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diff --git a/old/tmwht10.txt b/old/tmwht10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4f8fc6f --- /dev/null +++ b/old/tmwht10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7119 @@ +Project Gutenberg Etext The Man Who Was Thursday, by Chesterton +#7 in our series by G. K. Chesterton + + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations* + +Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and +further information is included below. We need your donations. + + +The Man Who Was Thursday + +by G. K. 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It is +possible to say that it is a gripping adventure story of murderous +criminals and brilliant policemen; but it was to be expected that +the author of the Father Brown stories should tell a detective +story like no-one else. On this level, therefore, THE MAN WHO WAS +THURSDAY succeeds superbly; if nothing else, it is a magnificent +tour-de-force of suspense-writing. + +However, the reader will soon discover that it is much more than +that. Carried along on the boisterous rush of the narrative by +Chesterton's wonderful high-spirited style, he will soon see that +he is being carried into much deeper waters than he had planned on; +and the totally unforeseeable denouement will prove for the modern +reader, as it has for thousands of others since 1908 when the book +was first published, an inevitable and moving experience, as the +investigators finally discover who Sunday is. + + + +THE MAN WHO WAS THURSDAY + +A NIGHTMARE + +G. K. CHESTERTON + +To Edmund Clerihew Bentley + +A cloud was on the mind of men, and wailing went the weather, +Yea, a sick cloud upon the soul when we were boys together. +Science announced nonentity and art admired decay; +The world was old and ended: but you and I were gay; +Round us in antic order their crippled vices came-- +Lust that had lost its laughter, fear that had lost its shame. +Like the white lock of Whistler, that lit our aimless gloom, +Men showed their own white feather as proudly as a plume. +Life was a fly that faded, and death a drone that stung; +The world was very old indeed when you and I were young. +They twisted even decent sin to shapes not to be named: +Men were ashamed of honour; but we were not ashamed. +Weak if we were and foolish, not thus we failed, not thus; +When that black Baal blocked the heavens he had no hymns from us +Children we were--our forts of sand were even as weak as eve, +High as they went we piled them up to break that bitter sea. +Fools as we were in motley, all jangling and absurd, +When all church bells were silent our cap and beds were heard. + +Not all unhelped we held the fort, our tiny flags unfurled; +Some giants laboured in that cloud to lift it from the world. +I find again the book we found, I feel the hour that flings +Far out of fish-shaped Paumanok some cry of cleaner things; +And the Green Carnation withered, as in forest fires that pass, +Roared in the wind of all the world ten million leaves of grass; +Or sane and sweet and sudden as a bird sings in the rain-- +Truth out of Tusitala spoke and pleasure out of pain. +Yea, cool and clear and sudden as a bird sings in the grey, +Dunedin to Samoa spoke, and darkness unto day. +But we were young; we lived to see God break their bitter charms. +God and the good Republic come riding back in arms: +We have seen the City of Mansoul, even as it rocked, relieved-- +Blessed are they who did not see, but being blind, believed. + +This is a tale of those old fears, even of those emptied hells, +And none but you shall understand the true thing that it tells-- +Of what colossal gods of shame could cow men and yet crash, +Of what huge devils hid the stars, yet fell at a pistol flash. +The doubts that were so plain to chase, so dreadful to withstand-- +Oh, who shall understand but you; yea, who shall understand? +The doubts that drove us through the night as we two talked amain, +And day had broken on the streets e'er it broke upon the brain. +Between us, by the peace of God, such truth can now be told; +Yea, there is strength in striking root and good in growing old. +We have found common things at last and marriage and a creed, +And I may safely write it now, and you may safely read. + +G. K. C. + + + +CHAPTER I + +THE TWO POETS OF SAFFRON PARK + +THE suburb of Saffron Park lay on the sunset side of London, as +red and ragged as a cloud of sunset. It was built of a bright +brick throughout; its sky-line was fantastic, and even its ground +plan was wild. It had been the outburst of a speculative builder, +faintly tinged with art, who called its architecture sometimes +Elizabethan and sometimes Queen Anne, apparently under the +impression that the two sovereigns were identical. It was described +with some justice as an artistic colony, though it never in any +definable way produced any art. But although its pretensions to be +an intellectual centre were a little vague, its pretensions to be a +pleasant place were quite indisputable. The stranger who looked for +the first time at the quaint red houses could only think how very +oddly shaped the people must be who could fit in to them. Nor when +he met the people was he disappointed in this respect. The place +was not only pleasant, but perfect, if once he could regard it not +as a deception but rather as a dream. Even if the people were not +"artists," the whole was nevertheless artistic. That young man with +the long, auburn hair and the impudent face--that young man was not +really a poet; but surely he was a poem. That old gentleman with +the wild, white beard and the wild, white hat--that venerable +humbug was not really a philosopher; but at least he was the cause +of philosophy in others. That scientific gentleman with the bald, +egg-like head and the bare, bird-like neck had no real right to the +airs of science that he assumed. He had not discovered anything new +in biology; but what biological creature could he have discovered +more singular than himself? Thus, and thus only, the whole place +had properly to be regarded; it had to be considered not so much +as a workshop for artists, but as a frail but finished work of art. +A man who stepped into its social atmosphere felt as if he had +stepped into a written comedy. + +More especially this attractive unreality fell upon it about +nightfall, when the extravagant roofs were dark against the +afterglow and the whole insane village seemed as separate as a +drifting cloud. This again was more strongly true of the many +nights of local festivity, when the little gardens were often +illuminated, and the big Chinese lanterns glowed in the dwarfish +trees like some fierce and monstrous fruit. And this was strongest +of all on one particular evening, still vaguely remembered in the +locality, of which the auburn-haired poet was the hero. It was not +by any means the only evening of which he was the hero. On many +nights those passing by his little back garden might hear his high, +didactic voice laying down the law to men and particularly to +women. The attitude of women in such cases was indeed one of the +paradoxes of the place. Most of the women were of the kind vaguely +called emancipated, and professed some protest against male +supremacy. Yet these new women would always pay to a man the +extravagant compliment which no ordinary woman ever pays to him, +that of listening while he is talking. And Mr. Lucian Gregory, the +red-haired poet, was really (in some sense) a man worth listening +to, even if one only laughed at the end of it. He put the old cant +of the lawlessness of art and the art of lawlessness with a certain +impudent freshness which gave at least a momentary pleasure. He was +helped in some degree by the arresting oddity of his appearance, +which he worked, as the phrase goes, for all it was worth. His dark +red hair parted in the middle was literally like a woman's, and +curved into the slow curls of a virgin in a pre-Raphaelite picture. +From within this almost saintly oval, however, his face projected +suddenly broad and brutal, the chin carried forward with a look of +cockney contempt. This combination at once tickled and terrified +the nerves of a neurotic population. He seemed like a walking +blasphemy, a blend of the angel and the ape. + +This particular evening, if it is remembered for nothing else, +will be remembered in that place for its strange sunset. It looked +like the end of the world. All the heaven seemed covered with a +quite vivid and palpable plumage; you could only say that the sky +was full of feathers, and of feathers that almost brushed the +face. Across the great part of the dome they were grey, with the +strangest tints of violet and mauve and an unnatural pink or pale +green; but towards the west the whole grew past description, +transparent and passionate, and the last red-hot plumes of it +covered up the sun like something too good to be seen. The whole +was so close about the earth, as to express nothing but a violent +secrecy. The very empyrean seemed to be a secret. It expressed +that splendid smallness which is the soul of local patriotism. The +very sky seemed small. + +I say that there are some inhabitants who may remember the evening +if only by that oppressive sky. There are others who may remember +it because it marked the first appearance in the place of the +second poet of Saffron Park. For a long time the red-haired +revolutionary had reigned without a rival; it was upon the night +of the sunset that his solitude suddenly ended. The new poet, who +introduced himself by the name of Gabriel Syme was a very +mild-looking mortal, with a fair, pointed beard and faint, yellow +hair. But an impression grew that he was less meek than he looked. +He signalised his entrance by differing with the established poet, +Gregory, upon the whole nature of poetry. He said that he (Syme) +was poet of law, a poet of order; nay, he said he was a poet of +respectability. So all the Saffron Parkers looked at him as if he +had that moment fallen out of that impossible sky. + +In fact, Mr. Lucian Gregory, the anarchic poet, connected the two +events. + +"It may well be," he said, in his sudden lyrical manner, "it may +well be on such a night of clouds and cruel colours that there is +brought forth upon the earth such a portent as a respectable poet. +You say you are a poet of law; I say you are a contradiction in +terms. I only wonder there were not comets and earthquakes on the +night you appeared in this garden." + +The man with the meek blue eyes and the pale, pointed beard endured +these thunders with a certain submissive solemnity. The third party +of the group, Gregory's sister Rosamond, who had her brother's +braids of red hair, but a kindlier face underneath them, laughed +with such mixture of admiration and disapproval as she gave +commonly to the family oracle. + +Gregory resumed in high oratorical good humour. + +"An artist is identical with an anarchist," he cried. "You might +transpose the words anywhere. An anarchist is an artist. The man +who throws a bomb is an artist, because he prefers a great moment +to everything. He sees how much more valuable is one burst of +blazing light, one peal of perfect thunder, than the mere common +bodies of a few shapeless policemen. An artist disregards all +governments, abolishes all conventions. The poet delights in +disorder only. If it were not so, the most poetical thing in the +world would be the Underground Railway." + +"So it is," said Mr. Syme. + +"Nonsense!" said Gregory, who was very rational when anyone else +attempted paradox. "Why do all the clerks and navvies in the +railway trains look so sad and tired, so very sad and tired? I will +tell you. It is because they know that the train is going right. It +is because they know that whatever place they have taken a ticket +for that place they will reach. It is because after they have +passed Sloane Square they know that the next station must be +Victoria, and nothing but Victoria. Oh, their wild rapture! oh, +their eyes like stars and their souls again in Eden, if the next +station were unaccountably Baker Street!" + +"It is you who are unpoetical," replied the poet Syme. "If what you +say of clerks is true, they can only be as prosaic as your poetry. +The rare, strange thing is to hit the mark; the gross, obvious +thing is to miss it. We feel it is epical when man with one wild +arrow strikes a distant bird. Is it not also epical when man with +one wild engine strikes a distant station? Chaos is dull; because +in chaos the train might indeed go anywhere, to Baker Street or to +Bagdad. But man is a magician, and his whole magic is in this, that +he does say Victoria, and lo! it is Victoria. No, take your books +of mere poetry and prose; let me read a time table, with tears of +pride. Take your Byron, who commemorates the defeats of man; give +me Bradshaw, who commemorates his victories. Give me Bradshaw, I +say!" + +"Must you go?" inquired Gregory sarcastically. + +"I tell you," went on Syme with passion, "that every time a train +comes in I feel that it has broken past batteries of besiegers, and +that man has won a battle against chaos. You say contemptuously +that when one has left Sloane Square one must come to Victoria. I +say that one might do a thousand things instead, and that whenever +I really come there I have the sense of hairbreadth escape. And +when I hear the guard shout out the word 'Victoria,' it is not an +unmeaning word. It is to me the cry of a herald announcing +conquest. It is to me indeed 'Victoria'; it is the victory of +Adam." + +Gregory wagged his heavy, red head with a slow and sad smile. + +"And even then," he said, "we poets always ask the question, 'And +what is Victoria now that you have got there?' You think Victoria +is like the New Jerusalem. We know that the New Jerusalem will only +be like Victoria. Yes, the poet will be discontented even in the +streets of heaven. The poet is always in revolt." + +"There again," said Syme irritably, "what is there poetical about +being in revolt? You might as well say that it is poetical to be +sea-sick. Being sick is a revolt. Both being sick and being +rebellious may be the wholesome thing on certain desperate +occasions; but I'm hanged if I can see why they are poetical. +Revolt in the abstract is--revolting. It's mere vomiting." + +The girl winced for a flash at the unpleasant word, but Syme was +too hot to heed her. + +"It is things going right," he cried, "that is poetical! Our +digestions, for instance, going sacredly and silently right, that +is the foundation of all poetry. Yes, the most poetical thing, more +poetical than the flowers, more poetical than the stars--the most +poetical thing in the world is not being sick." + +"Really," said Gregory superciliously, "the examples you choose--" + +"I beg your pardon," said Syme grimly, "I forgot we had abolished +all conventions." + +For the first time a red patch appeared on Gregory's forehead. + +"You don't expect me," he said, "to revolutionise society on this +lawn?" + +Syme looked straight into his eyes and smiled sweetly. + +"No, I don't," he said; "but I suppose that if you were serious +about your anarchism, that is exactly what you would do." + +Gregory's big bull's eyes blinked suddenly like those of an angry +lion, and one could almost fancy that his red mane rose. + +"Don't you think, then," he said in a dangerous voice, "that I am +serious about my anarchism?" + +"I beg your pardon?" said Syme. + +"Am I not serious about my anarchism?" cried Gregory, with knotted +fists. + +"My dear fellow!" said Syme, and strolled away. + +With surprise, but with a curious pleasure, he found Rosamond +Gregory still in his company. + +"Mr. Syme," she said, "do the people who talk like you and my +brother often mean what they say? Do you mean what you say now?" + +Syme smiled. + +"Do you?" he asked. + +"What do you mean?" asked the girl, with grave eyes. + +"My dear Miss Gregory," said Syme gently, "there are many kinds of +sincerity and insincerity. When you say 'thank you' for the salt, +do you mean what you say? No. When you say 'the world is round,' +do you mean what you say? No. It is true, but you don't mean it. +Now, sometimes a man like your brother really finds a thing he does +mean. It may be only a half-truth, quarter-truth, tenth-truth; but +then he says more than he means--from sheer force of meaning it." + +She was looking at him from under level brows; her face was grave +and open, and there had fallen upon it the shadow of that +unreasoning responsibility which is at the bottom of the most +frivolous woman, the maternal watch which is as old as the world. + +"Is he really an anarchist, then?" she asked. + +"Only in that sense I speak of," replied Syme; "or if you prefer +it, in that nonsense." + +She drew her broad brows together and said abruptly-- + +"He wouldn't really use--bombs or that sort of thing?" + +Syme broke into a great laugh, that seemed too large for his slight +and somewhat dandified figure. + +"Good Lord, no!" he said, "that has to be done anonymously." + +And at that the corners of her own mouth broke into a smile, and +she thought with a simultaneous pleasure of Gregory's absurdity +and of his safety. + +Syme strolled with her to a seat in the corner of the garden, and +continued to pour out his opinions. For he was a sincere man, and +in spite of his superficial airs and graces, at root a humble one. +And it is always the humble man who talks too much; the proud man +watches himself too closely. He defended respectability with +violence and exaggeration. He grew passionate in his praise of +tidiness and propriety. All the time there was a smell of lilac +all round him. Once he heard very faintly in some distant street a +barrel-organ begin to play, and it seemed to him that his heroic +words were moving to a tiny tune from under or beyond the world. + +He stared and talked at the girl's red hair and amused face for +what seemed to be a few minutes; and then, feeling that the groups +in such a place should mix, rose to his feet. To his astonishment, +he discovered the whole garden empty. Everyone had gone long ago, +and he went himself with a rather hurried apology. He left with a +sense of champagne in his head, which he could not afterwards +explain. In the wild events which were to follow this girl had no +part at all; he never saw her again until all his tale was over. +And yet, in some indescribable way, she kept recurring like a +motive in music through all his mad adventures afterwards, and the +glory of her strange hair ran like a red thread through those dark +and ill-drawn tapestries of the night. For what followed was so +improbable, that it might well have been a dream. + +When Syme went out into the starlit street, he found it for the +moment empty. Then he realised (in some odd way) that the silence +was rather a living silence than a dead one. Directly outside the +door stood a street lamp, whose gleam gilded the leaves of the tree +that bent out over the fence behind him. About a foot from the +lamp-post stood a figure almost as rigid and motionless as the +lamp-post itself. The tall hat and long frock coat were black; the +face, in an abrupt shadow, was almost as dark. Only a fringe of +fiery hair against the light, and also something aggressive in the +attitude, proclaimed that it was the poet Gregory. He had something +of the look of a masked bravo waiting sword in hand for his foe. + +He made a sort of doubtful salute, which Syme somewhat more +formally returned. + +"I was waiting for you," said Gregory. "Might I have a moment's +conversation?" + +"Certainly. About what?" asked Syme in a sort of weak wonder. + +Gregory struck out with his stick at the lamp-post, and then at the +tree. "About this and this," he cried; "about order and anarchy. +There is your precious order, that lean, iron lamp, ugly and +barren; and there is anarchy, rich, living, reproducing +itself--there is anarchy, splendid in green and gold." + +"All the same," replied Syme patiently, "just at present you only +see the tree by the light of the lamp. I wonder when you would ever +see the lamp by the light of the tree." Then after a pause he said, +"But may I ask if you have been standing out here in the dark only +to resume our little argument?" + +"No," cried out Gregory, in a voice that rang down the street, "I +did not stand here to resume our argument, but to end it for ever." + +The silence fell again, and Syme, though he understood nothing, +listened instinctively for something serious. Gregory began in a +smooth voice and with a rather bewildering smile. + +"Mr. Syme," he said, "this evening you succeeded in doing something +rather remarkable. You did something to me that no man born of +woman has ever succeeded in doing before." + +"Indeed!" + +"Now I remember," resumed Gregory reflectively, "one other person +succeeded in doing it. The captain of a penny steamer (if I +remember correctly) at Southend. You have irritated me." + +"I am very sorry," replied Syme with gravity. + +"I am afraid my fury and your insult are too shocking to be wiped +out even with an apology," said Gregory very calmly. "No duel +could wipe it out. If I struck you dead I could not wipe it out. +There is only one way by which that insult can be erased, and that +way I choose. I am going, at the possible sacrifice of my life and +honour, to prove to you that you were wrong in what you said." + +"In what I said?" + +"You said I was not serious about being an anarchist." + +"There are degrees of seriousness," replied Syme. "I have never +doubted that you were perfectly sincere in this sense, that you +thought what you said well worth saying, that you thought a +paradox might wake men up to a neglected truth." + +Gregory stared at him steadily and painfully. + +"And in no other sense," he asked, "you think me serious? You think +me a flaneur who lets fall occasional truths. You do not think that +in a deeper, a more deadly sense, I am serious." + +Syme struck his stick violently on the stones of the road. + +"Serious!" he cried. "Good Lord! is this street serious? Are these +damned Chinese lanterns serious? Is the whole caboodle serious? +One comes here and talks a pack of bosh, and perhaps some sense as +well, but I should think very little of a man who didn't keep +something in the background of his life that was more serious than +all this talking--something more serious, whether it was religion +or only drink." + +"Very well," said Gregory, his face darkening, "you shall see +something more serious than either drink or religion." + +Syme stood waiting with his usual air of mildness until Gregory +again opened his lips. + +"You spoke just now of having a religion. Is it really true that +you have one?" + +"Oh," said Syme with a beaming smile, "we are all Catholics now." + +"Then may I ask you to swear by whatever gods or saints your +religion involves that you will not reveal what I am now going to +tell you to any son of Adam, and especially not to the police? +Will you swear that! If you will take upon yourself this awful +abnegations if you will consent to burden your soul with a vow +that you should never make and a knowledge you should never dream +about, I will promise you in return--" + +"You will promise me in return?" inquired Syme, as the other +paused. + +"I will promise you a very entertaining evening." Syme suddenly +took off his hat. + +"Your offer," he said, "is far too idiotic to be declined. You say +that a poet is always an anarchist. I disagree; but I hope at least +that he is always a sportsman. Permit me, here and now, to swear as +a Christian, and promise as a good comrade and a fellow-artist, +that I will not report anything of this, whatever it is, to the +police. And now, in the name of Colney Hatch, what is it?" + +"I think," said Gregory, with placid irrelevancy, "that we will +call a cab." + +He gave two long whistles, and a hansom came rattling down the +road. The two got into it in silence. Gregory gave through the +trap the address of an obscure public-house on the Chiswick bank +of the river. The cab whisked itself away again, and in it these +two fantastics quitted their fantastic town. + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE SECRET OF GABRIEL SYME + +THE cab pulled up before a particularly dreary and greasy beershop, +into which Gregory rapidly conducted his companion. They seated +themselves in a close and dim sort of bar-parlour, at a stained +wooden table with one wooden leg. The room was so small and dark, +that very little could be seen of the attendant who was summoned, +beyond a vague and dark impression of something bulky and bearded. + +"Will you take a little supper?" asked Gregory politely. "The pate +de foie gras is not good here, but I can recommend the game." + +Syme received the remark with stolidity, imagining it to be a joke. +Accepting the vein of humour, he said, with a well-bred +indifference-- + +"Oh, bring me some lobster mayonnaise." + +To his indescribable astonishment, the man only said "Certainly, +sir!" and went away apparently to get it. + +"What will you drink?" resumed Gregory, with the same careless yet +apologetic air. "I shall only have a crepe de menthe myself; I have +dined. But the champagne can really be trusted. Do let me start you +with a half-bottle of Pommery at least?" + +"Thank you!" said the motionless Syme. "You are very good." + +His further attempts at conversation, somewhat disorganised in +themselves, were cut short finally as by a thunderbolt by the +actual appearance of the lobster. Syme tasted it, and found it +particularly good. Then he suddenly began to eat with great +rapidity and appetite. + +"Excuse me if I enjoy myself rather obviously!" he said to Gregory, +smiling. "I don't often have the luck to have a dream like this. It +is new to me for a nightmare to lead to a lobster. It is commonly +the other way." + +"You are not asleep, I assure you," said Gregory. "You are, on the +contrary, close to the most actual and rousing moment of your +existence. Ah, here comes your champagne! I admit that there may be +a slight disproportion, let us say, between the inner arrangements +of this excellent hotel and its simple and unpretentious exterior. +But that is all our modesty. We are the most modest men that ever +lived on earth." + +"And who are we?" asked Syme, emptying his champagne glass. + +"It is quite simple," replied Gregory. "We are the serious +anarchists, in whom you do not believe." + +"Oh!" said Syme shortly. "You do yourselves well in drinks." + +"Yes, we are serious about everything," answered Gregory. + +Then after a pause he added-- + +"If in a few moments this table begins to turn round a little, +don't put it down to your inroads into the champagne. I don't wish +you to do yourself an injustice." + +"Well, if I am not drunk, I am mad," replied Syme with perfect +calm; "but I trust I can behave like a gentleman in either +condition. May I smoke?" + +"Certainly!" said Gregory, producing a cigar-case. "Try one of +mine." + +Syme took the cigar, clipped the end off with a cigar-cutter out +of his waistcoat pocket, put it in his mouth, lit it slowly, and +let out a long cloud of smoke. It is not a little to his credit +that he performed these rites with so much composure, for almost +before he had begun them the table at which he sat had begun to +revolve, first slowly, and then rapidly, as if at an insane +seance. + +"You must not mind it," said Gregory; "it's a kind of screw." + +"Quite so," said Syme placidly, "a kind of screw. How simple that +is!" + +The next moment the smoke of his cigar, which had been wavering +across the room in snaky twists, went straight up as if from a +factory chimney, and the two, with their chairs and table, shot +down through the floor as if the earth had swallowed them. They +went rattling down a kind of roaring chimney as rapidly as a lift +cut loose, and they came with an abrupt bump to the bottom. But +when Gregory threw open a pair of doors and let in a red +subterranean light, Syme was still smoking with one leg thrown +over the other, and had not turned a yellow hair. + +Gregory led him down a low, vaulted passage, at the end of which +was the red light. It was an enormous crimson lantern, nearly as +big as a fireplace, fixed over a small but heavy iron door. In the +door there was a sort of hatchway or grating, and on this Gregory +struck five times. A heavy voice with a foreign accent asked him +who he was. To this he gave the more or less unexpected reply, +"Mr. Joseph Chamberlain." The heavy hinges began to move; it was +obviously some kind of password. + +Inside the doorway the passage gleamed as if it were lined with a +network of steel. On a second glance, Syme saw that the glittering +pattern was really made up of ranks and ranks of rifles and +revolvers, closely packed or interlocked. + +"I must ask you to forgive me all these formalities," said Gregory; +"we have to be very strict here." + +"Oh, don't apologise," said Syme. "I know your passion for law and +order," and he stepped into the passage lined with the steel +weapons. With his long, fair hair and rather foppish frock-coat, he +looked a singularly frail and fanciful figure as he walked down +that shining avenue of death. + +They passed through several such passages, and came out at last +into a queer steel chamber with curved walls, almost spherical in +shape, but presenting, with its tiers of benches, something of the +appearance of a scientific lecture-theatre. There were no rifles or +pistols in this apartment, but round the walls of it were hung more +dubious and dreadful shapes, things that looked like the bulbs of +iron plants, or the eggs of iron birds. They were bombs, and the +very room itself seemed like the inside of a bomb. Syme knocked his +cigar ash off against the wall, and went in. + +"And now, my dear Mr. Syme," said Gregory, throwing himself in an +expansive manner on the bench under the largest bomb, "now we are +quite cosy, so let us talk properly. Now no human words can give +you any notion of why I brought you here. It was one of those quite +arbitrary emotions, like jumping off a cliff or falling in love. +Suffice it to say that you were an inexpressibly irritating fellow, +and, to do you justice, you are still. I would break twenty oaths +of secrecy for the pleasure of taking you down a peg. That way you +have of lighting a cigar would make a priest break the seal of +confession. Well, you said that you were quite certain I was not a +serious anarchist. Does this place strike you as being serious?" + +"It does seem to have a moral under all its gaiety," assented +Syme; "but may I ask you two questions? You need not fear to give +me information, because, as you remember, you very wisely extorted +from me a promise not to tell the police, a promise I shall +certainly keep. So it is in mere curiosity that I make my queries. +First of all, what is it really all about? What is it you object +to? You want to abolish Government?" + +"To abolish God!" said Gregory, opening the eyes of a fanatic. "We +do not only want to upset a few despotisms and police regulations; +that sort of anarchism does exist, but it is a mere branch of the +Nonconformists. We dig deeper and we blow you higher. We wish to +deny all those arbitrary distinctions of vice and virtue, honour +and treachery, upon which mere rebels base themselves. The silly +sentimentalists of the French Revolution talked of the Rights of +Man! We hate Rights as we hate Wrongs. We have abolished Right and +Wrong." + +"And Right and Left," said Syme with a simple eagerness, "I hope +you will abolish them too. They are much more troublesome to me." + +"You spoke of a second question," snapped Gregory. + +"With pleasure," resumed Syme. "In all your present acts and +surroundings there is a scientific attempt at secrecy. I have an +aunt who lived over a shop, but this is the first time I have +found people living from preference under a public-house. You have +a heavy iron door. You cannot pass it without submitting to the +humiliation of calling yourself Mr. Chamberlain. You surround +yourself with steel instruments which make the place, if I may say +so, more impressive than homelike. May I ask why, after taking all +this trouble to barricade yourselves in the bowels of the earth, +you then parade your whole secret by talking about anarchism to +every silly woman in Saffron Park?" + +Gregory smiled. + +"The answer is simple," he said. "I told you I was a serious +anarchist, and you did not believe me. Nor do they believe me. +Unless I took them into this infernal room they would not believe +me." + +Syme smoked thoughtfully, and looked at him with interest. Gregory +went on. + +"The history of the thing might amuse you," he said. "When first I +became one of the New Anarchists I tried all kinds of respectable +disguises. I dressed up as a bishop. I read up all about bishops +in our anarchist pamphlets, in Superstition the Vampire and +Priests of Prey. I certainly understood from them that bishops are +strange and terrible old men keeping a cruel secret from mankind. +I was misinformed. When on my first appearing in episcopal gaiters +in a drawing-room I cried out in a voice of thunder, 'Down! down! +presumptuous human reason!' they found out in some way that I was +not a bishop at all. I was nabbed at once. Then I made up as a +millionaire; but I defended Capital with so much intelligence that +a fool could see that I was quite poor. Then I tried being a +major. Now I am a humanitarian myself, but I have, I hope, enough +intellectual breadth to understand the position of those who, like +Nietzsche, admire violence--the proud, mad war of Nature and all +that, you know. I threw myself into the major. I drew my sword and +waved it constantly. I called out 'Blood!' abstractedly, like a +man calling for wine. I often said, 'Let the weak perish; it is +the Law.' Well, well, it seems majors don't do this. I was nabbed +again. At last I went in despair to the President of the Central +Anarchist Council, who is the greatest man in Europe." + +"What is his name?" asked Syme. + +"You would not know it," answered Gregory. "That is his greatness. +Caesar and Napoleon put all their genius into being heard of, and +they were heard of. He puts all his genius into not being heard of, +and he is not heard of. But you cannot be for five minutes in the +room with him without feeling that Caesar and Napoleon would have +been children in his hands." + +He was silent and even pale for a moment, and then resumed-- + +"But whenever he gives advice it is always something as startling +as an epigram, and yet as practical as the Bank of England. I said +to him, 'What disguise will hide me from the world? What can I find +more respectable than bishops and majors?' He looked at me with his +large but indecipherable face. 'You want a safe disguise, do you? +You want a dress which will guarantee you harmless; a dress in +which no one would ever look for a bomb?' I nodded. He suddenly +lifted his lion's voice. 'Why, then, dress up as an anarchist, you +fool!' he roared so that the room shook. 'Nobody will ever expect +you to do anything dangerous then.' And he turned his broad back +on me without another word. I took his advice, and have never +regretted it. I preached blood and murder to those women day and +night, and--by God!