The other four sat down and began to play. Henry was annoyed at being out of the game. He wandered out of the drawing-room into the great hall. He stared at the pictures for a few moments, then he walked on through the house, bored to death at having nothing to do. Finally, he mooched into the library.
Sir William's father had been a famous book collector, and all the four walls to this huge room were lined with books from floor to ceiling. Henry Sugar was not impressed. He wasn't even interested. The only books he read were detective novels and thrillers. He ambled aimlessly round the room, looking to see if he could find any of the sort of books he liked. But the ones in Sir William's library were all leather-bound volumes with names on them like Balzac, Ibsen, Voltaire, Johnson and Pepys. Boring rubbish, the whole lot of it, Henry told himself. And he was just about to leave when his eye was caught and held by a book that was quite different from all the others. It was so slim he would never have noticed it if it hadn't been sticking out a little from the ones on either side. And when he pulled it from the shelf, he saw that it was actually nothing more than a cardboard-covered exercise-book of the kind children use at school. The cover was dark blue, but there was nothing written on it. Henry opened the exercise-book. On the first page, hand-printed in ink, it said:
A REPORT ON AN INTERVIEW
WITH IMHRAT KHAN, THE MAN WHO
COULD SEE WITHOUT HIS EYES
by
Dr John F. Cartwright
BOMBAY, INDIA
DECEMBER, 1934
That sounds mildly interesting, Henry told himself. He turned over a page. What followed was all handwritten in black ink. The writing was clear and neat. Henry read the first two pages standing up. Suddenly, he found himself wanting to read on. This was good stuff. It was fascinating. He carried the little book over to a leather armchair by the window and settled himself comfortably. Then he started reading again from the beginning.
This is what Henry read in the little blue exercise-book:
I, John Cartwright, am a surgeon at Bombay General Hospital. On the morning of the second of December, 1934, I was in the Doctors' Rest Room having a cup of tea. There were three other doctors there with me, all having a well-earned tea-break. They were Dr Marshall, Dr Phillips and Dr Macfarlane. There was a knock on the door. "Come in," I said.
The door opened and an Indian came in who smiled at us and said, "Excuse me, please. Could I ask you gentlemen a favour?"
The Doctors' Rest Room was a most private place. Nobody other than a doctor was allowed to enter it except in an emergency.
"This is a private room," Dr Macfarlane said sharply.
"Yes, yes," the India
n answered. "I know that and I am very sorry to be bursting in like this, sirs, but I have a most interesting thing to show you."
All four of us were pretty annoyed and we didn't say anything.
"Gentlemen," he said. "I am a man who can see without using his eyes."
We still didn't invite him to go on. But we didn't kick him out either.
"You can cover my eyes in any way you wish," he said, "You can bandage my head with fifty bandages and I will still be able to read you a book."
He seemed perfectly serious. I felt my curiosity beginning to stir. "Come here," I said. He came over to me. "Turn round." He turned round. I placed my hands firmly over his eyes, holding the lids closed. "Now," I said. "One of the other doctors in the room is going to hold up some fingers. Tell me how many he's holding up."
Dr Marshall held up seven fingers.
"Seven," the Indian said.
"Once more," I said.
Dr Marshall clenched both fists and hid all his fingers.
"No fingers," the Indian said.
"Once more," I said.
Dr Marshall clenched both fists and hid all his fingers.
"No fingers," the Indian said.