The Three Fellows (And The Unhappy Incident Involving Professor Windbaum)

I.

In the strange, unhappy chapter of a man’s life, commonly known as “youth”, many things occur which, when one is older, only serve to add yet more misery and pain to one’s later years, when a person feels aggrieved by the gross shortness of life, and also regret over the memory of how poorly they have used this meagre helping of time…

It was in this sorry condition of regret and remorse that Professor Windbaum found himself on this day, with the rain pouring steadily down and the sky black with clouds that seemed ready and willing to go on emptying themselves of water for a good while longer…

It was a day in early spring in the quaint, English town of Relgate, and the Professor sat huddled away in his study, surrounded by legions of papers and books that awaited his care and attention.

He had paused for a moment during his studies, to reflect on the general course and condition of his life which: in his estimation, was not exactly satisfactory…

Here he sat, relatively unknown and unsought by the world at large, his name little known or recognised.

Mr Grundle, owner of the local grocery shop, knew him fairly well, as the man who bought innumerable pounds of tobacco and coffee, and who seemed to subsist on very little else.

Constable Wilson, the local law enforcement officer, had recently become more acquainted with the Professor, after he had parked his Land Rover in an unfortunately illegal position on the town’s main street, and had subsequently received a heavy fine for so doing.

One or two others in the town had had an opportunity to observe the Professor, as he remonstrated with the policeman, and as they waited for the fine to be issued and for the Professor to move his car from the middle of the road…

This level of fame and recognition, however, was not quite in keeping with the professor’s high ambitions, and it was this and other regrets which weighed heavily upon his mind at this moment in time.

At this point, it may be useful to point out that Professor Windbaum was something of an eccentric (a polite term often used to describe a people who really belong within the confines of an asylum) and his manner, habits, and behaviour often stimulated a mixture of emotions in those who happened to observe his person; these would often begin with curiosity, swiftly succeeded by fear and finally abject horror…

His fascination with ancient history, languages and religions was a subject of some wonder among his few associates, and his knowledge of a whole range of deep, complicated, obscure and also utterly useless subjects was seldom rivalled amongst the mercifully few eccentric professors of this world…

Once, many years ago, the professor had become particularly engrossed by an ancient Mayan prophecy, found in an equally ancient manuscript, which predicted a swift and terrible conclusion to this world and all those upon it…

He had studied vigorously all known material relating to this dreadful prediction, and had, after some considerably long and arduous calculations on his part, concluded that the prophecy would come true on the date of December 12^th, -. He had also concluded that he, and he alone, was the only one to successfully decipher this ancient manuscript accurately, and that all other attempts upon its meaning were worthless.

He had declared most adamantly to all of his associates that the world would cease to exist on the aforesaid date, and had himself made various preparations for this eventuality, such as the completion of a large set of memoirs entitled: “Memoirs Of A Studious Life”, and the selling of a great deal of his worldly possessions.

Despite the careful and learned predictions of Professor Windbaum, however, the world continued to exist on, and after, the date of December the 12^th -, to the great amazement and incredulity of everyone having faith in this worthy man… (Up to this time, only Professor Windbaum himself is known to belong to the ranks of the faithful…)

A particular friend of the Professor-who, despite this failing, had an excellent sense of humour- had taken it upon himself to go and give something in the way of consolation to the Professor, who had fallen into something of a depression following the failure of his predictions…

This person had put a soothing hand upon the Professor’s shoulder, as the latter continued to bury his head in his hands and groan softly to himself under the weight of his failure, and had said, quite solemnly: “There there, Professor, not to worry- it’s not the end of the world…”

This, and other painful and humiliating memories, had mingled together and formed a toxic brew within the mind of Professor Windbaum, as he sat in his study absorbed in his morbid meditations.

A troubling thought, of more recent origin, suddenly occurred to the Professor, and he arose from his chair and fought his way valiantly through the room littered with books and papers. He recalled that he had left a necessary paper in his vehicle, and this would mean a journey outside into the wet (and mud) in order to obtain it.

