2
On the evening which was to alter my life in so extraordinary a fashion, I had been detained rather later than usual by the illness of an elderly patient residing some distance from my own practice.
The case itself presented no unusual features, but advancing age had rendered the poor fellow somewhat inclined to conversation, and it was close upon eleven o'clock before I at length took my leave.
My medical bag hung from my hand as I emerged once more into the cool night air.
It was a familiar companion, worn smooth by years of service, and contained all those instruments and medicines which a physician might reasonably require during his daily rounds.
Amongst the various bottles and dressings lay a small, tightly stoppered bottle of ether, which I had occasion to employ from time to time in my practice.
I gave the bag no further thought as I turned my steps homewards.
Almost without conscious intention, I found myself once more approaching the street which had so frequently occupied my thoughts during the preceding week.
The hour had grown late even by London standards.
The last of the respectable theatre-goers had long since dispersed, and only an occasional cab disturbed the stillness as it rattled over the paving stones.
Here and there a constable moved leisurely beneath the gas lamps, while the windows of the surrounding offices lay dark and unoccupied.
Then, as I rounded the familiar corner, I saw that the conservatory was once again ablaze with light.
It seemed, if anything, even more beautiful than upon previous evenings.
The great chandeliers shone like constellations imprisoned beneath glass, illuminating the broad leaves of tropical plants until they appeared almost translucent.
The distant strains of a waltz drifted softly down from above, while the elegantly attired ladies and gentlemen continued their leisurely progress amongst the palms with the same effortless grace that I had so often observed.
I halted upon the opposite pavement.
For several minutes I remained there, gazing upwards exactly as I had done upon so many previous nights.
There was no reason why the spectacle should have exercised such power over my imagination, and yet I found myself wondering whether I should ever discover who these people were, or whether they would remain for ever little more than graceful silhouettes moving beyond an inaccessible wall of glass.
It was then that my eye fell upon the entrance below.
The great doors stood open.
I could not afterwards have said whether they had always done so, and I had merely failed to notice them, or whether chance had favoured me upon this particular evening. Be that as it may, they now stood sufficiently wide to reveal a softly illuminated vestibule beyond.
There was no porter standing at his post, no commissionaire, nor any servant whose duty it might be to challenge an unexpected visitor.
I looked instinctively up and down the street.
The pavement itself was deserted.
I confess that I hesitated.
No gentleman willingly intrudes upon a private entertainment to which he has received no invitation. The very notion was foreign to every instinct of good breeding. Had I reflected more calmly, I have little doubt that I should have resumed my walk and thought no more of the matter.
Yet curiosity, once allowed to establish itself within the mind, possesses an astonishing capacity for overcoming the dictates of prudence.
After all, I reasoned, it was entirely possible that the conservatory formed part of some public club or society. The entrance stood open. No notice forbade admission. At the very worst, I should merely have the embarrassment of apologising for an innocent mistake before immediately withdrawing.
The explanation appeared sufficiently reasonable.
Crossing the street, I mounted the broad stone steps and passed through the open doorway.
The sounds of London seemed to fall away behind me.
Within, the building possessed the quiet dignity characteristic of prosperous commercial premises.
The floor was laid with polished marble, which reflected the subdued glow of shaded lamps fixed high upon the walls.
Their light was intentionally restrained, serving only to soften the shadows rather than banish them altogether.
The place was entirely deserted.
A broad staircase ascended towards the upper offices, while polished corridors disappeared into darkness upon either side. No sound reached me beyond the faint murmur of the orchestra far above my head, now somewhat clearer than before, though still softened by the many storeys separating us.
My gaze presently settled upon the far end of the foyer.
There, enclosed within an elegant framework of brass and crystal, stood a passenger lift.
I had encountered such contrivances before, though they remained uncommon outside the grandest hotels and office buildings.
This one was of exceptional workmanship.
The brasswork shone warmly beneath the lamps, every rail and decorative flourish polished until it resembled gold.
Its lattice gate stood slightly ajar, as though awaiting the arrival of some expected passenger.
Again I paused.
It struck me as singular that so substantial a building should appear wholly abandoned while a reception of such apparent magnificence continued above. One might have expected at least a caretaker or attendant.
I listened.
No footstep echoed from the staircases.
No voice disturbed the silence.
Only the distant music floated gently down through the sleeping building.
My curiosity had now advanced beyond the point at which retreat came easily.
Crossing the marble floor, I reached the waiting lift and examined it for a moment. A small brass plate indicated the manner in which it should be operated. Sliding the lattice gate aside, I stepped within, setting my medical bag carefully upon the floor beside me.
The interior was panelled in polished walnut, with another gate opposite through which the various landings would become visible during the ascent. Before me projected the operating lever.
I closed the gate.
For a brief instant I experienced the absurd sensation that I ought perhaps to exit the lift and leave the building immediately while I still could. The feeling passed almost as soon as it had arisen.
Smiling at my own foolishness, I grasped the lever.
The machinery responded at once with a gentle shudder.
Smoothly and almost silently, the lift began to rise towards the brilliantly illuminated conservatory which had so long haunted my nightly walks.