--they would let me wheel their perambulators." + +Syme sat watching him with some respect in his large, blue eyes. + +"You took me in," he said. "It is really a smart dodge." + +Then after a pause he added-- + +"What do you call this tremendous President of yours?" + +"We generally call him Sunday," replied Gregory with simplicity. +"You see, there are seven members of the Central Anarchist +Council, and they are named after days of the week. He is called +Sunday, by some of his admirers Bloody Sunday. It is curious you +should mention the matter, because the very night you have dropped +in (if I may so express it) is the night on which our London +branch, which assembles in this room, has to elect its own deputy +to fill a vacancy in the Council. The gentleman who has for some +time past played, with propriety and general applause, the +difficult part of Thursday, has died quite suddenly. Consequently, +we have called a meeting this very evening to elect a successor." + +He got to his feet and strolled across the room with a sort of +smiling embarrassment. + +"I feel somehow as if you were my mother, Syme," he continued +casually. "I feel that I can confide anything to you, as you have +promised to tell nobody. In fact, I will confide to you something +that I would not say in so many words to the anarchists who will be +coming to the room in about ten minutes. We shall, of course, go +through a form of election; but I don't mind telling you that it is +practically certain what the result will be." He looked down for a +moment modestly. "It is almost a settled thing that I am to be +Thursday." + +"My dear fellow." said Syme heartily, "I congratulate you. A great +career!" + +Gregory smiled in deprecation, and walked across the room, talking +rapidly. + +"As a matter of fact, everything is ready for me on this table," he +said, "and the ceremony will probably be the shortest possible." + +Syme also strolled across to the table, and found lying across it a +walking-stick, which turned out on examination to be a sword-stick, +a large Colt's revolver, a sandwich case, and a formidable flask of +brandy. Over the chair, beside the table, was thrown a +heavy-looking cape or cloak. + +"I have only to get the form of election finished," continued +Gregory with animation, "then I snatch up this cloak and stick, +stuff these other things into my pocket, step out of a door in +this cavern, which opens on the river, where there is a steam-tug +already waiting for me, and then--then--oh, the wild joy of being +Thursday!" And he clasped his hands. + +Syme, who had sat down once more with his usual insolent languor, +got to his feet with an unusual air of hesitation. + +"Why is it," he asked vaguely, "that I think you are quite a decent +fellow? Why do I positively like you, Gregory?" He paused a moment, +and then added with a sort of fresh curiosity, "Is it because you +are such an ass?" + +There was a thoughtful silence again, and then he cried out-- + +"Well, damn it all! this is the funniest situation I have ever been +in in my life, and I am going to act accordingly. Gregory, I gave +you a promise before I came into this place. That promise I would +keep under red-hot pincers. Would you give me, for my own safety, a +little promise of the same kind?" + +"A promise?" asked Gregory, wondering. + +"Yes," said Syme very seriously, "a promise. I swore before God +that I would not tell your secret to the police. Will you swear by +Humanity, or whatever beastly thing you believe in, that you will +not tell my secret to the anarchists?" + +"Your secret?" asked the staring Gregory. "Have you got a secret?" + +"Yes," said Syme, "I have a secret." Then after a pause, "Will you +swear?" + +Gregory glared at him gravely for a few moments, and then said +abruptly-- + +"You must have bewitched me, but I feel a furious curiosity about +you. Yes, I will swear not to tell the anarchists anything you tell +me. But look sharp, for they will be here in a couple of minutes." + +Syme rose slowly to his feet and thrust his long, white hands into +his long, grey trousers' pockets. Almost as he did so there came +five knocks on the outer grating, proclaiming the arrival of the +first of the conspirators. + +"Well," said Syme slowly, "I don't know how to tell you the truth +more shortly than by saying that your expedient of dressing up as +an aimless poet is not confined to you or your President. We have +known the dodge for some time at Scotland Yard." + +Gregory tried to spring up straight, but he swayed thrice. + +"What do you say?" he asked in an inhuman voice. + +"Yes," said Syme simply, "I am a police detective. But I think I +hear your friends coming." + +From the doorway there came a murmur of "Mr. Joseph Chamberlain." +It was repeated twice and thrice, and then thirty times, and the +crowd of Joseph Chamberlains (a solemn thought) could be heard +trampling down the corridor. + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE MAN WHO WAS THURSDAY + +BEFORE one of the fresh faces could appear at the doorway, +Gregory's stunned surprise had fallen from him. He was beside the +table with a bound, and a noise in his throat like a wild beast. +He caught up the Colt's revolver and took aim at Syme. Syme did +not flinch, but he put up a pale and polite hand. + +"Don't be such a silly man," he said, with the effeminate dignity +of a curate. "Don't you see it's not necessary? Don't you see that +we're both in the same boat? Yes, and jolly sea-sick." + +Gregory could not speak, but he could not fire either, and he +looked his question. + +"Don't you see we've checkmated each other?" cried Syme. "I can't +tell the police you are an anarchist. You can't tell the anarchists +I'm a policeman. I can only watch you, knowing what you are; you +can only watch me, knowing what I am. In short, it's a lonely, +intellectual duel, my head against yours. I'm a policeman deprived +of the help of the police. You, my poor fellow, are an anarchist +deprived of the help of that law and organisation which is so +essential to anarchy. The one solitary difference is in your +favour. You are not surrounded by inquisitive policemen; I am +surrounded by inquisitive anarchists. I cannot betray you, but I +might betray myself. Come, come! wait and see me betray myself. I +shall do it so nicely." + +Gregory put the pistol slowly down, still staring at Syme as if he +were a sea-monster. + +"I don't believe in immortality," he said at last, "but if, after +all this, you were to break your word, God would make a hell only +for you, to howl in for ever." + +"I shall not break my word," said Syme sternly, "nor will you +break yours. Here are your friends." + +The mass of the anarchists entered the room heavily, with a +slouching and somewhat weary gait; but one little man, with a +black beard and glasses--a man somewhat of the type of Mr. Tim +Healy--detached himself, and bustled forward with some papers +in his hand. + +"Comrade Gregory," he said, "I suppose this man is a delegate?" + +Gregory, taken by surprise, looked down and muttered the name of +Syme; but Syme replied almost pertly-- + +"I am glad to see that your gate is well enough guarded to make it +hard for anyone to be here who was not a delegate." + +The brow of the little man with the black beard was, however, still +contracted with something like suspicion. + +"What branch do you represent?" he asked sharply. + +"I should hardly call it a branch," said Syme, laughing; "I should +call it at the very least a root." + +"What do you mean?" + +"The fact is," said Syme serenely, "the truth is I am a +Sabbatarian. I have been specially sent here to see that you show +a due observance of Sunday." + +The little man dropped one of his papers, and a flicker of fear +went over all the faces of the group. Evidently the awful +President, whose name was Sunday, did sometimes send down such +irregular ambassadors to such branch meetings. + +"Well, comrade," said the man with the papers after a pause, "I +suppose we'd better give you a seat in the meeting?" + +"If you ask my advice as a friend," said Syme with severe +benevolence, "I think you'd better." + +When Gregory heard the dangerous dialogue end, with a sudden safety +for his rival, he rose abruptly and paced the floor in painful +thought. He was, indeed, in an agony of diplomacy. It was clear +that Syme's inspired impudence was likely to bring him out of all +merely accidental dilemmas. Little was to be hoped from them. He +could not himself betray Syme, partly from honour, but partly also +because, if he betrayed him and for some reason failed to destroy +him, the Syme who escaped would be a Syme freed from all obligation +of secrecy, a Syme who would simply walk to the nearest police +station. After all, it was only one night's discussion, and only +one detective who would know of it. He would let out as little as +possible of their plans that night, and then let Syme go, and +chance it. + +He strode across to the group of anarchists, which was already +distributing itself along the benches. + +"I think it is time we began," he said; "the steam-tug is waiting +on the river already. I move that Comrade Buttons takes the chair." + +This being approved by a show of hands, the little man with the +papers slipped into the presidential seat. + +"Comrades," he began, as sharp as a pistol-shot, "our meeting +tonight is important, though it need not be long. This branch +has always had the honour of electing Thursdays for the Central +European Council. We have elected many and splendid Thursdays. We +all lament the sad decease of the heroic worker who occupied the +post until last week. As you know, his services to the cause were +considerable. He organised the great dynamite coup of Brighton +which, under happier circumstances, ought to have killed everybody +on the pier. As you also know, his death was as self-denying as +his life, for he died through his faith in a hygienic mixture of +chalk and water as a substitute for milk, which beverage he +regarded as barbaric, and as involving cruelty to the cow. +Cruelty, or anything approaching to cruelty, revolted him always. +But it is not to acclaim his virtues that we are met, but for a +harder task. It is difficult properly to praise his qualities, but +it is more difficult to replace them. Upon you, comrades, it +devolves this evening to choose out of the company present the man +who shall be Thursday. If any comrade suggests a name I will put +it to the vote. If no comrade suggests a name, I can only tell +myself that that dear dynamiter, who is gone from us, has carried +into the unknowable abysses the last secret of his virtue and his +innocence." + +There was a stir of almost inaudible applause, such as is sometimes +heard in church. Then a large old man, with a long and venerable +white beard, perhaps the only real working-man present, rose +lumberingly and said-- + +"I move that Comrade Gregory be elected Thursday," and sat +lumberingly down again. + +"Does anyone second?" asked the chairman. + +A little man with a velvet coat and pointed beard seconded. + +"Before I put the matter to the vote," said the chairman, "I will +call on Comrade Gregory to make a statement." + +Gregory rose amid a great rumble of applause. His face was deadly +pale, so that by contrast his queer red hair looked almost scarlet. +But he was smiling and altogether at ease. He had made up his mind, +and he saw his best policy quite plain in front of him like a white +road. His best chance was to make a softened and ambiguous speech, +such as would leave on the detective's mind the impression that the +anarchist brotherhood was a very mild affair after all. He believed +in his own literary power, his capacity for suggesting fine shades +and picking perfect words. He thought that with care he could +succeed, in spite of all the people around him, in conveying an +impression of the institution, subtly and delicately false. Syme +had once thought that anarchists, under all their bravado, were +only playing the fool. Could he not now, in the hour of peril, make +Syme think so again? + +"Comrades," began Gregory, in a low but penetrating voice, "it is +not necessary for me to tell you what is my policy, for it is your +policy also. Our belief has been slandered, it has been disfigured, +it has been utterly confused and concealed, but it has never been +altered. Those who talk about anarchism and its dangers go +everywhere and anywhere to get their information, except to us, +except to the fountain head. They learn about anarchists from +sixpenny novels; they learn about anarchists from tradesmen's +newspapers; they learn about anarchists from Ally Sloper's +Half-Holiday and the Sporting Times. They never learn about +anarchists from anarchists. We have no chance of denying the +mountainous slanders which are heaped upon our heads from one end +of Europe to another. The man who has always heard that we are +walking plagues has never heard our reply. I know that he will not +hear it tonight, though my passion were to rend the roof. For it is +deep, deep under the earth that the persecuted are permitted to +assemble, as the Christians assembled in the Catacombs. But if, by +some incredible accident, there were here tonight a man who all his +life had thus immensely misunderstood us, I would put this question +to him: 'When those Christians met in those Catacombs, what sort of +moral reputation had they in the streets above? What tales were +told of their atrocities by one educated Roman to another? Suppose' +(I would say to him), 'suppose that we are only repeating that +still mysterious paradox of history. Suppose we seem as shocking as +the Christians because we are really as harmless as the Christians. +Suppose we seem as mad as the Christians because we are really as +meek."' + +The applause that had greeted the opening sentences had been +gradually growing fainter, and at the last word it stopped +suddenly. In the abrupt silence, the man with the velvet jacket +said, in a high, squeaky voice-- + +"I'm not meek!" + +"Comrade Witherspoon tells us," resumed Gregory, "that he is not +meek. Ah, how little he knows himself! His words are, indeed, +extravagant; his appearance is ferocious, and even (to an ordinary +taste) unattractive. But only the eye of a friendship as deep and +delicate as mine can perceive the deep foundation of solid meekness +which lies at the base of him, too deep even for himself to see. I +repeat, we are the true early Christians, only that we come too +late. We are simple, as they revere simple--look at Comrade +Witherspoon. We are modest, as they were modest--look at me. We are +merciful--" + +"No, no!" called out Mr. Witherspoon with the velvet jacket. + +"I say we are merciful," repeated Gregory furiously, "as the early +Christians were merciful. Yet this did not prevent their being +accused of eating human flesh. We do not eat human flesh--" + +"Shame!" cried Witherspoon. "Why not?" + +"Comrade Witherspoon," said Gregory, with a feverish gaiety, "is +anxious to know why nobody eats him (laughter). In our society, at +any rate, which loves him sincerely, which is founded upon love--" + +"No, no!" said Witherspoon, "down with love." + +"Which is founded upon love," repeated Gregory, grinding his teeth, +"there will be no difficulty about the aims which we shall pursue +as a body, or which I should pursue were I chosen as the +representative of that body. Superbly careless of the slanders that +represent us as assassins and enemies of human society, we shall +pursue with moral courage and quiet intellectual pressure, the +permanent ideals of brotherhood and simplicity." + +Gregory resumed his seat and passed his hand across his forehead. +The silence was sudden and awkward, but the chairman rose like an +automaton, and said in a colourless voice-- + +"Does anyone oppose the election of Comrade Gregory?" + +The assembly seemed vague and sub-consciously disappointed, and +Comrade Witherspoon moved restlessly on his seat and muttered in +his thick beard. By the sheer rush of routine, however, the motion +would have been put and carried. But as the chairman was opening +his mouth to put it, Syme sprang to his feet and said in a small +and quiet voice-- + +"Yes, Mr. Chairman, I oppose." + +The most effective fact in oratory is an unexpected change in the +voice. Mr. Gabriel Syme evidently understood oratory. Having said +these first formal words in a moderated tone and with a brief +simplicity, he made his next word ring and volley in the vault as +if one of the guns had gone off. + +"Comrades!" he cried, in a voice that made every man jump out of +his boots, "have we come here for this? Do we live underground like +rats in order to listen to talk like this? This is talk we might +listen to while eating buns at a Sunday School treat. Do we line +these walls with weapons and bar that door with death lest anyone +should come and hear Comrade Gregory saying to us, 'Be good, and +you will be happy,' 'Honesty is the best policy,' and 'Virtue is +its own reward'? There was not a word in Comrade Gregory's address +to which a curate could not have listened with pleasure (hear, +hear). But I am not a curate (loud cheers), and I did not listen to +it with pleasure (renewed cheers). The man who is fitted to make a +good curate is not fitted to make a resolute, forcible, and +efficient Thursday (hear, hear)." + +"Comrade Gregory has told us, in only too apologetic a tone, that +we are not the enemies of society. But I say that we are the +enemies of society, and so much the worse for society. We are the +enemies of society, for society is the enemy of humanity, its +oldest and its most pitiless enemy (hear, hear). Comrade Gregory +has told us (apologetically again) that we are not murderers. There +I agree. We are not murderers, we are executioners (cheers)." + +Ever since Syme had risen Gregory had sat staring at him, his face +idiotic with astonishment. Now in the pause his lips of clay +parted, and he said, with an automatic and lifeless distinctness-- + +"You damnable hypocrite!" + +Syme looked straight into those frightful eyes with his own pale +blue ones, and said with dignity-- + +"Comrade Gregory accuses me of hypocrisy. He knows as well as I do +that I am keeping all my engagements and doing nothing but my duty. +I do not mince words. I do not pretend to. I say that Comrade +Gregory is unfit to be Thursday for all his amiable qualities. He +is unfit to be Thursday because of his amiable qualities. We do not +want the Supreme Council of Anarchy infected with a maudlin mercy +(hear, hear). This is no time for ceremonial politeness, neither is +it a time for ceremonial modesty. I set myself against Comrade +Gregory as I would set myself against all the Governments of +Europe, because the anarchist who has given himself to anarchy has +forgotten modesty as much as he has forgotten pride (cheers). I am +not a man at all. I am a cause (renewed cheers). I set myself +against Comrade Gregory as impersonally and as calmly as I should +choose one pistol rather than another out of that rack upon the +wall; and I say that rather than have Gregory and his +milk-and-water methods on the Supreme Council, I would offer myself +for election--" + +His sentence was drowned in a deafening cataract of applause. The +faces, that had grown fiercer and fiercer with approval as his +tirade grew more and more uncompromising, were now distorted with +grins of anticipation or cloven with delighted cries. At the +moment when he announced himself as ready to stand for the post of +Thursday, a roar of excitement and assent broke forth, and became +uncontrollable, and at the same moment Gregory sprang to his feet, +with foam upon his mouth, and shouted against the shouting. + +"Stop, you blasted madmen!" he cried, at the top of a voice that +tore his throat. "Stop, you--" + +But louder than Gregory's shouting and louder than the roar of the +room came the voice of Syme, still speaking in a peal of pitiless +thunder-- + +"I do not go to the Council to rebut that slander that calls us +murderers; I go to earn it (loud and prolonged cheering). To the +priest who says these men are the enemies of religion, to the +judge who says these men are the enemies of law, to the fat +parliamentarian who says these men are the enemies of order and +public decency, to all these I will reply, 'You are false kings, +but you are true prophets. I am come to destroy you, and to fulfil +your prophecies.'" + +The heavy clamour gradually died away, but before it had ceased +Witherspoon had jumped to his feet, his hair and beard all on end, +and had said-- + +"I move, as an amendment, that Comrade Syme be appointed to the post." + +"Stop all this, I tell you!" cried Gregory, with frantic face and +hands. "Stop it, it is all--" + +The voice of the chairman clove his speech with a cold accent. + +"Does anyone second this amendment?" he said. A tall, tired man, +with melancholy eyes and an American chin beard, was observed on +the back bench to be slowly rising to his feet. Gregory had been +screaming for some time past; now there was a change in his accent, +more shocking than any scream. "I end all this!" he said, in a +voice as heavy as stone. + +"This man cannot be elected. He is a--" + +"Yes," said Syme, quite motionless, "what is he?" Gregory's mouth +worked twice without sound; then slowly the blood began to crawl +back into his dead face. "He is a man quite inexperienced in our +work," he said, and sat down abruptly. + +Before he had done so, the long, lean man with the American beard +was again upon his feet, and was repeating in a high American +monotone-- + +"I beg to second the election of Comrade Syme." + +"The amendment will, as usual, be put first," said Mr. Buttons, the +chairman, with mechanical rapidity. + +"The question is that Comrade Syme--" + +Gregory had again sprung to his feet, panting and passionate. + +"Comrades," he cried out, "I am not a madman." + +"Oh, oh!" said Mr. Witherspoon. + +"I am not a madman," reiterated Gregory, with a frightful sincerity +which for a moment staggered the room, "but I give you a counsel +which you can call mad if you like. No, I will not call it a +counsel, for I can give you no reason for it. I will call it a +command. Call it a mad command, but act upon it. Strike, but hear +me! Kill me, but obey me! Do not elect this man." Truth is so +terrible, even in fetters, that for a moment Syme's slender and +insane victory swayed like a reed. But you could not have guessed +it from Syme's bleak blue eyes. He merely began-- + +"Comrade Gregory commands--" + +Then the spell was snapped, and one anarchist called out to Gregory-- + +"Who are you? You are not Sunday"; and another anarchist added in a +heavier voice, "And you are not Thursday." + +"Comrades," cried Gregory, in a voice like that of a martyr who in +an ecstacy of pain has passed beyond pain, "it is nothing to me +whether you detest me as a tyrant or detest me as a slave. If you +will not take my command, accept my degradation. I kneel to you. I +throw myself at your feet. I implore you. Do not elect this man." + +"Comrade Gregory," said the chairman after a painful pause, "this +is really not quite dignified." + +For the first time in the proceedings there was for a few seconds a +real silence. Then Gregory fell back in his seat, a pale wreck of a +man, and the chairman repeated, like a piece of clock-work suddenly +started again-- + +"The question is that Comrade Syme be elected to the post of +Thursday on the General Council." + +The roar rose like the sea, the hands rose like a forest, and three +minutes afterwards Mr. Gabriel Syme, of the Secret Police Service, +was elected to the post of Thursday on the General Council of the +Anarchists of Europe. + +Everyone in the room seemed to feel the tug waiting on the river, +the sword-stick and the revolver, waiting on the table. The instant +the election was ended and irrevocable, and Syme had received the +paper proving his election, they all sprang to their feet, and the +fiery groups moved and mixed in the room. Syme found himself, +somehow or other, face to face with Gregory, who still regarded him +with a stare of stunned hatred. They were silent for many minutes. + +"You are a devil!" said Gregory at last. + +"And you are a gentleman," said Syme with gravity. + +"It was you that entrapped me," began Gregory, shaking from head +to foot, "entrapped me into--" + +"Talk sense," said Syme shortly. "Into what sort of devils' +parliament have you entrapped me, if it comes to that? You made me +swear before I made you. Perhaps we are both doing what we think +right. But what we think right is so damned different that there +can be nothing between us in the way of concession. There is +nothing possible between us but honour and death," and he pulled +the great cloak about his shoulders and picked up the flask from +the table. + +"The boat is quite ready," said Mr. Buttons, bustling up. "Be good +enough to step this way." + +With a gesture that revealed the shop-walker, he led Syme down a +short, iron-bound passage, the still agonised Gregory following +feverishly at their heels. At the end of the passage was a door, +which Buttons opened sharply, showing a sudden blue and silver +picture of the moonlit river, that looked like a scene in a +theatre. Close to the opening lay a dark, dwarfish steam-launch, +like a baby dragon with one red eye. + +Almost in the act of stepping on board, Gabriel Syme turned to the +gaping Gregory. + +"You have kept your word," he said gently, with his face in shadow. +"You are a man of honour, and I thank you. You have kept it even +down to a small particular. There was one special thing you +promised me at the beginning of the affair, and which you have +certainly given me by the end of it." + +"What do you mean?" cried the chaotic Gregory. "What did I promise +you?" + +"A very entertaining evening," said Syme, and he made a military +salute with the sword-stick as the steamboat slid away. + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE TALE OF A DETECTIVE + +GABRIEL SYME was not merely a detective who pretended to be a poet; +he was really a poet who had become a detective. Nor was his hatred +of anarchy hypocritical. He was one of those who are driven early +in life into too conservative an attitude by the bewildering folly +of most revolutionists. He had not attained it by any tame +tradition. His respectability was spontaneous and sudden, a +rebellion against rebellion. He came of a family of cranks, in +which all the oldest people had all the newest notions. One of his +uncles always walked about without a hat, and another had made an +unsuccessful attempt to walk about with a hat and nothing else. His +father cultivated art and self-realisation; his mother went in for +simplicity and hygiene. Hence the child, during his tenderer years, +was wholly unacquainted with any drink between the extremes of +absinth and cocoa, of both of which he had a healthy dislike. The +more his mother preached a more than Puritan abstinence the more +did his father expand into a more than pagan latitude; and by the +time the former had come to enforcing vegetarianism, the latter had +pretty well reached the point of defending cannibalism. + +Being surrounded with every conceivable kind of revolt from +infancy, Gabriel had to revolt into something, so he revolted into +the only thing left--sanity. But there was just enough in him of +the blood of these fanatics to make even his protest for common +sense a little too fierce to be sensible. His hatred of modern +lawlessness had been crowned also by an accident. It happened that +he was walking in a side street at the instant of a dynamite +outrage. He had been blind and deaf for a moment, and then seen, +the smoke clearing, the broken windows and the bleeding faces. +After that he went about as usual--quiet, courteous, rather gentle; +but there was a spot on his mind that was not sane. He did not +regard anarchists, as most of us do, as a handful of morbid men, +combining ignorance with intellectualism. He regarded them as a +huge and pitiless peril, like a Chinese invasion. + +He poured perpetually into newspapers and their waste-paper baskets +a torrent of tales, verses and violent articles, warning men of +this deluge of barbaric denial. But he seemed to be getting no +nearer his enemy, and, what was worse, no nearer a living. As he +paced the Thames embankment, bitterly biting a cheap cigar and +brooding on the advance of Anarchy, there was no anarchist with +a bomb in his pocket so savage or so solitary as he. Indeed, he +always felt that Government stood alone and desperate, with its +back to the wall. He was too quixotic to have cared for it +otherwise. + +He walked on the Embankment once under a dark red sunset. The red +river reflected the red sky, and they both reflected his anger. The +sky, indeed, was so swarthy, and the light on the river relatively +so lurid, that the water almost seemed of fiercer flame than the +sunset it mirrored. It looked like a stream of literal fire winding +under the vast caverns of a subterranean country. + +Syme was shabby in those days. He wore an old-fashioned black +chimney-pot hat; he was wrapped in a yet more old-fashioned cloak, +black and ragged; and the combination gave him the look of the +early villains in Dickens and Bulwer Lytton. Also his yellow beard +and hair were more unkempt and leonine than when they appeared long +afterwards, cut and pointed, on the lawns of Saffron Park. A long, +lean, black cigar, bought in Soho for twopence, stood out from +between his tightened teeth, and altogether he looked a very +satisfactory specimen of the anarchists upon whom he had vowed a +holy war. Perhaps this was why a policeman on the Embankment spoke +to him, and said "Good evening." + +Syme, at a crisis of his morbid fears for humanity, seemed stung by +the mere stolidity of the automatic official, a mere bulk of blue +in the twilight. + +"A good evening is it?" he said sharply. "You fellows would call +the end of the world a good evening. Look at that bloody red sun +and that bloody river! I tell you that if that were literally human +blood, spilt and shining, you would still be standing here as solid +as ever, looking out for some poor harmless tramp whom you could +move on. You policemen are cruel to the poor, but I could forgive +you even your cruelty if it were not for your calm." + +"If we are calm," replied the policeman, "it is the calm of +organised resistance." + +"Eh?" said Syme, staring. + +"The soldier must be calm in the thick of the battle," pursued the +policeman. "The composure of an army is the anger of a nation." + +"Good God, the Board Schools!" said Syme. "Is this undenominational +education?" + +"No," said the policeman sadly, "I never had any of those +advantages. The Board Schools came after my time. What education +I had was very rough and old-fashioned, I am afraid." + +"Where did you have it?" asked Syme, wondering. + +"Oh, at Harrow," said the policeman + +The class sympathies which, false as they are, are the truest +things in so many men, broke out of Syme before he could control +them. + +"But, good Lord, man," he said, "you oughtn't to be a policeman!" + +The policeman sighed and shook his head. + +"I know," he said solemnly, "I know I am not worthy." + +"But why did you join the police?" asked Syme with rude curiosity. + +"For much the same reason that you abused the police," replied the +other. "I found that there was a special opening in the service for +those whose fears for humanity were concerned rather with the +aberrations of the scientific intellect than with the normal and +excusable, though excessive, outbreaks of the human will. I trust +I make myself clear." + +"If you mean that you make your opinion clear," said Syme, "I +suppose you do. But as for making yourself clear, it is the last +thing you do. How comes a man like you to be talking philosophy +in a blue helmet on the Thames embankment?" + +"You have evidently not heard of the latest development in our +police system," replied the other. "I am not surprised at it. We +are keeping it rather dark from the educated class, because that +class contains most of our enemies. But you seem to be exactly in +the right frame of mind. I think you might almost join us." + +"Join you in what?" asked Syme. + +"I will tell you," said the policeman slowly. "This is the +situation: The head of one of our departments, one of the most +celebrated detectives in Europe, has long been of opinion that a +purely intellectual conspiracy would soon threaten the very +existence of civilisation. He is certain that the scientific and +artistic worlds are silently bound in a crusade against the Family +and the State. He has, therefore, formed a special corps of +policemen, policemen who are also philosophers. It is their +business to watch the beginnings of this conspiracy, not merely in +a criminal but in a controversial sense. I am a democrat myself, +and I am fully aware of the value of the ordinary man in matters of +ordinary valour or virtue. But it would obviously be undesirable to +employ the common policeman in an investigation which is also a +heresy hunt." + +Syme's eyes were bright with a sympathetic curiosity. + +"What do you do, then?" he said. + +"The work of the philosophical policeman," replied the man in +blue, "is at once bolder and more subtle than that of the ordinary +detective. The ordinary detective goes to pot-houses to arrest +thieves; we go to artistic tea-parties to detect pessimists. The +ordinary detective discovers from a ledger or a diary that a crime +has been committed. We discover from a book of sonnets that a crime +will be committed. We have to trace the origin of those dreadful +thoughts that drive men on at last to intellectual fanaticism and +intellectual crime. We were only just in time to prevent the +assassination at Hartle pool, and that was entirely due to the fact +that our Mr. Wilks (a smart young fellow) thoroughly understood a +triolet." + +"Do you mean," asked Syme, "that there is really as much connection +between crime and the modern intellect as all that?" + +"You are not sufficiently democratic," answered the policeman, "but +you were right when you said just now that our ordinary treatment +of the poor criminal was a pretty brutal business. I tell you I am +sometimes sick of my trade when I see how perpetually it means +merely a war upon the ignorant and the desperate. But this new +movement of ours is a very different affair. We deny the snobbish +English assumption that the uneducated are the dangerous criminals. +We remember the Roman Emperors. We remember the great poisoning +princes of the Renaissance. We say that the dangerous criminal is +the educated criminal. We say that the most dangerous criminal now +is the entirely lawless modern philosopher. Compared to him, +burglars and bigamists are essentially moral men; my heart goes out +to them. They accept the essential ideal of man; they merely seek +it wrongly. Thieves respect property. They merely wish the property +to become their property that they may more perfectly respect it. +But philosophers dislike property as property; they wish to destroy +the very idea of personal possession. Bigamists respect marriage, +or they would not go through the highly ceremonial and even +ritualistic formality of bigamy. But philosophers despise marriage +as marriage. Murderers respect human life; they merely wish to +attain a greater fulness of human life in themselves by the +sacrifice of what seems to them to be lesser lives. But +philosophers hate life itself, their own as much as other +people's." + +Syme struck his hands together. + +"How true that is," he cried. "I have felt it from my boyhood, but +never could state the verbal antithesis. The common criminal is a +bad man, but at least he is, as it were, a conditional good man. +He says that if only a certain obstacle be removed--say a wealthy +uncle--he is then prepared to accept the universe and to praise +God. He is a reformer, but not an anarchist. He wishes to cleanse +the edifice, but not to destroy it. But the evil philosopher is +not trying to alter things, but to annihilate them. Yes, the +modern world has retained all those parts of police work which are +really oppressive and ignominious, the harrying of the poor, the +spying upon the unfortunate. It has given up its more dignified +work, the punishment of powerful traitors in the State and +powerful heresiarchs in the Church. The moderns say we must not +punish heretics. My only doubt is whether we have a right to +punish anybody else." + +"But this is absurd!" cried the policeman, clasping his hands with +an excitement uncommon in persons of his figure and costume, "but +it is intolerable! I don't know what you're doing, but you're +wasting your life. You must, you shall, join our special army +against anarchy. Their armies are on our frontiers. Their bolt +is ready to fall. A moment more, and you may lose the glory of +working with us, perhaps the glory of dying with the last heroes +of the world." + +"It is a chance not to be missed, certainly," assented Syme, "but +still I do not quite understand. I know as well as anybody that +the modern world is full of lawless little men and mad little +movements. But, beastly as they are, they generally have the one +merit of disagreeing with each other. How can you talk of their +leading one army or hurling one bolt. What is this anarchy?" + +"Do not confuse it," replied the constable, "with those chance +dynamite outbreaks from Russia or from Ireland, which are really +the outbreaks of oppressed, if mistaken, men. This is a vast +philosophic movement, consisting of an outer and an inner ring. +You might even call the outer ring the laity and the inner ring +the priesthood. I prefer to call the outer ring the innocent +section, the inner ring the supremely guilty section. The outer +ring--the main mass of their supporters--are merely anarchists; +that is, men who believe that rules and formulas have destroyed +human happiness. They believe that all the evil results of human +crime are the results of the system that has called it crime. They +do not believe that the crime creates the punishment. They believe +that the punishment has created the crime. They believe that if a +man seduced seven women he would naturally walk away as blameless +as the flowers of spring. They believe that if a man picked a +pocket he would naturally feel exquisitely good. These I call the +innocent section." + +"Oh!" said Syme. + +"Naturally, therefore, these people talk about 'a happy time +coming'; 'the paradise of the future'; 'mankind freed from the +bondage of vice and the bondage of virtue,' and so on. And so also +the men of the inner circle speak--the sacred priesthood. They +also speak to applauding crowds of the happiness of the future, +and of mankind freed at last. But in their mouths"--and the +policeman lowered his voice--"in their mouths these happy phrases +have a horrible meaning. They are under no illusions; they are too +intellectual to think that man upon this earth can ever be quite +free of original sin and the struggle. And they mean death. When +they say that mankind shall be free at last, they mean that +mankind shall commit suicide. When they talk of a paradise without +right or wrong, they mean the grave. + +"They have but two objects, to destroy first humanity and then +themselves. That is why they throw bombs instead of firing pistols. +The innocent rank and file are disappointed because the bomb has +not killed the king; but the high-priesthood are happy because it +has killed somebody." + +"How can I join you?" asked Syme, with a sort of passion. + +"I know for a fact that there is a vacancy at the moment," said the +policeman, "as I have the honour to be somewhat in the confidence +of the chief of whom I have spoken. You should really come and see +him. Or rather, I should not say see him, nobody ever sees him; but +you can talk to him if you like." + +"Telephone?" inquired Syme, with interest. + +"No," said the policeman placidly, "he has a fancy for always +sitting in a pitch-dark room. He says it makes his thoughts +brighter. Do come along." + +Somewhat dazed and considerably excited, Syme allowed himself to be +led to a side-door in the long row of buildings of Scotland Yard. +Almost before he knew what he was doing, he had been passed through +the hands of about four intermediate officials, and was suddenly +shown into a room, the abrupt blackness of which startled him like +a blaze of light. It was not the ordinary darkness, in which forms +can be faintly traced; it was like going suddenly stone-blind. + +"Are you the new recruit?" asked a heavy voice. + +And in some strange way, though there was not the shadow of a shape +in the gloom, Syme knew two things: first, that it came from a man +of massive stature; and second, that the man had his back to him. + +"Are you the new recruit?" said the invisible chief, who seemed to +have heard all about it. "All right. You are engaged." + +Syme, quite swept off his feet, made a feeble fight against this +irrevocable phrase. + +"I really have no experience," he began. + +"No one has any experience," said the other, "of the Battle of +Armageddon." + +"But I am really