Professor Windbaum lived in an old country-style house, of large size and of that cold, lifeless grey colour and design which belongs to a most fortunately bygone era…

At the front of the house, a fairly sizable, poorly looked after garden covered a good twenty-five or thirty feet before one could reach the gates after having left by the front door. Much of this garden consisted of large weeds, various assorted junk and rubbish, and grass which seemed possessed of an ambition to attain the heights sought after by the builders of that legendary tower of Babel…

The Professor kept his vehicle parked just outside the front gates, as he found parking within the confines of his garden to be something of a challenge, owing to the grossly inhospitable conditions brought about in this area by his lack of care and attention.

The Professor hurried awkwardly across the garden and went through the gates; as he fumbled in his pockets for his keys-which he suddenly began to fear he had left behind him- his attention was aroused by the appearance of a small company of persons heading towards his direction.

They seemed to be involved in a desperate search for shelter; various oaths and curses were proceeding from one of the men, who, it could doubtless be discerned, was not particularly enamoured by the prospect of getting wet; also, their degree of speed suggested a measure of distaste for the current state of meteorological affairs…

Professor Windbaum stood for a moment, staring at them; that voice…he recognised it!

Suddenly, his mind made up, he shouted: “Arthur! Arthur!  Hey there!”

By this time, the small company (which now could be seen to consist of three persons) had come quite close to the Professor’s location, and, although the weather had reduced visibility somewhat, their features were now clearer to the eye.

Two of the men were huddled together and seemed to be following the lead of the other man, who hurried on ahead of them.

At the sound of his name being called, the latter stood still and glared in the direction of the caller, as though he resented the interruption of his outpouring of foul language.

A surge of recognition came into the face of “Arthur”, and, moving forward towards the Professor, he exclaimed: “Hey! Windybum! It’s you!”

Arthur stopped about three feet from the Professor and seemed disinclined to come any closer- a casual observer may have noted a degree of caution in his attitude.

“What are you doing around here, Arthur?” asked the Professor, who stepped forward to come closer, upon which Arthur took a couple of steps back, as though perhaps some infectious, deadly disease lurked within the Professor’s body.

“Lookin’ for shelter, that’s bloomin’ what!” Arthur roared in response.

“So I gathered… Well, come with me! You can stay here for a while…”

Arthur hesitated; his mind seemed to wrestle awkwardly with this simple proposition, and for a moment, it seemed as though he was inclined to move away.

However, the other two men had now joined him.

“Did I hear this man offer us some shelter?” asked a young man very simply, “I’m soaking”!

“Well…yes…” Arthur muttered.

“Hooray! Let’s go! Thanks, mister!” the young man said, and he moved, along with his silent companion, towards the gateway.

Arthur hesitated a moment longer, then, with a weary grunt (which suggested a history of general dissatisfaction and disappointment in regard to the young man and his relationship with Arthur) he followed in their footsteps.

“Excellent!” the Professor declared, and, as he stood watching their progress towards the house, he began to rub his hands together, and a look passed across his features which an imaginative person may conclude to be a most worthy tribute to the person and character of Machiavelli.

Professor Windbaum overtook the three men and led them eagerly into his sombre place of dwelling; he walked up the three stone steps which led to the large, wooden doors allowing entrance to his house, and he stood by the side of them and ushered his guests through the doors, all the while maintaining a look of profound guile and aroused cunning…

The three men entered, one of them uncertainly, and Professor W shut the door and faced his visitors.

The first man who was known as Arthur was engaged in the act of pulling up his trousers, which had begun to slip dangerously low below his waistline, and the other two men were vigorously shaking and rubbing themselves with their hands in an effort to reduce the quantity of water present upon their persons.

Arthur was a short, yet stocky individual, with long, black hair, sharp, glaring eyes, and who wore a look of constant intensity and intent (this intent doubtless being of violent, aggressive nature…)

His two friends consisted of a tall, thin man, who carried about with him an air of wisdom and great dignity, and who seemed lost in thought with little concern for reality…

By his side was a lad of uncouth make-up and design; his face bore signs of a cheeky, daring personality, which, when combined with its other suggestion- which was that of unparalleled stupidity- gave to an observer an ardent desire for a sudden withdrawal…

Professor Windbaum stared at them boldly for a few moments; he himself was a man with white hair, a large, somewhat disfigured nose, deep black eyes and thin, dry lips. He was very tall and had a habit of looking down at people whilst simultaneously looking over the top of his glasses, an act which required some practice and application.

