Round the Red Lamp: Being Facts and Fancies of Medical Life Story 12 - Lot No. 249, Part 2

Arthur Conan Doyle (0:01)

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Round the Red Lamp by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle Section 14 Lot 249 In this strange way began the acquaintance between Edward Bellingham and Abercrombie Smith, an acquaintance which the latter at least had no desire to push further.

Bellingham, however, appeared to have taken a fancy to his rough-spoken neighbour, and made his advances in such a way that he could hardly be repulsed without absolute brutality.

Twice he called to thank Smith for his assistance, and many times afterwards he looked in with books, papers, and such other civilities as two bachelor neighbours can offer each other.

He was, as Smith soon found out, a man of wide reading, with Catholic tastes, and an extraordinary memory. His manner, too, was so pleasing and suave, that one came, after a time, to overlook his repellent appearance, for a jaded and wearied man he was no unpleasant companion, and Smith found himself, after a time, looking forward to his visits, and even returning them.

Clever as he undoubtedly was, however, the medical student seemed to detect a flash of insanity in the man. He broke out at times into a high inflated style of talk, which was in contrast with the simplicity of his life.

It's a wonderful thing, he cried, to feel that one can command powers of good and of evil. A ministering angel or a demon of vengeance. And again of Monkhouse Lee he said, Lee is a good fellow, an honest fellow, but he is without strength or ambition. He would not make a fit partner for a man with a great enterprise. He would not make a fit partner for me. At such hints and innuendos, Stollard Smith, puffing solemnly at his pipe, would simply raise his eyebrows and shake his head, with little interjections of medical wisdom as to earlier hours and fresher air.

One habit Bellingham had developed of late which Smith knew to be a frequent herald of a weakening mind, he appeared to be forever talking to himself.

At late hours of the night, when there could be no visitor with him, Smith could still hear his voice beneath him in a low-muffled monologue, sunk almost to a whisper, and yet very audible in the silence. This solitary babbling annoyed and distracted the student, so that he spoke more than once to his neighbour about it. Bellingham, however, flushed up at the charge, and denied curtly that he had uttered a sound. Indeed, he showed more annoyance over the matter than the occasion seemed to demand.

Had Abercrombie Smith had any doubt as to his own ears, he had not to go far to find corroboration.

Tom Styles, the little wrinkled man-servant who had attended to the wants of the lodgers in the turret for a longer time than any man's memory could carry him, was sorely put to it over the same matter. If you please, sir, said he, as he tidied down the top chamber one morning, do you think Mr. Bellingham's all right, sir? All right, Styles. Yes, sir, right in his head, sir. Why should he not be, then? Well, I don't know, sir. His habits has changed of late. He's not the same man he used to be. Though I make free to say that he was never quite one of my gentlemen, like Mr. Hasty or yourself, sir. He's took to a talking to himself, something awful. I wonder it don't disturb you. I don't know what to make of him, sir. I don't know what business it is of yours, Styles. Well, I takes an interest, Mr. Smith. It may be forward of me, but I can't help it. I feel sometimes as if I was mother and father to my young gentleman. It all falls on me when things go wrong and the relations come. But, Mr. Bellingham, sir, I want to know what it is that walks about his room sometimes when he's out, and when the door's locked on the outside.

You're talking nonsense, Styles. Maybe so, sir, but I heard it more than once with my own ears. Rubbish, Styles. Very good, sir. You'll ring the bell if you want me. Abercrombie Smith gave little heed to the gossip of the old man-servant, but a small incident occurred a few days later which left an unpleasant effect upon his mind, and brought the words of Styles forcibly to his memory. Bellingham had come up to see him late one night, and was entertaining him with an interesting account of the rock tombs of Ben Hassan in Upper Egypt. When Smith, whose hearing was remarkably acute, distinctly heard the sound of a door opening on the landing below. There's some fellow gone out of your room, he remarked. Bellingham sprang up and stood helpless for a moment, with the expression of a man who is half incredulous and half afraid. I surely locked it. I am almost positive that I locked it, he stammered. No one could have opened it. Why, I hear someone coming up the steps now, said Smith. Bellingham rushed out through the door, slammed it loudly behind him, and hurried down the stairs. About half way down, Smith heard him stop and thought he caught the sound of whispering. A moment later, the door beneath him shut, a key creaked in the lock, and Bellingham, with beads of moisture upon his face, ascended the stairs once more and entered the room. It's all right, he said, throwing himself down in a chair. It was that fool of a dog. He had pushed the door open. I don't know how I came to forget to lock it. I didn't know you kept a dog, said Smith, looking very thoughtfully at the disturbed face of his companion. Yes, I haven't had him long. I must get rid of him. He's a great nuisance. He must be, if you find it so hard to shut him up. I should have thought that shutting the door would have been enough without locking it.