The strange case of Dr Hockey & Mr Neil
By Jerry Chan
Chapter 3 - The First Meeting of Mr Neil
Six o’clock struck on the bells of the church that was so conveniently near to Mr Bettini's dwelling, and still he was digging at the problem. Hitherto it had touched him on the intellectual side alone, but now his imagination also was engaged, or rather enslaved; and as he lay and tossed in the gross darkness of the night and the curtained room, The scary tale which was a few days ago went by before his mind in a scroll of lighted pictures. then of the figure of a gloomy trail; then of a big house at the end of the trail, and then a mirror stood behind the door, and then the doorplate was written "Mr Neil". These figures haunted the teacher all night.
From that time forward, Mr Bettini began to haunt the busy urban. In the morning before office hours, at noon when business was plenty, and time scarce, at night under the face of the fogged city moon, by all lights and at all hours of solitude or concourse, the teacher was to be found on the same place. He was waiting for the appearance of Mr Neil.
And at last his patience was rewarded. It was a fine dry night; frost in the air; the streets as clean as a ballroom floor; the lamps, unshaken, by any wind, drawing a regular pattern of light and shadow. By ten o’clock, when the shops were closed, the by-street was very solitary and, in spite of the low growl of London from all round, very silent. Small sounds carried far; domestic sounds out of the houses were clearly audible on either side of the roadway, and the rumour of the approach of any passenger preceded him by a long time. Mr Bettini had been some minutes at his post, when he was aware of an odd, light footstep drawing near. In the course of his nightly patrols, he had long grown accustomed to the quaint effect with which the footfalls of a single person, while he is still a great way off, suddenly spring out distinct from the vast hum and clatter of the city. Yet his attention had never before been so sharply and decisively arrested; and it was with a strong, superstitious prevision of success that he withdrew into the entry of the trail.
The steps drew swiftly nearer, and swelled out suddenly louder as they turned the end of the street. The Teacher, looking forth from the entry, could soon see what manner of man he had to deal with. He was small and very plainly dressed, and the look of him, even at that distance, went somehow strongly against the watcher’s inclination. But he made straight for the door, crossing the roadway to save time; and as he came, he drew a key from his pocket like one approaching home.
Mr Bettini stepped out and touched him on the shoulder as he passed. “Mr Neil, I think?”
Mr Neil shrank back with a hissing intake of the breath. But his fear was only momentary; and though he did not look the teacher in the face, he answered coolly enough “That is my name. What do you want?”
“I see you are getting into trail,” returned the teacher. “I am an old friend of Dr Hockey’s — Mr Bettini of Pure Street, and meeting you so conveniently, I thought you might admit me.”
“You will not find Dr Hockey; he is from home,” replied Mr Neil, blowing in the key. And then suddenly, but still without looking up, “How did you know me?” he asked.
“On your side,” said Mr Bettini, “will you do me a favour?”
“With pleasure,” replied the other. “What shall it be?”
“Will you let me see your face?” asked the teacher.
Mr Neil appeared to hesitate, and then as if upon some sudden reflection, fronted about with an air of defiance; and the pair stared at each other pretty fixedly for a few seconds. “Now I shall know you again,” said Mr Bettini. “It may be useful.”
“Yes,” returned Mr Neil, “it is as well we have met, you should have my address.” And he gave a number of a street in somewhere.
“And now,” said the other, “how did you know me?”
“By description,” was the reply.
“Whose description?”
“We have common friends,” said Mr Bettini.
“Common friends?” echoed Mr Neil, a little hoarsely. “Who are they?”
“Dr Harry Hockey, for instance,” said the teacher.
“He never told you,” cried Mr Neil, with a flush of anger. “I did not think you would have lied.”
“Come on,” said Mr Bettini, “I haven't lied, that's true!”
Mr Neil snarled aloud into a savage laugh, and the next moment, with extraordinary quickness, he had gotten into the trail and disappeared in the dark.
The teacher stood awhile when Mr Neil had left him, the picture of disquietude. Then he began slowly to mount the street, pausing every step or two and putting his hand to his brow like a man in mental perplexity. The problem he was thus debating as he walked, was one of a class that is rarely solved. Mr Neil was pale and dwarfish, he gave an impression of deformity without any nameable malformation, he had a displeasing smile, he had borne himself to the teacher with a sort of murderous mixture of timidity and boldness, and he spoke with a husky, whispering and somewhat broken voice; all these were points against him, but not all of these together could explain the hitherto unknown disgust, loathing, and fear with which Mr Bettini regarded him. “There must be something else,” said the perplexed gentleman. “There is something more, if I could find a name for it. God bless me, the man seems hardly human! Something troglodytic, shall we say? or can it be the old story of Dr. Fell? or Is it the mere radiance of a foul soul that thus transpires through, and transfigures, its clay continent? The last, I think; for, O my poor old Harry Hockey, if ever I read Satan’s signature upon a face, it Is on that of your new friend.”
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