The Doings of Raffles Haw by Arthur Conan Doyle (the snowy day read aloud TXT) 📕

“This is my treasure house,” remarked the owner. “You see that I have rather an accumulation just now. My imports have been exceeding my exports. You can understand that I have other and more important duties even than the making of gold, just now. This is where I store my output until I am ready to send it off. Every night almost I am in the habit of sending a case of it to London. I employ seventeen brokers in its sale. Each thinks that he is the only one, and each is dying to know where I can get such large quantities of virgin gold. They say that it is the purest which comes into the market. The popular theory is, I believe, that I am a middleman acting on behalf of some new South African mine, which wishes to keep its whereabouts a secret. What value would you put upon the gold in this chamber? It ought to be worth something, for it represents nearly a week’s work.”

“Something fabulous, I have no doubt,” said Robert, glancing round at the yellow barriers. “Shall I say a hundred and fifty thousand pounds?”

“Oh dear me, it is surely worth very much more than that,” cried Raffles Haw, laughing. “Let me see. Suppose that we put it at three ten an ounce, which is nearly ten shillings under the mark. That makes, roughly, fifty-six pounds for a pound in weight. Now each of these ingots weighs thirty-six pounds, which brings their value to two thousand and a few odd pounds. There are five hundred ingots on each of these three sides of the room, but on the fourth there are only three hundred, on account of the door, but there cannot be less than two hundred on the floor, which gives us a rough total of two thousand ingots. So you see, my dear boy, that any broker who could get the contents of this chamber for four million pounds would be doing a nice little stroke of business.”

“And a week’s work!” gasped Robert. “It makes my head swim.”

“You will follow me now when I repeat that none of the great schemes which I intend to simultaneously set in motion are at all likely to languish for want of funds. Now come into the laboratory with me and see how it is done.”

In the centre of the workroom was an instrument like a huge vice, with two large brass-coloured plates, and a great steel screw for bringing them together. Numerous wires ran into these metal plates, and were attached at the other end to the rows of dynamic machines. Beneath was a glass stand, which was hollowed out in the centre into a succession of troughs.

“You will soon understand all about it,” said Raffles Haw, throwing off his coat, and pulling on a smoke-stained and dirty linen jacket. “We must first stoke up a little.” He put his weight on a pair of great bellows, and an answering roar came from the furnace. “That will do. The more heat the more electric force, and the quicker our task. Now for the lead! Just give me a hand in carrying it.”

They lifted a dozen of the pigs of lead from the floor on to the glass stand, and having adjusted the plates on either side, Haw screwed up the handle so as to hold them in position.

“It used in the early days to be a slow process,” he remarked; “but now that I have immense facilities for my work it takes a very short time. I have now only to complete the connection in order to begin.”

He took hold of a long glass lever which projected from among the wires, and drew it downwards. A sharp click was heard, followed by a loud, sparkling, crackling noise. Great spurts of flame sprang from the two electrodes, and the mass of lead was surrounded by an aureole of golden sparks, which hissed and snapped like pistol-shots. The air was filled with the peculiar acid smell of ozone.

“The power there is immense,” said Raffles Haw, superintending the process, with his watch upon the palm of his hand. “It would reduce an organic substance to protyle instantly. It is well to understand the mechanism thoroughly, for any mistake might be a grave matter for the operator. You are dealing with gigantic forces. But you perceive that the lead is already beginning to turn.”

Silvery dew-like drops had indeed begun to form upon the dull-coloured mass, and to drop with a tinkle and splash into the glass troughs. Slowly the lead melted away, like an icicle in the sun, the electrodes ever closing upon it as it contracted, until they came together in the centre, and a row of pools of quicksilver had taken the place of the solid metal. Two smaller electrodes were plunged into the mercury, which gradually curdled and solidified, until it had resumed the solid form, with a yellowish brassy shimmer.

“What lies in the moulds now is platinum,” remarked Raffles Haw. “We must take it from the troughs and refix it in the large electrodes. So! Now we turn on the current again. You see that it gradually takes a darker and richer tint. Now I think that it is perfect.” He drew up the lever, removed the electrodes, and there lay a dozen bricks of ruddy sparkling gold.

“You see, according to our calculations, our morning’s work has been worth twenty-four thousand pounds, and it has not taken us more than twenty minutes,” remarked the alchemist, as he picked up the newly-made ingots, and threw them down among the others.

