"And who's with your wife now?" I asked.
"Nobody. She's alone in the house."
"Well, that's not right," I said.
"We have no servants—do everything ourselves. The nearest house is a farmer's at Sandene, three miles away, and we've had no dealings with him. It couldn't be helped, and—she's different, you know. I was not long in coming to you. I caught the mail-cart as soon as I reached the road, and got a lift."
"Still, I'm thinking—how am I to get on?"
"You'll find I can do anything a woman can do, and do it better. I am more intelligent and I have no nerves. You must pull up at the next gate, doctor. We strike across the downs there."
We had done the six miles, mostly up hill, in twenty-one minutes. Now we turned through the gate, along a turf track deeply rutted. Luckily the weather had been dry for the last fortnight. We crawled up to the top of the crest and then along it for a mile. I saw lights ahead in a hollow below. A dog barked savagely.
"That Felonsdene?" I asked.
"That's it. The descent is bad."
When I got to it I found that it was very bad. I stopped the engines.
"If we break our necks we shan't be much use," I said. "I'll leave the car here. There's nobody to run away with it."
"Shall we take a lamp?" he asked.
"Better."
He picked up my bag, unhitched one lamp, and extinguished the other, while I spread the rug over the seats. His ordinary slowness was deceptive. When he was actually doing something he was remarkably quick without being hurried. He was quick too in seeing a mechanical device—that was clear from the way he handled the lamps. We began the brief descent, and the dog barked more furiously than ever.
"Is that dog loose?" I asked, as we neared the house.
"Yes," he said. "But he's educated. He'd kill a stranger who came alone; he won't touch you."
He gave a whistle and the barking stopped. The dog, an enormous black retriever, came running towards us; his eyes in the lamplight had a liquid trustfulness.
"Heel," said Tarn sharply, and the dog paced quietly behind him, taking no notice of me whatever.
We went through a yard surrounded by a wall of rough stone. By the light of the lamp I saw that the wall had been mended in places. There was a rough shed on the left, with crates and packing-cases under it. The front door was flush with the wall of the house. It was unlocked, and when Tarn opened it a bright light streamed out. Within was a small square hall, and I noticed that the light was incandescent gas.
Tarn saw that I had noticed it. "I put in a gas-plant," he said. "Will you come this way?"
He took me into a great living-room. I should think it was about forty feet by twenty. There was a big open fireplace at the further end of the room. The floor was flagged, without rugs or carpets. The walls were the same inside as out, rough stone and mortar; there were three small windows high up in the walls. The windows were newly glazed, the walls had been repaired. There was very little furniture—three wooden windsor chairs, a couple of deal tables, and some cupboards made from packing-cases. There was no attempt at ornament or decoration of any kind, and there was no disorder. The scanty furniture was precisely arranged, nothing was left lying about, and everything was scrupulously clean. The timbers of the pointed roof seemed to me to be new. The room was very brightly lit, with more gas jets (of the cheapest description) than were needed.
What struck me most was the smell of the place—a smoky, greenish, sub-acid, slightly aromatic smell. I wondered if it could come from the great logs that smouldered in the fireplace, before which the retriever now stretched himself.
"Queer smell here," I said. "What is it?"
"It comes," he said, "from the smoke of juniper leaves."
"You don't burn those in the fireplace, do you?"
"No. I—I don't think you'd understand."
The words were said gently, almost sadly, without offensive intention. But they annoyed me a little—I did not like to be told by this scarecrow that I could not understand.
"Very well," I said. "Now then, where's your wife?"
He pointed to a door at the further end of the room, on the right of the fireplace. "Through there," he said. "I—I don't know if you speak French."
"I do."
"Mala speaks French more easily than English. She lived for many years in Paris—was born there. You'll find in that room the things a chemist in Helmstone thought might be wanted. If you need anything else, or want my help in any way, I shall be here."
"Good," I said, and passed through the door he had indicated.
I must remember that I am not writing for doctors. All I need say of the case is that it was a good thing Tarn fetched me. It was a case where the intervention of a medical man was imperatively necessary. Otherwise all went perfectly well. The child was born in a little more than an hour after my arrival, a girl, healthy and vigorous, and as black as the ace of spades. Tarn did all that was required of him perfectly—quickly, but without noise or hurry, and with great intelligence.
Mala, his wife, seemed to me to be very young. She was a girl of splendid physique; her face, like the face of every negress, repelled me. She showed affection for her child, and expressed her intention of nursing it herself, of which she seemed capable. This was all natural—more natural than normal unfortunately—but all the time I was conscious that I was attending a woman of morbid psychology. When I left her asleep, it was to join a man of morbid psychology in the great living-room.
"All well?" asked Tarn, as I entered.
"Quite. Both asleep." My body was tired, and I dare say I ought to have been sleepy myself, but my mind was awake and alert. The unusual nature of the experience may account for it. I sat down and gave him some instructions and advice about his wife, to which he paid close attention.
"Must you come here again?" he asked. I thought it a question that might have been better expressed.
"Yes," I said. "I don't want to pile up the visits, but I must do what's wanted."
"I didn't mean that. I meant that unless you were coming again in any case, I should have to make arrangements for fetching you if the need arose."
I laughed. "Arrangements? Well, you've nobody to send but yourself?"
"There's the dog."
"But he doesn't know where I live."
"I was meaning to teach him that to-morrow. I'd better do it in any case—one never knows what may happen." He sighed profoundly.
"Teach him to fetch the doctor—eh? He must be a clever beggar. What do you call him?"
"He has no name. He's not a pet. You must take some refreshment before you go. Whisky?"
"Ah, a drop of whisky and a biscuit would be rather welcome. Thanks."
He brought out a jar of whisky, a gasogen of soda-water, and some large hard biscuits in their native tin.
"To your daughter's health," I said, as I raised my glass.
He suddenly put his glass down. "Farce," he said savagely. "But it's all farce—this—this fuss, She's born to die, isn't she? It's the common lot. She's hauled out of nothing by blind Chance, to be tossed back into nothing by blind Chance. Drink the health of the seaweed that the tide throws up on the shore and the tide sucks back again? No! Not I!"
The whole thing had been so strange that this outbreak did not particularly astonish me. "You'd be a happier man, Mr. Tarn, and a more sensible man, if you