unfit--" + +"You are willing, that is enough," said the unknown. + +"Well, really," said Syme, "I don't know any profession of which +mere willingness is the final test." + +"I do," said the other--"martyrs. I am condemning you to death. +Good day." + +Thus it was that when Gabriel Syme came out again into the crimson +light of evening, in his shabby black hat and shabby, lawless +cloak, he came out a member of the New Detective Corps for the +frustration of the great conspiracy. Acting under the advice of his +friend the policeman (who was professionally inclined to neatness), +he trimmed his hair and beard, bought a good hat, clad himself in +an exquisite summer suit of light blue-grey, with a pale yellow +flower in the button-hole, and, in short, became that elegant and +rather insupportable person whom Gregory had first encountered in +the little garden of Saffron Park. Before he finally left the +police premises his friend provided him with a small blue card, +on which was written, "The Last Crusade," and a number, the sign +of his official authority. He put this carefully in his upper +waistcoat pocket, lit a cigarette, and went forth to track and +fight the enemy in all the drawing-rooms of London. Where his +adventure ultimately led him we have already seen. At about +half-past one on a February night he found himself steaming in a +small tug up the silent Thames, armed with swordstick and revolver, +the duly elected Thursday of the Central Council of Anarchists. + +When Syme stepped out on to the steam-tug he had a singular +sensation of stepping out into something entirely new; not merely +into the landscape of a new land, but even into the landscape of a +new planet. This was mainly due to the insane yet solid decision of +that evening, though partly also to an entire change in the weather +and the sky since he entered the little tavern some two hours +before. Every trace of the passionate plumage of the cloudy sunset +had been swept away, and a naked moon stood in a naked sky. The +moon was so strong and full that (by a paradox often to be noticed) +it seemed like a weaker sun. It gave, not the sense of bright +moonshine, but rather of a dead daylight. + +Over the whole landscape lay a luminous and unnatural +discoloration, as of that disastrous twilight which Milton spoke +of as shed by the sun in eclipse; so that Syme fell easily into +his first thought, that he was actually on some other and emptier +planet, which circled round some sadder star. But the more he felt +this glittering desolation in the moonlit land, the more his own +chivalric folly glowed in the night like a great fire. Even the +common things he carried with him--the food and the brandy and the +loaded pistol--took on exactly that concrete and material poetry +which a child feels when he takes a gun upon a journey or a bun +with him to bed. The sword-stick and the brandy-flask, though in +themselves only the tools of morbid conspirators, became the +expressions of his own more healthy romance. The sword-stick +became almost the sword of chivalry, and the brandy the wine of +the stirrup-cup. For even the most dehumanised modern fantasies +depend on some older and simpler figure; the adventures may be +mad, but the adventurer must be sane. The dragon without St. +George would not even be grotesque. So this inhuman landscape was +only imaginative by the presence of a man really human. To Syme's +exaggerative mind the bright, bleak houses and terraces by the +Thames looked as empty as the mountains of the moon. But even the +moon is only poetical because there is a man in the moon. + +The tug was worked by two men, and with much toil went +comparatively slowly. The clear moon that had lit up Chiswick had +gone down by the time that they passed Battersea, and when they +came under the enormous bulk of Westminster day had already begun +to break. It broke like the splitting of great bars of lead, +showing bars of silver; and these had brightened like white fire +when the tug, changing its onward course, turned inward to a large +landing stage rather beyond Charing Cross. + +The great stones of the Embankment seemed equally dark and gigantic +as Syme looked up at them. They were big and black against the huge +white dawn. They made him feel that he was landing on the colossal +steps of some Egyptian palace; and, indeed, the thing suited his +mood, for he was, in his own mind, mounting to attack the solid +thrones of horrible and heathen kings. He leapt out of the boat on +to one slimy step, and stood, a dark and slender figure, amid the +enormous masonry. The two men in the tug put her off again and +turned up stream. They had never spoken a word. + + + +CHAPTER V + +THE FEAST OF FEAR + +AT first the large stone stair seemed to Syme as deserted as a +pyramid; but before he reached the top he had realised that there +was a man leaning over the parapet of the Embankment and looking +out across the river. As a figure he was quite conventional, clad +in a silk hat and frock-coat of the more formal type of fashion; +he had a red flower in his buttonhole. As Syme drew nearer to him +step by step, he did not even move a hair; and Syme could come +close enough to notice even in the dim, pale morning light that +his face was long, pale and intellectual, and ended in a small +triangular tuft of dark beard at the very point of the chin, all +else being clean-shaven. This scrap of hair almost seemed a mere +oversight; the rest of the face was of the type that is best +shaven--clear-cut, ascetic, and in its way noble. Syme drew closer +and closer, noting all this, and still the figure did not stir. + +At first an instinct had told Syme that this was the man whom he +was meant to meet. Then, seeing that the man made no sign, he had +concluded that he was not. And now again he had come back to a +certainty that the man had something to do with his mad adventure. +For the man remained more still than would have been natural if a +stranger had come so close. He was as motionless as a wax-work, +and got on the nerves somewhat in the same way. Syme looked again +and again at the pale, dignified and delicate face, and the face +still looked blankly across the river. Then he took out of his +pocket the note from Buttons proving his election, and put it +before that sad and beautiful face. Then the man smiled, and his +smile was a shock, for it was all on one side, going up in the +right cheek and down in the left. + +There was nothing, rationally speaking, to scare anyone about +this. Many people have this nervous trick of a crooked smile, and +in many it is even attractive. But in all Syme's circumstances, +with the dark dawn and the deadly errand and the loneliness on the +great dripping stones, there was something unnerving in it. + +There was the silent river and the silent man, a man of even +classic face. And there was the last nightmare touch that his +smile suddenly went wrong. + +The spasm of smile was instantaneous, and the man's face dropped +at once into its harmonious melancholy. He spoke without further +explanation or inquiry, like a man speaking to an old colleague. + +"If we walk up towards Leicester Square," he said, "we shall just +be in time for breakfast. Sunday always insists on an early +breakfast. Have you had any sleep?" + +"No," said Syme. + +"Nor have I," answered the man in an ordinary tone. "I shall try to +get to bed after breakfast." + +He spoke with casual civility, but in an utterly dead voice that +contradicted the fanaticism of his face. It seemed almost as if all +friendly words were to him lifeless conveniences, and that his only +life was hate. After a pause the man spoke again. + +"Of course, the Secretary of the branch told you everything that +can be told. But the one thing that can never be told is the last +notion of the President, for his notions grow like a tropical +forest. So in case you don't know, I'd better tell you that he is +carrying out his notion of concealing ourselves by not concealing +ourselves to the most extraordinary lengths just now. Originally, +of course, we met in a cell underground, just as your branch does. +Then Sunday made us take a private room at an ordinary restaurant. +He said that if you didn't seem to be hiding nobody hunted you out. +Well, he is the only man on earth, I know; but sometimes I really +think that his huge brain is going a little mad in its old age. For +now we flaunt ourselves before the public. We have our breakfast on +a balcony--on a balcony, if you please--overlooking Leicester +Square." + +"And what do the people say?" asked Syme. + +"It's quite simple what they say," answered his guide. + +"They say we are a lot of jolly gentlemen who pretend they are +anarchists." + +"It seems to me a very clever idea," said Syme. + +"Clever! God blast your impudence! Clever!" cried out the other in +a sudden, shrill voice which was as startling and discordant as his +crooked smile. "When you've seen Sunday for a split second you'll +leave off calling him clever." + +With this they emerged out of a narrow street, and saw the early +sunlight filling Leicester Square. It will never be known, I +suppose, why this square itself should look so alien and in some +ways so continental. It will never be known whether it was the +foreign look that attracted the foreigners or the foreigners who +gave it the foreign look. But on this particular morning the effect +seemed singularly bright and clear. Between the open square and the +sunlit leaves and the statue and the Saracenic outlines of the +Alhambra, it looked the replica of some French or even Spanish +public place. And this effect increased in Syme the sensation, +which in many shapes he had had through the whole adventure, the +eerie sensation of having strayed into a new world. As a fact, he +had bought bad cigars round Leicester Square ever since he was a +boy. But as he turned that corner, and saw the trees and the +Moorish cupolas, he could have sworn that he was turning into an +unknown Place de something or other in some foreign town. + +At one corner of the square there projected a kind of angle of a +prosperous but quiet hotel, the bulk of which belonged to a street +behind. In the wall there was one large French window, probably +the window of a large coffee-room; and outside this window, almost +literally overhanging the square, was a formidably buttressed +balcony, big enough to contain a dining-table. In fact, it did +contain a dining-table, or more strictly a breakfast-table; and +round the breakfast-table, glowing in the sunlight and evident to +the street, were a group of noisy and talkative men, all dressed +in the insolence of fashion, with white waistcoats and expensive +button-holes. Some of their jokes could almost be heard across the +square. Then the grave Secretary gave his unnatural smile, and Syme +knew that this boisterous breakfast party was the secret conclave +of the European Dynamiters. + +Then, as Syme continued to stare at them, he saw something that he +had not seen before. He had not seen it literally because it was +too large to see. At the nearest end of the balcony, blocking up a +great part of the perspective, was the back of a great mountain of +a man. When Syme had seen him, his first thought was that the +weight of him must break down the balcony of stone. His vastness +did not lie only in the fact that he was abnormally tall and quite +incredibly fat. This man was planned enormously in his original +proportions, like a statue carved deliberately as colossal. His +head, crowned with white hair, as seen from behind looked bigger +than a head ought to be. The ears that stood out from it looked +larger than human ears. He was enlarged terribly to scale; and this +sense of size was so staggering, that when Syme saw him all the +other figures seemed quite suddenly to dwindle and become dwarfish. +They were still sitting there as before with their flowers and +frock-coats, but now it looked as if the big man was entertaining +five children to tea. + +As Syme and the guide approached the side door of the hotel, a +waiter came out smiling with every tooth in his head. + +"The gentlemen are up there, sare," he said. "They do talk and they +do laugh at what they talk. They do say they will throw bombs at ze +king." + +And the waiter hurried away with a napkin over his arm, much +pleased with the singular frivolity of the gentlemen upstairs. + +The two men mounted the stairs in silence. + +Syme had never thought of asking whether the monstrous man who +almost filled and broke the balcony was the great President of whom +the others stood in awe. He knew it was so, with an unaccountable +but instantaneous certainty. Syme, indeed, was one of those men who +are open to all the more nameless psychological influences in a +degree a little dangerous to mental health. Utterly devoid of fear +in physical dangers, he was a great deal too sensitive to the smell +of spiritual evil. Twice already that night little unmeaning things +had peeped out at him almost pruriently, and given him a sense of +drawing nearer and nearer to the head-quarters of hell. And this +sense became overpowering as he drew nearer to the great President. + +The form it took was a childish and yet hateful fancy. As he walked +across the inner room towards the balcony, the large face of Sunday +grew larger and larger; and Syme was gripped with a fear that when +he was quite close the face would be too big to be possible, and +that he would scream aloud. He remembered that as a child he would +not look at the mask of Memnon in the British Museum, because it +was a face, and so large. + +By an effort, braver than that of leaping over a cliff, he went to +an empty seat at the breakfast-table and sat down. The men greeted +him with good-humoured raillery as if they had always known him. He +sobered himself a little by looking at their conventional coats and +solid, shining coffee-pot; then he looked again at Sunday. His face +was very large, but it was still possible to humanity. + +In the presence of the President the whole company looked +sufficiently commonplace; nothing about them caught the eye at +first, except that by the President's caprice they had been dressed +up with a festive respectability, which gave the meal the look of a +wedding breakfast. One man indeed stood out at even a superficial +glance. He at least was the common or garden Dynamiter. He wore, +indeed, the high white collar and satin tie that were the uniform +of the occasion; but out of this collar there sprang a head quite +unmanageable and quite unmistakable, a bewildering bush of brown +hair and beard that almost obscured the eyes like those of a Skye +terrier. But the eyes did look out of the tangle, and they were the +sad eyes of some Russian serf. The effect of this figure was not +terrible like that of the President, but it had every diablerie +that can come from the utterly grotesque. If out of that stiff tie +and collar there had come abruptly the head of a cat or a dog, it +could not have been a more idiotic contrast. + +The man's name, it seemed, was Gogol; he was a Pole, and in this +circle of days he was called Tuesday. His soul and speech were +incurably tragic; he could not force himself to play the +prosperous and frivolous part demanded of him by President Sunday. +And, indeed, when Syme came in the President, with that daring +disregard of public suspicion which was his policy, was actually +chaffing Gogol upon his inability to assume conventional graces. + +"Our friend Tuesday," said the President in a deep voice at once +of quietude and volume, "our friend Tuesday doesn't seem to grasp +the idea. He dresses up like a gentleman, but he seems to be too +great a soul to behave like one. He insists on the ways of the +stage conspirator. Now if a gentleman goes about London in a top +hat and a frock-coat, no one need know that he is an anarchist. +But if a gentleman puts on a top hat and a frock-coat, and then +goes about on his hands and knees--well, he may attract attention. +That's what Brother Gogol does. He goes about on his hands and +knees with such inexhaustible diplomacy, that by this time he +finds it quite difficult to walk upright." + +"I am not good at goncealment," said Gogol sulkily, with a thick +foreign accent; "I am not ashamed of the cause." + +"Yes you are, my boy, and so is the cause of you," said the +President good-naturedly. "You hide as much as anybody; but you +can't do it, you see, you're such an ass! You try to combine two +inconsistent methods. When a householder finds a man under his +bed, he will probably pause to note the circumstance. But if he +finds a man under his bed in a top hat, you will agree with me, +my dear Tuesday, that he is not likely even to forget it. Now +when you were found under Admiral Biffin's bed--" + +"I am not good at deception," said Tuesday gloomily, flushing. + +"Right, my boy, right," said the President with a ponderous +heartiness, "you aren't good at anything." + +While this stream of conversation continued, Syme was looking +more steadily at the men around him. As he did so, he gradually +felt all his sense of something spiritually queer return. + +He had thought at first that they were all of common stature and +costume, with the evident exception of the hairy Gogol. But as he +looked at the others, he began to see in each of them exactly what +he had seen in the man by the river, a demoniac detail somewhere. +That lop-sided laugh, which would suddenly disfigure the fine +face of his original guide, was typical of all these types. Each +man had something about him, perceived perhaps at the tenth or +twentieth glance, which was not normal, and which seemed hardly +human. The only metaphor he could think of was this, that they +all looked as men of fashion and presence would look, with the +additional twist given in a false and curved mirror. + +Only the individual examples will express this half-concealed +eccentricity. Syme's original cicerone bore the title of Monday; +he was the Secretary of the Council, and his twisted smile was +regarded with more terror than anything, except the President's +horrible, happy laughter. But now that Syme had more space and +light to observe him, there were other touches. His fine face +was so emaciated, that Syme thought it must be wasted with some +disease; yet somehow the very distress of his dark eyes denied +this. It was no physical ill that troubled him. His eyes were +alive with intellectual torture, as if pure thought was pain. + +He was typical of each of the tribe; each man was subtly and +differently wrong. Next to him sat Tuesday, the tousle-headed +Gogol, a man more obviously mad. Next was Wednesday, a certain +Marquis de St. Eustache, a sufficiently characteristic figure. The +first few glances found nothing unusual about him, except that he +was the only man at table who wore the fashionable clothes as if +they were really his own. He had a black French beard cut square +and a black English frock-coat cut even squarer. But Syme, +sensitive to such things, felt somehow that the man carried a rich +atmosphere with him, a rich atmosphere that suffocated. It +reminded one irrationally of drowsy odours and of dying lamps in +the darker poems of Byron and Poe. With this went a sense of his +being clad, not in lighter colours, but in softer materials; his +black seemed richer and warmer than the black shades about him, as +if it were compounded of profound colour. His black coat looked as +if it were only black by being too dense a purple. His black beard +looked as if it were only black by being too deep a blue. And in +the gloom and thickness of the beard his dark red mouth showed +sensual and scornful. Whatever he was he was not a Frenchman; he +might be a Jew; he might be something deeper yet in the dark heart +of the East. In the bright coloured Persian tiles and pictures +showing tyrants hunting, you may see just those almond eyes, those +blue-black beards, those cruel, crimson lips. + +Then came Syme, and next a very old man, Professor de Worms, who +still kept the chair of Friday, though every day it was expected +that his death would leave it empty. Save for his intellect, he was +in the last dissolution of senile decay. His face was as grey as +his long grey beard, his forehead was lifted and fixed finally in a +furrow of mild despair. In no other case, not even that of Gogol, +did the bridegroom brilliancy of the morning dress express a more +painful contrast. For the red flower in his button-hole showed up +against a face that was literally discoloured like lead; the whole +hideous effect was as if some drunken dandies had put their clothes +upon a corpse. When he rose or sat down, which was with long labour +and peril, something worse was expressed than mere weakness, +something indefinably connected with the horror of the whole scene. +It did not express decrepitude merely, but corruption. Another +hateful fancy crossed Syme's quivering mind. He could not help +thinking that whenever the man moved a leg or arm might fall off. + +Right at the end sat the man called Saturday, the simplest and the +most baffling of all. He was a short, square man with a dark, +square face clean-shaven, a medical practitioner going by the name +of Bull. He had that combination of savoir-faire with a sort of +well-groomed coarseness which is not uncommon in young doctors. He +carried his fine clothes with confidence rather than ease, and he +mostly wore a set smile. There was nothing whatever odd about him, +except that he wore a pair of dark, almost opaque spectacles. It +may have been merely a crescendo of nervous fancy that had gone +before, but those black discs were dreadful to Syme; they reminded +him of half-remembered ugly tales, of some story about pennies +being put on the eyes of the dead. Syme's eye always caught the +black glasses and the blind grin. Had the dying Professor worn +them, or even the pale Secretary, they would have been appropriate. +But on the younger and grosser man they seemed only an enigma. They +took away the key of the face. You could not tell what his smile or +his gravity meant. Partly from this, and partly because he had a +vulgar virility wanting in most of the others it seemed to Syme +that he might be the wickedest of all those wicked men. Syme even +had the thought that his eyes might be covered up because they were +too frightful to see. + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE EXPOSURE + +SUCH were the six men who had sworn to destroy the world. Again +and again Syme strove to pull together his common sense in their +presence. Sometimes he saw for an instant that these notions were +subjective, that he was only looking at ordinary men, one of whom +was old, another nervous, another short-sighted. The sense of an +unnatural symbolism always settled back on him again. Each figure +seemed to be, somehow, on the borderland of things, just as their +theory was on the borderland of thought. He knew that each one of +these men stood at the extreme end, so to speak, of some wild road +of reasoning. He could only fancy, as in some old-world fable, +that if a man went westward to the end of the world he would find +something--say a tree--that was more or less than a tree, a tree +possessed by a spirit; and that if he went east to the end of the +world he would find something else that was not wholly itself--a +tower, perhaps, of which the very shape was wicked. So these +figures seemed to stand up, violent and unaccountable, against an +ultimate horizon, visions from the verge. The ends of the earth +were closing in. + +Talk had been going on steadily as he took in the scene; and not +the least of the contrasts of that bewildering breakfast-table was +the contrast between the easy and unobtrusive tone of talk and its +terrible purport. They were deep in the discussion of an actual and +immediate plot. The waiter downstairs had spoken quite correctly +when he said that they were talking about bombs and kings. Only +three days afterwards the Czar was to meet the President of the +French Republic in Paris, and over their bacon and eggs upon their +sunny balcony these beaming gentlemen had decided how both should +die. Even the instrument was chosen; the black-bearded Marquis, it +appeared, was to carry the bomb. + +Ordinarily speaking, the proximity of this positive and objective +crime would have sobered Syme, and cured him of all his merely +mystical tremors. He would have thought of nothing but the need of +saving at least two human bodies from being ripped in pieces with +iron and roaring gas. But the truth was that by this time he had +begun to feel a third kind of fear, more piercing and practical +than either his moral revulsion or his social responsibility. Very +simply, he had no fear to spare for the French President or the +Czar; he had begun to fear for himself. Most of the talkers took +little heed of him, debating now with their faces closer together, +and almost uniformly grave, save when for an instant the smile of +the Secretary ran aslant across his face as the jagged lightning +runs aslant across the sky. But there was one persistent thing +which first troubled Syme and at last terrified him. The President +was always looking at him, steadily, and with a great and baffling +interest. The enormous man was quite quiet, but his blue eyes +stood out of his head. And they were always fixed on Syme. + +Syme felt moved to spring up and leap over the balcony. When the +President's eyes were on him he felt as if he were made of glass. +He had hardly the shred of a doubt that in some silent and +extraordinary way Sunday had found out that he was a spy. He +looked over the edge of the balcony, and saw a policeman, standing +abstractedly just beneath, staring at the bright railings and the +sunlit trees. + +Then there fell upon him the great temptation that was to torment +him for many days. In the presence of these powerful and repulsive +men, who were the princes of anarchy, he had almost forgotten the +frail and fanciful figure of the poet Gregory, the mere aesthete of +anarchism. He even thought of him now with an old kindness, as if +they had played together when children. But he remembered that he +was still tied to Gregory by a great promise. He had promised never +to do the very thing that he now felt himself almost in the act of +doing. He had promised not to jump over that balcony and speak to +that policeman. He took his cold hand off the cold stone +balustrade. His soul swayed in a vertigo of moral indecision. He +had only to snap the thread of a rash vow made to a villainous +society, and all his life could be as open and sunny as the square +beneath him. He had, on the other hand, only to keep his antiquated +honour, and be delivered inch by inch into the power of this great +enemy of mankind, whose very intellect was a torture-chamber. +Whenever he looked down into the square he saw the comfortable +policeman, a pillar of common sense and common order. Whenever he +looked back at the breakfast-table he saw the President still +quietly studying him with big, unbearable eyes. + +In all the torrent of his thought there were two thoughts that +never crossed his mind. First, it never occurred to him to doubt +that the President and his Council could crush him if he continued +to stand alone. The place might be public, the project might seem +impossible. But Sunday was not the man who would carry himself +thus easily without having, somehow or somewhere, set open his +iron trap. Either by anonymous poison or sudden street accident, +by hypnotism or by fire from hell, Sunday could certainly strike +him. If he defied the man he was probably dead, either struck +stiff there in his chair or long afterwards as by an innocent +ailment. If he called in the police promptly, arrested everyone, +told all, and set against them the whole energy of England, he +would probably escape; certainly not otherwise. They were a +balconyful of gentlemen overlooking a bright and busy square; but +he felt no more safe with them than if they had been a boatful of +armed pirates overlooking an empty sea. + +There was a second thought that never came to him. It never +occurred to him to be spiritually won over to the enemy. Many +moderns, inured to a weak worship of intellect and force, might +have wavered in their allegiance under this oppression of a great +personality. They might have called Sunday the super-man. If any +such creature be conceivable, he looked, indeed, somewhat like it, +with his earth-shaking abstraction, as of a stone statue walking. +He might have been called something above man, with his large +plans, which were too obvious to be detected, with his large face, +which was too frank to be understood. But this was a kind of +modern meanness to which Syme could not sink even in his extreme +morbidity. Like any man, he was coward enough to fear great force; +but he was not quite coward enough to admire it. + +The men were eating as they talked, and even in this they were +typical. Dr. Bull and the Marquis ate casually and conventionally +of the best things on the table--cold pheasant or Strasbourg pie. +But the Secretary was a vegetarian, and he spoke earnestly of the +projected murder over half a raw tomato and three quarters of a +glass of tepid water. The old Professor had such slops as suggested +a sickening second childhood. And even in this President Sunday +preserved his curious predominance of mere mass. For he ate like +twenty men; he ate incredibly, with a frightful freshness of +appetite, so that it was like watching a sausage factory. Yet +continually, when he had swallowed a dozen crumpets or drunk a +quart of coffee, he would be found with his great head on one side +staring at Syme. + +"I have often wondered," said the Marquis, taking a great bite out +of a slice of bread and jam, "whether it wouldn't be better for me +to do it with a knife. Most of the best things have been brought +off with a knife. And it would be a new emotion to get a knife into +a French President and wriggle it round." + +"You are wrong," said the Secretary, drawing his black brows +together. "The knife was merely the expression of the old personal +quarrel with a personal tyrant. Dynamite is not only our best tool, +but our best symbol. It is as perfect a symbol of us as is incense +of the prayers of the Christians. It expands; it only destroys +because it broadens; even so, thought only destroys because it +broadens. A man's brain is a bomb," he cried out, loosening +suddenly his strange passion and striking his own skull with +violence. "My brain feels like a bomb, night and day. It must +expand! It must expand! A man's brain must expand, if it breaks up +the universe." + +"I don't want the universe broken up just yet," drawled the +Marquis. "I want to do a lot of beastly things before I die. +I thought of one yesterday in bed." + +"No, if the only end of the thing is nothing," said Dr. Bull with +his sphinx-like smile, "it hardly seems worth doing." + +The old Professor was staring at the ceiling with dull eyes. + +"Every man knows in his heart," he said, "that nothing is worth +doing." + +There was a singular silence, and then the Secretary said-- + +"We are wandering, however, from the point. The only question is +how Wednesday is to strike the blow. I take it we should all agree +with the original notion of a bomb. As to the actual arrangements, +I should suggest that tomorrow morning he should go first of all +to--" + +The speech was broken off short under a vast shadow. President +Sunday had risen to his feet, seeming to fill the sky above them. + +"Before we discuss that," he said in a small, quiet voice, "let us +go into a private room. I have something very particular to say." + +Syme stood up before any of the others. The instant of choice had +come at last, the pistol was at his head. On the pavement before +he could hear the policeman idly stir and stamp, for the morning, +though bright, was cold. + +A barrel-organ in the street suddenly sprang with a jerk into a +jovial tune. Syme stood up taut, as if it had been a bugle before +the battle. He found himself filled with a supernatural courage +that came from nowhere. That jingling music seemed full of the +vivacity, the vulgarity, and the irrational valour of the poor, who +in all those unclean streets were all clinging to the decencies and +the charities of Christendom. His youthful prank of being a +policeman had faded from his mind; he did not think of himself as +the representative of the corps of gentlemen turned into fancy +constables, or of the old eccentric who lived in the dark room. +But he did feel himself as the ambassador of all these common and +kindly people in the street, who every day marched into battle to +the music of the barrel-organ. And this high pride in being human +had lifted him unaccountably to an infinite height above the +monstrous men around him. For an instant, at least, he looked down +upon all their sprawling eccentricities from the starry pinnacle +of the commonplace. He felt towards them all that unconscious and +elementary superiority that a brave man feels over powerful beasts +or a wise man over powerful errors. He knew that he had neither the +intellectual nor the physical strength of President Sunday; but in +that moment he minded it no more than the fact that he had not the +muscles of a tiger or a horn on his nose like a rhinoceros. All was +swallowed up in an ultimate certainty that the President was wrong +and that the barrel-organ was right. There clanged in his mind that +unanswerable and terrible truism in the song of Roland-- + + "Pagens ont tort et Chretiens ont droit." + +which in the old nasal French has the clang and groan of great +iron. This liberation of his spirit from the load of his weakness +went with a quite clear decision to embrace death. If the people of +the barrel-organ could keep their old-world obligations, so could +he. This very pride in keeping his word was that he was keeping it +to miscreants. It was his last triumph over these lunatics to go +down into their dark room and die for something that they could not +even understand. The barrel-organ seemed to give the marching tune +with the energy and the mingled noises of a whole orchestra; and he +could hear deep and rolling, under all the trumpets of the pride of +life, the drums of the pride of death. + +The conspirators were already filing through the open window and +into the rooms behind. Syme went last, outwardly calm, but with all +his brain and body throbbing with romantic rhythm. The President +led them down an irregular side stair, such as might be used by +servants, and into a dim, cold, empty room, with a table and +benches, like an abandoned boardroom. When they were all in, he +closed and locked the door. + +The first to speak was Gogol, the irreconcilable, who seemed +bursting with inarticulate grievance. + +"Zso! Zso!" he cried, with an obscure excitement, his heavy Polish +accent becoming almost impenetrable. "You zay you nod 'ide. You zay +you show himselves. It is all nuzzinks. Ven you vant talk +importance you run yourselves in a dark box!" + +The President seemed to take the foreigner's incoherent satire with +entire good humour. + +"You can't get hold of it yet, Gogol," he said in a fatherly way. +"When once they have heard us talking nonsense on that balcony they +will not care where we go afterwards. If we had come here first, we +should have had the whole staff at the keyhole. You don't seem to +know anything about mankind." + +"I die for zem," cried the Pole in thick excitement, "and I slay +zare oppressors. I care not for these games of gonzealment. I would +zmite ze tyrant in ze open square." + +"I see, I see," said the President, nodding kindly as he seated +himself at the top of a long table. "You die for mankind first, and +then you get up and smite their oppressors. So that's all right. +And now may I ask you to control your beautiful sentiments, and sit +down with the other gentlemen at this table. For the first time +this morning something intelligent is going to be said." + +Syme, with the perturbed promptitude he had shown since the +original summons, sat down first. Gogol sat down last, grumbling +in his brown beard about gombromise. No one except Syme seemed to +have any notion of the blow that was about to fall. As for him, +he had merely the feeling of a man mounting the scaffold with the +intention, at any rate, of making a good speech. + +"Comrades," said the President, suddenly rising, "we have spun out +this farce long enough. I have called you down here to tell you +something so simple and shocking that even the waiters upstairs +(long inured to our levities) might hear some new seriousness in +my voice. Comrades, we were discussing plans and naming places. I +propose, before saying anything else, that those plans and places +should not be voted by this meeting, but should be left wholly in +the control of some one reliable member. I suggest Comrade +Saturday, Dr. Bull." + +They all stared at him; then they all started in their seats, for +the next words, though not loud, had a living and sensational +emphasis. Sunday struck the table. + +"Not one word more about the plans and places must be said at this +meeting. Not one tiny detail more about what we mean to do must be +mentioned in this company." + +Sunday had spent his life in astonishing his followers; but it +seemed as if he had never really astonished them until now. They +all moved feverishly in their seats, except Syme. He sat stiff in +his, with his hand in his pocket, and on the handle of his loaded +revolver. When the attack on him came he would sell his life dear. +He would find out at least if the President was mortal. + +Sunday went on smoothly-- + +"You will probably understand that there is only one possible +motive for forbidding free speech at this festival of freedom. +Strangers overhearing us matters nothing. They assume that we +are joking. But what would matter, even unto death, is this, +that there should be one actually among us who is not of us, +who knows our grave purpose, but does not share it, who--" + +The Secretary screamed out suddenly like a woman. + +"It can't be!" he cried, leaping. "There can't--" + +The President flapped his large flat hand on the table like the +fin of some huge fish. + +"Yes," he said