OR many years the mystery remained a dark and haunting problem. It concealed a tragedy—of so much we all in the end, felt sure, but we knew nothing. If the tragedy were a crime, we had no clue to the motive; if an accident, we could discover no trace of its occurrence. The police failed to solve the mystery, and we did not rest content with the inquiries of the police. Every possible kind of investigation was practiced without thought of the money spent. For a great interest was involved, nothing less, in a word, than the revolution of an entire industry. But no hint of a solution was obtained, and it was the merest chance which, after the affair had been almost forgotten, disclosed some part of the truth to me.
But however mysterious the end was to prove, the beginning was commonplace enough. One morning in June, while I was sitting in my chambers in Gray's Inn, thinking over a series of lectures which I was to deliver next term upon the wanderings of Odysseus, my servant entered with a card and a letter, and I read for the first time the name of Reuben Clinch. There was an address upon the card,
I turned to the letter, which was addressed to me in a handwriting vaguely familiar, and tore open the envelope. It was a letter of introduction, written by a professor at Melbourne University, who had been an acquaintance of mine twenty years before, when we were both undergraduates at Balliol. I had never liked him then; I liked him less now for thrusting in upon my seclusion. To speak the truth, I was rather annoyed. The letter described the Australian as a young man of great scientific attainments, and I felt that there could be no possible sympathy between such a man and myself. However, I could hardly refuse to see my visitor, and with a sigh for my wasted morning, I turned from my Homer and said:
"Show Mr. Clinch in."
A young man about twenty-six years of age walked into the room, and at once I could not but grudgingly admit to myself that I was more favorably impressed than I had thought to be. Mr. Clinch was tall and long of limb. He was dark in hair and complexion, and wore a little black mustache, which did not take away from the singular keenness of his appearance. His face was not handsome so much as significant. There was power and ability in every line of it; the features were sharp and extremely mobile, and his eyes were steady.
"I am afraid. Professor Royle, that I am interrupting you," he said as he took my hand.
"Well, Mr. Clinch, the morning is for work, is it not?" I said a little ungraciously, I am afraid. I saw a look of anxiety and disappointment come into his eyes, and I hastened to add: "But I am none the less very glad to see you."
I motioned him to a chair near the open window, and he sat down in it. "I am glad to hear it," he said with a smile; "for I know no one at all in London, or indeed in England. And the letter of introduction which I have brought to you is the only letter of the kind which I possess."
"Then this is your first visit," I said.
"Yes," he replied, still looking at me with a great earnestness. I felt that he was speculating upon my willingness and my ability to serve him; and somehow I was impelled to say to him:
"Well, I must see what I can do for you. I go very little into the world myself. But I can make you an honorary member of my club," and Reuben Clinch smiled, and the smile was supercilious. There was suddenly revealed to me a nature masterful and rather intolerant. But in a moment the contempt had gone, and he was leaning forward, with his hands upon his knees, as though he was concentrating his mind upon persuading me to serve his turn.
"I did not come here to enjoy myself," he said quietly. "Will you let me tell you what you can do for me?"
"Certainly," I replied, sitting back with resignation in my study chair.
Clinch looked out into the garden for a few moments, his eyes resting upon the great leafy trees, and, beneath their shade, the green lawns, splashed with sunlight.
"It is quiet here," he said. "A very pleasant place for a man to work in," and then he turned his eyes to me, and said quietly, "I have made a great discovery."
My heart sank at the words.
"It is of a scientific kind, I presume," I said wearily.
"Yes."
"I am not well versed in scientific matters," I protested, "but I can give you some letters to scientific men of eminence, who will be a help to you."
Reuben Clinch smiled again.
"Thank you, Professor, but I am satisfied with the results of my investigations. My discovery is of a practical kind. The help I want is on the commercial side."
"Then," I hastened to interrupt, "I shall be still more useless to you."