Good things will strive to dwell within it.
The Tempest, sir. Though I think Miranda was talking of a man she fancied rather than a building.”
“But the one often reflects the other, don’t you find?” Joe said. “There’s a man’s taste behind every brick laid, every window positioned. I wonder who we’re to meet at the centre of this perfection? A Caliban—a born devil, thing of darkness—or an Ariel, who does his spiriting gently?” Joe mused.
“Just park the car with its nose facing outwards, will you, George?” Dorcas said impatiently. “And, Joe, will you check my pistol for me? I think I loaded it right but—better safe, eh?”
She pushed her battered leather student’s satchel over to him.
“My God! There’s a gun loose in here! A heavy one. Dorcas, that’s insane! I don’t even carry one myself these days. And certainly not out of a holster. Where did you get it? Do you even have a license for it?”
“Oh, stop fussing! I was given this by someone who is concerned for my safety. Who rather disapproves of the dubious places I frequent. In a professional capacity, of course. I like having it, and I know how to use it. I’m a good shot. I put the catch on, didn’t I? I just get cold feet at the last moment—you know that uneasy feeling—did I turn the gas tap off? Did I remember to put the bullets in? Give it back!”
“Gosling? You? Do you have anything to declare? I like to know where the shots may be coming from, particularly when the troops firing them are standing behind me.”
“They don’t trust me with firearms yet. I only have my fists, sir.”
“Then keep them in your pocket. There, that’s safe,” Joe said, handing the satchel back with reluctance. “You may hang on to it—provided you promise me it stays in the bag, and the bag stays on your shoulder! I’d keep it myself if I had somewhere to stow it. I don’t want to go in bulging in unnatural places like a federal agent.”
“Very well. You know where it is. Just ask if you need to borrow it.”
“And, Gosling, leave that black briefcase of yours behind. We need our hands free. We don’t want to be taken for tax inspectors.”
Dorcas gave Joe a tender look. “Fusspots! Behaving like a pair of great crested grebes! Übersprungshandlung. That’s what you’re both demonstrating. Birds who can’t decide whether to attack or flee sometimes just go away and peck grass. You don’t want to get on and do the next thing so you find other trivial things to distract you. Gentlemen, if you’re ready?”
CHAPTER 24
Gosling darted out ahead. “Let me do the knocker, sir!” Joe hung back and watched him reach out a hand to pat the shining brass head of the lion that managed to return his wide grin despite the heavy ring in its mouth. “Well done, old son! Glad you were there over the years. And glad you’ve survived,” Gosling muttered with gruff affection, then he seized the ring and banged.
“You know—I think I’ve been wrong about that boy,” Joe admitted.
“You may excuse yourself for that. I’d guess Gosling has been wrong about himself,” Dorcas said mysteriously. “For many a year.” She stuck a head through the window and called out a bit of advice: “George, we usually use the electric bell.”
“No,” said Joe, “Let him ask for sanctuary in the time-honoured manner. I’m all in favour of taking out a bit of insurance—you never know.”
They were expected, at least. A stately dame in crisp uniform and a very fancy white starched and pleated head dress was waiting behind the door. She flung it wide and stood back to admit them.
“Melinda Mallinson. Matron. Do come in! I rather expected you’d be bang on time. A.C. Sandilands and Mr. Gosling. And—of course—our Miss Joliffe! How lovely to see you again, Dorcas. Not much time! Follow me, please.”
She turned and gave them a bracing smile. “Try to keep up now! Nuns and nurses—always on the trot!”
Joe hoped he’d be able to find his way back out of this maze of corridors unaided if it came to it, but he couldn’t be certain. As they scurried along he registered left and right turns, noted markers on walls and doors, using locating techniques taught him by an old jungle hand. This place with its myriad rooms, all with activities going on behind closed doors, made the hairs stand on the back of his neck as the trees of the Indian forests had done. Unknown territory. Hostile. Be wary!
A door was flung open as they passed, and a mother holding two children by the hand emerged, smiling and calling good-byes to the young doctor who held the door open for her. “Yes, Robin. Didn’t I say we could go home on the bus if you were good boys? Come along, Benjamin. It’s this way.”
Joe calmed himself.
“Here we are. You’re very punctual. Shall I send along a cup of tea? Would this be too early?”
“Thank you, no, Matron. We’re not expecting to linger.”
Matron leaned to them confidingly. “Thank you for saying that. Most understanding! I ought to tell you that the professor has an evening engagement up in London. He’s addressing the Royal Scientific Society, and he really must catch the four thirty train from Tunbridge.”
Professor Byam Alexander Bentink was as welcoming as his staff.
He came forwards to shake their hands as Matron performed the introductions. “Sandilands … Gosling … and—oh, no! Keep her off!” His hands went up in mock protest as he made a heavily playful show of catching sight of Dorcas, who had been hanging back.
“Miss Joliffe I know already—to my cost. Back to haunt us, Joliffe? I thought they’d given you the sack!”
Joe could not take offence at the rudeness on her behalf since the stranger making the comments appeared disarmingly amused by them. His appearance was reassuringly familiar. Joe had been taking orders from men who looked like this all his fighting life: men in their element astride cavalry chargers, atop war elephants, teeth to the wind on the bridge of a battle cruiser. Here was a tall, spare man of middle years with wide shoulders from which hung a starched white laboratory coat. Carelessness or a statement? Joe would have taken it off before greeting guests. The broad features looked like nothing so much as a relief map of the Trossachs, Joe thought, admiring. Nothing understated here. Ridges and valleys wound their way through a weather-beaten landscape occasionally enlivened by an outcrop of bristling mustache and matching eyebrow. The eyes were as deep and as grey as Loch Katrine. A thick hedge of dark hair streaked with grey framed the whole impressive countenance. Forceful and confident.
“If this man decides to tell me I’m barking mad, I shall have to believe him,” Joe concluded. He would have guessed a Scot like himself but for the very English name and the very St. James’s accent.
“Not at all, professor,” Dorcas said demurely.
Only Joe would have known from her first words that she disliked Professor Bentink.
“A sense of humour prevailed, I’m glad to say, and I was forgiven,” she said lightly. “ ‘Student prankster’ I believe my record shows for the world to see. But not sacked at all.”
“Mmm. Do I detect the influence of my tender-hearted brother-in-law? I think I do! Pulling strings again! James was ever susceptible to a pretty face!”
A second insult. Joe’s fists clenched, and he opened his mouth to go on the attack but, intercepting a warning shake of the head from Dorcas, closed it again.
Gosling, however, was off the leash and running free. “Well! Lucky old St. Raphael to have enjoyed the services of an attractive researcher, eh?” he said cheerily. “I’ve been trying to recruit Miss Joliffe myself—tempt her into taking on a permanent post with my own firm. Intelligence, diligence and a university education will always get you our attention. Add beauty and spirit to the mix, and she’s a dead cert.”
Bentink turned his gaze on the earnest young face. He couldn’t have been more surprised if the doorknob had spoken. “Your firm? And what is this business of yours, young man, may I ask?”