slowly, "there is a spy in this room. There is a +traitor at this table. I will waste no more words. His name--" + +Syme half rose from his seat, his finger firm on the trigger. + +"His name is Gogol," said the President. "He is that hairy humbug +over there who pretends to be a Pole." + +Gogol sprang to his feet, a pistol in each hand. With the same +flash three men sprang at his throat. Even the Professor made +an effort to rise. But Syme saw little of the scene, for he was +blinded with a beneficent darkness; he had sunk down into his +seat shuddering, in a palsy of passionate relief. + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE UNACCOUNTABLE CONDUCT OF PROFESSOR DE WORMS + +"SIT down!" said Sunday in a voice that he used once or twice in +his life, a voice that made men drop drawn swords. + +The three who had risen fell away from Gogol, and that equivocal +person himself resumed his seat. + +"Well, my man," said the President briskly, addressing him as one +addresses a total stranger, "will you oblige me by putting your +hand in your upper waistcoat pocket and showing me what you have +there?" + +The alleged Pole was a little pale under his tangle of dark hair, +but he put two fingers into the pocket with apparent coolness and +pulled out a blue strip of card. When Syme saw it lying on the +table, he woke up again to the world outside him. For although +the card lay at the other extreme of the table, and he could read +nothing of the inscription on it, it bore a startling resemblance +to the blue card in his own pocket, the card which had been given +to him when he joined the anti-anarchist constabulary. + +"Pathetic Slav," said the President, "tragic child of Poland, are +you prepared in the presence of that card to deny that you are in +this company--shall we say de trop?" + +"Right oh!" said the late Gogol. It made everyone jump to hear a +clear, commercial and somewhat cockney voice coming out of that +forest of foreign hair. It was irrational, as if a Chinaman had +suddenly spoken with a Scotch accent. + +"I gather that you fully understand your position," said Sunday. + +"You bet," answered the Pole. "I see it's a fair cop. All I say is, +I don't believe any Pole could have imitated my accent like I did +his." + +"I concede the point," said Sunday. "I believe your own accent to +be inimitable, though I shall practise it in my bath. Do you mind +leaving your beard with your card?" + +"Not a bit," answered Gogol; and with one finger he ripped off the +whole of his shaggy head-covering, emerging with thin red hair and +a pale, pert face. "It was hot," he added. + +"I will do you the justice to say," said Sunday, not without a sort +of brutal admiration, "that you seem to have kept pretty cool under +it. Now listen to me. I like you. The consequence is that it would +annoy me for just about two and a half minutes if I heard that you +had died in torments. Well, if you ever tell the police or any +human soul about us, I shall have that two and a half minutes of +discomfort. On your discomfort I will not dwell. Good day. Mind the +step." + +The red-haired detective who had masqueraded as Gogol rose to his +feet without a word, and walked out of the room with an air of +perfect nonchalance. Yet the astonished Syme was able to realise +that this ease was suddenly assumed; for there was a slight stumble +outside the door, which showed that the departing detective had not +minded the step. + +"Time is flying," said the President in his gayest manner, after +glancing at his watch, which like everything about him seemed +bigger than it ought to be. "I must go off at once; I have to +take the chair at a Humanitarian meeting." + +The Secretary turned to him with working eyebrows. + +"Would it not be better," he said a little sharply, "to discuss +further the details of our project, now that the spy has left us?" + +"No, I think not," said the President with a yawn like an +unobtrusive earthquake. "Leave it as it is. Let Saturday settle +it. I must be off. Breakfast here next Sunday." + +But the late loud scenes had whipped up the almost naked nerves +of the Secretary. He was one of those men who are conscientious +even in crime. + +"I must protest, President, that the thing is irregular," he said. +"It is a fundamental rule of our society that all plans shall be +debated in full council. Of course, I fully appreciate your +forethought when in the actual presence of a traitor--" + +"Secretary," said the President seriously, "if you'd take your head +home and boil it for a turnip it might be useful. I can't say. But +it might." + +The Secretary reared back in a kind of equine anger. + +"I really fail to understand--" he began in high offense. + +"That's it, that's it," said the President, nodding a great many +times. "That's where you fail right enough. You fail to understand. +Why, you dancing donkey," he roared, rising, "you didn't want to be +overheard by a spy, didn't you? How do you know you aren't +overheard now?" + +And with these words he shouldered his way out of the room, shaking +with incomprehensible scorn. + +Four of the men left behind gaped after him without any apparent +glimmering of his meaning. Syme alone had even a glimmering, and +such as it was it froze him to the bone. If the last words of the +President meant anything, they meant that he had not after all +passed unsuspected. They meant that while Sunday could not denounce +him like Gogol, he still could not trust him like the others. + +The other four got to their feet grumbling more or less, and betook +themselves elsewhere to find lunch, for it was already well past +midday. The Professor went last, very slowly and painfully. Syme +sat long after the rest had gone, revolving his strange position. +He had escaped a thunderbolt, but he was still under a cloud. At +last he rose and made his way out of the hotel into Leicester +Square. The bright, cold day had grown increasingly colder, and +when he came out into the street he was surprised by a few flakes +of snow. While he still carried the sword-stick and the rest of +Gregory's portable luggage, he had thrown the cloak down and left +it somewhere, perhaps on the steam-tug, perhaps on the balcony. +Hoping, therefore, that the snow-shower might be slight, he stepped +back out of the street for a moment and stood up under the doorway +of a small and greasy hair-dresser's shop, the front window of +which was empty, except for a sickly wax lady in evening dress. + +Snow, however, began to thicken and fall fast; and Syme, having +found one glance at the wax lady quite sufficient to depress his +spirits, stared out instead into the white and empty street. He was +considerably astonished to see, standing quite still outside the +shop and staring into the window, a man. His top hat was loaded +with snow like the hat of Father Christmas, the white drift was +rising round his boots and ankles; but it seemed as if nothing +could tear him away from the contemplation of the colourless wax +doll in dirty evening dress. That any human being should stand in +such weather looking into such a shop was a matter of sufficient +wonder to Syme; but his idle wonder turned suddenly into a personal +shock; for he realised that the man standing there was the +paralytic old Professor de Worms. It scarcely seemed the place for +a person of his years and infirmities. + +Syme was ready to believe anything about the perversions of this +dehumanized brotherhood; but even he could not believe that the +Professor had fallen in love with that particular wax lady. He +could only suppose that the man's malady (whatever it was) involved +some momentary fits of rigidity or trance. He was not inclined, +however, to feel in this case any very compassionate concern. On +the contrary, he rather congratulated himself that the Professor's +stroke and his elaborate and limping walk would make it easy to +escape from him and leave him miles behind. For Syme thirsted first +and last to get clear of the whole poisonous atmosphere, if only +for an hour. Then he could collect his thoughts, formulate his +policy, and decide finally whether he should or should not keep +faith with Gregory. + +He strolled away through the dancing snow, turned up two or three +streets, down through two or three others, and entered a small Soho +restaurant for lunch. He partook reflectively of four small and +quaint courses, drank half a bottle of red wine, and ended up over +black coffee and a black cigar, still thinking. He had taken his +seat in the upper room of the restaurant, which was full of the +chink of knives and the chatter of foreigners. He remembered that +in old days he had imagined that all these harmless and kindly +aliens were anarchists. He shuddered, remembering the real thing. +But even the shudder had the delightful shame of escape. The wine, +the common food, the familiar place, the faces of natural and +talkative men, made him almost feel as if the Council of the Seven +Days had been a bad dream; and although he knew it was nevertheless +an objective reality, it was at least a distant one. Tall houses +and populous streets lay between him and his last sight of the +shameful seven; he was free in free London, and drinking wine among +the free. With a somewhat easier action, he took his hat and stick +and strolled down the stair into the shop below. + +When he entered that lower room he stood stricken and rooted to the +spot. At a small table, close up to the blank window and the white +street of snow, sat the old anarchist Professor over a glass of +milk, with his lifted livid face and pendent eyelids. For an +instant Syme stood as rigid as the stick he leant upon. Then with a +gesture as of blind hurry, he brushed past the Professor, dashing +open the door and slamming it behind him, and stood outside in the +snow. + +"Can that old corpse be following me?" he asked himself, biting his +yellow moustache. "I stopped too long up in that room, so that even +such leaden feet could catch me up. One comfort is, with a little +brisk walking I can put a man like that as far away as Timbuctoo. +Or am I too fanciful? Was he really following me? Surely Sunday +would not be such a fool as to send a lame man?" + +He set off at a smart pace, twisting and whirling his stick, in +the direction of Covent Garden. As he crossed the great market the +snow increased, growing blinding and bewildering as the afternoon +began to darken. The snow-flakes tormented him like a swarm of +silver bees. Getting into his eyes and beard, they added their +unremitting futility to his already irritated nerves; and by the +time that he had come at a swinging pace to the beginning of Fleet +Street, he lost patience, and finding a Sunday teashop, turned +into it to take shelter. He ordered another cup of black coffee +as an excuse. Scarcely had he done so, when Professor de Worms +hobbled heavily into the shop, sat down with difficulty and +ordered a glass of milk. + +Syme's walking-stick had fallen from his hand with a great clang, +which confessed the concealed steel. But the Professor did not look +round. Syme, who was commonly a cool character, was literally +gaping as a rustic gapes at a conjuring trick. He had seen no cab +following; he had heard no wheels outside the shop; to all mortal +appearances the man had come on foot. But the old man could only +walk like a snail, and Syme had walked like the wind. He started up +and snatched his stick, half crazy with the contradiction in mere +arithmetic, and swung out of the swinging doors, leaving his coffee +untasted. An omnibus going to the Bank went rattling by with an +unusual rapidity. He had a violent run of a hundred yards to reach +it; but he managed to spring, swaying upon the splash-board and, +pausing for an instant to pant, he climbed on to the top. When he +had been seated for about half a minute, he heard behind him a sort +of heavy and asthmatic breathing. + +Turning sharply, he saw rising gradually higher and higher up +the omnibus steps a top hat soiled and dripping with snow, and +under the shadow of its brim the short-sighted face and shaky +shoulders of Professor de Worms. He let himself into a seat with +characteristic care, and wrapped himself up to the chin in the +mackintosh rug. + +Every movement of the old man's tottering figure and vague hands, +every uncertain gesture and panic-stricken pause, seemed to put +it beyond question that he was helpless, that he was in the last +imbecility of the body. He moved by inches, he let himself down +with little gasps of caution. And yet, unless the philosophical +entities called time and space have no vestige even of a practical +existence, it appeared quite unquestionable that he had run after +the omnibus. + +Syme sprang erect upon the rocking car, and after staring wildly +at the wintry sky, that grew gloomier every moment, he ran down +the steps. He had repressed an elemental impulse to leap over the +side. + +Too bewildered to look back or to reason, he rushed into one of +the little courts at the side of Fleet Street as a rabbit rushes +into a hole. He had a vague idea, if this incomprehensible old +Jack-in-the-box was really pursuing him, that in that labyrinth of +little streets he could soon throw him off the scent. He dived in +and out of those crooked lanes, which were more like cracks than +thoroughfares; and by the time that he had completed about twenty +alternate angles and described an unthinkable polygon, he paused +to listen for any sound of pursuit. There was none; there could +not in any case have been much, for the little streets were thick +with the soundless snow. Somewhere behind Red Lion Court, however, +he noticed a place where some energetic citizen had cleared away +the snow for a space of about twenty yards, leaving the wet, +glistening cobble-stones. He thought little of this as he passed +it, only plunging into yet another arm of the maze. But when a few +hundred yards farther on he stood still again to listen, his heart +stood still also, for he heard from that space of rugged stones +the clinking crutch and labouring feet of the infernal cripple. + +The sky above was loaded with the clouds of snow, leaving London +in a darkness and oppression premature for that hour of the +evening. On each side of Syme the walls of the alley were blind +and featureless; there was no little window or any kind of eve. He +felt a new impulse to break out of this hive of houses, and to get +once more into the open and lamp-lit street. Yet he rambled and +dodged for a long time before he struck the main thoroughfare. +When he did so, he struck it much farther up than he had fancied. +He came out into what seemed the vast and void of Ludgate Circus, +and saw St. Paul's Cathedral sitting in the sky. + +At first he was startled to find these great roads so empty, as if +a pestilence had swept through the city. Then he told himself that +some degree of emptiness was natural; first because the snow-storm +was even dangerously deep, and secondly because it was Sunday. And +at the very word Sunday he bit his lip; the word was henceforth for +hire like some indecent pun. Under the white fog of snow high up in +the heaven the whole atmosphere of the city was turned to a very +queer kind of green twilight, as of men under the sea. The sealed +and sullen sunset behind the dark dome of St. Paul's had in it +smoky and sinister colours--colours of sickly green, dead red or +decaying bronze, that were just bright enough to emphasise the +solid whiteness of the snow. But right up against these dreary +colours rose the black bulk of the cathedral; and upon the top of +the cathedral was a random splash and great stain of snow, still +clinging as to an Alpine peak. It had fallen accidentally, but just +so fallen as to half drape the dome from its very topmost point, +and to pick out in perfect silver the great orb and the cross. When +Syme saw it he suddenly straightened himself, and made with his +sword-stick an involuntary salute. + +He knew that that evil figure, his shadow, was creeping quickly or +slowly behind him, and he did not care. + +It seemed a symbol of human faith and valour that while the skies +were darkening that high place of the earth was bright. The +devils might have captured heaven, but they had not yet captured +the cross. He had a new impulse to tear out the secret of this +dancing, jumping and pursuing paralytic; and at the entrance of +the court as it opened upon the Circus he turned, stick in hand, +to face his pursuer. + +Professor de Worms came slowly round the corner of the irregular +alley behind him, his unnatural form outlined against a lonely +gas-lamp, irresistibly recalling that very imaginative figure in +the nursery rhymes, "the crooked man who went a crooked mile." He +really looked as if he had been twisted out of shape by the +tortuous streets he had been threading. He came nearer and nearer, +the lamplight shining on his lifted spectacles, his lifted, +patient face. Syme waited for him as St. George waited for the +dragon, as a man waits for a final explanation or for death. And +the old Professor came right up to him and passed him like a total +stranger, without even a blink of his mournful eyelids. + +There was something in this silent and unexpected innocence that +left Syme in a final fury. The man's colourless face and manner +seemed to assert that the whole following had been an accident. +Syme was galvanised with an energy that was something between +bitterness and a burst of boyish derision. He made a wild gesture +as if to knock the old man's hat off, called out something like +"Catch me if you can," and went racing away across the white, open +Circus. Concealment was impossible now; and looking back over his +shoulder, he could see the black figure of the old gentleman coming +after him with long, swinging strides like a man winning a mile +race. But the head upon that bounding body was still pale, grave +and professional, like the head of a lecturer upon the body of a +harlequin. + +This outrageous chase sped across Ludgate Circus, up Ludgate Hill, +round St. Paul's Cathedral, along Cheapside, Syme remembering all +the nightmares he had ever known. Then Syme broke away towards the +river, and ended almost down by the docks. He saw the yellow panes +of a low, lighted public-house, flung himself into it and ordered +beer. It was a foul tavern, sprinkled with foreign sailors, a +place where opium might be smoked or knives drawn. + +A moment later Professor de Worms entered the place, sat down +carefully, and asked for a glass of milk. + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THE PROFESSOR EXPLAINS + +WHEN Gabriel Syme found himself finally established in a chair, +and opposite to him, fixed and final also, the lifted eyebrows and +leaden eyelids of the Professor, his fears fully returned. This +incomprehensible man from the fierce council, after all, had +certainly pursued him. If the man had one character as a paralytic +and another character as a pursuer, the antithesis might make him +more interesting, but scarcely more soothing. It would be a very +small comfort that he could not find the Professor out, if by some +serious accident the Professor should find him out. He emptied a +whole pewter pot of ale before the professor had touched his milk. + +One possibility, however, kept him hopeful and yet helpless. It was +just possible that this escapade signified something other than +even a slight suspicion of him. Perhaps it was some regular form or +sign. Perhaps the foolish scamper was some sort of friendly signal +that he ought to have understood. Perhaps it was a ritual. Perhaps +the new Thursday was always chased along Cheapside, as the new Lord +Mayor is always escorted along it. He was just selecting a +tentative inquiry, when the old Professor opposite suddenly and +simply cut him short. Before Syme could ask the first diplomatic +question, the old anarchist had asked suddenly, without any sort of +preparation-- + +"Are you a policeman?" + +Whatever else Syme had expected, he had never expected anything so +brutal and actual as this. Even his great presence of mind could +only manage a reply with an air of rather blundering jocularity. + +"A policeman?" he said, laughing vaguely. "Whatever made you think +of a policeman in connection with me?" + +"The process was simple enough," answered the Professor patiently. +"I thought you looked like a policeman. I think so now." + +"Did I take a policeman's hat by mistake out of the restaurant?" +asked Syme, smiling wildly. "Have I by any chance got a number +stuck on to me somewhere? Have my boots got that watchful look? +Why must I be a policeman? Do, do let me be a postman." + +The old Professor shook his head with a gravity that gave no hope, +but Syme ran on with a feverish irony. + +"But perhaps I misunderstood the delicacies of your German +philosophy. Perhaps policeman is a relative term. In an +evolutionary sense, sir, the ape fades so gradually into the +policeman, that I myself can never detect the shade. The monkey is +only the policeman that may be. Perhaps a maiden lady on Clapham +Common is only the policeman that might have been. I don't mind +being the policeman that might have been. I don't mind being +anything in German thought." + +"Are you in the police service?" said the old man, ignoring all +Syme's improvised and desperate raillery. "Are you a detective?" + +Syme's heart turned to stone, but his face never changed. + +"Your suggestion is ridiculous," he began. "Why on earth--" + +The old man struck his palsied hand passionately on the rickety +table, nearly breaking it. + +"Did you hear me ask a plain question, you pattering spy?" he +shrieked in a high, crazy voice. "Are you, or are you not, a +police detective?" + +"No!" answered Syme, like a man standing on the hangman's drop. + +"You swear it," said the old man, leaning across to him, his dead +face becoming as it were loathsomely alive. "You swear it! You +swear it! If you swear falsely, will you be damned? Will you be +sure that the devil dances at your funeral? Will you see that the +nightmare sits on your grave? Will there really be no mistake? You +are an anarchist, you are a dynamiter! Above all, you are not in +any sense a detective? You are not in the British police?" + +He leant his angular elbow far across the table, and put up his +large loose hand like a flap to his ear. + +"I am not in the British police," said Syme with insane calm. + +Professor de Worms fell back in his chair with a curious air of +kindly collapse. + +"That's a pity," he said, "because I am." + +Syme sprang up straight, sending back the bench behind him with a +crash. + +"Because you are what?" he said thickly. "You are what?" + +"I am a policeman," said the Professor with his first broad smile. +and beaming through his spectacles. "But as you think policeman +only a relative term, of course I have nothing to do with you. I +am in the British police force; but as you tell me you are not in +the British police force, I can only say that I met you in a +dynamiters' club. I suppose I ought to arrest you." And with these +words he laid on the table before Syme an exact facsimile of the +blue card which Syme had in his own waistcoat pocket, the symbol +of his power from the police. + +Syme had for a flash the sensation that the cosmos had turned +exactly upside down, that all trees were growing downwards and +that all stars were under his feet. Then came slowly the opposite +conviction. For the last twenty-four hours the cosmos had really +been upside down, but now the capsized universe had come right side +up again. This devil from whom he had been fleeing all day was only +an elder brother of his own house, who on the other side of the +table lay back and laughed at him. He did not for the moment ask +any questions of detail; he only knew the happy and silly fact that +this shadow, which had pursued him with an intolerable oppression +of peril, was only the shadow of a friend trying to catch him up. +He knew simultaneously that he was a fool and a free man. For with +any recovery from morbidity there must go a certain healthy +humiliation. There comes a certain point in such conditions when +only three things are possible: first a perpetuation of Satanic +pride, secondly tears, and third laughter. Syme's egotism held hard +to the first course for a few seconds, and then suddenly adopted +the third. Taking his own blue police ticket from his own waist +coat pocket, he tossed it on to the table; then he flung his head +back until his spike of yellow beard almost pointed at the ceiling, +and shouted with a barbaric laughter. + +Even in that close den, perpetually filled with the din of knives, +plates, cans, clamorous voices, sudden struggles and stampedes, +there was something Homeric in Syme's mirth which made many +half-drunken men look round. + +"What yer laughing at, guv'nor?" asked one wondering labourer from +the docks. + +"At myself," answered Syme, and went off again into the agony of +his ecstatic reaction. + +"Pull yourself together," said the Professor, "or you'll get +hysterical. Have some more beer. I'll join you." + +"You haven't drunk your milk," said Syme. + +"My milk!" said the other, in tones of withering and unfathomable +contempt, "my milk! Do you think I'd look at the beastly stuff when +I'm out of sight of the bloody anarchists? We're all Christians in +this room, though perhaps," he added, glancing around at the +reeling crowd, "not strict ones. Finish my milk? Great blazes! yes, +I'll finish it right enough!" and he knocked the tumbler off the +table, making a crash of glass and a splash of silver fluid. + +Syme was staring at him with a happy curiosity. + +"I understand now," he cried; "of course, you're not an old man at +all." + +"I can't take my face off here," replied Professor de Worms. "It's +rather an elaborate make-up. As to whether I'm an old man, that's +not for me to say. I was thirty-eight last birthday." + +"Yes, but I mean," said Syme impatiently, "there's nothing the +matter with you." + +"Yes," answered the other dispassionately. "I am subject to colds." + +Syme's laughter at all this had about it a wild weakness of relief. +He laughed at the idea of the paralytic Professor being really a +young actor dressed up as if for the foot-lights. But he felt that +he would have laughed as loudly if a pepperpot had fallen over. + +The false Professor drank and wiped his false beard. + +"Did you know," he asked, "that that man Gogol was one of us?" + +"I? No, I didn't know it," answered Syme in some surprise. "But +didn't you?" + +"I knew no more than the dead," replied the man who called himself +de Worms. "I thought the President was talking about me, and I +rattled in my boots." + +"And I thought he was talking about me," said Syme, with his rather +reckless laughter. "I had my hand on my revolver all the time." + +"So had I," said the Professor grimly; "so had Gogol evidently." + +Syme struck the table with an exclamation. + +"Why, there were three of us there!" he cried. "Three out of seven +is a fighting number. If we had only known that we were three!" + +The face of Professor de Worms darkened, and he did not look up. + +"We were three," he said. "If we had been three hundred we could +still have done nothing." + +"Not if we were three hundred against four?" asked Syme, jeering +rather boisterously. + +"No," said the Professor with sobriety, "not if we were three +hundred against Sunday." + +And the mere name struck Syme cold and serious; his laughter had +died in his heart before it could die on his lips. The face of +the unforgettable President sprang into his mind as startling as +a coloured photograph, and he remarked this difference between +Sunday and all his satellites, that their faces, however fierce +or sinister, became gradually blurred by memory like other human +faces, whereas Sunday's seemed almost to grow more actual during +absence, as if a man's painted portrait should slowly come alive. + +They were both silent for a measure of moments, and then Syme's +speech came with a rush, like the sudden foaming of champagne. + +"Professor," he cried, "it is intolerable. Are you afraid of this +man?" + +The Professor lifted his heavy lids, and gazed at Syme with large, +wide-open, blue eyes of an almost ethereal honesty. + +"Yes, I am," he said mildly. "So are you." + +Syme was dumb for an instant. Then he rose to his feet erect, like +an insulted man, and thrust the chair away from him. + +"Yes," he said in a voice indescribable, "you are right. I am +afraid of him. Therefore I swear by God that I will seek out this +man whom I fear until I find him, and strike him on the mouth. If +heaven were his throne and the earth his footstool, I swear that +I would pull him down." + +"How?" asked the staring Professor. "Why?" + +"Because I am afraid of him," said Syme; "and no man should leave +in the universe anything of which he is afraid." + +De Worms blinked at him with a sort of blind wonder. He made an +effort to speak, but Syme went on in a low voice, but with an +undercurrent of inhuman exaltation-- + +"Who would condescend to strike down the mere things that he does +not fear? Who would debase himself to be merely brave, like any +common prizefighter? Who would stoop to be fearless--like a tree? +Fight the thing that you fear. You remember the old tale of the +English clergyman who gave the last rites to the brigand of Sicily, +and how on his death-bed the great robber said, 'I can give you no +money, but I can give you advice for a lifetime: your thumb on the +blade, and strike upwards.' So I say to you, strike upwards, if you +strike at the stars." + +The other looked at the ceiling, one of the tricks of his pose. + +"Sunday is a fixed star," he said. + +"You shall see him a falling star," said Syme, and put on his hat. + +The decision of his gesture drew the Professor vaguely to his feet. + +"Have you any idea," he asked, with a sort of benevolent +bewilderment, "exactly where you are going?" + +"Yes," replied Syme shortly, "I am going to prevent this bomb being +thrown in Paris." + +"Have you any conception how?" inquired the other. + +"No," said Syme with equal decision. + +"You remember, of course," resumed the soi-disant de Worms, pulling +his beard and looking out of the window, "that when we broke up +rather hurriedly the whole arrangements for the atrocity were left +in the private hands of the Marquis and Dr. Bull. The Marquis is by +this time probably crossing the Channel. But where he will go and +what he will do it is doubtful whether even the President knows; +certainly we don't know. The only man who does know is Dr. Bull." + +"Confound it!" cried Syme. "And we don't know where he is." + +"Yes," said the other in his curious, absent-minded way, "I know +where he is myself." + +"Will you tell me?" asked Syme with eager eyes. + +"I will take you there," said the Professor, and took down his own +hat from a peg. + +Syme stood looking at him with a sort of rigid excitement. + +"What do you mean?" he asked sharply. "Will you join me? Will you +take the risk?" + +"Young man," said the Professor pleasantly, "I am amused to observe +that you think I am a coward. As to that I will say only one word, +and that shall be entirely in the manner of your own philosophical +rhetoric. You think that it is possible to pull down the President. +I know that it is impossible, and I am going to try it," and +opening the tavern door, which let in a blast of bitter air, they +went out together into the dark streets by the docks. + +Most of the snow was melted or trampled to mud, but here and there +a clot of it still showed grey rather than white in the gloom. The +small streets were sloppy and full of pools, which reflected the +flaming lamps irregularly, and by accident, like fragments of some +other and fallen world. Syme felt almost dazed as he stepped +through this growing confusion of lights and shadows; but his +companion walked on with a certain briskness, towards where, at +the end of the street, an inch or two of the lamplit river looked +like a bar of flame. + +"Where are you going?" Syme inquired. + +"Just now," answered the Professor, "I am going just round the +corner to see whether Dr. Bull has gone to bed. He is hygienic, +and retires early." + +"Dr. Bull!" exclaimed Syme. "Does he live round the corner?" + +"No," answered his friend. "As a matter of fact he lives some way +off, on the other side of the river, but we can tell from here +whether he has gone to bed." + +Turning the corner as he spoke, and facing the dim river, flecked +with flame, he pointed with his stick to the other bank. On the +Surrey side at this point there ran out into the Thames, seeming +almost to overhang it, a bulk and cluster of those tall tenements, +dotted with lighted windows, and rising like factory chimneys to +an almost insane height. Their special poise and position made one +block of buildings especially look like a Tower of Babel with a +hundred eyes. Syme had never seen any of the sky-scraping buildings +in America, so he could only think of the buildings in a dream. + +Even as he stared, the highest light in this innumerably lighted +turret abruptly went out, as if this black Argus had winked at him +with one of his innumerable eyes. + +Professor de Worms swung round on his heel, and struck his stick +against his boot. + +"We are too late," he said, "the hygienic Doctor has gone to bed." + +"What do you mean?" asked Syme. "Does he live over there, then?" + +"Yes," said de Worms, "behind that particular window which you +can't see. Come along and get some dinner. We must call on him +tomorrow morning." + +Without further parley, he led the way through several by-ways +until they came out into the flare and clamour of the East India +Dock Road. The Professor, who seemed to know his way about the +neighbourhood, proceeded to a place where the line of lighted +shops fell back into a sort of abrupt twilight and quiet, in which +an old white inn, all out of repair, stood back some twenty feet +from the road. + +"You can find good English inns left by accident everywhere, like +fossils," explained the Professor. "I once found a decent place in +the West End." + +"I suppose," said Syme, smiling, "that this is the corresponding +decent place in the East End?" + +"It is," said the Professor reverently, and went in. + +In that place they dined and slept, both very thoroughly. The +beans and bacon, which these unaccountable people cooked well, +the astonishing emergence of Burgundy from their cellars, crowned +Syme's sense of a new comradeship and comfort. Through all this +ordeal his root horror had been isolation, and there are no words +to express the abyss between isolation and having one ally. It may +be conceded to the mathematicians that four is twice two. But two +is not twice one; two is two thousand times one. That is why, in +spite of a hundred disadvantages, the world will always return to +monogamy. + +Syme was able to pour out for the first time the whole of his +outrageous tale, from the time when Gregory had taken him to +the little tavern by the river. He did it idly and amply, in a +luxuriant monologue, as a man speaks with very old friends. On +his side, also, the man who had impersonated Professor de Worms +was not less communicative. His own story was almost as silly as +Syme's. + +"That's a good get-up of yours," said Syme, draining a glass of +Macon; "a lot better than old Gogol's. Even at the start I thought +he was a bit too hairy." + +"A difference of artistic theory," replied the Professor pensively. +"Gogol was an idealist. He made up as the abstract or platonic +ideal of an anarchist. But I am a realist. I am a portrait painter. +But, indeed, to say that I am a portrait painter is an inadequate +expression. I am a portrait." + +"I don't understand you," said Syme. + +"I am a portrait," repeated the Professor. "I am a portrait of the +celebrated Professor de Worms, who is, I believe, in Naples." + +"You mean you are made up like him," said Syme. "But doesn't he +know that you are taking his nose in vain?" + +"He knows it right enough," replied his friend cheerfully. + +"Then why doesn't he denounce you?" + +"I have denounced him," answered the Professor. + +"Do explain yourself," said Syme. + +"With pleasure, if you don't mind hearing my story," replied the +eminent foreign philosopher. "I am by profession an actor, and my +name is Wilks. When I was on the stage I mixed with all sorts of +Bohemian and blackguard company. Sometimes I touched the edge of +the turf, sometimes the riff-raff of the arts, and occasionally the +political refugee. In some den of exiled dreamers I was introduced +to the great German Nihilist philosopher, Professor de Worms. I did +not gather much about him beyond his appearance, which was very +disgusting, and which I studied carefully. I understood that he had +proved that the destructive principle in the universe was God; +hence he insisted on the need for a furious and incessant energy, +rending all things in pieces. Energy, he said, was the All. He was +lame, shortsighted, and partially paralytic. When I met him I was +in a frivolous mood, and I disliked him so much that I resolved to +imitate him. If I had been a draughtsman I would have drawn a +caricature. I was only an actor, I could only act a caricature. I +made myself up into what was meant for a wild exaggeration of the +old Professor's dirty old self. When I went into the room full of +his supporters I expected to be received with a roar of laughter, +or (if they were too far gone) with a roar of indignation at the +insult. I cannot describe the surprise I felt when my entrance was +received with a respectful silence, followed (when I had first +opened my lips) with a murmur of admiration. The curse of the +perfect artist had fallen upon me. I had been too subtle, I had +been too true. They thought I really was the great Nihilist +Professor. I was a healthy-minded young man at the time, and I +confess that it was a blow. Before I could fully recover, however, +two or three of these admirers ran up to me radiating indignation, +and told me that a public insult had been put upon me in the next +room. I inquired its nature. It seemed that an impertinent fellow +had dressed himself up as a preposterous parody of myself. I had +drunk more champagne than was