Man with the Dark Beard Read Free Page A

– well, suppose I put the case to you, Felix – what ought a man to do under these circumstances – supposing he had discovered – something –”
    He broke off and thrust his poker in again.
    Felix Skrine waited, his deep eyes watching his friend sympathetically. At last he said:
    â€œYes, John? Supposing a man discovered something – what sort of discovery do you mean?”
    Bastow raised himself and sat up in his chair, balancing the poker in his hands.
    â€œSuppose that in the course of a man’s professional career he found that a crime had been committed, had never been discovered, never even suspected, what would you say such a man ought to do?”
    He waited, his eyes fixed upon Skrine’s face.
    Skrine looked back at him for a minute, in silence, then he said in a quick, decided tone: 
    â€œYour hypothetical man should speak out and get the criminal punished. Heavens, man, we are not parsons either of us! You don’t need me to tell you where your duty lies.”
    After another look at his friend’s face, Bastow’s eyes dropped again.
    â€œSuppose the man – the man had kept silence – at the time, and the – criminal had made good, what then? Supposing such a case had come within your knowledge in the ordinary course of your professional career, what would you do?”
    â€œWhat I have said!”
    The words came out with uncompromising severity from the thin-lipped mouth; the blue eyes maintained their unrelaxing watch on John Bastow’s face.
    â€œI can’t understand you, John. You must know your duty to the community.”
    â€œAnd what about the guilty man?” John Bastow questioned.
    â€œHe must look after himself,” Skrine said tersely. “Probably he may be able to do so, and it’s quite on the cards that he may be able to clear himself.”
    â€œI wish to God he could!” Bastow said with sudden emphasis. 
    As the last word left his lips the surgery bell rang loudly, with dramatic suddenness.
    Bastow sprang to his feet.
    â€œThat is somebody I must see myself. An old patient with an appointment.”
    â€œAll right, old fellow, I will make myself scarce. But one word before I go. You have said ‘a man.’ Have you changed the sex to prevent my guessing the criminal’s identity? Because there is a member of your household about whom I have wondered sometimes. If it is so – and I can help you if you have found out –”
    â€œNothing of the kind. I don’t know what you have got hold of,” Bastow said sharply. “But, at any rate, I shall take no steps until I have seen you again. Perhaps we can discuss the matter at greater length later on.”
    â€œAll right, old chap,” Sir Felix said with his hand on the door knob. “Think over what I have said. I am sure it is the only thing to be done.”
    As he crossed the hall, the sound of voices coming from a room on the opposite side caught his ear. He went quickly across and pushed open the half-closed door.
    â€œMay I come in, Hilary?”
    â€œOh, of course, Sir Felix,” a quick, girlish voice answered him.
    The morning-room at Dr. John Bastow’s was the general sitting-room of the family. Two of its windows opened on to the garden; the third, a big bay, was on the side of the street, and though a strip of turf and a low hedge ran between a good view could be obtained of the passers-by.
    An invalid couch usually stood in this window, and Felix Bastow, the doctor’s only son, and Skrine’s godson and namesake, lay on it, supported by cushions and mechanical contrivances. Fee, as he was generally called, had been a cripple from birth, and this window, with its outlook on the street, was his favourite resting- place. People often wondered he did not prefer the windows on the garden side, but Fee always persisted that he had had enough of grass and flowers, and liked to see such life