“We will devote one of them to experiment,” said he, leaving the last standing upon the glass insulator. “To the world it would seem an expensive demonstration which cost two thousand pounds, but our standard, you see, is a different one. Now you will see me run through the whole gamut of metallic nature.”

First of all men after the discoverer, Robert saw the gold mass, when the electrodes were again applied to it, change swiftly and successively to barium, to tin, to silver, to copper, to iron. He saw the long white electric sparks change to crimson with the strontium, to purple with the potassium, to yellow with the manganese. Then, finally, after a hundred transformations, it disintegrated before his eyes, and lay as a little mound of fluffy grey dust upon the glass table.

“And this is protyle,” said Haw, passing his fingers through it. “The chemist of the future may resolve it into further constituents, but to me it is the Ultima Thule.”

“And now, Robert,” he continued, after a pause, “I have shown you enough to enable you to understand something of my system. This is the great secret. It is the secret which endows the man who knows it with such a universal power as no man has ever enjoyed since the world was made. This secret it is the dearest wish of my heart to use for good, and I swear to you, Robert McIntyre, that if I thought it would tend to anything but good I would have done with it for ever. No, I would neither use it myself nor would any other man learn it from my lips. I swear it by all that is holy and solemn!”

His eyes flashed as he spoke, and his voice quivered with emotion. Standing, pale and lanky, amid his electrodes and his retorts, there was still something majestic about this man, who, amid all his stupendous good fortune, could still keep his moral sense undazzled by the glitter of his gold. Robert’s weak nature had never before realised the strength which lay in those thin, firm lips and earnest eyes.

“Surely in your hands, Mr. Haw, nothing but good can come of it,” he said.

“I hope not—I pray not—most earnestly do I pray not. I have done for you, Robert, what I might not have done for my own brother had I one, and I have done it because I believe and hope that you are a man who would not use this power, should you inherit it, for selfish ends. But even now I have not told you all. There is one link which I have withheld from you, and which shall be withheld from you while I live. But look at this chest, Robert.”

He led him to a great iron-clamped chest which stood in the corner, and, throwing it open, he took from it a small case of carved ivory.

“Inside this,” he said, “I have left a paper which makes clear anything which is still hidden from you. Should anything happen to me you will always be able to inherit my powers, and to continue my plans by following the directions which are there expressed. And now,” he continued, throwing his casket back again into the box, “I shall frequently require your help, but I do not think it will be necessary this morning. I have already taken up too much of your time. If you are going back to Elmdene I wish that you would tell Laura that I shall be with her in the afternoon.”

CHAPTER XII.

A FAMILY JAR.

And so the great secret was out, and Robert walked home with his head in a whirl, and the blood tingling in his veins. He had shivered as he came up at the damp cold of the wind and the sight of the mist-mottled landscape. That was all gone now. His own thoughts tinged everything with sunshine, and he felt inclined to sing and dance as he walked down the muddy, deeply-rutted country lane. Wonderful had been the fate allotted to Raffles Haw, but surely hardly less important that which had come upon himself. He was the sharer of the alchemist’s secret, and the heir to an inheritance which combined a wealth greater than that of monarchs, to a freedom such as monarchs cannot enjoy. This was a destiny indeed! A thousand gold-tinted visions of his future life rose up before him, and in fancy he already sat high above the human race, with prostrate thousands imploring his aid, or thanking him for his benevolence.

How sordid seemed the untidy garden, with its scrappy bushes and gaunt elm trees! How mean the plain brick front, with the green wooden porch! It had always offended his artistic sense, but now it was obtrusive in its ugliness. The plain room, too, with the American leather chairs, the dull-coloured carpet, and the patchwork rug, he felt a loathing for it all. The only pretty thing in it, upon which his eyes could rest with satisfaction, was his sister, as she leaned back in her chair by the fire with her white, clear beautiful face outlined against the dark background.

“Do you know, Robert,” she said, glancing up at him from under her long black lashes, “Papa grows unendurable. I have had to speak very plainly to him, and to make him understand that I am marrying for my own benefit and not for his.”

“Where is he, then?”

“I don’t know. At the Three Pigeons, no doubt. He spends most of his time there now. He flew off in a passion, and talked such nonsense about marriage settlements, and forbidding the banns, and so on. His notion of a marriage settlement appears to be a settlement upon the bride’s father. He should wait quietly, and see what can be done for him.”

“I think, Laura, that