Just now, Professor Windbaum was gazing down at the young lad’s boots, which he had failed to remove upon entering.

“I see you’ve brought the garden in with you…” remarked the Professor ominously.

“Ah, yes… Well…saves you having to go outside to maintain it, I suppose…” the young lad replied with a cheeky air.

Professor W, though a fan and admirer of many curious and unusual forms of humour, was not much enamoured by this particular shaft of wit, and he urged the lad to remove his boots lest he be forced to return with them to the outside world…

“I detest mud,” the Professor remarked as the boots were removed, with difficulty, “it sticks to things and clings to the bottom of one’s feet!”

The young man merely chuckled at this; Arthur cut him short, however, and began to speak to their host.

“Windybum… Wha…”

He was interrupted by a loud outburst of amusement, issuing from the young lad, who had thrown back his head and opened his mouth wide in order to emit a terrific volley of laughter. Indeed, it was lucky for the lad he was no longer outside, else, due to the rain, the width and size of the orifice emitting the laughter, and the duration of time he maintained this attitude, he must surely have drowned…

Only a sharp jab in the ribs from Arthur seemed sufficient to quell this vigorous display of merriment, and the laughter was brought to a swift end with a loud: “OOF!”

“Shut up!” Arthur commanded. “Windy… It’s been a long time…You…ok…?”

“I have had my fair share of troubles,” replied the Professor, “but just recently-VERY recently, in fact- things have begun to look a bit more promising…”

“Good,” replied Arthur, who seemed unusually nervous, for a man who was used to seeing other people in that condition in his presence, “thanks fer lettin’ us in out of the bloomin’ wet!”

“You’re welcome, my dear fellow, you’re welcome… Now, how about some coffee?!”

“That’d be grand, er… I think…” Arthur said, and the young lad chimed in with an inquiry as to whether cider might be included in the range of proffered fare…

“Cider?! Why…no… but I’ve some excellent Arrack, given to me by an acquaintance of mine who once served in India…”

“Arrack?” pondered the lad, “what the hell is Arrack…?”

“Arrack…oh, never mind… You just try some and see if you like it… This way, gentlemen. We shall go to the kitchen and then take our drinks to the privacy of my study…”

The Professor uttered the word “privacy” with the hint of something dark and devious, and a perceptible gulp could be heard from the direction of Arthurs’s throat…

“Come! This way,” urged the Professor, “And I’ll get you something for that indigestion, Arthur…” he added, with a eerie smile.

In the kitchen, which was a large, shabby affair with grimy white tiles, cracked flooring and a hideous odour which would surely preclude the appetite of even a starving man, the lad abruptly asked: “So how come you two know each other then?” as he rudely pointed a finger in the faces of the Professor and Arthur.

“Well, well… me and Arthur go back a long, long way,” answered the Professor, who just finished setting up a Chemex to brew the coffees: “Let’s just say that Arthur has helped me, in the past, with some very…tricky… and somewhat delicate, operations of mine…”

“For which he was very well paid, of course,” added the Professor with a smirk.

As Arthur stood with his comrades, his trousers again yielding to their southerly urge, his hair wild and unkempt, and his clothing tattered and in need of repair, the claim that he had been “very well paid” for his endeavours on Professor “Windybums’” behalf seemed open to challenge- none of the men decided to question the Professor’s claim, however.

“The Professor’ ‘as most kindly kept ‘is mouth shut about some of these…er…things…” Arthur cautiously advanced, as his feet shifted from side to side and his eyes darted about in a manner sure to be diagnosed as a sign of guilt by even the most amateur of psychologists…

“Yes…I have indeed “kept my mouth shut”,” the Professor said with an evil grin, as he poured from a large, foul-smelling Chemex an equally large, foul-smelling liquid, which, with more favourable methods of production, could perhaps be referred to as coffee.