good for me, and in a flash of folly +I decided to see the situation through. Consequently it was to meet +the glare of the company and my own lifted eyebrows and freezing +eyes that the real Professor came into the room. + +"I need hardly say there was a collision. The pessimists all round +me looked anxiously from one Professor to the other Professor to +see which was really the more feeble. But I won. An old man in poor +health, like my rival, could not be expected to be so impressively +feeble as a young actor in the prime of life. You see, he really +had paralysis, and working within this definite limitation, he +couldn't be so jolly paralytic as I was. Then he tried to blast my +claims intellectually. I countered that by a very simple dodge. +Whenever he said something that nobody but he could understand, I +replied with something which I could not even understand myself. +'I don't fancy,' he said, 'that you could have worked out the +principle that evolution is only negation, since there inheres in +it the introduction of lacuna, which are an essential of +differentiation.' I replied quite scornfully, 'You read all that up +in Pinckwerts; the notion that involution functioned eugenically +was exposed long ago by Glumpe.' It is unnecessary for me to say +that there never were such people as Pinckwerts and Glumpe. But the +people all round (rather to my surprise) seemed to remember them +quite well, and the Professor, finding that the learned and +mysterious method left him rather at the mercy of an enemy slightly +deficient in scruples, fell back upon a more popular form of wit. +'I see,' he sneered, 'you prevail like the false pig in Aesop.' +'And you fail,' I answered, smiling, 'like the hedgehog in +Montaigne.' Need I say that there is no hedgehog in Montaigne? +'Your claptrap comes off,' he said; 'so would your beard.' I had no +intelligent answer to this, which was quite true and rather witty. +But I laughed heartily, answered, 'Like the Pantheist's boots,' at +random, and turned on my heel with all the honours of victory. The +real Professor was thrown out, but not with violence, though one +man tried very patiently to pull off his nose. He is now, I +believe, received everywhere in Europe as a delightful impostor. +His apparent earnestness and anger, you see, make him all the more +entertaining." + +"Well," said Syme, "I can understand your putting on his dirty old +beard for a night's practical joke, but I don't understand your +never taking it off again." + +"That is the rest of the story," said the impersonator. "When I +myself left the company, followed by reverent applause, I went +limping down the dark street, hoping that I should soon be far +enough away to be able to walk like a human being. To my +astonishment, as I was turning the corner, I felt a touch on the +shoulder, and turning, found myself under the shadow of an enormous +policeman. He told me I was wanted. I struck a sort of paralytic +attitude, and cried in a high German accent, 'Yes, I am wanted--by +the oppressed of the world. You are arresting me on the charge of +being the great anarchist, Professor de Worms.' The policeman +impassively consulted a paper in his hand, 'No, sir,' he said +civilly, 'at least, not exactly, sir. I am arresting you on the +charge of not being the celebrated anarchist, Professor de Worms.' +This charge, if it was criminal at all, was certainly the lighter +of the two, and I went along with the man, doubtful, but not +greatly dismayed. I was shown into a number of rooms, and +eventually into the presence of a police officer, who explained +that a serious campaign had been opened against the centres of +anarchy, and that this, my successful masquerade, might be of +considerable value to the public safety. He offered me a good +salary and this little blue card. Though our conversation was +short, he struck me as a man of very massive common sense and +humour; but I cannot tell you much about him personally, because--" + +Syme laid down his knife and fork. + +"I know," he said, "because you talked to him in a dark room." + +Professor de Worms nodded and drained his glass. + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THE MAN IN SPECTACLES + +"BURGUNDY is a jolly thing," said the Professor sadly, as he set +his glass down. + +"You don't look as if it were," said Syme; "you drink it as if it +were medicine." + +"You must excuse my manner," said the Professor dismally, "my +position is rather a curious one. Inside I am really bursting with +boyish merriment; but I acted the paralytic Professor so well, that +now I can't leave off. So that when I am among friends, and have no +need at all to disguise myself, I still can't help speaking slow +and wrinkling my forehead--just as if it were my forehead. I can be +quite happy, you understand, but only in a paralytic sort of way. +The most buoyant exclamations leap up in my heart, but they come +out of my mouth quite different. You should hear me say, 'Buck up, +old cock!' It would bring tears to your eyes." + +"It does," said Syme; "but I cannot help thinking that apart from +all that you are really a bit worried." + +The Professor started a little and looked at him steadily. + +"You are a very clever fellow," he said, "it is a pleasure to work +with you. Yes, I have rather a heavy cloud in my head. There is a +great problem to face," and he sank his bald brow in his two hands. + +Then he said in a low voice-- + +"Can you play the piano?" + +"Yes," said Syme in simple wonder, "I'm supposed to have a good +touch." + +Then, as the other did not speak, he added-- + +"I trust the great cloud is lifted." + +After a long silence, the Professor said out of the cavernous +shadow of his hands-- + +"It would have done just as well if you could work a typewriter." + +"Thank you," said Syme, "you flatter me." + +"Listen to me," said the other, "and remember whom we have to see +tomorrow. You and I are going tomorrow to attempt something which +is very much more dangerous than trying to steal the Crown Jewels +out of the Tower. We are trying to steal a secret from a very +sharp, very strong, and very wicked man. I believe there is no man, +except the President, of course, who is so seriously startling and +formidable as that little grinning fellow in goggles. He has not +perhaps the white-hot enthusiasm unto death, the mad martyrdom for +anarchy, which marks the Secretary. But then that very fanaticism +in the Secretary has a human pathos, and is almost a redeeming +trait. But the little Doctor has a brutal sanity that is more +shocking than the Secretary's disease. Don't you notice his +detestable virility and vitality. He bounces like an india-rubber +ball. Depend on it, Sunday was not asleep (I wonder if he ever +sleeps?) when he locked up all the plans of this outrage in the +round, black head of Dr. Bull." + +"And you think," said Syme, "that this unique monster will be +soothed if I play the piano to him?" + +"Don't be an ass," said his mentor. "I mentioned the piano because +it gives one quick and independent fingers. Syme, if we are to go +through this interview and come out sane or alive, we must have +some code of signals between us that this brute will not see. I +have made a rough alphabetical cypher corresponding to the five +fingers--like this, see," and he rippled with his fingers on the +wooden table--"B A D, bad, a word we may frequently require." + +Syme poured himself out another glass of wine, and began to study +the scheme. He was abnormally quick with his brains at puzzles, +and with his hands at conjuring, and it did not take him long to +learn how he might convey simple messages by what would seem to +be idle taps upon a table or knee. But wine and companionship had +always the effect of inspiring him to a farcical ingenuity, and +the Professor soon found himself struggling with the too vast +energy of the new language, as it passed through the heated brain +of Syme. + +"We must have several word-signs," said Syme seriously--"words that +we are likely to want, fine shades of meaning. My favourite word is +'coeval'. What's yours?" + +"Do stop playing the goat," said the Professor plaintively. "You +don't know how serious this is." + +"'Lush' too," said Syme, shaking his head sagaciously, "we must +have 'lush'--word applied to grass, don't you know?" + +"Do you imagine," asked the Professor furiously, "that we are going +to talk to Dr. Bull about grass?" + +"There are several ways in which the subject could be approached," +said Syme reflectively, "and the word introduced without appearing +forced. We might say, 'Dr. Bull, as a revolutionist, you remember +that a tyrant once advised us to eat grass; and indeed many of us, +looking on the fresh lush grass of summer"' + +"Do you understand," said the other, "that this is a tragedy?" + +"Perfectly," replied Syme; "always be comic in a tragedy. What +the deuce else can you do? I wish this language of yours had a +wider scope. I suppose we could not extend it from the fingers +to the toes? That would involve pulling off our boots and socks +during the conversation, which however unobtrusively performed--" + +"Syme," said his friend with a stern simplicity, "go to bed!" + +Syme, however, sat up in bed for a considerable time mastering the +new code. He was awakened next morning while the east was still +sealed with darkness, and found his grey-bearded ally standing like +a ghost beside his bed. + +Syme sat up in bed blinking; then slowly collected his thoughts, +threw off the bed-clothes, and stood up. It seemed to him in some +curious way that all the safety and sociability of the night before +fell with the bedclothes off him, and he stood up in an air of cold +danger. He still felt an entire trust and loyalty towards his +companion; but it was the trust between two men going to the +scaffold. + +"Well," said Syme with a forced cheerfulness as he pulled on his +trousers, "I dreamt of that alphabet of yours. Did it take you +long to make it up?" + +The Professor made no answer, but gazed in front of him with eyes +the colour of a wintry sea; so Syme repeated his question. + +"I say, did it take you long to invent all this? I'm considered +good at these things, and it was a good hour's grind. Did you +learn it all on the spot?" + +The Professor was silent; his eyes were wide open, and he wore a +fixed but very small smile. + +"How long did it take you?" + +The Professor did not move. + +"Confound you, can't you answer?" called out Syme, in a sudden +anger that had something like fear underneath. Whether or no the +Professor could answer, he did not. + +Syme stood staring back at the stiff face like parchment and the +blank, blue eyes. His first thought was that the Professor had gone +mad, but his second thought was more frightful. After all, what did +he know about this queer creature whom he had heedlessly accepted +as a friend? What did he know, except that the man had been at the +anarchist breakfast and had told him a ridiculous tale? How +improbable it was that there should be another friend there beside +Gogol! Was this man's silence a sensational way of declaring war? +Was this adamantine stare after all only the awful sneer of some +threefold traitor, who had turned for the last time? He stood and +strained his ears in this heartless silence. He almost fancied he +could hear dynamiters come to capture him shifting softly in the +corridor outside. + +Then his eye strayed downwards, and he burst out laughing. Though +the Professor himself stood there as voiceless as a statue, his +five dumb fingers were dancing alive upon the dead table. Syme +watched the twinkling movements of the talking hand, and read +clearly the message-- + +"I will only talk like this. We must get used to it." + +He rapped out the answer with the impatience of relief-- + +"All right. Let's get out to breakfast." + +They took their hats and sticks in silence; but as Syme took his +sword-stick, he held it hard. + +They paused for a few minutes only to stuff down coffee and coarse +thick sandwiches at a coffee stall, and then made their way across +the river, which under the grey and growing light looked as +desolate as Acheron. They reached the bottom of the huge block of +buildings which they had seen from across the river, and began in +silence to mount the naked and numberless stone steps, only pausing +now and then to make short remarks on the rail of the banisters. At +about every other flight they passed a window; each window showed +them a pale and tragic dawn lifting itself laboriously over London. +From each the innumerable roofs of slate looked like the leaden +surges of a grey, troubled sea after rain. Syme was increasingly +conscious that his new adventure had somehow a quality of cold +sanity worse than the wild adventures of the past. Last night, for +instance, the tall tenements had seemed to him like a tower in a +dream. As he now went up the weary and perpetual steps, he was +daunted and bewildered by their almost infinite series. But it was +not the hot horror of a dream or of anything that might be +exaggeration or delusion. Their infinity was more like the empty +infinity of arithmetic, something unthinkable, yet necessary to +thought. Or it was like the stunning statements of astronomy about +the distance of the fixed stars. He was ascending the house of +reason, a thing more hideous than unreason itself. + +By the time they reached Dr. Bull's landing, a last window showed +them a harsh, white dawn edged with banks of a kind of coarse red, +more like red clay than red cloud. And when they entered Dr. Bull's +bare garret it was full of light. + +Syme had been haunted by a half historic memory in connection with +these empty rooms and that austere daybreak. The moment he saw the +garret and Dr. Bull sitting writing at a table, he remembered what +the memory was--the French Revolution. There should have been the +black outline of a guillotine against that heavy red and white of +the morning. Dr. Bull was in his white shirt and black breeches +only; his cropped, dark head might well have just come out of its +wig; he might have been Marat or a more slipshod Robespierre. + +Yet when he was seen properly, the French fancy fell away. The +Jacobins were idealists; there was about this man a murderous +materialism. His position gave him a somewhat new appearance. The +strong, white light of morning coming from one side creating sharp +shadows, made him seem both more pale and more angular than he had +looked at the breakfast on the balcony. Thus the two black glasses +that encased his eyes might really have been black cavities in his +skull, making him look like a death's-head. And, indeed, if ever +Death himself sat writing at a wooden table, it might have been he. + +He looked up and smiled brightly enough as the men came in, and +rose with the resilient rapidity of which the Professor had +spoken. He set chairs for both of them, and going to a peg behind +the door, proceeded to put on a coat and waistcoat of rough, dark +tweed; he buttoned it up neatly, and came back to sit down at his +table. + +The quiet good humour of his manner left his two opponents +helpless. It was with some momentary difficulty that the +Professor broke silence and began, "I'm sorry to disturb you so +early, comrade," said he, with a careful resumption of the slow +de Worms manner. "You have no doubt made all the arrangements for +the Paris affair?" Then he added with infinite slowness, "We have +information which renders intolerable anything in the nature of a +moment's delay." + +Dr. Bull smiled again, but continued to gaze on them without +speaking. The Professor resumed, a pause before each weary word-- + +"Please do not think me excessively abrupt; but I advise you to +alter those plans, or if it is too late for that, to follow your +agent with all the support you can get for him. Comrade Syme and +I have had an experience which it would take more time to recount +than we can afford, if we are to act on it. I will, however, +relate the occurrence in detail, even at the risk of losing time, +if you really feel that it is essential to the understanding of +the problem we have to discuss." + +He was spinning out his sentences, making them intolerably long +and lingering, in the hope of maddening the practical little +Doctor into an explosion of impatience which might show his hand. +But the little Doctor continued only to stare and smile, and the +monologue was uphill work. Syme began to feel a new sickness and +despair. The Doctor's smile and silence were not at all like the +cataleptic stare and horrible silence which he had confronted in +the Professor half an hour before. About the Professor's makeup +and all his antics there was always something merely grotesque, +like a gollywog. Syme remembered those wild woes of yesterday as +one remembers being afraid of Bogy in childhood. But here was +daylight; here was a healthy, square-shouldered man in tweeds, +not odd save for the accident of his ugly spectacles, not glaring +or grinning at all, but smiling steadily and not saying a word. +The whole had a sense of unbearable reality. Under the increasing +sunlight the colours of the Doctor's complexion, the pattern of +his tweeds, grew and expanded outrageously, as such things grow +too important in a realistic novel. But his smile was quite +slight, the pose of his head polite; the only uncanny thing was +his silence. + +"As I say," resumed the Professor, like a man toiling through +heavy sand, "the incident that has occurred to us and has led +us to ask for information about the Marquis, is one which you +may think it better to have narrated; but as it came in the +way of Comrade Syme rather than me--" + +His words he seemed to be dragging out like words in an anthem; +but Syme, who was watching, saw his long fingers rattle quickly +on the edge of the crazy table. He read the message, "You must +go on. This devil has sucked me dry!" + +Syme plunged into the breach with that bravado of improvisation +which always came to him when he was alarmed. + +"Yes, the thing really happened to me," he said hastily. "I had +the good fortune to fall into conversation with a detective who +took me, thanks to my hat, for a respectable person. Wishing to +clinch my reputation for respectability, I took him and made him +very drunk at the Savoy. Under this influence he became friendly, +and told me in so many words that within a day or two they hope +to arrest the Marquis in France. + +"So unless you or I can get on his track--" + +The Doctor was still smiling in the most friendly way, and his +protected eyes were still impenetrable. The Professor signalled to +Syme that he would resume his explanation, and he began again with +the same elaborate calm. + +"Syme immediately brought this information to me, and we came here +together to see what use you would be inclined to make of it. It +seems to me unquestionably urgent that--" + +All this time Syme had been staring at the Doctor almost as +steadily as the Doctor stared at the Professor, but quite without +the smile. The nerves of both comrades-in-arms were near snapping +under that strain of motionless amiability, when Syme suddenly +leant forward and idly tapped the edge of the table. His message +to his ally ran, "I have an intuition." + +The Professor, with scarcely a pause in his monologue, signalled +back, "Then sit on it." + +Syme telegraphed, "It is quite extraordinary." + +The other answered, "Extraordinary rot!" + +Syme said, "I am a poet." + +The other retorted, "You are a dead man." + +Syme had gone quite red up to his yellow hair, and his eyes were +burning feverishly. As he said he had an intuition, and it had +risen to a sort of lightheaded certainty. Resuming his symbolic +taps, he signalled to his friend, "You scarcely realise how poetic +my intuition is. It has that sudden quality we sometimes feel in +the coming of spring." + +He then studied the answer on his friend's fingers. The answer +was, "Go to hell!" + +The Professor then resumed his merely verbal monologue addressed +to the Doctor. + +"Perhaps I should rather say," said Syme on his fingers, "that it +resembles that sudden smell of the sea which may be found in the +heart of lush woods." + +His companion disdained to reply. + +"Or yet again," tapped Syme, "it is positive, as is the passionate +red hair of a beautiful woman." + +The Professor was continuing his speech, but in the middle of it +Syme decided to act. He leant across the table, and said in a +voice that could not be neglected-- + +"Dr. Bull!" + +The Doctor's sleek and smiling head did not move, but they could +have sworn that under his dark glasses his eyes darted towards +Syme. + +"Dr. Bull," said Syme, in a voice peculiarly precise and +courteous, "would you do me a small favour? Would you be so kind +as to take off your spectacles?" + +The Professor swung round on his seat, and stared at Syme with a +sort of frozen fury of astonishment. Syme, like a man who has +thrown his life and fortune on the table, leaned forward with a +fiery face. The Doctor did not move. + +For a few seconds there was a silence in which one could hear a +pin drop, split once by the single hoot of a distant steamer on +the Thames. Then Dr. Bull rose slowly, still smiling, and took +off his spectacles. + +Syme sprang to his feet, stepping backwards a little, like a +chemical lecturer from a successful explosion. His eyes were like +stars, and for an instant he could only point without speaking. + +The Professor had also started to his feet, forgetful of his +supposed paralysis. He leant on the back of the chair and stared +doubtfully at Dr. Bull, as if the Doctor had been turned into a +toad before his eyes. And indeed it was almost as great a +transformation scene. + +The two detectives saw sitting in the chair before them a very +boyish-looking young man, with very frank and happy hazel eyes, an +open expression, cockney clothes like those of a city clerk, and +an unquestionable breath about him of being very good and rather +commonplace. The smile was still there, but it might have been the +first smile of a baby. + +"I knew I was a poet," cried Syme in a sort of ecstasy. "I knew my +intuition was as infallible as the Pope. It was the spectacles that +did it! It was all the spectacles. Given those beastly black eyes, +and all the rest of him his health and his jolly looks, made him a +live devil among dead ones." + +"It certainly does make a queer difference," said the Professor +shakily. "But as regards the project of Dr. Bull--" + +"Project be damned!" roared Syme, beside himself. "Look at him! +Look at his face, look at his collar, look at his blessed boots! +You don't suppose, do you, that that thing's an anarchist?" + +"Syme!" cried the other in an apprehensive agony. + +"Why, by God," said Syme, "I'll take the risk of that myself! Dr. +Bull, I am a police officer. There's my card," and he flung down +the blue card upon the table. + +The Professor still feared that all was lost; but he was loyal. He +pulled out his own official card and put it beside his friend's. +Then the third man burst out laughing, and for the first time that +morning they heard his voice. + +"I'm awfully glad you chaps have come so early," he said, with +a sort of schoolboy flippancy, "for we can all start for France +together. Yes, I'm in the force right enough," and he flicked a +blue card towards them lightly as a matter of form. + +Clapping a brisk bowler on his head and resuming his goblin +glasses, the Doctor moved so quickly towards the door, that the +others instinctively followed him. Syme seemed a little distrait, +and as he passed under the doorway he suddenly struck his stick +on the stone passage so that it rang. + +"But Lord God Almighty," he cried out, "if this is all right, there +were more damned detectives than there were damned dynamiters at +the damned Council!" + +"We might have fought easily," said Bull; "we were four against +three." + +The Professor was descending the stairs, but his voice came up from +below. + +"No," said the voice, "we were not four against three--we were not +so lucky. We were four against One." + +The others went down the stairs in silence. + +The young man called Bull, with an innocent courtesy characteristic +of him, insisted on going last until they reached the street; but +there his own robust rapidity asserted itself unconsciously, and he +walked quickly on ahead towards a railway inquiry office, talking +to the others over his shoulder. + +"It is jolly to get some pals," he said. "I've been half dead with +the jumps, being quite alone. I nearly flung my arms round Gogol +and embraced him, which would have been imprudent. I hope you won't +despise me for having been in a blue funk." + +"All the blue devils in blue hell," said Syme, "contributed to my +blue funk! But the worst devil was you and your infernal goggles." + +The young man laughed delightedly. + +"Wasn't it a rag?" he said. "Such a simple idea--not my own. I +haven't got the brains. You see, I wanted to go into the detective +service, especially the anti-dynamite business. But for that +purpose they wanted someone to dress up as a dynamiter; and they +all swore by blazes that I could never look like a dynamiter. They +said my very walk was respectable, and that seen from behind I +looked like the British Constitution. They said I looked too +healthy and too optimistic, and too reliable and benevolent; they +called me all sorts of names at Scotland Yard. They said that if I +had been a criminal, I might have made my fortune by looking so +like an honest man; but as I had the misfortune to be an honest +man, there was not even the remotest chance of my assisting them by +ever looking like a criminal. But as last I was brought before some +old josser who was high up in the force, and who seemed to have no +end of a head on his shoulders. And there the others all talked +hopelessly. One asked whether a bushy beard would hide my nice +smile; another said that if they blacked my face I might look like +a negro anarchist; but this old chap chipped in with a most +extraordinary remark. 'A pair of smoked spectacles will do it,' he +said positively. 'Look at him now; he looks like an angelic office +boy. Put him on a pair of smoked spectacles, and children will +scream at the sight of him.' And so it was, by George! When once my +eyes were covered, all the rest, smile and big shoulders and short +hair, made me look a perfect little devil. As I say, it was simple +enough when it was done, like miracles; but that wasn't the really +miraculous part of it. There was one really staggering thing about +the business, and my head still turns at it." + +"What was that?" asked Syme. + +"I'll tell you," answered the man in spectacles. "This big pot in +the police who sized me up so that he knew how the goggles would +go with my hair and socks--by God, he never saw me at all!" + +Syme's eyes suddenly flashed on him. + +"How was that?" he asked. "I thought you talked to him." + +"So I did," said Bull brightly; "but we talked in a pitch-dark +room like a coalcellar. There, you would never have guessed that." + +"I could not have conceived it," said Syme gravely. + +"It is indeed a new idea," said the Professor. + +Their new ally was in practical matters a whirlwind. At the +inquiry office he asked with businesslike brevity about the trains +for Dover. Having got his information, he bundled the company into +a cab, and put them and himself inside a railway carriage before +they had properly realised the breathless process. They were +already on the Calais boat before conversation flowed freely. + +"I had already arranged," he explained, "to go to France for my +lunch; but I am delighted to have someone to lunch with me. You +see, I had to send that beast, the Marquis, over with his bomb, +because the President had his eye on me, though God knows how. +I'll tell you the story some day. It was perfectly choking. +Whenever I tried to slip out of it I saw the President somewhere, +smiling out of the bow-window of a club, or taking off his hat to +me from the top of an omnibus. I tell you, you can say what you +like, that fellow sold himself to the devil; he can be in six +places at once." + +"So you sent the Marquis off, I understand," asked the Professor. +"Was it long ago? Shall we be in time to catch him?" + +"Yes," answered the new guide, "I've timed it all. He'll still be +at Calais when we arrive." + +"But when we do catch him at Calais," said the Professor, "what are +we going to do?" + +At this question the countenance of Dr. Bull fell for the first +time. He reflected a little, and then said-- + +"Theoretically, I suppose, we ought to call the police." + +"Not I," said Syme. "Theoretically I ought to drown myself first. I +promised a poor fellow, who was a real modern pessimist, on my word +of honour not to tell the police. I'm no hand at casuistry, but I +can't break my word to a modern pessimist. It's like breaking one's +word to a child." + +"I'm in the same boat," said the Professor. "I tried to tell the +police and I couldn't, because of some silly oath I took. You see, +when I was an actor I was a sort of all-round beast. Perjury or +treason is the only crime I haven't committed. If I did that I +shouldn't know the difference between right and wrong." + +"I've been through all that," said Dr. Bull, "and I've made up my +mind. I gave my promise to the Secretary--you know him, man who +smiles upside down. My friends, that man is the most utterly +unhappy man that was ever human. It may be his digestion, or his +conscience, or his nerves, or his philosophy of the universe, but +he's damned, he's in hell! Well, I can't turn on a man like that, +and hunt him down. It's like whipping a leper. I may be mad, but +that's how I feel; and there's jolly well the end of it." + +"I don't think you're mad," said Syme. "I knew you would decide +like that when first you--" + +"Eh?" said Dr. Bull. + +"When first you took off your spectacles." + +Dr. Bull smiled a little, and strolled across the deck to look at +the sunlit sea. Then he strolled back again, kicking his heels +carelessly, and a companionable silence fell between the three men. + +"Well," said Syme, "it seems that we have all the same kind of +morality or immorality, so we had better face the fact that comes +of it." + +"Yes," assented the Professor, "you're quite right; and we must +hurry up, for I can see the Grey Nose standing out from France." + +"The fact that comes of it," said Syme seriously, "is this, that we +three are alone on this planet. Gogol has gone, God knows where; +perhaps the President has smashed him like a fly. On the Council we +are three men against three, like the Romans who held the bridge. +But we are worse off than that, first because they can appeal to +their organization and we cannot appeal to ours, and second +because--" + +"Because one of those other three men," said the Professor, "is not +a man." + +Syme nodded and was silent for a second or two, then he said-- + +"My idea is this. We must do something to keep the Marquis in +Calais till tomorrow midday. I have turned over twenty schemes in +my head. We cannot denounce him as a dynamiter; that is agreed. We +cannot get him detained on some trivial charge, for we should have +to appear; he knows us, and he would smell a rat. We cannot pretend +to keep him on anarchist business; he might swallow much in that +way, but not the notion of stopping in Calais while the Czar went +safely through Paris. We might try to kidnap him, and lock him up +ourselves; but he is a well-known man here. He has a whole +bodyguard of friends; he is very strong and brave, and the event is +doubtful. The only thing I can see to do is actually to take +advantage of the very things that are in the Marquis's favour. I am +going to profit by the fact that he is a highly respected nobleman. +I am going to profit by the fact that he has many friends and moves +in the best society." + +"What the devil are you talking about?" asked the Professor. + +"The Symes are first mentioned in the fourteenth century," said +Syme; "but there is a tradition that one of them rode behind Bruce +at Bannockburn. Since 1350 the tree is quite clear." + +"He's gone off his head," said the little Doctor, staring. + +"Our bearings," continued Syme calmly, "are 'argent a chevron gules +charged with three cross crosslets of the field.' The motto +varies." + +The Professor seized Syme roughly by the waistcoat. + +"We are just inshore," he said. "Are you seasick or joking in the +wrong place?" + +"My remarks are almost painfully practical," answered Syme, in an +unhurried manner. "The house of St. Eustache also is very ancient. +The Marquis cannot deny that he is a gentleman. He cannot deny +that I am a gentleman. And in order to put the matter of my social +position quite beyond a doubt, I propose at the earliest +opportunity to knock his hat off. But here we are in the harbour." + +They went on shore under the strong sun in a sort of daze. Syme, +who had now taken the lead as Bull had taken it in London, led +them along a kind of marine parade until he came to some cafes, +embowered in a bulk of greenery and overlooking the sea. As he +went before them his step was slightly swaggering, and he swung +his stick like a sword. He was making apparently for the extreme +end of the line of cafes, but he stopped abruptly. With a sharp +gesture he motioned them to silence, but he pointed with one +gloved finger to a cafe table under a bank of flowering foliage +at which sat the Marquis de St. Eustache, his teeth shining in +his thick, black beard, and his bold, brown face shadowed by a +light yellow straw hat and outlined against the violet sea. + + + +CHAPTER X + +THE DUEL + +SYME sat down at a cafe table with his companions, his blue eyes +sparkling like the bright sea below, and ordered a bottle of +Saumur with a pleased impatience. He was for some reason in a +condition of curious hilarity. His spirits were already +unnaturally high; they rose as the Saumur sank, and in half an +hour his talk was a torrent of nonsense. He professed to be +making out a plan of the conversation which was going to ensue +between himself and the deadly Marquis. He jotted it down wildly +with a pencil. It was arranged like a printed catechism, with +questions and answers, and was delivered with an extraordinary +rapidity of utterance. + +"I shall approach. Before taking off his hat, I shall take off my +own. I shall say, 'The Marquis de Saint Eustache, I believe.' He +will say, 'The celebrated Mr. Syme, I presume.' He will say in the +most exquisite French, 'How are you?' I shall reply in the most +exquisite Cockney, 'Oh, just the Syme--' " + +"Oh, shut it," said the man in spectacles. "Pull yourself +together, and chuck away that bit of paper. What are you really +going to do?" + +"But it was a lovely catechism," said Syme pathetically. "Do let +me read it you. It has only forty-three questions and answers, and +some of the Marquis's answers are wonderfully witty. I like to be +just to my enemy." + +"But what's the good of it all?" asked Dr. Bull in exasperation. + +"It leads up to my challenge, don't you see," said Syme, beaming. +"When the Marquis has given the thirty-ninth reply, which runs--" + +"Has it by any chance occurred to you," asked the Professor, with +a ponderous simplicity, "that the Marquis may not say all the +forty-three things you have put down for him? In that case, I +understand, your own epigrams may appear somewhat more forced." + +Syme struck the table with a radiant face. + +"Why, how true that is," he said, "and I never thought of it. Sir, +you have an intellect beyond the common. You will make a name." + +"Oh, you're as drunk as an owl!" said the Doctor. + +"It only remains," continued Syme quite unperturbed, "to adopt +some other method of breaking the ice (if I may so express it) +between myself and the man I wish to kill. And since the course of +a dialogue cannot be predicted by one of its parties alone (as you +have pointed out with such recondite acumen), the only thing to be +done, I suppose, is for the one party, as far as possible, to do +all the dialogue by himself. And so I will, by George!" And he +stood up suddenly, his yellow hair blowing in the slight sea +breeze. + +A band was playing in a cafe chantant hidden somewhere among the +trees, and a woman had just stopped singing. On Syme's heated head +the bray of the brass band seemed like the jar and jingle of that +barrel-organ in Leicester Square, to the tune of which he had once +stood up to die. He looked across to the little table where the +Marquis sat. The man had two companions now, solemn Frenchmen in +frock-coats and silk hats, one of them with the red rosette of the +Legion of Honour, evidently people of a solid social position. +Besides these black, cylindrical costumes, the Marquis, in his +loose straw hat and light spring clothes, looked Bohemian and even +barbaric; but he looked the Marquis. Indeed, one might say that he +looked the king, with his animal elegance, his scornful eyes, and +his proud head lifted against the purple sea. But he was no +Christian king, at any rate; he was, rather, some swarthy despot, +half Greek, half Asiatic, who in the days when slavery seemed +natural looked down on the Mediterranean, on his galley and his +groaning slaves. Just so, Syme thought, would the brown-gold face +of such a tyrant have shown against the dark green olives and the +burning blue. + +"Are you going to address the meeting?" asked the Professor +peevishly, seeing that Syme still stood up without moving. + +Syme drained his last glass of sparkling wine. + +"I am," he said, pointing across to the Marquis and his companions, +"that meeting. That meeting displeases me. I am going to pull that +meeting's great ugly, mahogany-coloured nose." + +He stepped across swiftly, if not quite steadily. The Marquis, +seeing him, arched his black Assyrian eyebrows in surprise, but +smiled politely. + +"You are Mr. Syme, I think," he said. + +Syme bowed. + +"And you are the Marquis de Saint Eustache," he said gracefully. +"Permit me to pull your nose." + +He leant over to do so, but the Marquis started backwards, +upsetting his chair, and the two men in top hats held Syme back +by the shoulders. + +"This man has insulted me!" said Syme, with gestures of +explanation. + +"Insulted