Hugo- a fantasia on Modern Themes

part of the receipt, very blurred and faint, with some hieroglyphic figures
mistily appearing.
'Looks like 6,706,' said Albert.
'It's either 6,706 or 6,766,' Simon concurred. 'Now, Ravengar's receipt must be
numbered next to hers. Consequently, if we go and look at the counterfoils and
duplicates—'
'Yes,' said Albert, thoughtfully sliding down from the piano.
'We may be able to find out something very interesting,' Simon finished,
descending also.
'Now?'
'Now. That's what I wanted you for. You've got your pass-keys and everything,
haven't you?'
'Yes.'
'Then run down and search.'
'Aren't you coming too?'
'I was only thinking, suppose the governor came back and wanted me?'
Albert gazed contemptuously at this exhibition of timidity—the cowardice of a
born valet, he deemed it.
'Oh, of course,' he exclaimed, 'if you—'
'I'll come,' said Simon boldly. 'If he wants me he must wait, that's all.'
They descended together in Hugo's private lift, direct from the dome; the
Medical and Pharmaceutical Department was on the ground-floor. Simon
acted as lift-man, and slammed the grill when they emerged.
'Just open that again, Si,' Albert requested him.
'Why? What's up?'
'Just open it.'
Albert was sniffing about like a dog that is trying to decide whether there is
not something extremely attractive in the immediate neighbourhood. He re-
entered the lift, and nosed it curiously.
Suddenly he bent down and peered under the cushioned seat of the lift, and
drew forth an object that resembled in shape a canister of disinfectant powder.
'Conf—!' he exclaimed, dropping it sharply. 'It's hot. What in the name of—'
He kicked the object out of the lift on to the tessellated floor of a passage

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which led to the Fish and Game Department.
'I bet you I can hold it,' said Simon boastfully.
And, at the expense of his fingers, he picked it up, and successfully carried it
into the Fish and Game Department, where a solitary light (which burnt night
and day) threw a dim radiance over vast surfaces of white marble dominated
by silver taps. The fish and game were below in the refrigerators. Simon let
the cylinder fall on to a slab; Albert turned a tap, and immediately the cylinder
was surrounded by clouds of steam. The phenomenon was like some
alchemical and mysterious operation. And the steam, as it rose and spread
abroad in the immense, pale interior, might have been the fumes of a fatal
philtre distilled by a mediæval sorcerer.
'I hope it won't blow up!' Simon ejaculated.
'Not it!' said Albert. 'Let's have a look at it now.'
Albert had a mechanical bent, and, with the aid of a tool, he soon discovered
that the cylinder was divided into two parts. In the lower part was burning
charcoal. In the upper, carefully closed, was paraffin. The division between the
two compartments consisted of some sort of soldering lead, which the heat of
the charcoal had gradually been melting.
'So when this stuff had melted,' he explained to Simon, 'the paraffin would run
into the charcoal, and there would be a magnificent flare-up.'
They looked at one another, amazed, astounded, speechless.
And each knew that on the tip of the other's tongue, unuttered, was the word
'Ravengar.'
'But why was it put in the lift?' asked Simon.
'Because,' said Albert promptly, 'a lift-well is the finest possible place for a
fire. There's a natural draught, and a free chance for every floor. Poof! And a
flame's up nine stories in no time. And a really good mahogany lift would burn
gorgeously, and give everything a good start.'
'There are fifteen lifts in this place,' Simon muttered.
'I know,' said Albert.
He approached a little glass square in the wall, broke it, pulled a knob, and
looked at his watch.
'We'll test the Fire Brigade Department,' he remarked; and then, as he heard a
man running down the adjacent corridor, 'Seven seconds. Not bad.'
In another seven minutes nine cylinders, which had been found in nine
different lifts, were sizzling beside Albert's original discovery. The other five
lifts appeared to have been omitted from this colossal scheme for providing

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London with a pyrotechnic display such as London had probably never had
since the year 1666. The night fire staff, which consisted of some fifty men,
had laid hose on to every hydrant, and were taking instructions from their
chief for the incessant patrol of the galleries.
'See here,' said Albert, 'we'd better go on with what we started of now.'
'Had we?' Simon questioned somewhat dubiously.
'Of course,' said Albert. 'If that is Ravengar in the photo, and if we can find out
anything to-night, and if Ravengar's in this business'—he jerked his elbow
towards the cylinders—'we shall be so much to the good. Besides, it won't take
us a minute.'
So they went forward, through twilit chambers and passages filled with
sheeted objects, past miles of counters inhabited by thousands of chairs,
through doors whose openings resounded strangely in the vast nocturnal
silence of Hugo's, till they came to the Medical and Pharmaceutical
Department. And the Medical and Pharmaceutical Department, in its night-
garb, and illuminated by a single jet at either end of it, seemed to take on a
kind of ghostly and scented elegance; it seemed to be a lunar palace of bizarre
perfumes and crystal magics.
The two young men halted, and listened, and they could catch the distant
footfall of the patrols echoing in some far-off corridor. That reassured them.
They ceased to fancy the smell of burning and to be victimized by the illusion
that a little tongue of flame darted out behind them.
Albert gained access to the accountant's cupboard, and pulled out a number of
books, over which they pored side by side.
'Here you are!' exclaimed Simon presently. 'Receipts. January 9.'
And Albert read: 'No. 6,766, Mrs. Poidevin, 37, Prince's Gate; vinolia. No.
6,767, Dr. Woolrich, 23, Horseferry Road; chloroform! Can't make out the
quantity, but it must be a lot, I should think; the price is eighteen and
ninepence.'
'Dr. Woolrich, 23, Horseferry Road?' Simon repeated mechanically.
'Chloroform?'
'That's it,' said Albert. 'You may bet your boots. Let's look him up in the
Medical Directory, if they've got one here. Yes, they're sure to have one.'
But there was no Dr. Woolrich in the Medical Directory.
Once more the brothers stared at each other. Was or was not Ravengar alive?
Were they or were they not on his track?
'Listen, Si,' said Albert. 'I'll drive right down to 23, Horseferry Road, and have
a look round. Eh? What do you say?'

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'I think I'll come, too,' Simon replied.
In six minutes Albert pulled up the hansom at the end of the street, and they
walked slowly towards No. 23, but on the opposite side of the road.
'That's it,' said Simon, pointing. 'What are you going to do now? Inquire
there?'
At the same moment a window opened behind them, in the house immediately
facing No. 23; they both heard a hissing sound, evidently designed to attract
their attention, and they both turned their heads.
From a first-story window Hugo was gesticulating at them.