(The offer of a substitute of “Arrack” had been declined by the young lad).

“Here, drink this.” Professor W insisted, handing the three men three chipped, ancient-looking mugs.

Looking inside his mug at the thick, black substance within, the young lad pronounced: “It looks like – tar!”

The Professor ignored this somewhat scathing criticism of his hospitality and led the way to his study.

Entering and settling down in the aforesaid room proved to be no easy task for the four worthy gentlemen, as the vast quantity of items of a literary nature within the room did not allow for an easy or comfortable stay within its confines for even one person, let alone four people, one of whose size (Arthur’s) was likely to aggravate a person of claustrophobic tendencies even within a normally sized and arranged room…

“Well well… Here we all are, all nice and cosy…” remarked the Professor- it was unfortunate that, just as he finished this remark, Arthur stumbled on what appeared to be a huge ancient volume entitled: “An enquiry into the fundamental principles and laws governing the ancient society of the Aztec civilization” and narrowly avoided falling flat on his face at the Professor’s feet (he also spilt a large quantity of the recently dubbed “tar” all over the aforesaid volume, rendering its value at auction of a dubious nature…)

“There there…never mind…” the Professor said, “I’d finished with that particular study of mine anyway…”

After Arthur had collected himself, the Professor eyed the three men curiously, as though weighing up their potential for some purpose of his, and then, after having drank deeply of his “coffee” he began: “Gentlemen! Within you lies the power to help me greatly! And not only my own worthy person- but also yourselves! How would you like to help me out with a small problem of mine?”

“What sort of problem… Professor W?” Arthur inquired, seeming to prefer a more formal and less familiar term of endearment at this present moment.

“Well, it is like this… Near my property, not 300 yards down the track from where I live, is an…acquaintance of mine- an acquaintance, and also, shall we say: a rival! For he has in his possession a certain manuscript to which I have every right and he has none… I will not trouble you gentlemen with the details of how and why this is so… all I put before you is this- would be willing to undertake a little…operation, let’s say, to retrieve what is rightfully mine from this person’s house and return it to me?”

A pregnant pause arose in the room; those unacquainted with the three men thus addressed could falsely conclude that a conflict with their consciences was in progress; this was not, however, the case.

Rather, the young lad remained silent as he had not the mental ability or capacity to understand a single word of what the professor had just proposed…

The tall, silent man was more than capable of understanding; he could not voice his opinion easily, though, due to his inability to speak.

Arthur grasped the gist of it, not least because of his former experiences with their host, and he was the first person to reply.

“Would this little task of yours involve…er, monetary reparation?” he asked, in a moment of rare eloquence.

“It would,” the Professor replied adamantly.

Arthur sighed and looked down at the floor for a moment; then, mustering his strength, he said: In that case- we accept…”

II.

It was night, and, as nights often are, rather dark…

Rain still fell in the town of Relgate, and clouds obscured the moon and the stars that shone behind their black bulk.

Down a certain lane, however, about two hundred yards from the front gates of Professor Windbaum’s house that have been formerly described, a bright light cut through the darkness…

“We’ve got it!” exclaimed a coarse voice suddenly, let’s hurry!”

This expression was followed by another voice, young and irritating in nature, which sought to contradict that statement.

“Erm, actually… we haven’t…”

“Eh? What?! Haven’t?! What do you mean bloomin’ haven’t?!”

“I must have dropped it…”

“Dropped? ‘Ow?”

“When the cat called out and gave us a fright… I think I dropped it…”

A silence ensued, and then…

“Right! You go back and get it! And be careful mind… Or I’ll knock you flat!”

This injunction having been given, the light turned about and began to move back up the track away from Professor W’s house; meanwhile, the occasional grunt, sniff or heavy breath attested to the presence of at least one other person who had remained in the middle of the track.

The three fellows had, earlier on, successfully made their entrance into the house of the “rival” of Professor W.