you?" cried the gentleman with the red rosette, "when?" + +"Oh, just now," said Syme recklessly. "He insulted my mother." + +"Insulted your mother!" exclaimed the gentleman incredulously. + +"Well, anyhow," said Syme, conceding a point, "my aunt." + +"But how can the Marquis have insulted your aunt just now?" said +the second gentleman with some legitimate wonder. "He has been +sitting here all the time." + +"Ah, it was what he said!" said Syme darkly. + +"I said nothing at all," said the Marquis, "except something +about the band. I only said that I liked Wagner played well." + +"It was an allusion to my family," said Syme firmly. "My aunt +played Wagner badly. It was a painful subject. We are always +being insulted about it." + +"This seems most extraordinary," said the gentleman who was +decore, looking doubtfully at the Marquis. + +"Oh, I assure you," said Syme earnestly, "the whole of your +conversation was simply packed with sinister allusions to my +aunt's weaknesses." + +"This is nonsense!" said the second gentleman. "I for one have +said nothing for half an hour except that I liked the singing of +that girl with black hair." + +"Well, there you are again!" said Syme indignantly. "My aunt's was +red." + +"It seems to me," said the other, "that you are simply seeking a +pretext to insult the Marquis." + +"By George!" said Syme, facing round and looking at him, "what a +clever chap you are!" + +The Marquis started up with eyes flaming like a tiger's. + +"Seeking a quarrel with me!" he cried. "Seeking a fight with me! By +God! there was never a man who had to seek long. These gentlemen +will perhaps act for me. There are still four hours of daylight. +Let us fight this evening." + +Syme bowed with a quite beautiful graciousness. + +"Marquis," he said, "your action is worthy of your fame and blood. +Permit me to consult for a moment with the gentlemen in whose +hands I shall place myself." + +In three long strides he rejoined his companions, and they, who +had seen his champagne-inspired attack and listened to his idiotic +explanations, were quite startled at the look of him. For now that +he came back to them he was quite sober, a little pale, and he +spoke in a low voice of passionate practicality. + +"I have done it," he said hoarsely. "I have fixed a fight on the +beast. But look here, and listen carefully. There is no time for +talk. You are my seconds, and everything must come from you. Now +you must insist, and insist absolutely, on the duel coming off +after seven tomorrow, so as to give me the chance of preventing him +from catching the 7.45 for Paris. If he misses that he misses his +crime. He can't refuse to meet you on such a small point of time +and place. But this is what he will do. He will choose a field +somewhere near a wayside station, where he can pick up the train. +He is a very good swordsman, and he will trust to killing me in +time to catch it. But I can fence well too, and I think I can keep +him in play, at any rate, until the train is lost. Then perhaps he +may kill me to console his feelings. You understand? Very well +then, let me introduce you to some charming friends of mine," and +leading them quickly across the parade, he presented them to the +Marquis's seconds by two very aristocratic names of which they had +not previously heard. + +Syme was subject to spasms of singular common sense, not otherwise +a part of his character. They were (as he said of his impulse about +the spectacles) poetic intuitions, and they sometimes rose to the +exaltation of prophecy. + +He had correctly calculated in this case the policy of his +opponent. When the Marquis was informed by his seconds that Syme +could only fight in the morning, he must fully have realised that +an obstacle had suddenly arisen between him and his bomb-throwing +business in the capital. Naturally he could not explain this +objection to his friends, so he chose the course which Syme had +predicted. He induced his seconds to settle on a small meadow not +far from the railway, and he trusted to the fatality of the first +engagement. + +When he came down very coolly to the field of honour, no one could +have guessed that he had any anxiety about a journey; his hands +were in his pockets, his straw hat on the back of his head, his +handsome face brazen in the sun. But it might have struck a +stranger as odd that there appeared in his train, not only his +seconds carrying the sword-case, but two of his servants carrying +a portmanteau and a luncheon basket. + +Early as was the hour, the sun soaked everything in warmth, and +Syme was vaguely surprised to see so many spring flowers burning +gold and silver in the tall grass in which the whole company stood +almost knee-deep. + +With the exception of the Marquis, all the men were in sombre and +solemn morning-dress, with hats like black chimney-pots; the little +Doctor especially, with the addition of his black spectacles, +looked like an undertaker in a farce. Syme could not help feeling a +comic contrast between this funereal church parade of apparel and +the rich and glistening meadow, growing wild flowers everywhere. +But, indeed, this comic contrast between the yellow blossoms and +the black hats was but a symbol of the tragic contrast between the +yellow blossoms and the black business. On his right was a little +wood; far away to his left lay the long curve of the railway line, +which he was, so to speak, guarding from the Marquis, whose goal +and escape it was. In front of him, behind the black group of his +opponents, he could see, like a tinted cloud, a small almond bush +in flower against the faint line of the sea. + +The member of the Legion of Honour, whose name it seemed was +Colonel Ducroix, approached the Professor and Dr. Bull with great +politeness, and suggested that the play should terminate with the +first considerable hurt. + +Dr. Bull, however, having been carefully coached by Syme upon this +point of policy, insisted, with great dignity and in very bad +French, that it should continue until one of the combatants was +disabled. Syme had made up his mind that he could avoid disabling +the Marquis and prevent the Marquis from disabling him for at +least twenty minutes. In twenty minutes the Paris train would have +gone by. + +"To a man of the well-known skill and valour of Monsieur de St. +Eustache," said the Professor solemnly, "it must be a matter of +indifference which method is adopted, and our principal has strong +reasons for demanding the longer encounter, reasons the delicacy +of which prevent me from being explicit, but for the just and +honourable nature of which I can--" + +"Peste!" broke from the Marquis behind, whose face had suddenly +darkened, "let us stop talking and begin," and he slashed off the +head of a tall flower with his stick. + +Syme understood his rude impatience and instinctively looked over +his shoulder to see whether the train was coming in sight. But +there was no smoke on the horizon. + +Colonel Ducroix knelt down and unlocked the case, taking out a +pair of twin swords, which took the sunlight and turned to two +streaks of white fire. He offered one to the Marquis, who snatched +it without ceremony, and another to Syme, who took it, bent it, +and poised it with as much delay as was consistent with dignity. + +Then the Colonel took out another pair of blades, and taking one +himself and giving another to Dr. Bull, proceeded to place the +men. + +Both combatants had thrown off their coats and waistcoats, and +stood sword in hand. The seconds stood on each side of the line +of fight with drawn swords also, but still sombre in their dark +frock-coats and hats. The principals saluted. The Colonel said +quietly, "Engage!" and the two blades touched and tingled. + +When the jar of the joined iron ran up Syme's arm, all the +fantastic fears that have been the subject of this story fell +from him like dreams from a man waking up in bed. He remembered +them clearly and in order as mere delusions of the nerves--how +the fear of the Professor had been the fear of the tyrannic +accidents of nightmare, and how the fear of the Doctor had been +the fear of the airless vacuum of science. The first was the old +fear that any miracle might happen, the second the more hopeless +modern fear that no miracle can ever happen. But he saw that +these fears were fancies, for he found himself in the presence of +the great fact of the fear of death, with its coarse and pitiless +common sense. He felt like a man who had dreamed all night of +falling over precipices, and had woke up on the morning when he +was to be hanged. For as soon as he had seen the sunlight run +down the channel of his foe's foreshortened blade, and as soon as +he had felt the two tongues of steel touch, vibrating like two +living things, he knew that his enemy was a terrible fighter, and +that probably his last hour had come. + +He felt a strange and vivid value in all the earth around him, in +the grass under his feet; he felt the love of life in all living +things. He could almost fancy that he heard the grass growing; he +could almost fancy that even as he stood fresh flowers were +springing up and breaking into blossom in the meadow--flowers blood +red and burning gold and blue, fulfilling the whole pageant of the +spring. And whenever his eyes strayed for a flash from the calm, +staring, hypnotic eyes of the Marquis, they saw the little tuft of +almond tree against the sky-line. He had the feeling that if by +some miracle he escaped he would be ready to sit for ever before +that almond tree, desiring nothing else in the world. + +But while earth and sky and everything had the living beauty of a +thing lost, the other half of his head was as clear as glass, and +he was parrying his enemy's point with a kind of clockwork skill of +which he had hardly supposed himself capable. Once his enemy's +point ran along his wrist, leaving a slight streak of blood, but it +either was not noticed or was tacitly ignored. Every now and then +he riposted, and once or twice he could almost fancy that he felt +his point go home, but as there was no blood on blade or shirt he +supposed he was mistaken. Then came an interruption and a change. + +At the risk of losing all, the Marquis, interrupting his quiet +stare, flashed one glance over his shoulder at the line of railway +on his right. Then he turned on Syme a face transfigured to that of +a fiend, and began to fight as if with twenty weapons. The attack +came so fast and furious, that the one shining sword seemed a +shower of shining arrows. Syme had no chance to look at the +railway; but also he had no need. He could guess the reason of the +Marquis's sudden madness of battle--the Paris train was in sight. + +But the Marquis's morbid energy over-reached itself. Twice Syme, +parrying, knocked his opponent's point far out of the fighting +circle; and the third time his riposte was so rapid, that there +was no doubt about the hit this time. Syme's sword actually bent +under the weight of the Marquis's body, which it had pierced. + +Syme was as certain that he had stuck his blade into his enemy as +a gardener that he has stuck his spade into the ground. Yet the +Marquis sprang back from the stroke without a stagger, and Syme +stood staring at his own sword-point like an idiot. There was no +blood on it at all. + +There was an instant of rigid silence, and then Syme in his turn +fell furiously on the other, filled with a flaming curiosity. The +Marquis was probably, in a general sense, a better fencer than he, +as he had surmised at the beginning, but at the moment the Marquis +seemed distraught and at a disadvantage. He fought wildly and even +weakly, and he constantly looked away at the railway line, almost +as if he feared the train more than the pointed steel. Syme, on the +other hand, fought fiercely but still carefully, in an intellectual +fury, eager to solve the riddle of his own bloodless sword. For +this purpose, he aimed less at the Marquis's body, and more at his +throat and head. A minute and a half afterwards he felt his point +enter the man's neck below the jaw. It came out clean. Half mad, he +thrust again, and made what should have been a bloody scar on the +Marquis's cheek. But there was no scar. + +For one moment the heaven of Syme again grew black with +supernatural terrors. Surely the man had a charmed life. But this +new spiritual dread was a more awful thing than had been the mere +spiritual topsy-turvydom symbolised by the paralytic who pursued +him. The Professor was only a goblin; this man was a devil--perhaps +he was the Devil! Anyhow, this was certain, that three times had a +human sword been driven into him and made no mark. When Syme had +that thought he drew himself up, and all that was good in him sang +high up in the air as a high wind sings in the trees. He thought of +all the human things in his story--of the Chinese lanterns in +Saffron Park, of the girl's red hair in the garden, of the honest, +beer-swilling sailors down by the dock, of his loyal companions +standing by. Perhaps he had been chosen as a champion of all these +fresh and kindly things to cross swords with the enemy of all +creation. "After all," he said to himself, "I am more than a devil; +I am a man. I can do the one thing which Satan himself cannot do--I +can die," and as the word went through his head, he heard a faint +and far-off hoot, which would soon be the roar of the Paris train. + +He fell to fighting again with a supernatural levity, like a +Mohammedan panting for Paradise. As the train came nearer and +nearer he fancied he could see people putting up the floral +arches in Paris; he joined in the growing noise and the glory of +the great Republic whose gate he was guarding against Hell. His +thoughts rose higher and higher with the rising roar of the +train, which ended, as if proudly, in a long and piercing +whistle. The train stopped. + +Suddenly, to the astonishment of everyone the Marquis sprang back +quite out of sword reach and threw down his sword. The leap was +wonderful, and not the less wonderful because Syme had plunged his +sword a moment before into the man's thigh. + +"Stop!" said the Marquis in a voice that compelled a momentary +obedience. "I want to say something." + +"What is the matter?" asked Colonel Ducroix, staring. "Has there +been foul play?" + +"There has been foul play somewhere," said Dr. Bull, who was a +little pale. "Our principal has wounded the Marquis four times +at least, and he is none the worse ." + +The Marquis put up his hand with a curious air of ghastly +patience. + +"Please let me speak," he said. "It is rather important. Mr. +Syme," he continued, turning to his opponent, "we are fighting +today, if I remember right, because you expressed a wish (which +I thought irrational) to pull my nose. Would you oblige me by +pulling my nose now as quickly as possible? I have to catch a +train." + +"I protest that this is most irregular," said Dr. Bull +indignantly. + +"It is certainly somewhat opposed to precedent," said Colonel +Ducroix, looking wistfully at his principal. "There is, I think, +one case on record (Captain Bellegarde and the Baron Zumpt) in +which the weapons were changed in the middle of the encounter at +the request of one of the combatants. But one can hardly call +one's nose a weapon." + +"Will you or will you not pull my nose?" said the Marquis in +exasperation. "Come, come, Mr. Syme! You wanted to do it, do it! +You can have no conception of how important it is to me. Don't be +so selfish! Pull my nose at once, when I ask you!" and he bent +slightly forward with a fascinating smile. The Paris train, +panting and groaning, had grated into a little station behind the +neighbouring hill. + +Syme had the feeling he had more than once had in these adventures +--the sense that a horrible and sublime wave lifted to heaven was +just toppling over. Walking in a world he half understood, he took +two paces forward and seized the Roman nose of this remarkable +nobleman. He pulled it hard, and it came off in his hand. + +He stood for some seconds with a foolish solemnity, with the +pasteboard proboscis still between his fingers, looking at it, +while the sun and the clouds and the wooded hills looked down +upon this imbecile scene. + +The Marquis broke the silence in a loud and cheerful voice. + +"If anyone has any use for my left eyebrow," he said, "he can have +it. Colonel Ducroix, do accept my left eyebrow! It's the kind of +thing that might come in useful any day," and he gravely tore off +one of his swarthy Assyrian brows, bringing about half his brown +forehead with it, and politely offered it to the Colonel, who +stood crimson and speechless with rage. + +"If I had known," he spluttered, "that I was acting for a poltroon +who pads himself to fight--" + +"Oh, I know, I know!" said the Marquis, recklessly throwing various +parts of himself right and left about the field. "You are making a +mistake; but it can't be explained just now. I tell you the train +has come into the station!" + +"Yes," said Dr. Bull fiercely, "and the train shall go out of the +station. It shall go out without you. We know well enough for what +devil's work--" + +The mysterious Marquis lifted his hands with a desperate gesture. +He was a strange scarecrow standing there in the sun with half his +old face peeled off, and half another face glaring and grinning +from underneath. + +"Will you drive me mad?" he cried. "The train--" + +"You shall not go by the train," said Syme firmly, and grasped his +sword. + +The wild figure turned towards Syme, and seemed to be gathering +itself for a sublime effort before speaking. + +"You great fat, blasted, blear-eyed, blundering, thundering, +brainless, Godforsaken, doddering, damned fool!" he said without +taking breath. "You great silly, pink-faced, towheaded turnip! +You--" + +"You shall not go by this train," repeated Syme. + +"And why the infernal blazes," roared the other, "should I want to +go by the train?" + +"We know all," said the Professor sternly. "You are going to Paris +to throw a bomb!" + +"Going to Jericho to throw a Jabberwock!" cried the other, tearing +his hair, which came off easily. + +"Have you all got softening of the brain, that you don't realise +what I am? Did you really think I wanted to catch that train? +Twenty Paris trains might go by for me. Damn Paris trains!" + +"Then what did you care about?" began the Professor. + +"What did I care about? I didn't care about catching the train; I +cared about whether the train caught me, and now, by God! it has +caught me." + +"I regret to inform you," said Syme with restraint, "that your +remarks convey no impression to my mind. Perhaps if you were to +remove the remains of your original forehead and some portion of +what was once your chin, your meaning would become clearer. Mental +lucidity fulfils itself in many ways. What do you mean by saying +that the train has caught you? It may be my literary fancy, but +somehow I feel that it ought to mean something." + +"It means everything," said the other, "and the end of everything. +Sunday has us now in the hollow of his hand." + +"Us!" repeated the Professor, as if stupefied. "What do you mean by +'us'?" + +"The police, of course!" said the Marquis, and tore off his scalp +and half his face. + +The head which emerged was the blonde, well brushed, smooth-haired +head which is common in the English constabulary, but the face was +terribly pale. + +"I am Inspector Ratcliffe," he said, with a sort of haste that +verged on harshness. "My name is pretty well known to the police, +and I can see well enough that you belong to them. But if there is +any doubt about my position, I have a card" and he began to pull a +blue card from his pocket. + +The Professor gave a tired gesture. + +"Oh, don't show it us," he said wearily; "we've got enough of them +to equip a paper-chase." + +The little man named Bull, had, like many men who seem to be of a +mere vivacious vulgarity, sudden movements of good taste. Here he +certainly saved the situation. In the midst of this staggering +transformation scene he stepped forward with all the gravity and +responsibility of a second, and addressed the two seconds of the +Marquis. + +"Gentlemen," he said, "we all owe you a serious apology; but I +assure you that you have not been made the victims of such a low +joke as you imagine, or indeed of anything undignified in a man of +honour. You have not wasted your time; you have helped to save the +world. We are not buffoons, but very desperate men at war with a +vast conspiracy. A secret society of anarchists is hunting us like +hares; not such unfortunate madmen as may here or there throw a +bomb through starvation or German philosophy, but a rich and +powerful and fanatical church, a church of eastern pessimism, which +holds it holy to destroy mankind like vermin. How hard they hunt us +you can gather from the fact that we are driven to such disguises +as those for which I apologise, and to such pranks as this one by +which you suffer." + +The younger second of the Marquis, a short man with a black +moustache, bowed politely, and said-- + +"Of course, I accept the apology; but you will in your turn forgive +me if I decline to follow you further into your difficulties, and +permit myself to say good morning! The sight of an acquaintance and +distinguished fellow-townsman coming to pieces in the open air is +unusual, and, upon the whole, sufficient for one day. Colonel +Ducroix, I would in no way influence your actions, but if you feel +with me that our present society is a little abnormal, I am now +going to walk back to the town." + +Colonel Ducroix moved mechanically, but then tugged abruptly at his +white moustache and broke out-- + +"No, by George! I won't. If these gentlemen are really in a mess +with a lot of low wreckers like that, I'll see them through it. I +have fought for France, and it is hard if I can't fight for +civilization." + +Dr. Bull took off his hat and waved it, cheering as at a public +meeting. + +"Don't make too much noise," said Inspector Ratcliffe, "Sunday may +hear you." + +"Sunday!" cried Bull, and dropped his hat. + +"Yes," retorted Ratcliffe, "he may be with them." + +"With whom?" asked Syme. + +"With the people out of that train," said the other. + +"What you say seems utterly wild," began Syme. "Why, as a matter of +fact--But, my God," he cried out suddenly, like a man who sees an +explosion a long way off, "by God! if this is true the whole bally +lot of us on the Anarchist Council were against anarchy! Every born +man was a detective except the President and his personal +secretary. What can it mean?" + +"Mean!" said the new policeman with incredible violence. "It means +that we are struck dead! Don't you know Sunday? Don't you know that +his jokes are always so big and simple that one has never thought +of them? Can you think of anything more like Sunday than this, that +he should put all his powerful enemies on the Supreme Council, and +then take care that it was not supreme? I tell you he has bought +every trust, he has captured every cable, he has control of every +railway line--especially of that railway line!" and he pointed a +shaking finger towards the small wayside station. "The whole +movement was controlled by him; half the world was ready to rise +for him. But there were just five people, perhaps, who would have +resisted him . . . and the old devil put them on the Supreme +Council, to waste their time in watching each other. Idiots that +we are, he planned the whole of our idiocies! Sunday knew that the +Professor would chase Syme through London, and that Syme would +fight me in France. And he was combining great masses of capital, +and seizing great lines of telegraphy, while we five idiots were +running after each other like a lot of confounded babies playing +blind man's buff." + +"Well?" asked Syme with a sort of steadiness. + +"Well," replied the other with sudden serenity, "he has found us +playing blind man's buff today in a field of great rustic beauty +and extreme solitude. He has probably captured the world; it only +remains to him to capture this field and all the fools in it. And +since you really want to know what was my objection to the arrival +of that train, I will tell you. My objection was that Sunday or his +Secretary has just this moment got out of it." + +Syme uttered an involuntary cry, and they all turned their eyes +towards the far-off station. It was quite true that a considerable +bulk of people seemed to be moving in their direction. But they +were too distant to be distinguished in any way. + +"It was a habit of the late Marquis de St. Eustache," said the new +policeman, producing a leather case, "always to carry a pair of +opera glasses. Either the President or the Secretary is coming +after us with that mob. They have caught us in a nice quiet place +where we are under no temptations to break our oaths by calling +the police. Dr. Bull, I have a suspicion that you will see better +through these than through your own highly decorative spectacles." + +He handed the field-glasses to the Doctor, who immediately took +off his spectacles and put the apparatus to his eyes. + +"It cannot be as bad as you say," said the Professor, somewhat +shaken. "There are a good number of them certainly, but they may +easily be ordinary tourists." + +"Do ordinary tourists," asked Bull, with the fieldglasses to his +eyes, "wear black masks half-way down the face?" + +Syme almost tore the glasses out of his hand, and looked through +them. Most men in the advancing mob really looked ordinary enough; +but it was quite true that two or three of the leaders in front +wore black half-masks almost down to their mouths. This disguise +is very complete, especially at such a distance, and Syme found +it impossible to conclude anything from the clean-shaven jaws and +chins of the men talking in the front. But presently as they +talked they all smiled and one of them smiled on one side. + + + +CHAPTER XI + +THE CRIMINALS CHASE THE POLICE + +SYME put the field-glasses from his eyes with an almost ghastly +relief. + +"The President is not with them, anyhow," he said, and wiped his +forehead. + +"But surely they are right away on the horizon," said the +bewildered Colonel, blinking and but half recovered from Bull's +hasty though polite explanation. "Could you possibly know your +President among all those people?" + +"Could I know a white elephant among all those people!" answered +Syme somewhat irritably. "As you very truly say, they are on the +horizon; but if he were walking with them . . . by God! I believe +this ground would shake." + +After an instant's pause the new man called Ratcliffe said with +gloomy decision-- + +"Of course the President isn't with them. I wish to Gemini he were. +Much more likely the President is riding in triumph through Paris, +or sitting on the ruins of St. Paul's Cathedral." + +"This is absurd!" said Syme. "Something may have happened in our +absence; but he cannot have carried the world with a rush like +that. It is quite true," he added, frowning dubiously at the +distant fields that lay towards the little station, "it is +certainly true that there seems to be a crowd coming this way; +but they are not all the army that you make out." + +"Oh, they," said the new detective contemptuously; "no they are +not a very valuable force. But let me tell you frankly that they +are precisely calculated to our value--we are not much, my boy, +in Sunday's universe. He has got hold of all the cables and +telegraphs himself. But to kill the Supreme Council he regards as +a trivial matter, like a post card; it may be left to his private +secretary," and he spat on the grass. + +Then he turned to the others and said somewhat austerely-- + +"There is a great deal to be said for death; but if anyone has +any preference for the other alternative, I strongly advise him +to walk after me." + +With these words, he turned his broad back and strode with silent +energy towards the wood. The others gave one glance over their +shoulders, and saw that the dark cloud of men had detached itself +from the station and was moving with a mysterious discipline +across the plain. They saw already, even with the naked eye, black +blots on the foremost faces, which marked the masks they wore. +They turned and followed their leader, who had already struck the +wood, and disappeared among the twinkling trees. + +The sun on the grass was dry and hot. So in plunging into the wood +they had a cool shock of shadow, as of divers who plunge into a +dim pool. The inside of the wood was full of shattered sunlight +and shaken shadows. They made a sort of shuddering veil, almost +recalling the dizziness of a cinematograph. Even the solid figures +walking with him Syme could hardly see for the patterns of sun and +shade that danced upon them. Now a man's head was lit as with a +light of Rembrandt, leaving all else obliterated; now again he had +strong and staring white hands with the face of a negro. The +ex-Marquis had pulled the old straw hat over his eyes, and the +black shade of the brim cut his face so squarely in two that it +seemed to be wearing one of the black half-masks of their pursuers. +The fancy tinted Syme's overwhelming sense of wonder. Was he +wearing a mask? Was anyone wearing a mask? Was anyone anything? +This wood of witchery, in which men's faces turned black and white +by turns, in which their figures first swelled into sunlight and +then faded into formless night, this mere chaos of chiaroscuro +(after the clear daylight outside), seemed to Syme a perfect symbol +of the world in which he had been moving for three days, this world +where men took off their beards and their spectacles and their +noses, and turned into other people. That tragic self-confidence +which he had felt when he believed that the Marquis was a devil +had strangely disappeared now that he knew that the Marquis was +a friend. He felt almost inclined to ask after all these +bewilderments what was a friend and what an enemy. Was there +anything that was apart from what it seemed? The Marquis had taken +off his nose and turned out to be a detective. Might he not just +as well take off his head and turn out to be a hobgoblin? Was not +everything, after all, like this bewildering woodland, this dance +of dark and light? Everything only a glimpse, the glimpse always +unforeseen, and always forgotten. For Gabriel Syme had found in +the heart of that sun-splashed wood what many modern painters had +found there. He had found the thing which the modern people call +Impressionism, which is another name for that final scepticism +which can find no floor to the universe. + +As a man in an evil dream strains himself to scream and wake, Syme +strove with a sudden effort to fling off this last and worst of +his fancies. With two impatient strides he overtook the man in the +Marquis's straw hat, the man whom he had come to address as +Ratcliffe. In a voice exaggeratively loud and cheerful, he broke +the bottomless silence and made conversation. + +"May I ask," he said, "where on earth we are all going to?" + +So genuine had been the doubts of his soul, that he was quite glad +to hear his companion speak in an easy, human voice. + +"We must get down through the town of Lancy to the sea," he said. +"I think that part of the country is least likely to be with +them." + +"What can you mean by all this?" cried Syme. "They can't be +running the real world in that way. Surely not many working men +are anarchists, and surely if they were, mere mobs could not beat +modern armies and police." + +"Mere mobs!" repeated his new friend with a snort of scorn. "So +you talk about mobs and the working classes as if they were the +question. You've got that eternal idiotic idea that if anarchy +came it would come from the poor. Why should it? The poor have +been rebels, but they have never been anarchists; they have more +interest than anyone else in there being some decent government. +The poor man really has a stake in the country. The rich man +hasn't; he can go away to New Guinea in a yacht. The poor have +sometimes objected to being governed badly; the rich have always +objected to being governed at all. Aristocrats were always +anarchists, as you can see from the barons' wars." + +"As a lecture on English history for the little ones," said Syme, +"this is all very nice; but I have not yet grasped its application." + +"Its application is," said his informant, "that most of old Sunday's +right-hand men are South African and American millionaires. That is +why he has got hold of all the communications; and that is why the +last four champions of the anti-anarchist police force are running +through a wood like rabbits." + +"Millionaires I can understand," said Syme thoughtfully, "they are +nearly all mad. But getting hold of a few wicked old gentlemen with +hobbies is one thing; getting hold of great Christian nations is +another. I would bet the nose off my face (forgive the allusion) +that Sunday would stand perfectly helpless before the task of +converting any ordinary healthy person anywhere." + +"Well," said the other, "it rather depends what sort of person you +mean." + +"Well, for instance," said Syme, "he could never convert that +person," and he pointed straight in front of him. + +They had come to an open space of sunlight, which seemed to express +to Syme the final return of his own good sense; and in the middle +of this forest clearing was a figure that might well stand for that +common sense in an almost awful actuality. Burnt by the sun and +stained with perspiration, and grave with the bottomless gravity of +small necessary toils, a heavy French peasant was cutting wood with +a hatchet. His cart stood a few yards off, already half full of +timber; and the horse that cropped the grass was, like his master, +valorous but not desperate; like his master, he was even +prosperous, but yet was almost sad. The man was a Norman, taller +than the average of the French and very angular; and his swarthy +figure stood dark against a square of sunlight, almost like some +allegoric figure of labour frescoed on a ground of gold. + +"Mr. Syme is saying," called out Ratcliffe to the French Colonel, +"that this man, at least, will never be an anarchist." + +"Mr. Syme is right enough there," answered Colonel Ducroix, +laughing, "if only for the reason that he has plenty of property +to defend. But I forgot that in your country you are not used to +peasants being wealthy." + +"He looks poor," said Dr. Bull doubtfully. + +"Quite so," said the Colonel; "that is why he is rich." + +"I have an idea," called out Dr. Bull suddenly; "how much would he +take to give us a lift in his cart? Those dogs are all on foot, and +we could soon leave them behind." + +"Oh, give him anything!" said Syme eagerly. "I have piles of money +on me." + +"That will never do," said the Colonel; "he will never have any +respect for you unless you drive a bargain." + +"Oh, if he haggles!" began Bull impatiently. + +"He haggles because he is a free man," said the other. "You do +not understand; he would not see the meaning of generosity. He is +not being tipped." + +And even while they seemed to hear the heavy feet of their strange +pursuers behind them, they had to stand and stamp while the French +Colonel talked to the French wood-cutter with all the leisurely +badinage and bickering of market-day. At the end of the four +minutes, however, they saw that the Colonel was right, for the +wood-cutter entered into their plans, not with the vague servility +of a tout too-well paid, but with the seriousness of a solicitor +who had been paid the proper fee. He told them that the best thing +they could do was to make their way down to the little inn on the +hills above Lancy, where the innkeeper, an old soldier who had +become devot in his latter years, would be certain to sympathise +with them, and even to take risks in their support. The whole +company, therefore, piled themselves on top of the stacks of wood, +and went rocking in the rude cart down the other and steeper side +of the woodland. Heavy and ramshackle as was the vehicle, it was +driven quickly enough, and they soon had the exhilarating +impression of distancing altogether those, whoever they were, who +were hunting them. For, after all, the riddle as to where the +anarchists had got all these followers was still unsolved. One +man's presence had sufficed for them; they had fled at the first +sight of the deformed smile of the Secretary. Syme every now and +then looked back over his shoulder at the army on their track. + +As the wood grew first thinner and then smaller with distance, he +could see the sunlit slopes beyond it and above it; and across +these was still moving the square black mob like one monstrous +beetle. In the very strong sunlight and with his own very strong +eyes, which were almost telescopic, Syme could see this mass of +men quite plainly. He could see them as separate human figures; +but he was increasingly surprised by the way in which they moved +as one man. They seemed to be dressed in dark clothes and plain +hats, like any common crowd out of the streets; but they did not +spread and sprawl and trail by various lines to the attack, as +would be natural in an ordinary mob. They moved with a sort of +dreadful and wicked woodenness, like a staring army of automatons. + +Syme pointed this out to Ratcliffe. + +"Yes," replied the policeman, "that's discipline. That's Sunday. He +is perhaps five hundred miles off, but the fear of him is on all of +them, like the finger of God. Yes, they are walking regularly; and +you bet your boots that they are talking regularly, yes, and +thinking regularly. But the one important thing for us is that they +are disappearing regularly." + +Syme nodded. It was true that the black patch of the pursuing men +was growing smaller and smaller as the peasant belaboured his +horse. + +The level of the sunlit landscape, though flat as a whole, fell +away on the farther side of the wood in billows of heavy slope +towards the sea, in a way not unlike the lower slopes of the +Sussex downs. The only difference was that in Sussex the road +would have been broken and angular like a little brook, but +here the white French road fell sheer in front of them like a +waterfall. Down this direct descent the cart clattered at a +considerable angle, and in a few