With a hand valise, specimen-case, and a loaded cane, I was
waiting at the Paddington bookstall when Lord Linchmere arrived. He was
an even smaller man than I had thought—frail and peaky, with a manner
which was more nervous than it had been in the morning. He wore a long,
thick travelling ulster, and I observed that he carried a heavy
blackthorn cudgel in his hand. “I have the tickets,” said he, leading the way up the platform. “This is
our train. I have engaged a carriage, for I am particularly anxious to
impress one or two things upon you while we travel down.”

And yet all that he had to impress upon me might have been said in a
sentence, for it was that I was to remember that I was there as a
protection to himself, and that I was not on any consideration to leave
him for an instant. This he repeated again and again as our journey drew
to a close, with an insistence which showed that his nerves were
thoroughly shaken. “Yes,” he said at last, in answer to my looks rather than to my words,
“I _am_ nervous, Dr. Hamilton. I have always been a timid man, and my
timidity depends upon my frail physical health. But my soul is firm, and
I can bring myself up to face a danger which a less nervous man might
shrink from. What I am doing now is done from no compulsion, but
entirely from a sense of duty, and yet it is, beyond doubt, a desperate
risk. If things should go wrong, I will have some claims to the title of
martyr.”

This eternal reading of riddles was too much for me. I felt that I must
put a term to it. “I think it would be very much better, sir, if you were to trust me
entirely,” said I. “It is impossible for me to act effectively, when I
do not know what are the objects which we have in view, or even where we
are going.”

“Oh, as to where we are going, there need be no mystery about that,”
said he; “we are going to Delamere Court, the residence of Sir Thomas
Rossiter, with whose work you are so conversant. As to the exact object
of our visit, I do not know that at this stage of the proceedings
anything would be gained, Dr. Hamilton, by my taking you into my
complete confidence. I may tell you that we are acting—I say ‘we,’
because my sister, Lady Rossiter, takes the same view as myself—with the
one object of preventing anything in the nature of a family scandal. That being so, you can understand that I am loth to give any
explanations which are not absolutely necessary. It would be a different
matter, Dr. Hamilton, if I were asking your advice. As matters stand, it
is only your active help which I need, and I will indicate to you from
time to time how you can best give it.”

There was nothing more to be said, and a poor man can put up with a good
deal for twenty pounds a day, but I felt none the less that Lord
Linchmere was acting rather scurvily towards me. He wished to convert me
into a passive tool, like the blackthorn in his hand. With his sensitive
disposition I could imagine, however, that scandal would be abhorrent to
him, and I realized that he would not take me into his confidence until
no other course was open to him. I must trust to my own eyes and ears to
solve the mystery, but I had every confidence that I should not trust to
them in vain. Delamere Court lies a good five miles from Pangbourne Station, and we
drove for that distance in an open fly. Lord Linchmere sat in deep
thought during the time, and he never opened his mouth until we were
close to our destination. When he did speak it was to give me a piece of
information which surprised me. “Perhaps you are not aware,” said he, “that I am a medical man like
yourself?”

“No, sir, I did not know it.”

“Yes, I qualified in my younger days, when there were several lives
between me and the peerage. I have not had occasion to practise, but I
have found it a useful education, all the same. I never regretted the
years which I devoted to medical study. These are the gates of Delamere
Court.”

We had come to two high pillars crowned with heraldic monsters which
flanked the opening of a winding avenue. Over the laurel bushes and
rhododendrons I could see a long, many-gabled mansion, girdled with ivy,
and toned to the warm, cheery, mellow glow of old brick-work. My eyes
were still fixed in admiration upon this delightful house when my
companion plucked nervously at my sleeve. “Here’s Sir Thomas,” he whispered. “Please talk beetle all you can.”

A tall, thin figure, curiously angular and bony, had emerged through a
gap in the hedge of laurels. In his hand he held a spud, and he wore
gauntleted gardener’s gloves. A broad-brimmed, grey hat cast his face
into shadow, but it struck me as exceedingly austere, with an
ill-nourished beard and harsh, irregular features. The fly pulled up and
Lord Linchmere sprang out. “My dear Thomas, how are you?” said he, heartily. But the heartiness was by no means reciprocal. The owner of the grounds
glared at me over his brother-in-law’s shoulder, and I caught broken
scraps of sentences—“well-known wishes ... hatred of strangers ...
unjustifiable intrusion ... perfectly inexcusable.” Then there was a
muttered explanation, and the two of them came over together to the side
of the fly. “Let me present you to Sir Thomas Rossiter, Dr. Hamilton,” said Lord
Linchmere. “You will find that you have a strong community of tastes.”

I bowed. Sir Thomas stood very stiffly, looking at me severely from
under the broad brim of his hat. “Lord Linchmere tells me that you know something about beetles,” said
he. “What do you know about beetles?”

“I know what I have learned from your work upon the coleoptera, Sir
Thomas,” I answered. “Give me the names of the better-known species of the British scarabæi,”
said he. I had not expected an examination, but fortunately I was ready for one. My answers seemed to please him, for his stern features relaxed. “You appear to have read my book with some profit, sir,” said he. “It is
a rare thing for me to meet any one who takes an intelligent interest in
such matters. People can find time for such trivialities as sport or
society, and yet the beetles are overlooked. I can assure you that the
greater part of the idiots in this part of the country are unaware that
I have ever written a book at all—I, the first man who ever described
the true function of the elytra. I am glad to see you, sir, and I have
no doubt that I can show you some specimens which will interest you.” He
stepped into the fly and drove up with us to the house, expounding to me
as we went some recent researches which he had made into the anatomy of
the lady-bird. I have said that Sir Thomas Rossiter wore a large hat drawn down over
his brows. As he entered the hall he uncovered himself, and I was at
once aware of a singular characteristic which the hat had concealed. His
forehead, which was naturally high, and higher still on account of
receding hair, was in a continual state of movement.