The Professor rang a tiny Indian brass bell that lay half hidden among the crowded papers upon his desk. There was a knock and the study door swung open to reveal an elderly retainer, if anything even more white-haired and ancient than the Professor himself.
“Would it be the sherry, sir?” said the ancient, proffering a silver tray upon which rested a filled crystal decanter and two minuscule glasses.
“It would indeed, Gammon, leave it there if you would.” The Professor indicated a delicately carved Siamese table beside the white marble fireplace. The elderly retainer did as he was bid and silently departed.
The Professor decanted two glasses of sherry and handed one to Jim. “So,” said he, “and to what do I owe this pleasure then, Jim?”
“It is this way,” Pooley began. “It is well known hereabouts and in particular to myself that you are a man of extensive knowledge, widely travelled and well versed in certain matters that remain to the man in the street inexplicable conundra.”
The Professor raised an eyebrow. “Indeed?” said he.
“Well,” Jim continued, “I have recently had come into my possession an object which causes me some degree of perplexity.”
The Professor said “Indeed” once more.
“Yes,” said Jim. “How I came by it is irrelevant but I think that you as a learned and scholarly man might find it of some interest.”
The Professor nodded thoughtfully and replaced his glass upon the tray. “Well now, Jim,” he said. “Firstly, I must say that I am always pleased to see you, your visits are rarely devoid of interest, your conversation is generally stimulating and it is often a challenge to match wits with you over some of your more extravagant theories. Secondly, I must say now that whatever it is you have with you is no doubt something of great singularity but that should it be anything short of the philosopher’s stone or one of the hydra’s teeth I do not wish to purchase it.”
Pooley’s face took on a wounded expression.
“So, if we understand each other completely I will gladly examine the object which you have in your possession and give you whatever information I can regarding it should the thing prove to be genuine.”
Pooley nodded and withdrew from his pocket the magic bean, which had been carefully wrapped in his despicable handkerchief.
“Only the object,” said the Professor, eyeing Pooley’s hankie with disgust, “I have no wish to contract some deadly virus from that hideous rag.”
Pooley unwrapped the. bean and handed it to the Professor. Jim noticed that it seemed slightly larger than upon previous inspection and he also noticed the unusual expression that had crossed the Professor’s face. The usually benign countenance had become distorted, the colour, what little there was of it, had drained from his face, and a blue tinge had crept across his lips. This grotesque manifestation lasted only for a moment or two before the Professor regained his composure.
“Put it over there on to that marble base,” he said with a quavering voice. Pooley, shaken by the Professor’s terrifying reaction, obeyed without hesitation.
“Put that glass dome over it,” the Professor said. Pooley did so.
“Are you all right, Professor?” he asked in a voice of some concern. “Can I get you a glass of water or anything?”
“No,” said the Professor, “no, no, I’ll be all right, it’s just that, well,” he looked Pooley squarely in the eye, “where did you get that thing?”
“I found it,” said Pooley who had no intention of giving very much away.
“Where though, where did you find it?”
Pooley stroked his chin. Clearly the bean had well rattled the old gentleman, clearly it was more than just any old bean, it was indeed a bean of great singularity, therefore possibly a bean of great value. He would not mention that Archroy had four more of them. “It is valuable then?” he asked nonchalantly.
“Where did you find it?” the Professor repeated in a voice of grave concern.
“I dug it up,” said Jim.
The Professor gripped Pooley’s lapels in his sinewy fingers and made some attempt to shake him vigorously. The effort, however, exhausted him and he sank back into the armchair. “Jim,” he said in a tone of such sincerity that Pooley realized that something was about to happen which would not be to his advantage. “Jim you have there” – he indicated the bean beneath the glass dome – “something, if I am not mistaken, and I sadly fear that I am not, something so heinous that it is best not spoken of. I only hope that you have not had it in your possession long enough to become contaminated by it.”
“Contaminated!” Pooley yanked his handkerchief out of his pocket and hurled it into the fire which blazed away in the hearth no matter what the season. “What is it?” said Pooley, a worried sweat breaking out on his brow. “Is it poison then?”
“Worse than that, I fear.”
Worse than poison? Pooley’s mind turned several somersaults. What could be worse than poison in a bean?
“Help me up if you please.” Pooley aided the Professor to one of the massive bookcases flanking the study door. “That green volume with the gold lettering, hand me that down if you will.” Pooley obliged and the Professor placed the great book upon his desk and leafed slowly through the pages.
“My glass, if you would.” Pooley handed him the magnifier and peered over the ancient’s shoulder. To his dismay the book was written in Latin. There was, however, on a facing page covered by a slip of tissue paper an illustration in fading colours of a bean apparently identical to that which now rested beneath the dome. The Professor ran his glass to and fro across the page, raising his eye occasionally to take in both bean and illustration. Then, sitting back in his chair with a sigh, he said, “You’ve certainly pulled off the big one this time, Jim.”
Pooley, uncertain whether or not this was meant as a compliment, remained silent.
“Phaseolus Satanicus,” the Professor said, “Phaseolus being in general the genus of the ever popular and edible bean, Satanicus being quite another matter. Now this book” – he tapped at the vellum page with his exquisite fingertip – “this book is the work of one James Murrell, known as the Hadleigh Seer, who enumerated and copied the masterworks, astrological charts and almanacs of previous and largely forgotten mages and minor wizards. Little remains of his work, but I have through means that I care not to divulge come into the possession of this one volume. It is a book entirely dedicated to the detailed study of what you might term magical herbs, spices, seeds and beans. It lists the pharmaceutical, thaumaturgical and metaphysical uses of these and includes within its skin bindings certain notes upon plants and seedlings which the ancients referred to as sacred. Either because of their mindbending qualities when distilled or because they possessed certain characteristics which were outside the scope of normal explanation.”
“So there are magical properties adherent to this particular bean then?” said Pooley.
“I should not care to call them magical,” said the Professor, “but let me tell you that this bean of yours pays allegiance to the powers of darkness to a point that it is better not thought of, let alone mentioned in the public bar of the Flying Swan.”