This entrance was made through a window on the lower level of the property, which had been left slightly ajar overnight. The person within this house appeared to be of a similar ilk to the three fellows’ dubious employer; namely, a professor, eccentric, and of curious habits.

The room in which the desired manuscript was kept was a study, not too dissimilar from the study in which the three men had recently received their seedy business proposal; and certainly a resemblance could be found in regard to its abundance of paper and leather-bound matter strewn all about its area…

The manuscript had been described to the amateur thieves as being a single paper, likely stored within a fairly secure position within the study, which contained a yellowish stain near the bottom of the page, and also, unlike many of the other manuscripts in the study, had been written in the rival Professor’s own handwriting.

This was, according to Professor W, because it had been copied from a source which the Professor did not divulge to his employees…

This handwriting was described to them as being large, irregular, and somewhat thin and spidery, so that recognition and hence acquisition of it should not prove impossible.

During the acquiring of this mysterious document, a cat, whose existence was formerly unknown to the three fellows, had let out a piercing “MEOW” in the silence of the night, and, fearing discovery, panic had gripped the miscreants illegally present in the untidy study…

In this panic, the manuscript, which had just been found, was unknowingly dropped by the young lad in his terror, and, hence, the events and conversation formerly related…

About twenty minutes after these events, the light reappeared along the track leading to Professor W’s house, and, shortly thereafter: “I’ve got it! It was lyin’ on the floor amongst all the other stuff… I had a job to find it…”

“Good. I was worried… Right, no more bloomin’ mess-ups!”

The light made its way hurriedly along the track, was extinguished about fifty yards from their destination in a moment of late caution, and then appeared again just outside the large wooden doors of Professor Windbaum’s cold grey house.

Arthur knocked firmly on the door, and, seconds later, the door was eagerly opened wide by their host.

“Well?!” their host demanded, and, as Arthur nodded and held up the document in his hand, the Professors reached out and wildly snatched the paper from him.

Astonished at the violence of this act, Arthur stood momentarily stunned; then, with a weary grunt, he urged his comrades to follow him back into the house (Professor Windbaum had disappeared within, evidently eager to begin a nocturnal investigation of the manuscript with all haste…)

As Arthur shut the door behind them, a cry of annoyance came from the study.

“Bah!” exclaimed the Professor, “I’ve mislaid my glasses! I can’t read! Here!” he said, reappearing to the three fellows and thrusting the document in the face of the young lad: “Read this to me in the study boy. You simply must!”

Grinning, the lad took the paper and followed the Professor as he hurried back into the library.

“Come on! Come on!” the professor demanded, sitting down at his desk with a pen at the ready: “I can just about write without my glasses…”

The young lad was examining the manuscript intently: “Hard to read, ain’ it… His writn’s like a sort of code, almost…”

“COME ON!” roared the Professor.

The lad squinted violently at the messy scrawl on the paper; a touch of comprehension came into his features, finally, and he began to read, in a halting, strained voice…

Professor Windbaum began to listen eagerly; for a few seconds he started to scrawl wildly on the writing paper on his desk, then, suddenly, a terrific wave of emotion seized his person, and he turned about and faced the young lad, who, seemingly oblivious, continued to read. Up to this point, the room had contained (with great difficulty) four persons; now, after the lad had begun his faltering recital of the contents of the documents, only two persons remained: The Professor, who was staring wide-eyed at the young lad with a mixture of amazement and violence written on his face, which had begun to resemble one of those gruesome creatures commonly found on the features of old Cathedrals and such like places; and the young lad, who, whether from weariness after his nocturnal adventures, or lack of adequate brain function, continued to read on regardless.

As Arthur and the silent man gratefully reached the front gates and exited Professor Windbaum’s residence (they discerned, in their quieter moments, that this departure was to be of a permanent nature…) the young man finished the first page of the document, which concluded with the words: “… a pound of butter… half a dozen eggs… toilet paper… and a bag of soft toffee…”

Original Copyright Daniel Macintyre 23/03/2024

Copyright Daniel Macintyre 23/03/2024 protectmywork.com