minutes, the road growing yet +steeper, they saw below them the little harbour of Lancy and a +great blue arc of the sea. The travelling cloud of their enemies +had wholly disappeared from the horizon. + +The horse and cart took a sharp turn round a clump of elms, and +the horse's nose nearly struck the face of an old gentleman who +was sitting on the benches outside the little cafe of "Le Soleil +d'Or." The peasant grunted an apology, and got down from his +seat. The others also descended one by one, and spoke to the old +gentleman with fragmentary phrases of courtesy, for it was quite +evident from his expansive manner that he was the owner of the +little tavern. + +He was a white-haired, apple-faced old boy, with sleepy eyes and +a grey moustache; stout, sedentary, and very innocent, of a type +that may often be found in France, but is still commoner in +Catholic Germany. Everything about him, his pipe, his pot of beer, +his flowers, and his beehive, suggested an ancestral peace; only +when his visitors looked up as they entered the inn-parlour, they +saw the sword upon the wall. + +The Colonel, who greeted the innkeeper as an old friend, passed +rapidly into the inn-parlour, and sat down ordering some ritual +refreshment. The military decision of his action interested Syme, +who sat next to him, and he took the opportunity when the old +innkeeper had gone out of satisfying his curiosity. + +"May I ask you, Colonel," he said in a low voice, "why we have +come here?" + +Colonel Ducroix smiled behind his bristly white moustache. + +"For two reasons, sir," he said; "and I will give first, not the +most important, but the most utilitarian. We came here because +this is the only place within twenty miles in which we can get +horses." + +"Horses!" repeated Syme, looking up quickly. + +"Yes," replied the other; "if you people are really to distance +your enemies it is horses or nothing for you, unless of course +you have bicycles and motor-cars in your pocket." + +"And where do you advise us to make for?" asked Syme doubtfully. + +"Beyond question," replied the Colonel, "you had better make all +haste to the police station beyond the town. My friend, whom I +seconded under somewhat deceptive circumstances, seems to me to +exaggerate very much the possibilities of a general rising; but +even he would hardly maintain, I suppose, that you were not safe +with the gendarmes." + +Syme nodded gravely; then he said abruptly-- + +"And your other reason for coming here?" + +"My other reason for coming here," said Ducroix soberly, "is that +it is just as well to see a good man or two when one is possibly +near to death." + +Syme looked up at the wall, and saw a crudely-painted and pathetic +religious picture. Then he said-- + +"You are right," and then almost immediately afterwards, "Has +anyone seen about the horses?" + +"Yes," answered Ducroix, "you may be quite certain that I gave +orders the moment I came in. Those enemies of yours gave no +impression of hurry, but they were really moving wonderfully fast, +like a well-trained army. I had no idea that the anarchists had so +much discipline. You have not a moment to waste." + +Almost as he spoke, the old innkeeper with the blue eyes and white +hair came ambling into the room, and announced that six horses +were saddled outside. + +By Ducroix's advice the five others equipped themselves with some +portable form of food and wine, and keeping their duelling swords +as the only weapons available, they clattered away down the steep, +white road. The two servants, who had carried the Marquis's +luggage when he was a marquis, were left behind to drink at the +cafe by common consent, and not at all against their own +inclination. + +By this time the afternoon sun was slanting westward, and by its +rays Syme could see the sturdy figure of the old innkeeper growing +smaller and smaller, but still standing and looking after them +quite silently, the sunshine in his silver hair. Syme had a fixed, +superstitious fancy, left in his mind by the chance phrase of the +Colonel, that this was indeed, perhaps, the last honest stranger +whom he should ever see upon the earth. + +He was still looking at this dwindling figure, which stood as a +mere grey blot touched with a white flame against the great green +wall of the steep down behind him. And as he stared over the top +of the down behind the innkeeper, there appeared an army of +black-clad and marching men. They seemed to hang above the good +man and his house like a black cloud of locusts. The horses had +been saddled none too soon. + + + +CHAPTER XII + +THE EARTH IN ANARCHY + +URGING the horses to a gallop, without respect to the rather +rugged descent of the road, the horsemen soon regained their +advantage over the men on the march, and at last the bulk of the +first buildings of Lancy cut off the sight of their pursuers. +Nevertheless, the ride had been a long one, and by the time they +reached the real town the west was warming with the colour and +quality of sunset. The Colonel suggested that, before making +finally for the police station, they should make the effort, in +passing, to attach to themselves one more individual who might be +useful. + +"Four out of the five rich men in this town," he said, "are common +swindlers. I suppose the proportion is pretty equal all over the +world. The fifth is a friend of mine, and a very fine fellow; and +what is even more important from our point of view, he owns a +motor-car." + +"I am afraid," said the Professor in his mirthful way, looking +back along the white road on which the black, crawling patch might +appear at any moment, "I am afraid we have hardly time for +afternoon calls." + +"Doctor Renard's house is only three minutes off," said the +Colonel. + +"Our danger," said Dr. Bull, "is not two minutes off." + +"Yes," said Syme, "if we ride on fast we must leave them behind, +for they are on foot." + +"He has a motor-car," said the Colonel. + +"But we may not get it," said Bull. + +"Yes, he is quite on your side." + +"But he might be out." + +"Hold your tongue," said Syme suddenly. "What is that noise?" + +For a second they all sat as still as equestrian statues, and +for a second--for two or three or four seconds--heaven and earth +seemed equally still. Then all their ears, in an agony of +attention, heard along the road that indescribable thrill and +throb that means only one thing--horses! + +The Colonel's face had an instantaneous change, as if lightning +had struck it, and yet left it scatheless. + +"They have done us," he said, with brief military irony. "Prepare +to receive cavalry!" + +"Where can they have got the horses?" asked Syme, as he +mechanically urged his steed to a canter. + +The Colonel was silent for a little, then he said in a strained +voice-- + +"I was speaking with strict accuracy when I said that the 'Soleil +d'Or' was the only place where one can get horses within twenty +miles." + +"No!" said Syme violently, "I don't believe he'd do it. Not with +all that white hair." + +"He may have been forced," said the Colonel gently. "They must be +at least a hundred strong, for which reason we are all going to +see my friend Renard, who has a motor-car." + +With these words he swung his horse suddenly round a street +corner, and went down the street with such thundering speed, that +the others, though already well at the gallop, had difficulty in +following the flying tail of his horse. + +Dr. Renard inhabited a high and comfortable house at the top of a +steep street, so that when the riders alighted at his door they +could once more see the solid green ridge of the hill, with the +white road across it, standing up above all the roofs of the town. +They breathed again to see that the road as yet was clear, and they +rang the bell. + +Dr. Renard was a beaming, brown-bearded man, a good example of that +silent but very busy professional class which France has preserved +even more perfectly than England. When the matter was explained to +him he pooh-poohed the panic of the ex-Marquis altogether; he said, +with the solid French scepticism, that there was no conceivable +probability of a general anarchist rising. "Anarchy," he said, +shrugging his shoulders, "it is childishness!" + +"Et ca," cried out the Colonel suddenly, pointing over the other's +shoulder, "and that is childishness, isn't it?" + +They all looked round, and saw a curve of black cavalry come +sweeping over the top of the hill with all the energy of Attila. +Swiftly as they rode, however, the whole rank still kept well +together, and they could see the black vizards of the first line +as level as a line of uniforms. But although the main black +square was the same, though travelling faster, there was now one +sensational difference which they could see clearly upon the slope +of the hill, as if upon a slanted map. The bulk of the riders were +in one block; but one rider flew far ahead of the column, and with +frantic movements of hand and heel urged his horse faster and +faster, so that one might have fancied that he was not the pursuer +but the pursued. But even at that great distance they could see +something so fanatical, so unquestionable in his figure, that they +knew it was the Secretary himself. "I am sorry to cut short a +cultured discussion," said the Colonel, "but can you lend me your +motor-car now, in two minutes?" + +"I have a suspicion that you are all mad," said Dr. Renard, smiling +sociably; "but God forbid that madness should in any way interrupt +friendship. Let us go round to the garage." + +Dr. Renard was a mild man with monstrous wealth; his rooms were +like the Musee de Cluny, and he had three motor-cars. These, +however, he seemed to use very sparingly, having the simple tastes +of the French middle class, and when his impatient friends came to +examine them, it took them some time to assure themselves that one +of them even could be made to work. This with some difficulty they +brought round into the street before the Doctor's house. When they +came out of the dim garage they were startled to find that +twilight had already fallen with the abruptness of night in the +tropics. Either they had been longer in the place than they +imagined, or some unusual canopy of cloud had gathered over the +town. They looked down the steep streets, and seemed to see a +slight mist coming up from the sea. + +"It is now or never," said Dr. Bull. "I hear horses." + +"No," corrected the Professor, "a horse." + +And as they listened, it was evident that the noise, rapidly +coming nearer on the rattling stones, was not the noise of the +whole cavalcade but that of the one horseman, who had left it +far behind--the insane Secretary. + +Syme's family, like most of those who end in the simple life, had +once owned a motor, and he knew all about them. He had leapt at +once into the chauffeur's seat, and with flushed face was wrenching +and tugging at the disused machinery. He bent his strength upon one +handle, and then said quite quietly-- + +"I am afraid it's no go." + +As he spoke, there swept round the corner a man rigid on his +rushing horse, with the rush and rigidity of an arrow. He had a +smile that thrust out his chin as if it were dislocated. He swept +alongside of the stationary car, into which its company had +crowded, and laid his hand on the front. It was the Secretary, +and his mouth went quite straight in the solemnity of triumph. + +Syme was leaning hard upon the steering wheel, and there was no +sound but the rumble of the other pursuers riding into the town. +Then there came quite suddenly a scream of scraping iron, and the +car leapt forward. It plucked the Secretary clean out of his +saddle, as a knife is whipped out of its sheath, trailed him +kicking terribly for twenty yards, and left him flung flat upon +the road far in front of his frightened horse. As the car took +the corner of the street with a splendid curve, they could just +see the other anarchists filling the street and raising their +fallen leader. + +"I can't understand why it has grown so dark," said the Professor +at last in a low voice. + +"Going to be a storm, I think," said Dr. Bull. "I say, it's a pity +we haven't got a light on this car, if only to see by." + +"We have," said the Colonel, and from the floor of the car he +fished up a heavy, old-fashioned, carved iron lantern with a light +inside it. It was obviously an antique, and it would seem as if +its original use had been in some way semi-religious, for there +was a rude moulding of a cross upon one of its sides. + +"Where on earth did you get that?" asked the Professor. + +"I got it where I got the car," answered the Colonel, chuckling, +"from my best friend. While our friend here was fighting with the +steering wheel, I ran up the front steps of the house and spoke to +Renard, who was standing in his own porch, you will remember. 'I +suppose,' I said, 'there's no time to get a lamp.' He looked up, +blinking amiably at the beautiful arched ceiling of his own front +hall. From this was suspended, by chains of exquisite ironwork, +this lantern, one of the hundred treasures of his treasure house. +By sheer force he tore the lamp out of his own ceiling, shattering +the painted panels, and bringing down two blue vases with his +violence. Then he handed me the iron lantern, and I put it in the +car. Was I not right when I said that Dr. Renard was worth +knowing?" + +"You were," said Syme seriously, and hung the heavy lantern over +the front. There was a certain allegory of their whole position +in the contrast between the modern automobile and its strange +ecclesiastical lamp. Hitherto they had passed through the quietest +part of the town, meeting at most one or two pedestrians, who could +give them no hint of the peace or the hostility of the place. Now, +however, the windows in the houses began one by one to be lit up, +giving a greater sense of habitation and humanity. Dr. Bull turned +to the new detective who had led their flight, and permitted +himself one of his natural and friendly smiles. + +"These lights make one feel more cheerful." + +Inspector Ratcliffe drew his brows together. + +"There is only one set of lights that make me more cheerful," he +said, "and they are those lights of the police station which I can +see beyond the town. Please God we may be there in ten minutes." + +Then all Bull's boiling good sense and optimism broke suddenly out +of him. + +"Oh, this is all raving nonsense!" he cried. "If you really think +that ordinary people in ordinary houses are anarchists, you must be +madder than an anarchist yourself. If we turned and fought these +fellows, the whole town would fight for us." + +"No," said the other with an immovable simplicity, "the whole town +would fight for them. We shall see." + +While they were speaking the Professor had leant forward with +sudden excitement. + +"What is that noise?" he said. + +"Oh, the horses behind us, I suppose," said the Colonel. "I thought +we had got clear of them." + +"The horses behind us! No," said the Professor, "it is not horses, +and it is not behind us." + +Almost as he spoke, across the end of the street before them two +shining and rattling shapes shot past. They were gone almost in a +flash, but everyone could see that they were motor-cars, and the +Professor stood up with a pale face and swore that they were the +other two motor-cars from Dr. Renard's garage. + +"I tell you they were his," he repeated, with wild eyes, "and they +were full of men in masks!" + +"Absurd!" said the Colonel angrily. "Dr. Renard would never give +them his cars." + +"He may have been forced," said Ratcliffe quietly. "The whole town +is on their side." + +"You still believe that," asked the Colonel incredulously. + +"You will all believe it soon," said the other with a hopeless +calm. + +There was a puzzled pause for some little time, and then the +Colonel began again abruptly-- + +"No, I can't believe it. The thing is nonsense. The plain people of +a peaceable French town--" + +He was cut short by a bang and a blaze of light, which seemed close +to his eyes. As the car sped on it left a floating patch of white +smoke behind it, and Syme had heard a shot shriek past his ear. + +"My God!" said the Colonel, "someone has shot at us." + +"It need not interrupt conversation," said the gloomy Ratcliffe. +"Pray resume your remarks, Colonel. You were talking, I think, +about the plain people of a peaceable French town." + +The staring Colonel was long past minding satire. He rolled his +eyes all round the street. + +"It is extraordinary," he said, "most extraordinary." + +"A fastidious person," said Syme, "might even call it unpleasant. +However, I suppose those lights out in the field beyond this street +are the Gendarmerie. We shall soon get there." + +"No," said Inspector Ratcliffe, "we shall never get there." + +He had been standing up and looking keenly ahead of him. Now he sat +down and smoothed his sleek hair with a weary gesture. + +"What do you mean?" asked Bull sharply. + +"I mean that we shall never get there," said the pessimist +placidly. "They have two rows of armed men across the road already; +I can see them from here. The town is in arms, as I said it was. +I can only wallow in the exquisite comfort of my own exactitude." + +And Ratcliffe sat down comfortably in the car and lit a cigarette, +but the others rose excitedly and stared down the road. Syme had +slowed down the car as their plans became doubtful, and he brought +it finally to a standstill just at the corner of a side street +that ran down very steeply to the sea. + +The town was mostly in shadow, but the sun had not sunk; wherever +its level light could break through, it painted everything a +burning gold. Up this side street the last sunset light shone as +sharp and narrow as the shaft of artificial light at the theatre. +It struck the car of the five friends, and lit it like a burning +chariot. But the rest of the street, especially the two ends of +it, was in the deepest twilight, and for some seconds they could +see nothing. Then Syme, whose eyes were the keenest, broke into a +little bitter whistle, and said + +"It is quite true. There is a crowd or an army or some such thing +across the end of that street." + +"Well, if there is," said Bull impatiently, "it must be something +else--a sham fight or the mayor's birthday or something. I cannot +and will not believe that plain, jolly people in a place like this +walk about with dynamite in their pockets. Get on a bit, Syme, and +let us look at them." + +The car crawled about a hundred yards farther, and then they were +all startled by Dr. Bull breaking into a high crow of laughter. + +"Why, you silly mugs!" he cried, "what did I tell you. That +crowd's as law-abiding as a cow, and if it weren't, it's on our +side." + +"How do you know?" asked the professor, staring. + +"You blind bat," cried Bull, "don't you see who is leading them?" + +They peered again, and then the Colonel, with a catch in his +voice, cried out-- + +"Why, it's Renard!" + +There was, indeed, a rank of dim figures running across the road, +and they could not be clearly seen; but far enough in front to +catch the accident of the evening light was stalking up and down +the unmistakable Dr. Renard, in a white hat, stroking his long +brown beard, and holding a revolver in his left hand. + +"What a fool I've been!" exclaimed the Colonel. "Of course, the +dear old boy has turned out to help us." + +Dr. Bull was bubbling over with laughter, swinging the sword in +his hand as carelessly as a cane. He jumped out of the car and +ran across the intervening space, calling out-- + +"Dr. Renard! Dr. Renard!" + +An instant after Syme thought his own eyes had gone mad in his +head. For the philanthropic Dr. Renard had deliberately raised his +revolver and fired twice at Bull, so that the shots rang down the +road. + +Almost at the same second as the puff of white cloud went up from +this atrocious explosion a long puff of white cloud went up also +from the cigarette of the cynical Ratcliffe. Like all the rest he +turned a little pale, but he smiled. Dr. Bull, at whom the bullets +had been fired, just missing his scalp, stood quite still in the +middle of the road without a sign of fear, and then turned very +slowly and crawled back to the car, and climbed in with two holes +through his hat. + +"Well," said the cigarette smoker slowly, "what do you think now?" + +"I think," said Dr. Bull with precision, "that I am lying in bed +at No. 217 Peabody Buildings, and that I shall soon wake up with a +jump; or, if that's not it, I think that I am sitting in a small +cushioned cell in Hanwell, and that the doctor can't make much of +my case. But if you want to know what I don't think, I'll tell you. +I don't think what you think. I don't think, and I never shall +think, that the mass of ordinary men are a pack of dirty modern +thinkers. No, sir, I'm a democrat, and I still don't believe that +Sunday could convert one average navvy or counter-jumper. No, I may +be mad, but humanity isn't." + +Syme turned his bright blue eyes on Bull with an earnestness which +he did not commonly make clear. + +"You are a very fine fellow," he said. "You can believe in a sanity +which is not merely your sanity. And you're right enough about +humanity, about peasants and people like that jolly old innkeeper. +But you're not right about Renard. I suspected him from the first. +He's rationalistic, and, what's worse, he's rich. When duty and +religion are really destroyed, it will be by the rich." + +"They are really destroyed now," said the man with a cigarette, and +rose with his hands in his pockets. "The devils are coming on!" + +The men in the motor-car looked anxiously in the direction of his +dreamy gaze, and they saw that the whole regiment at the end of the +road was advancing upon them, Dr. Renard marching furiously in +front, his beard flying in the breeze. + +The Colonel sprang out of the car with an intolerant exclamation. + +"Gentlemen," he cried, "the thing is incredible. It must be a +practical joke. If you knew Renard as I do--it's like calling Queen +Victoria a dynamiter. If you had got the man's character into your +head--" + +"Dr. Bull," said Syme sardonically, "has at least got it into his +hat." + +"I tell you it can't be!" cried the Colonel, stamping. + +"Renard shall explain it. He shall explain it to me," and he strode +forward. + +"Don't be in such a hurry," drawled the smoker. "He will very soon +explain it to all of us." + +But the impatient Colonel was already out of earshot, advancing +towards the advancing enemy. The excited Dr. Renard lifted his +pistol again, but perceiving his opponent, hesitated, and the +Colonel came face to face with him with frantic gestures of +remonstrance. + +"It is no good," said Syme. "He will never get anything out of that +old heathen. I vote we drive bang through the thick of them, bang +as the bullets went through Bull's hat. We may all be killed, but +we must kill a tidy number of them." + +"I won't 'ave it," said Dr. Bull, growing more vulgar in the +sincerity of his virtue. "The poor chaps may be making a mistake. +Give the Colonel a chance." + +"Shall we go back, then?" asked the Professor. + +"No," said Ratcliffe in a cold voice, "the street behind us is held +too. In fact, I seem to see there another friend of yours, Syme." + +Syme spun round smartly, and stared backwards at the track which +they had travelled. He saw an irregular body of horsemen gathering +and galloping towards them in the gloom. He saw above the foremost +saddle the silver gleam of a sword, and then as it grew nearer the +silver gleam of an old man's hair. The next moment, with shattering +violence, he had swung the motor round and sent it dashing down the +steep side street to the sea, like a man that desired only to die. + +"What the devil is up?" cried the Professor, seizing his arm. + +"The morning star has fallen!" said Syme, as his own car went down +the darkness like a falling star. + +The others did not understand his words, but when they looked back +at the street above they saw the hostile cavalry coming round the +corner and down the slopes after them; and foremost of all rode the +good innkeeper, flushed with the fiery innocence of the evening +light. + +"The world is insane!" said the Professor, and buried his face in +his hands. + +"No," said Dr. Bull in adamantine humility, "it is I." + +"What are we going to do?" asked the Professor. + +"At this moment," said Syme, with a scientific detachment, "I think +we are going to smash into a lamppost." + +The next instant the automobile had come with a catastrophic jar +against an iron object. The instant after that four men had crawled +out from under a chaos of metal, and a tall lean lamp-post that had +stood up straight on the edge of the marine parade stood out, bent +and twisted, like the branch of a broken tree. + +"Well, we smashed something," said the Professor, with a faint +smile. "That's some comfort." + +"You're becoming an anarchist," said Syme, dusting his clothes +with his instinct of daintiness. + +"Everyone is," said Ratcliffe. + +As they spoke, the white-haired horseman and his followers came +thundering from above, and almost at the same moment a dark string +of men ran shouting along the sea-front. Syme snatched a sword, +and took it in his teeth; he stuck two others under his arm-pits, +took a fourth in his left hand and the lantern in his right, and +leapt off the high parade on to the beach below. + +The others leapt after him, with a common acceptance of such +decisive action, leaving the debris and the gathering mob above +them. + +"We have one more chance," said Syme, taking the steel out of his +mouth. "Whatever all this pandemonium means, I suppose the police +station will help us. We can't get there, for they hold the way. +But there's a pier or breakwater runs out into the sea just here, +which we could defend longer than anything else, like Horatius and +his bridge. We must defend it till the Gendarmerie turn out. Keep +after me." + +They followed him as he went crunching down the beach, and in a +second or two their boots broke not on the sea gravel, but on +broad, flat stones. They marched down a long, low jetty, running +out in one arm into the dim, boiling sea, and when they came to +the end of it they felt that they had come to the end of their +story. They turned and faced the town. + +That town was transfigured with uproar. All along the high parade +from which they had just descended was a dark and roaring stream +of humanity, with tossing arms and fiery faces, groping and +glaring towards them. The long dark line was dotted with torches +and lanterns; but even where no flame lit up a furious face, they +could see in the farthest figure, in the most shadowy gesture, an +organised hate. It was clear that they were the accursed of all +men, and they knew not why. + +Two or three men, looking little and black like monkeys, leapt +over the edge as they had done and dropped on to the beach. These +came ploughing down the deep sand, shouting horribly, and strove +to wade into the sea at random. The example was followed, and the +whole black mass of men began to run and drip over the edge like +black treacle. + +Foremost among the men on the beach Syme saw the peasant who had +driven their cart. He splashed into the surf on a huge +cart-horse, and shook his axe at them. + +"The peasant!" cried Syme. "They have not risen since the Middle +Ages." + +"Even if the police do come now," said the Professor mournfully, +"they can do nothing with this mob." + +"Nonsence!" said Bull desperately; "there must be some people +left in the town who are human." + +"No," said the hopeless Inspector, "the human being will soon be +extinct. We are the last of mankind." + +"It may be," said the Professor absently. Then he added in his +dreamy voice, "What is all that at the end of the 'Dunciad'? + + 'Nor public flame; nor private, dares to shine; + Nor human light is left, nor glimpse divine! + Lo! thy dread Empire, Chaos, is restored; + Light dies before thine uncreating word: + Thy hand, great Anarch, lets the curtain fall; + And universal darkness buries all."' + +"Stop!" cried Bull suddenly, "the gendarmes are out." + +The low lights of the police station were indeed blotted and +broken with hurrying figures, and they heard through the darkness +the clash and jingle of a disciplined cavalry. + +"They are charging the mob!" cried Bull in ecstacy or alarm. + +"No," said Syme, "they are formed along the parade." + +"They have unslung their carbines," cried Bull dancing with +excitement. + +"Yes," said Ratcliffe, "and they are going to fire on us." + +As he spoke there came a long crackle of musketry, and bullets +seemed to hop like hailstones on the stones in front of them. + +"The gendarmes have joined them!" cried the Professor, and struck +his forehead. + +"I am in the padded cell," said Bull solidly. + +There was a long silence, and then Ratcliffe said, looking out +over the swollen sea, all a sort of grey purple-- + +"What does it matter who is mad or who is sane? We shall all be +dead soon." + +Syme turned to him and said-- + +"You are quite hopeless, then?" + +Mr. Ratcliffe kept a stony silence; then at last he said quietly-- + +"No; oddly enough I am not quite hopeless. There is one insane +little hope that I cannot get out of my mind. The power of this +whole planet is against us, yet I cannot help wondering whether +this one silly little hope is hopeless yet." + +"In what or whom is your hope?" asked Syme with curiosity. + +"In a man I never saw," said the other, looking at the leaden sea. + +"I know what you mean," said Syme in a low voice, "the man in the +dark room. But Sunday must have killed him by now." + +"Perhaps," said the other steadily; "but if so, he was the only +man whom Sunday found it hard to kill." + +"I heard what you said," said the Professor, with his back turned. +"I also am holding hard on to the thing I never saw." + +All of a sudden Syme, who was standing as if blind with +introspective thought, swung round and cried out, like a man +waking from sleep-- + +"Where is the Colonel? I thought he was with us!" + +"The Colonel! Yes," cried Bull, "where on earth is the Colonel?" + +"He went to speak to Renard," said the Professor. + +"We cannot leave him among all those beasts," cried Syme. "Let us +die like gentlemen if--" + +"Do not pity the Colonel," said Ratcliffe, with a pale sneer. "He +is extremely comfortable. He is--" + +"No! no! no!" cried Syme in a kind of frenzy, "not the Colonel too! +I will never believe it!" + +"Will you believe your eyes?" asked the other, and pointed to the +beach. + +Many of their pursuers had waded into the water shaking their +fists, but the sea was rough, and they could not reach the pier. +Two or three figures, however, stood on the beginning of the stone +footway, and seemed to be cautiously advancing down it. The glare +of a chance lantern lit up the faces of the two foremost. One face +wore a black half-mask, and under it the mouth was twisting about +in such a madness of nerves that the black tuft of beard wriggled +round and round like a restless, living thing. The other was the +red face and white moustache of Colonel Ducroix. They were in +earnest consultation. + +"Yes, he is gone too," said the Professor, and sat down on a +stone. "Everything's gone. I'm gone! I can't trust my own bodily +machinery. I feel as if my own hand might fly up and strike me." + +"When my hand flies up," said Syme, "it will strike somebody +else," and he strode along the pier towards the Colonel, the +sword in one hand and the lantern in the other. + +As if to destroy the last hope or doubt, the Colonel, who saw him +coming, pointed his revolver at him and fired. The shot missed +Syme, but struck his sword, breaking it short at the hilt. Syme +rushed on, and swung the iron lantern above his head. + +"Judas before Herod!" he said, and struck the Colonel down upon +the stones. Then he turned to the Secretary, whose frightful mouth +was almost foaming now, and held the lamp high with so rigid and +arresting a gesture, that the man was, as it were, frozen for a +moment, and forced to hear. + +"Do you see this lantern?" cried Syme in a terrible voice. "Do you +see the cross carved on it, and the flame inside? You did not make +it. You did not light it. Better men than you, men who could +believe and obey, twisted the entrails of iron and preserved the +legend of fire. There is not a street you walk on, there is not a +thread you wear, that was not made as this lantern was, by denying +your philosophy of dirt and rats. You can make nothing. You can +only destroy. You will destroy mankind; you will destroy the world. +Let that suffice you. Yet this one old Christian lantern you shall +not destroy. It shall go where your empire of apes will never have +the wit to find it." + +He struck the Secretary once with the lantern so that he staggered; +and then, whirling it twice round his head, sent it flying far out +to sea, where it flared like a roaring rocket and fell. + +"Swords!" shouted Syme, turning his flaming face to the three +behind him. "Let us charge these dogs, for our time has come to +die." + +His three companions came after him sword in hand. Syme's sword +was broken, but he rent a bludgeon from the fist of a fisherman, +flinging him down. In a moment they would have flung themselves +upon the face of the mob and perished, when an interruption came. +The Secretary, ever since Syme's speech, had stood with his hand +to his stricken head as if dazed; now he suddenly pulled off his +black mask. + +The pale face thus peeled in the lamplight revealed not so much +rage as astonishment. He put up his hand with an anxious authority. + +"There is some mistake," he said. "Mr. Syme, I hardly think you +understand your position. I arrest you in the name of the law." + +"Of the law?" said Syme, and dropped his stick. + +"Certainly!" said the Secretary. "I am a detective from Scotland +Yard," and he took a small blue card from his pocket. + +"And what do you suppose we are?" asked the Professor, and threw +up his arms. + +"You," said the Secretary stiffly, "are, as I know for a fact, +members of the Supreme Anarchist Council. Disguised as one of +you, I--" + +Dr. Bull tossed his sword into the sea. + +"There never was any Supreme Anarchist Council," he said. "We were +all a lot of silly policemen looking at each other. And all these +nice people who have been peppering us with shot thought we were +the dynamiters. I knew I couldn't be wrong about the mob," he said, +beaming over the enormous multitude, which stretched away to the +distance on both sides. "Vulgar people are never mad. I'm vulgar +myself, and I know. I am now going on shore to stand a drink to +everybody here." + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE PURSUIT OF THE PRESIDENT + +NEXT morning five bewildered but hilarious people took the boat for +Dover. The poor old Colonel might have had some cause to complain, +having been first forced to fight for two factions that didn't +exist, and then knocked down with an iron lantern. But he was a +magnanimous old gentleman, and being much relieved that neither +party had anything to do with dynamite, he saw them off on the pier +with great geniality. + +The five reconciled detectives had a hundred details to explain to +each other. The Secretary had to tell Syme how they had come to +wear masks originally in order to approach the supposed enemy as +fellow-conspirators; + +Syme had to explain how they had fled with such swiftness through +a civilised country. But above all these matters of detail which +could be explained, rose the central mountain of the matter that +they could not explain. What did it all mean? If they were all +harmless officers, what was Sunday? If he had not seized the world, +what on earth had he been up to? Inspector Ratcliffe was still +gloomy about this. + +"I can't make head or tail of old Sunday's little game any more +than you can," he said. "But whatever else Sunday is, he isn't +a blameless citizen. Damn it! do you remember his face?" + +"I grant you," answered Syme, "that I have never been able to +forget it." + +"Well," said the Secretary, "I suppose we can find out soon, for +tomorrow we have our next general meeting. You will excuse me," +he said, with a rather ghastly smile, "for being well acquainted +with my secretarial duties." + +"I suppose you are right," said the Professor reflectively. "I +suppose we might find it out from him; but I confess that I should +feel a bit afraid of asking Sunday who he really is." + +"Why," asked the Secretary, "for fear of bombs?" + +"No," said the Professor, "for fear he might tell me." + +"Let us have some drinks," said Dr. Bull, after a silence. + +Throughout their whole journey by boat and train they were highly +convivial, but they instinctively kept together. Dr. Bull, who had +always been the optimist of the party, endeavoured to persuade the +other four that the whole company could take the same hansom cab +from Victoria; but this was over-ruled, and they went in a +four-wheeler, with Dr. Bull on the box, singing. They finished +their journey at an hotel in Piccadilly Circus, so as to be close +to the early breakfast next morning in Leicester Square. Yet even +then the adventures of the day were not entirely over. Dr. Bull, +discontented with the general proposal to go to bed, had strolled +out of the hotel at about eleven to see and taste some of the +beauties of London. Twenty minutes afterwards, however, he came +back and made quite a clamour in the hall. Syme, who tried at +first to soothe him, was forced at last to listen to his +communication with quite new attention. + +"I tell you I've seen him!" said Dr. Bull, with thick emphasis. + +"Whom?" asked Syme quickly. "Not the President?" + +"Not so bad as that," said Dr. Bull, with unnecessary laughter, +"not so bad as that. I've got him here." + +"Got whom here?" asked Syme impatiently. + +"Hairy man," said the other lucidly, "man that used to be hairy +man--Gogol. Here he is," and he pulled forward by a reluctant +elbow the identical young man who five days before had marched +out of the Council with thin red hair and a pale face, the first +of all the sham anarchists who had been exposed. + +"Why do you worry with me?" he cried. "You have expelled me as a +spy." + +"We are all