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Updated: May 27, 2025
Kreener glanced across the laboratory at the crouching figure of Tcheriapin, then, resting his hands upon Andrews's shoulders, he pushed him back in the chair and stared into his dull eyes. "Brace yourself, Colquhoun," he said tersely. Turning, he crossed to a small mahogany cabinet at the farther end of the room. Pulling out a glass tray he judicially selected a pair of dental forceps.
I wanted to escape from that reeking room, but my muscles refused to obey me, and there I stood while: "Kreener!" repeated the husky voice, and I saw that the speaker was rising unsteadily to his feet. "You have brought him again. Why have you brought him again? He will play. He will play me a step nearer to Hell." "Brace yourself, Colquhoun," said the voice of my companion. "Brace yourself."
Incomplete... one respect... here in this box..." The spell was broken by a horrifying shriek from the man whom my companion had addressed as Colquhoun, and whom I could only suppose to be the painter of the celebrated picture which rested upon the mantelshelf. "Take him awa', Kreener! He is reaching for the violin!" Animation returned to me, and I fell rather than ran down the darkened stair.
He was a man of complex personality. I think no one ever knew him thoroughly; indeed, I doubt if he knew himself. He was hail-fellow-well-met with the painters, sculptors, poets, and social reformers who have made of Soho a new Mecca. No movement in art was so modern that Dr. Kreener was not conversant with it; no development in Bolshevism so violent or so secret that Dr.
"Take him awa'!" came in a sudden frenzied shriek. "Take him awa'! He's there at your elbow, Kreener, mockin' me, and pointing to that damned violin." "Here!" said the stranger, a high note of command in his voice. "Drop that! Sit down at once." Even as the other obeyed him, the cloaked stranger, stepping to the mantelpiece, opened a small box which lay there beside the glass case.
Tcheriapin very quickly detected the Scotsman's weakness, and one night he launched out into a series of amorous adventures which set Andrews writhing as he had writhed under the torture of "The Black Mass." On this occasion the party was only a small one, comprising myself, Dr. Kreener, Andrews and Tcheriapin. I could feel the storm brewing, but was powerless to check it.
God knows how many of them followed whether through the dens of Limehouse or the more fashionable salons of vice in the West End they followed perhaps down to Hell. So much for Tcheriapin. At the time when the episode occurred to which I have referred, Dr. Kreener occupied a house in Regent's Park, to which, when his duties at the munition works allowed, he would sometimes retire at week-ends.
It shook all London, and fragments were cast into three counties." "I recall it perfectly well." "You remember also the death of Dr. Kreener, the chief chemist? He died in an endeavour to save some of the workpeople." "I remember." "He was the inventor of the process, but it was never put upon the market.
He was as sour as an unripe grape-fruit, cynical, embittered, a man savagely disappointed with life and the world; and tragedy was written all over him. If anyone knew the secret of his wasted life it was Dr. Kreener, and Dr. Kreener was a reliquary of so many secrets that this one was safe as if the grave had swallowed it. One Sunday Tcheriapin joined the party.
Here, in the narrow but familiar highways the spell of my singular acquaintance lost much of its potency, and already I found myself doubting the story of Dr. Kreener and Tcheriapin. Indeed, I began to laugh at myself, conceiving that I had fallen into the hands of some comedian who was making sport of me; although why such a person should visit Malay Jack's was not apparent.
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