3
The lift came gently to rest.
For an instant nothing occurred. I remained standing within the polished cage, my hand still resting upon the operating lever, listening to the distant music which had now grown full and distinct. It was a waltz, exquisitely played by what sounded to be a small orchestra concealed somewhere beyond.
Then the outer lattice was drawn smoothly aside.
A gentleman of perhaps sixty years, clean-shaven and of distinguished appearance, stood smiling pleasantly before me.
"I believe," said he, with a slight inclination of his head, "that we have the pleasure of receiving a new guest."
His manner was so entirely free from surprise that, for the briefest moment, I found myself wondering whether I had after all been expected.
"I fear," I began, "that I may have intruded. The entrance below —"
"But of course it was open," he replied, with a gentle laugh. "Pray do not concern yourself. You are most welcome."
Before I could frame any further apology, he had stepped aside with the easy courtesy of a host inviting an honoured visitor across his own threshold.
I picked up my bag and emerged from the lift.
The spectacle which presented itself surpassed anything I had anticipated.
The conservatory was of astonishing proportions, extending the full breadth of the building beneath an immense vaulted roof of iron and crystal.
Great palms and flowering shrubs rose from polished marble urns, their luxuriant foliage transforming the lofty chamber into a veritable tropical garden.
Broad gravel paths wound gracefully amongst beds of exotic plants, while marble fountains sent slender streams of water sparkling beneath the brilliant gaslight.
Suspended overhead, several magnificent chandeliers shed a warm radiance throughout the vast enclosure, their gas flames reflected and multiplied by countless crystal pendants until every prism glittered like a fragment of captured starlight.
Beyond the glass walls the rooftops of London stretched away into darkness, the innumerable lights of the city twinkling beneath a faint haze which softened the distant outlines of church spires and chimney pots alike.
The orchestra occupied a discreet gallery at the far end of the conservatory, partly concealed behind flowering orange trees, so that the music appeared almost to issue from the garden itself.
Everywhere ladies and gentlemen moved with easy elegance beneath the palms.
Their attire represented the height of fashion, yet without ostentation.
The ladies wore gowns of satin and silk whose delicate colours seemed almost to glow beneath the chandeliers, while necklaces and bracelets flashed whenever they turned beneath the light.
The gentlemen, faultlessly dressed in evening clothes, conversed in small groups with an air of perfect ease, champagne glasses resting lightly in their hands.
Conversation flowed quietly throughout the room. Laughter rose here and there, never loudly, but with that easy refinement which one associates only with the most accomplished society.
The entire scene possessed an atmosphere of such effortless civilisation that I felt my earlier hesitation beginning already to appear faintly ridiculous.
The gentleman who had greeted me regarded the medical bag held in my hand.
"If I might make one small suggestion, sir?"
I looked at him in some surprise.
"Your bag," said he pleasantly. "You will scarcely wish to carry the burdens of your profession throughout the evening. Pray leave it beside the lift. It will be perfectly safe there."
I glanced down at the familiar leather case.
"But of course."
I placed it neatly to one side of the polished brass framework, where it seemed entirely out of keeping amongst such surroundings.
"I am much obliged."
"No obligation whatsoever," returned my companion. "One must never permit practical necessities to interfere with pleasure."
Almost before he had finished speaking, a footman appeared silently at my elbow carrying a silver salver upon which rested several tall glasses of champagne.
"A little refreshment, sir."
I accepted one with my thanks.
The wine was excellent.
My host raised his own glass with an almost imperceptible inclination of the head.
"Permit me to welcome you."
"I am most obliged."
He sipped his champagne.
"And now," said he, "we ought properly to become acquainted. I fear we have been remiss in neglecting the simplest of introductions."
"Indeed," I replied. "My name is Dr. John Watson."
For the first time his expression altered.
"Dr. Watson?"
"That is so."
He regarded me with an animation which could not have exceeded had I announced myself to be some distinguished statesman.
"My dear sir!" he exclaimed. "Can it possibly be the Dr. Watson?"
I smiled despite myself.
"I scarcely know whether I deserve the definite article."
"The friend and chronicler of Sherlock Holmes?"
"I have certainly enjoyed both privileges."
"My dear Doctor!"
His face beamed with unaffected warmth.
"This is a most unexpected honour."
His exclamation had already attracted the attention of several ladies and gentlemen standing nearby.
"Dr. Watson?" repeated a handsome elderly lady in lavender silk.
"The Dr. Watson?" said another gentleman.
"Incredible."
"What extraordinary good fortune."
Within a remarkably short space of time I found myself surrounded by perhaps a dozen persons, each apparently delighted by the discovery of my identity.
"It cannot truly be you."
"We have read your published accounts with the greatest admiration."
