had been shooting over the target. All I had to do was lower my aim—and hit. To be quite honest. I found the secret only recently in a hook by J. M. Bathe, called When a Man's Single. One of the characters in Barrie's book spoke of a friend of his who managed to sell articles based upon the most insignificant and everyday occurrences—the repairing of a pipe, the selling of a pair of old flower pots to a hawker, that sort of thing—and I realized that here was the formula for my salvation. I had been quite ill, you see, and my incapacity forced me into giving up my teaching and looking elsewhere for my livelihood. Writing seemed to be the only recourse for a man in my condition. Thankfully, I am much improved now, but things have come to such a pass that I am presently earning more money with my articles than I ever did in my class teaching days. It all started with a simple little piece on staying at the seaside and I've been dashing them off ever since. Apparently, people like to read that sort of nonsense. Frankly, I am both amused and astonished that my work should have attracted sonic scholarly interest . . . but 'The Chronic Argonauts,' of all things! How on earth did you manage to stumble upon it?"

"Our library collects a wide variety of periodicals. Mr. Wells," Delaney said. "We were quite intrigued by what you might call some of the metaphysical implications in your story, unfinished though it was. We were anxious to discuss some of your ideas with you and when circumstances brought us to England, we thought we would try to look you up."

Wells shook his head and chuckled. "Metaphysics? I am afraid that I cannot be of much help to you people in your ... uh. researches. I have some slight scientific training, true, but the idea of traveling through time is ludicrous, of course. Only a crank would take such a thing seriously."

He paused for a moment and cleared his throat uneasily. "Of course, I am not suggesting for a moment that you are cranks, you understand. Who is to say what strange courses will not lead to scientific knowledge? Science is a match that man has just got alight. And it is a curious sensation, now that the preliminary sputter is over and the flame burns up clear, for us to see only our hands illuminated and just a glimpse of ourselves and the patch we stand on visible, and all around us . . . darkness still."

Wells smiled. "A slight paraphrase from my own 'Rediscovery of the Unique.' "

“Has anyone else, that is, besides Mr. Cast at the
Gazette,
spoken to you of such matters?" said Andre. "Glimpses into the future of scientific endeavor such as traveling through time or biological experimentation?"

"What manner of biological experimentation?" Wells said, frowning faintly.

"Well, purely fictional, of course," said Andre. "The sort of thing one might make a story of. Examining the social implications of scientific discoveries, for example."

“Ah. I see. How very fascinating that a woman should be interested in such things. You are, I perceive, one of these progressive women. Mind you, I entirely approve. Above all. I respect intelligence in women. Especially the intelligence to strive for social reform. I regard the idea of women in the work force, treated equally, as absolutely essential to our progress. But then I perceive that I am straying from your question. No. I do not recall discussing such ideas with anyone in particular. Such things as traveling through time I regard as useful fictional devices, tricks whereby one might pretend to look ahead and see where our present course may lead. as you suggest. However, I must confess that I am still somewhat at a loss as to what your specific interest in all of this may be."

"Well, there is a . . . colleague of ours," said Steiger, "a Mr. Nikolai Drakov, who has been pursuing some rather, well, I suppose you would think them farfetched experiments in the physical sciences. We thought perhaps you might have met him. "

"Drakov. A Russian gentleman?"

Delaney leaned forward intently. "You have met him?"

"No, no. I was merely commenting upon the name," said Wells. "No, it is entirely unfamiliar to me. Do you mean to tell me that I have inadvertently touched upon an actual topic of scientific research? With a story such as 'The Chronic Argonauts’? It seems truly difficult to believe."

"Well, not specifically, Mr. Wells." said Delaney. "Let us say that you have strayed close to a somewhat peripheral field of study that our colleague is engaged in. However, it seems to have been purely coincidental."

"Indeed! How very odd! And how very intriguing. Tell me, is it possible that I might meet this Mr. Drakov?"

"Regrettably," said Delaney. "we have no idea of his current whereabouts. You see, Mr. Wells, it is a somewhat delicate matter and, well, if we may speak quite confidentially . ."

"By all means," said Wells. puzzled.

"Professor Drakov has been pursuing research that is quite esoteric and frankly, more than a little dangerous. It has not been very well received and it has caused him some difficulties that resulted in his disappearance. He had been working very hard, you see, and we have some reason to suspect that he has suffered some distress, a lapse, if you will, which caused him to feel persecuted and well— "

"You are concerned about your missing colleague. about his health, and you are seeking information as to his whereabouts," said Wells. "And something in what I have written led you to believe that I may have discussed certain ideas with him'?"

"Apparently, we were wrong," said Steiger. "We're sorry to have taken up so much of your time. Mr. Wells."

“Think nothing of it," Wells said. "I regret that I could not be of assistance to you, but I have never met the gentleman and this is the first time that I have ever heard his name. You have reason to believe that he may seek me out?"

"We think it's possible that he may come here," said Andre. "And we are quite concerned for him. I suppose it is an unlikely possibility, but if by chance he should contact you, Mr. Wells, he may seem quite lucid, but if you were to humor him, and perhaps inform us
confidentially—“

"Without letting him know that I have spoken with you?" Wells said.

"We merely wish to sec that he receives the proper attention," Steiger said. "Or to satisfy ourselves that he has fully recovered from his collapse."

"I see. Well. I suppose there is no harm in it. How long will you remain in London?"

"Until we have completed our inquiries," said Steiger. "In any event, we will leave word where we can be reached at the Hotel Metropole. where we are staying."

"Well, if I should hear from your friend. I will certainly let you know." said Wells.

"Thank you," said Andre. "And now we really should leave you to your work."

Wells escorted them out.

"What was that about?" said Jane, after they had left.

"Most peculiar," he said. "Something about a crank professor involved in some sort of mysterious research and disappearing after suffering a breakdown. They thought I might have knowledge of him because of something they had read in one of my stories. Something which apparently by coincidence touched upon the nature of his research. I can't imagine what that might be: they were quite reticent about it. Very strange, indeed." He shook his head. "It seems that one of the hazards of the writing profession is that one attracts all manner of disquieting individuals. I must be sure to speak to Cust and instruct him not to give out my address."

"Well, that was a waste of time," said Steiger as they rode in their coach back to the hotel. It would be another year before Frederick Lanchester produced the first English four-wheeled car and Herbert Austin began to build his design in Birmingham. The traffic in London was still predominantly horse-driven, although there were quite a few bicycles and many chose to travel by rail in the underground. The Industrial Resolution was still relatively young.

Finn Delaney took off his top hat, loosened his tic and unbuttoned the bottom of his waistcoat. He looked at Steiger with amazement. "You call having an opportunity to
meet H. G. Wells a
waste of time?"

"I'm not as overwhelmed by literary celebrities as you seem to be," said Steiger wryly, "especially when they're teatime socialists. Besides, I was referring to the fact that we're no closer to finding Drakov than we were when we started this wild goose chase. If you ask me, we're really reaching this time."

"You didn't seem to think so when General Forrester suggested the idea," said Andre. Of the three, she was clearly the most uncomfortable. She did not appreciate the tightly constricted waists of late Victorian female fashions, so necessary to the highly desired "hourglass look." She preferred clothes that provided greater freedom of movement and she found the fashions of the Victorian era too tight in some places and too long and loose in others. She also did not care for the style which called for her to wear her hair up and she absolutely loathed the hats.