Dr. Vane at Ease

A fortnight later, by excellent good fortune, the doctor gave one of his pleasant dinners to some five or six old cronies, all intelligent, reputable men and all judges of good wine; and Corbin so contrived that he remained behind after the others had departed. This was no new arrangement, but a thing that had befallen many scores of times. Hosts loved to detain the dry lawyer when the light-hearted and loose-tongued had already their foot on the threshold, sobering their minds in his rich silence after the expense and strain of gaiety. Dr. Vane was no exception. He sat on the opposite side of the fire, a large, well-made, smooth-faced man of fifty, with something of a slyish cast perhaps, but every mark of capacity and kindness; and you could see by his looks that he cherished for Corbin a sincere and warm affection.

"I have been wanting to speak to you, Roly," began the lawyer. "You know that trust of yours?"

A close observer might have gathered that the topic was distasteful; but the doctor carried it off gaily. "My poor Elias," said he, "you are unfortunate in such a client. I never saw a man so distressed as you were by my trust; unless it were that hide-bound pedant, Salazar, at what he called my scientific heresies. O, I know he's a good fellow, you needn't frown, an excellent fellow, and I always mean to see more of him; but a hide-bound pedant for all that; an ignorant, blatant pedant. I was never more disappointed in any man than Salazar."

"You know I never approved of it," pursued Corbin, ruthlessly disregarding the fresh topic.

"My trust? Yes, certainly, I know that," said the doctor, a trifle sharply. "You have told me so."

"Well, I tell you so again," continued the lawyer. "I have been learning something of young Rook."

The large handsome face of Dr. Vane grew pale to the very lips, and there came a blackness about his eyes. "I do not care to hear more," said he. "This is a matter I thought we had agreed to drop."

"What I heard was abominable," said Corbin.

"It can make no change. You do not understand my position," returned the doctor, with a certain incoherency of manner. "I am painfully situated, Elias; my position is a very strange, a very strange one. It is one of those affairs that cannot be mended by talking."

"Roly," said Corbin, "you know me: I am a man to be trusted. Make a clean breast of this in confidence; and I make no doubt I can get you out of it."

"My good Elias," said the doctor, "this is very good of you, this is downright good of you, and I cannot find words to thank you in. I believe you fully; I would trust you before any man alive, ay, before myself, if I could make the choice; but indeed it isn't what you fancy; it is not as bad as that; and just to put your good heart at rest, I will tell you one thing: the moment I choose, I can be rid of Mr. Rook. I give you my hand upon that; and I thank you again and again; and I will just add one little word, Elias, that I'm sure you'll take in good part: this is a private matter, and I beg of you to let it sleep."

Corbin reflected a little, looking in the fire.

"I have no doubt you are perfectly right," he said at last, getting to his feet.

"Well, but since we have touched upon this business, and for the last time I hope," continued the doctor, "there is one point I should like you to understand. I have really a very great interest in poor Rook. I know you have seen him; he told me so; and I fear he was rude. But I do sincerely take a great, a very great interest in that young man; and if I am taken away, Elias, I wish you to promise me that you will bear with him and get his rights for him. I think you would, if you knew all; and it would be a weight off my mind if you would promise."

"I can't pretend that I shall ever like him," said the lawyer.

"I don't ask that," pleaded Vane, laying his hand upon the other's arm; "I only ask for justice; I only ask you to help him for my sake, when I am no longer here."

Corbin heaved an irrepressible sigh. "Well," said he, "I promise."

The doctor's face lightened at the word, and he began, with a visible effort, to talk of other things: of the institute, of a grant he was chasing, of a paper he was writing on something Corbin did not pretend to follow. Corbin let him talk. He had known Roland Vane for thirty years, had watched him become famous, then rich, and then, in the last three years, something else, something that Corbin could not name and did not like. He had begun to ask the same question twice in an evening, and once, at the mention of a colleague's name, he had gone still for a count of three. And now there was Rook.

On his way out, the lawyer stopped in the hall and had a word or two with Dodd. "By the way," said he, "there's a young man comes and goes by the lane door. Has he been here long?"

"Three years, sir, on and off," said Dodd. "Very little on, I should say."

"He has a key to the place, I understand."

"Orders, sir. We all have orders to obey him."

Corbin stood a moment, looking at the fire, and then he said what he had come to say. "If it should ever happen, Dodd, that Dr. Vane is not himself, you will let me know."

The lab manager looked at him with a face that gave nothing away. "Not himself, sir?"

"I mean," said Corbin, "if he should be ill, or troubled, or out of sorts. You know him better than anyone. If anything seems wrong to you, you will let me know."

"I have your number, Mr. Corbin," said Dodd, which was not an answer, and which was also, Corbin understood, a promise.

He walked home through the cold night, and he was not easy. The promise he had made sat on him like a debt. It was the kind of promise a man makes to a dying friend, and it frightened Corbin that Vane had asked for it now, at fifty, in the middle of his fame, with twenty good years ahead of him.