"What remarkable adventures you have witnessed."
"How fortunate we are."
I could only laugh.
"You attribute to me distinctions which belong almost entirely to my old friend. I merely happened to possess the pen."
"My dear Doctor," observed one silver-haired lady with quiet conviction, "many men perform extraordinary deeds. Very few have anyone capable of recording them faithfully."
Several voices expressed immediate agreement.
I confess that I felt my cheeks grow slightly warm beneath so much unexpected approbation.
It is not in my nature to seek public notice, and although the publication of my narratives had naturally rendered my name known to a certain portion of the reading public, I had never before encountered an entire company who appeared to regard me with such unaffected enthusiasm.
The awkwardness, however, proved remarkably short-lived.
There existed amongst these people a quality of easy good breeding which immediately placed one at one's ease.
Nobody monopolised the conversation. Questions were put with intelligence and moderation.
When one subject had been exhausted another succeeded it so naturally that no pause ever became uncomfortable.
Presently I found myself speaking with an elderly naval officer who possessed an inexhaustible fund of amusing reminiscences concerning the China Station.
Before long he introduced me to two sisters whose knowledge of Italian painting considerably exceeded my own, though they displayed the fact with admirable modesty.
A little later I was discussing the latest medical advances with a clergyman whose familiarity with physiology would have done credit to many practitioners.
Fresh champagne appeared almost miraculously whenever one's glass approached emptiness. Delicate refreshments circulated continually amongst the guests, offered with such unobtrusive efficiency that one scarcely noticed the attentive servants until they had passed on.
More than once I reflected how singularly fortunate I had been in yielding to curiosity.
Whatever this society might be, it had assembled some of the most agreeable people whom it had ever been my privilege to encounter.
Yet, after perhaps half an hour had elapsed, a curious impression began gradually to force itself upon my mind.
I cannot pretend that anything specific occasioned it.
No single conversation struck me as unnatural.
No face appeared insincere.
Nothing whatever occurred which could reasonably have excited suspicion.
And yet, little by little, I became aware that although I had conversed with a considerable number of people, I knew scarcely anything about any one of them.
The naval officer had entertained me with several diverting anecdotes, but I could not afterwards have stated the name of the vessel upon which he had served, nor the year in which the incidents had occurred.
The ladies had spoken charmingly of Florence and Venice, yet I found myself uncertain whether either had actually visited Italy.
The clergyman discussed medicine with intelligence, but had somehow managed to avoid mentioning either his parish or the circumstances under which he had acquired such unusual knowledge.
It was a singular omission.
Indeed, as I quietly reviewed my various conversations, I realised that the same curious quality had characterised them all.
Whenever I ventured to ask some perfectly ordinary question — where a gentleman resided, what profession another had followed, or whether a lady had recently returned from the Continent — the answer invariably proved perfectly courteous, entirely satisfying at the moment,
and yet afterwards strangely devoid of any real information.
One gentleman, upon my enquiring whether he knew Yorkshire well, smiled pleasantly and observed that there were few counties possessing greater charms.
Another admitted to having travelled extensively, but somehow contrived to conclude several minutes of entertaining conversation without naming a single country.
The ladies were no different. One spoke warmly of music without mentioning a composer.
Another praised the beauties of the English countryside while avoiding every geographical reference.
It was as though they possessed the remarkable ability to converse at considerable length whilst continually gliding around the very facts which ordinarily give substance to polite society.
The discovery was so gradual that I initially doubted my own judgement.
Perhaps, I reflected, the fault lay entirely with myself.
Perhaps fatigue, following a long day's work, had rendered my thoughts less alert than usual.
Yet the feeling steadily strengthened. More than once I experienced the odd sensation that I had heard some observation before; not repeated precisely, but expressed in a slightly different form, by a different voice, with the same polished ease.
The conversations possessed an almost imperceptible rhythm, as though each participant instinctively knew the part expected of him.
The impression was absurd, and I reproached myself for entertaining it.
Yet I could not wholly dismiss the strange conviction that I had somehow wandered into the performance of a play which had been acted innumerable times before, and in which every member of the company already knew his r?le to perfection.
I became conscious, too, that, for all their effortless cordiality, none of the guests ever appeared surprised by anything another might say.
They smiled, they laughed, they listened with every appearance of interest, yet there was about the entire gathering a curious completeness, as though every exchange had long since settled into familiar channels.
For the first time since entering the conservatory I found myself wishing to return to the ordinary streets below.
The desire arose quietly enough. I merely told myself that the hour had become late, that my patients would expect me early upon the following morning, and that I had already trespassed long enough upon the hospitality of strangers.
Looking about, I sought the distinguished gentleman who had first welcomed me, intending to thank him for his remarkable kindness before taking my leave.