spies!" whispered Syme. + +"We're all spies!" shouted Dr. Bull. "Come and have a drink." + +Next morning the battalion of the reunited six marched stolidly +towards the hotel in Leicester Square. + +"This is more cheerful," said Dr. Bull; "we are six men going to +ask one man what he means." + +"I think it is a bit queerer than that," said Syme. "I think it +is six men going to ask one man what they mean." + +They turned in silence into the Square, and though the hotel was +in the opposite corner, they saw at once the little balcony and a +figure that looked too big for it. He was sitting alone with bent +head, poring over a newspaper. But all his councillors, who had +come to vote him down, crossed that Square as if they were watched +out of heaven by a hundred eyes. + +They had disputed much upon their policy, about whether they +should leave the unmasked Gogol without and begin diplomatically, +or whether they should bring him in and blow up the gunpowder at +once. The influence of Syme and Bull prevailed for the latter +course, though the Secretary to the last asked them why they +attacked Sunday so rashly. + +"My reason is quite simple," said Syme. "I attack him rashly +because I am afraid of him." + +They followed Syme up the dark stair in silence, and they all came +out simultaneously into the broad sunlight of the morning and the +broad sunlight of Sunday's smile. + +"Delightful!" he said. "So pleased to see you all. What an +exquisite day it is. Is the Czar dead?" + +The Secretary, who happened to be foremost, drew himself together +for a dignified outburst. + +"No, sir," he said sternly "there has been no massacre. I bring you +news of no such disgusting spectacles." + +"Disgusting spectacles?" repeated the President, with a bright, +inquiring smile. "You mean Dr. Bull's spectacles?" + +The Secretary choked for a moment, and the President went on with +a sort of smooth appeal-- + +"Of course, we all have our opinions and even our eyes, but really +to call them disgusting before the man himself--" + +Dr. Bull tore off his spectacles and broke them on the table. + +"My spectacles are blackguardly," he said, "but I'm not. Look at +my face." + +"I dare say it's the sort of face that grows on one," said the +President, "in fact, it grows on you; and who am I to quarrel +with the wild fruits upon the Tree of Life? I dare say it will +grow on me some day." + +"We have no time for tomfoolery," said the Secretary, breaking in +savagely. "We have come to know what all this means. Who are you? +What are you? Why did you get us all here? Do you know who and +what we are? Are you a half-witted man playing the conspirator, +or are you a clever man playing the fool? Answer me, I tell you." + +"Candidates," murmured Sunday, "are only required to answer eight +out of the seventeen questions on the paper. As far as I can make +out, you want me to tell you what I am, and what you are, and what +this table is, and what this Council is, and what this world is +for all I know. Well, I will go so far as to rend the veil of one +mystery. If you want to know what you are, you are a set of +highly well-intentioned young jackasses." + +"And you," said Syme, leaning forward, "what are you?" + +"I? What am I?" roared the President, and he rose slowly to an +incredible height, like some enormous wave about to arch above +them and break. "You want to know what I am, do you? Bull, you +are a man of science. Grub in the roots of those trees and find +out the truth about them. Syme, you are a poet. Stare at those +morning clouds. But I tell you this, that you will have found +out the truth of the last tree and the top-most cloud before the +truth about me. You will understand the sea, and I shall be still +a riddle; you shall know what the stars are, and not know what I +am. Since the beginning of the world all men have hunted me like +a wolf--kings and sages, and poets and lawgivers, all the +churches, and all the philosophies. But I have never been caught +yet, and the skies will fall in the time I turn to bay. I have +given them a good run for their money, and I will now." + +Before one of them could move, the monstrous man had swung himself +like some huge ourang-outang over the balustrade of the balcony. +Yet before he dropped he pulled himself up again as on a horizontal +bar, and thrusting his great chin over the edge of the balcony, +said solemnly-- + +"There's one thing I'll tell you though about who I am. I am the +man in the dark room, who made you all policemen." + +With that he fell from the balcony, bouncing on the stones below +like a great ball of india-rubber, and went bounding off towards +the corner of the Alhambra, where he hailed a hansom-cab and sprang +inside it. The six detectives had been standing thunderstruck and +livid in the light of his last assertion; but when he disappeared +into the cab, Syme's practical senses returned to him, and leaping +over the balcony so recklessly as almost to break his legs, he +called another cab. + +He and Bull sprang into the cab together, the Professor and the +Inspector into another, while the Secretary and the late Gogol +scrambled into a third just in time to pursue the flying Syme, who +was pursuing the flying President. Sunday led them a wild chase +towards the north-west, his cabman, evidently under the influence +of more than common inducements, urging the horse at breakneck +speed. But Syme was in no mood for delicacies, and he stood up in +his own cab shouting, "Stop thief!" until crowds ran along beside +his cab, and policemen began to stop and ask questions. All this +had its influence upon the President's cabman, who began to look +dubious, and to slow down to a trot. He opened the trap to talk +reasonably to his fare, and in so doing let the long whip droop +over the front of the cab. Sunday leant forward, seized it, and +jerked it violently out of the man's hand. Then standing up in +front of the cab himself, he lashed the horse and roared aloud, +so that they went down the streets like a flying storm. Through +street after street and square after square went whirling this +preposterous vehicle, in which the fare was urging the horse and +the driver trying desperately to stop it. The other three cabs +came after it (if the phrase be permissible of a cab) like panting +hounds. Shops and streets shot by like rattling arrows. + +At the highest ecstacy of speed, Sunday turned round on the +splashboard where he stood, and sticking his great grinning head +out of the cab, with white hair whistling in the wind, he made a +horrible face at his pursuers, like some colossal urchin. Then +raising his right hand swiftly, he flung a ball of paper in Syme's +face and vanished. Syme caught the thing while instinctively +warding it off, and discovered that it consisted of two crumpled +papers. One was addressed to himself, and the other to Dr. Bull, +with a very long, and it is to be feared partly ironical, string +of letters after his name. Dr. Bull's address was, at any rate, +considerably longer than his communication, for the communication +consisted entirely of the words:-- + +"What about Martin Tupper now?" + +"What does the old maniac mean?" asked Bull, staring at the words. +"What does yours say, Syme?" + +Syme's message was, at any rate, longer, and ran as follows:-- + +"No one would regret anything in the nature of an interference by +the Archdeacon more than I. I trust it will not come to that. But, +for the last time, where are your goloshes? The thing is too bad, +especially after what uncle said." + +The President's cabman seemed to be regaining some control over +his horse, and the pursuers gained a little as they swept round +into the Edgware Road. And here there occurred what seemed to the +allies a providential stoppage. Traffic of every kind was swerving +to right or left or stopping, for down the long road was coming +the unmistakable roar announcing the fire-engine, which in a few +seconds went by like a brazen thunderbolt. But quick as it went +by, Sunday had bounded out of his cab, sprung at the fire-engine, +caught it, slung himself on to it, and was seen as he disappeared +in the noisy distance talking to the astonished fireman with +explanatory gestures. + +"After him!" howled Syme. "He can't go astray now. There's no +mistaking a fire-engine." + +The three cabmen, who had been stunned for a moment, whipped +up their horses and slightly decreased the distance between +themselves and their disappearing prey. The President +acknowledged this proximity by coming to the back of the car, +bowing repeatedly, kissing his hand, and finally flinging a +neatly-folded note into the bosom of Inspector Ratcliffe. When +that gentleman opened it, not without impatience, he found it +contained the words:-- + +"Fly at once. The truth about your trouser-stretchers is known. +--A FRIEND." + +The fire-engine had struck still farther to the north, into a +region that they did not recognise; and as it ran by a line of high +railings shadowed with trees, the six friends were startled, but +somewhat relieved, to see the President leap from the fire-engine, +though whether through another whim or the increasing protest of +his entertainers they could not see. Before the three cabs, +however, could reach up to the spot, he had gone up the high +railings like a huge grey cat, tossed himself over, and vanished +in a darkness of leaves. + +Syme with a furious gesture stopped his cab, jumped out, and +sprang also to the escalade. When he had one leg over the fence +and his friends were following, he turned a face on them which +shone quite pale in the shadow. + +"What place can this be?" he asked. "Can it be the old devil's +house? I've heard he has a house in North London." + +"All the better," said the Secretary grimly, planting a foot in +a foothold, "we shall find him at home." + +"No, but it isn't that," said Syme, knitting his brows. "I hear +the most horrible noises, like devils laughing and sneezing and +blowing their devilish noses!" + +"His dogs barking, of course," said the Secretary. + +"Why not say his black-beetles barking!" said Syme furiously, +"snails barking! geraniums barking! Did you ever hear a dog bark +like that?" + +He held up his hand, and there came out of the thicket a long +growling roar that seemed to get under the skin and freeze the +flesh--a low thrilling roar that made a throbbing in the air +all about them. + +"The dogs of Sunday would be no ordinary dogs," said Gogol, and +shuddered. + +Syme had jumped down on the other side, but he still stood +listening impatiently. + +"Well, listen to that," he said, "is that a dog--anybody's dog?" + +There broke upon their ear a hoarse screaming as of things +protesting and clamouring in sudden pain; and then, far off +like an echo, what sounded like a long nasal trumpet. + +"Well, his house ought to be hell!" said the Secretary; "and if +it is hell, I'm going in!" and he sprang over the tall railings +almost with one swing. + +The others followed. They broke through a tangle of plants and +shrubs, and came out on an open path. Nothing was in sight, but +Dr. Bull suddenly struck his hands together. + +"Why, you asses," he cried, "it's the Zoo!" + +As they were looking round wildly for any trace of their wild +quarry, a keeper in uniform came running along the path with a +man in plain clothes. + +"Has it come this way?" gasped the keeper. + +"Has what?" asked Syme. + +"The elephant!" cried the keeper. "An elephant has gone mad and +run away!" + +"He has run away with an old gentleman," said the other stranger +breathlessly, "a poor old gentleman with white hair!" + +"What sort of old gentleman?" asked Syme, with great curiosity. + +"A very large and fat old gentleman in light grey clothes," said +the keeper eagerly. + +"Well," said Syme, "if he's that particular kind of old gentleman, +if you're quite sure that he's a large and fat old gentleman in +grey clothes, you may take my word for it that the elephant has +not run away with him. He has run away with the elephant. The +elephant is not made by God that could run away with him if he +did not consent to the elopement. And, by thunder, there he is!" + +There was no doubt about it this time. Clean across the space of +grass, about two hundred yards away, with a crowd screaming and +scampering vainly at his heels, went a huge grey elephant at an +awful stride, with his trunk thrown out as rigid as a ship's +bowsprit, and trumpeting like the trumpet of doom. On the back of +the bellowing and plunging animal sat President Sunday with all +the placidity of a sultan, but goading the animal to a furious +speed with some sharp object in his hand. + +"Stop him!" screamed the populace. "He'll be out of the gate!" + +"Stop a landslide!" said the keeper. "He is out of the gate!" + +And even as he spoke, a final crash and roar of terror announced +that the great grey elephant had broken out of the gates of the +Zoological Gardens, and was careening down Albany Street like a +new and swift sort of omnibus. + +"Great Lord!" cried Bull, "I never knew an elephant could go so +fast. Well, it must be hansom-cabs again if we are to keep him in +sight." + +As they raced along to the gate out of which the elephant had +vanished, Syme felt a glaring panorama of the strange animals in +the cages which they passed. Afterwards he thought it queer that +he should have seen them so clearly. He remembered especially +seeing pelicans, with their preposterous, pendant throats. He +wondered why the pelican was the symbol of charity, except it was +that it wanted a good deal of charity to admire a pelican. He +remembered a hornbill, which was simply a huge yellow beak with a +small bird tied on behind it. The whole gave him a sensation, the +vividness of which he could not explain, that Nature was always +making quite mysterious jokes. Sunday had told them that they +would understand him when they had understood the stars. He +wondered whether even the archangels understood the hornbill. + +The six unhappy detectives flung themselves into cabs and followed +the elephant sharing the terror which he spread through the long +stretch of the streets. This time Sunday did not turn round, but +offered them the solid stretch of his unconscious back, which +maddened them, if possible, more than his previous mockeries. Just +before they came to Baker Street, however, he was seen to throw +something far up into the air, as a boy does a ball meaning to +catch it again. But at their rate of racing it fell far behind, +just by the cab containing Gogol; and in faint hope of a clue or +for some impulse unexplainable, he stopped his cab so as to pick it +up. It was addressed to himself, and was quite a bulky parcel. On +examination, however, its bulk was found to consist of thirty-three +pieces of paper of no value wrapped one round the other. When the +last covering was torn away it reduced itself to a small slip of +paper, on which was written:-- + +"The word, I fancy, should be 'pink'." + +The man once known as Gogol said nothing, but the movements of his +hands and feet were like those of a man urging a horse to renewed +efforts. + +Through street after street, through district after district, went +the prodigy of the flying elephant, calling crowds to every window, +and driving the traffic left and right. And still through all this +insane publicity the three cabs toiled after it, until they came to +be regarded as part of a procession, and perhaps the advertisement +of a circus. They went at such a rate that distances were shortened +beyond belief, and Syme saw the Albert Hall in Kensington when he +thought that he was still in Paddington. The animal's pace was even +more fast and free through the empty, aristocratic streets of South +Kensington, and he finally headed towards that part of the sky-line +where the enormous Wheel of Earl's Court stood up in the sky. The +wheel grew larger and larger, till it filled heaven like the wheel +of stars. + +The beast outstripped the cabs. They lost him round several +corners, and when they came to one of the gates of the Earl's Court +Exhibition they found themselves finally blocked. In front of them +was an enormous crowd; in the midst of it was an enormous elephant, +heaving and shuddering as such shapeless creatures do. But the +President had disappeared. + +"Where has he gone to?" asked Syme, slipping to the ground. + +"Gentleman rushed into the Exhibition, sir!" said an official in a +dazed manner. Then he added in an injured voice: "Funny gentleman, +sir. Asked me to hold his horse, and gave me this." + +He held out with distaste a piece of folded paper, addressed: "To +the Secretary of the Central Anarchist Council." + +The Secretary, raging, rent it open, and found written inside it:-- + + "When the herring runs a mile, + Let the Secretary smile; + When the herring tries to fly, + Let the Secretary die. + Rustic Proverb." + +"Why the eternal crikey," began the Secretary, "did you let the +man in? Do people commonly come to you Exhibition riding on mad +elephants? Do--" + +"Look!" shouted Syme suddenly. "Look over there!" + +"Look at what?" asked the Secretary savagely. + +"Look at the captive balloon!" said Syme, and pointed in a frenzy. + +"Why the blazes should I look at a captive balloon?" demanded the +Secretary. "What is there queer about a captive balloon?" + +"Nothing," said Syme, "except that it isn't captive!" + +They all turned their eyes to where the balloon swung and swelled +above the Exhibition on a string, like a child's balloon. A second +afterwards the string came in two just under the car, and the +balloon, broken loose, floated away with the freedom of a soap +bubble. + +"Ten thousand devils!" shrieked the Secretary. "He's got into it!" +and he shook his fists at the sky. + +The balloon, borne by some chance wind, came right above them, and +they could see the great white head of the President peering over +the side and looking benevolently down on them. + +"God bless my soul!" said the Professor with the elderly manner +that he could never disconnect from his bleached beard and +parchment face. "God bless my soul! I seemed to fancy that +something fell on the top of my hat!" + +He put up a trembling hand and took from that shelf a piece of +twisted paper, which he opened absently only to find it inscribed +with a true lover's knot and, the words:-- + +"Your beauty has not left me indifferent.--From LITTLE SNOWDROP." + +There was a short silence, and then Syme said, biting his beard-- + +"I'm not beaten yet. The blasted thing must come down somewhere. +Let's follow it!" + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +THE SIX PHILOSOPHERS + +ACROSS green fields, and breaking through blooming hedges, toiled +six draggled detectives, about five miles out of London. The +optimist of the party had at first proposed that they should +follow the balloon across South England in hansom-cabs. But he +was ultimately convinced of the persistent refusal of the balloon +to follow the roads, and the still more persistent refusal of the +cabmen to follow the balloon. Consequently the tireless though +exasperated travellers broke through black thickets and ploughed +through ploughed fields till each was turned into a figure too +outrageous to be mistaken for a tramp. Those green hills of +Surrey saw the final collapse and tragedy of the admirable light +grey suit in which Syme had set out from Saffron Park. His silk +hat was broken over his nose by a swinging bough, his coat-tails +were torn to the shoulder by arresting thorns, the clay of +England was splashed up to his collar; but he still carried his +yellow beard forward with a silent and furious determination, and +his eyes were still fixed on that floating ball of gas, which in +the full flush of sunset seemed coloured like a sunset cloud. + +"After all," he said, "it is very beautiful!" + +"It is singularly and strangely beautiful!" said the Professor. "I +wish the beastly gas-bag would burst!" + +"No," said Dr. Bull, "I hope it won't. It might hurt the old boy." + +"Hurt him!" said the vindictive Professor, "hurt him! Not as much +as I'd hurt him if I could get up with him. Little Snowdrop!" + +"I don't want him hurt, somehow," said Dr. Bull. + +"What!" cried the Secretary bitterly. "Do you believe all that tale +about his being our man in the dark room? Sunday would say he was +anybody." + +"I don't know whether I believe it or not," said Dr. Bull. "But it +isn't that that I mean. I can't wish old Sunday's balloon to burst +because--" + +"Well," said Syme impatiently, "because?" + +"Well, because he's so jolly like a balloon himself," said Dr. Bull +desperately. "I don't understand a word of all that idea of his +being the same man who gave us all our blue cards. It seems to make +everything nonsense. But I don't care who knows it, I always had a +sympathy for old Sunday himself, wicked as he was. Just as if he +was a great bouncing baby. How can I explain what my queer sympathy +was? It didn't prevent my fighting him like hell! Shall I make it +clear if I say that I liked him because he was so fat?" + +"You will not," said the Secretary. + +"I've got it now," cried Bull, "it was because he was so fat and so +light. Just like a balloon. We always think of fat people as heavy, +but he could have danced against a sylph. I see now what I mean. +Moderate strength is shown in violence, supreme strength is shown +in levity. It was like the old speculations--what would happen if +an elephant could leap up in the sky like a grasshopper?" + +"Our elephant," said Syme, looking upwards, "has leapt into the +sky like a grasshopper." + +"And somehow," concluded Bull, "that's why I can't help liking old +Sunday. No, it's not an admiration of force, or any silly thing +like that. There is a kind of gaiety in the thing, as if he were +bursting with some good news. Haven't you sometimes felt it on a +spring day? You know Nature plays tricks, but somehow that day +proves they are good-natured tricks. I never read the Bible myself, +but that part they laugh at is literal truth, 'Why leap ye, ye high +hills?' The hills do leap--at least, they try to. . . . Why do I +like Sunday? . . . how can I tell you? . . . because he's such a +Bounder." + +There was a long silence, and then the Secretary said in a curious, +strained voice-- + +"You do not know Sunday at all. Perhaps it is because you are +better than I, and do not know hell. I was a fierce fellow, and a +trifle morbid from the first. The man who sits in darkness, and +who chose us all, chose me because I had all the crazy look of a +conspirator--because my smile went crooked, and my eyes were +gloomy, even when I smiled. But there must have been something in +me that answered to the nerves in all these anarchic men. For when +I first saw Sunday he expressed to me, not your airy vitality, but +something both gross and sad in the Nature of Things. I found him +smoking in a twilight room, a room with brown blind down, +infinitely more depressing than the genial darkness in which our +master lives. He sat there on a bench, a huge heap of a man, dark +and out of shape. He listened to all my words without speaking or +even stirring. I poured out my most passionate appeals, and asked +my most eloquent questions. Then, after a long silence, the Thing +began to shake, and I thought it was shaken by some secret malady. +It shook like a loathsome and living jelly. It reminded me of +everything I had ever read about the base bodies that are the +origin of life--the deep sea lumps and protoplasm. It seemed like +the final form of matter, the most shapeless and the most shameful. +I could only tell myself, from its shudderings, that it was +something at least that such a monster could be miserable. And +then it broke upon me that the bestial mountain was shaking with +a lonely laughter, and the laughter was at me. Do you ask me to +forgive him that? It is no small thing to be laughed at by +something at once lower and stronger than oneself." + +"Surely you fellows are exaggerating wildly," cut in the clear +voice of Inspector Ratcliffe. "President Sunday is a terrible +fellow for one's intellect, but he is not such a Barnum's freak +physically as you make out. He received me in an ordinary office, +in a grey check coat, in broad daylight. He talked to me in an +ordinary way. But I'll tell you what is a trifle creepy about +Sunday. His room is neat, his clothes are neat, everything seems +in order; but he's absent-minded. Sometimes his great bright eyes +go quite blind. For hours he forgets that you are there. Now +absent-mindedness is just a bit too awful in a bad man. We think +of a wicked man as vigilant. We can't think of a wicked man who is +honestly and sincerely dreamy, because we daren't think of a wicked +man alone with himself. An absentminded man means a good-natured +man. It means a man who, if he happens to see you, will apologise. +But how will you bear an absentminded man who, if he happens to see +you, will kill you? That is what tries the nerves, abstraction +combined with cruelty. Men have felt it sometimes when they went +through wild forests, and felt that the animals there were at once +innocent and pitiless. They might ignore or slay. How would you +like to pass ten mortal hours in a parlour with an absent-minded +tiger?" + +"And what do you think of Sunday, Gogol?" asked Syme. + +"I don't think of Sunday on principle," said Gogol simply, "any +more than I stare at the sun at noonday." + +"Well, that is a point of view," said Syme thoughtfully. "What do +you say, Professor?" + +The Professor was walking with bent head and trailing stick, and +he did not answer at all. + +"Wake up, Professor!" said Syme genially. "Tell us what you think +of Sunday." + +The Professor spoke at last very slowly. + +"I think something," he said, "that I cannot say clearly. Or, +rather, I think something that I cannot even think clearly. But +it is something like this. My early life, as you know, was a bit +too large and loose. + +"Well, when I saw Sunday's face I thought it was too large-- +everybody does, but I also thought it was too loose. The face +was so big, that one couldn't focus it or make it a face at all. +The eye was so far away from the nose, that it wasn't an eye. +The mouth was so much by itself, that one had to think of it by +itself. The whole thing is too hard to explain." + +He paused for a little, still trailing his stick, and then went +on-- + +"But put it this way. Walking up a road at night, I have seen a +lamp and a lighted window and a cloud make together a most complete +and unmistakable face. If anyone in heaven has that face I shall +know him again. Yet when I walked a little farther I found that +there was no face, that the window was ten yards away, the lamp ten +hundred yards, the cloud beyond the world. Well, Sunday's face +escaped me; it ran away to right and left, as such chance pictures +run away. And so his face has made me, somehow, doubt whether there +are any faces. I don't know whether your face, Bull, is a face or a +combination in perspective. Perhaps one black disc of your beastly +glasses is quite close and another fifty miles away. Oh, the doubts +of a materialist are not worth a dump. Sunday has taught me the +last and the worst doubts, the doubts of a spiritualist. I am a +Buddhist, I suppose; and Buddhism is not a creed, it is a doubt. My +poor dear Bull, I do not believe that you really have a face. I +have not faith enough to believe in matter." + +Syme's eyes were still fixed upon the errant orb, which, reddened +in the evening light, looked like some rosier and more innocent +world. + +"Have you noticed an odd thing," he said, "about all your +descriptions? Each man of you finds Sunday quite different, yet +each man of you can only find one thing to compare him to--the +universe itself. Bull finds him like the earth in spring, Gogol +like the sun at noonday. The Secretary is reminded of the shapeless +protoplasm, and the Inspector of the carelessness of virgin +forests. The Professor says he is like a changing landscape. This +is queer, but it is queerer still that I also have had my odd +notion about the President, and I also find that I think of Sunday +as I think of the whole world." + +"Get on a little faster, Syme," said Bull; "never mind the +balloon." + +"When I first saw Sunday," said Syme slowly, "I only saw his back; +and when I saw his back, I knew he was the worst man in the world. +His neck and shoulders were brutal, like those of some apish god. +His head had a stoop that was hardly human, like the stoop of an +ox. In fact, I had at once the revolting fancy that this was not +a man at all, but a beast dressed up in men's clothes." + +"Get on," said Dr. Bull. + +"And then the queer thing happened. I had seen his back from the +street, as he sat in the balcony. Then I entered the hotel, and +coming round the other side of him, saw his face in the sunlight. +His face frightened me, as it did everyone; but not because it was +brutal, not because it was evil. On the contrary, it frightened me +because it was so beautiful, because it was so good." + +"Syme," exclaimed the Secretary, "are you ill?" + +"It was like the face of some ancient archangel, judging justly +after heroic wars. There was laughter in the eyes, and in the mouth +honour and sorrow. There was the same white hair, the same great, +grey-clad shoulders that I had seen from behind. But when I saw him +from behind I was certain he was an animal, and when I saw him in +front I knew he was a god." + +"Pan," said the Professor dreamily, "was a god and an animal." + +"Then, and again and always," went on Syme like a man talking to +himself, "that has been for me the mystery of Sunday, and it is +also the mystery of the world. When I see the horrible back, I am +sure the noble face is but a mask. When I see the face but for an +instant, I know the back is only a jest. Bad is so bad, that we +cannot but think good an accident; good is so good, that we feel +certain that evil could be explained. But the whole came to a kind +of crest yesterday when I raced Sunday for the cab, and was just +behind him all the way." + +"Had you time for thinking then?" asked Ratcliffe. + +"Time," replied Syme, "for one outrageous thought. I was suddenly +possessed with the idea that the blind, blank back of his head +really was his face--an awful, eyeless face staring at me! And I +fancied that the figure running in front of me was really a figure +running backwards, and dancing as he ran." + +"Horrible!" said Dr. Bull, and shuddered. + +"Horrible is not the word," said Syme. "It was exactly the worst +instant of my life. And yet ten minutes afterwards, when he put his +head out of the cab and made a grimace like a gargoyle, I knew that +he was only like a father playing hide-and-seek with his children." + +"It is a long game," said the Secretary, and frowned at his broken +boots. + +"Listen to me," cried Syme with extraordinary emphasis. "Shall I +tell you the secret of the whole world? It is that we have only +known the back of the world. We see everything from behind, and it +looks brutal. That is not a tree, but the back of a tree. That is +not a cloud, but the back of a cloud. Cannot you see that +everything is stooping and hiding a face? If we could only get +round in front--" + +"Look!" cried out Bull clamorously, "the balloon is coming down!" + +There was no need to cry out to Syme, who had never taken his eyes +off it. He saw the great luminous globe suddenly stagger in the +sky, right itself, and then sink slowly behind the trees like a +setting sun. + +The man called Gogol, who had hardly spoken through all their weary +travels, suddenly threw up his hands like a lost spirit. + +"He is dead!" he cried. "And now I know he was my friend--my friend +in the dark!" + +"Dead!" snorted the Secretary. "You will not find him dead easily. +If he has been tipped out of the car, we shall find him rolling as +a colt rolls in a field, kicking his legs for fun." + +"Clashing his hoofs," said the Professor. "The colts do, and so did +Pan." + +"Pan again!" said Dr. Bull irritably. "You seem to think Pan is +everything." + +"So he is," said the Professor, "in Greek. He means everything." + +"Don't forget," said the Secretary, looking down, "that he also +means Panic." + +Syme had stood without hearing any of the exclamations. + +"It fell over there," he said shortly. "Let us follow it!" + +Then he added with an indescribable gesture-- + +"Oh, if he has cheated us all by getting killed! It would be like +one of his larks." + +He strode off towards the distant trees with a new energy, his rags +and ribbons fluttering in the wind. The others followed him in a +more footsore and dubious manner. And almost at the same moment all +six men realised that they were not alone in the little field. + +Across the square of turf a tall man was advancing towards them, +leaning on a strange long staff like a sceptre. He was clad in a +fine but old-fashioned suit with knee-breeches; its colour was +that shade between blue, violet and grey which can be seen in +certain shadows of the woodland. His hair was whitish grey, and +at the first glance, taken along with his knee-breeches, looked +as if it was powdered. His advance was very quiet; but for the +silver frost upon his head, he might have been one to the shadows +of the wood. + +"Gentlemen," he said, "my master has a carriage waiting for you in +the road just by." + +"Who is your master?" asked Syme, standing quite still. + +"I was told you knew his name," said the man respectfully. + +There was a silence, and then the Secretary said-- + +"Where is this carriage?" + +"It has been waiting only a few moments," said the stranger. "My +master has only just come home." + +Syme looked left and right upon the patch of green field in which +he found himself. The hedges were ordinary hedges, the trees seemed +ordinary trees; yet he felt like a man entrapped in fairyland. + +He looked the mysterious ambassador up and down, but he could +discover nothing except that the man's coat was the exact colour of +the purple shadows, and that the man's face was the exact colour of +the red and brown and golden sky. + +"Show us the place," Syme said briefly, and without a word the man +in the violet coat turned his back and walked towards a gap in the +hedge, which let in suddenly the light of a white road. + +As the six wanderers broke out upon this thoroughfare, they saw the +white road blocked by what looked like a long row of carriages, +such a row of carriages as might close the approach to some house +in Park Lane. Along the side of these carriages stood a rank of +splendid servants, all dressed in the grey-blue uniform, and all +having a certain quality of stateliness and freedom which would not +commonly belong to the servants of a gentleman, but rather to the +officials and ambassadors of a great king. There were no less than +six carriages waiting, one for each of the tattered and miserable +band. All the attendants (as if in court-dress) wore swords, and as +each man crawled into his carriage they drew them, and saluted with +a sudden blaze of steel. + +"What can it all mean?" asked Bull of Syme as they separated. "Is +this another joke of Sunday's?" + +"I don't know," said Syme as he sank wearily back in the cushions +of his carriage; "but if it is, it's one of the jokes you talk +about. It's a good-natured one." + +The six adventurers had passed through many adventures, but not one +had carried them so utterly off their feet as this last adventure +of comfort. They had all become inured to things going roughly; but +things suddenly going smoothly swamped them. They could not even +feebly imagine what the carriages were; it was enough for them to +know that they were carriages, and carriages with cushions. They +could not conceive who the old man was who had led them; but it was +quite enough that he had certainly led them to the carriages. + +Syme drove through a drifting darkness of trees in utter +abandonment. It was typical of him that while he had carried his +bearded chin forward fiercely so long as anything could be done, +when the whole business was taken out of his hands he fell back +on the cushions in a frank collapse. + +Very gradually and very vaguely he realised into what rich roads +the carriage was carrying him. He saw that they passed the stone +gates of what might have been a park, that they began gradually to +climb a hill which, while wooded on both sides, was somewhat more +orderly than a forest. Then there began to grow upon him, as upon a +man slowly waking from a healthy sleep, a pleasure in everything. +He felt that the hedges were what hedges should be, living walls; +that a hedge is like a human army, disciplined, but all the more +alive. He saw high elms behind the hedges, and vaguely thought how +happy boys would be climbing there. Then his carriage took a turn +of the path, and he saw suddenly and quietly, like a long, low, +sunset cloud, a long, low house, mellow in the mild light of +sunset. All the six friends compared notes afterwards and +quarrelled; but they all agreed that in some unaccountable way the +place reminded them of their boyhood. It was either this elm-top +or that crooked path, it was either this scrap of orchard or that +shape of a window; but each man of them declared that he could +remember this place before he could remember his mother. + +When the carriages eventually rolled up to a large, low, cavernous +gateway, another man in the same uniform, but wearing a silver star +on the grey breast of his coat, came out to meet them. This +impressive person said to the bewildered Syme-- + +"Refreshments are provided for you in your room." + +Syme, under the influence of the same mesmeric sleep of amazement, +went up the large oaken stairs after the respectful attendant. He +entered a splendid suite of apartments that seemed to be designed +specially for him. He walked up to a long mirror with the ordinary +instinct of his class, to pull his tie straight or to smooth his +hair; and there he saw the frightful figure that he was--blood +running down his face from where the bough had struck him, his hair +standing out like yellow rags of rank grass, his clothes torn into +long, wavering tatters. At once the whole enigma sprang up, simply +as the question of how he had got there, and how he was to get out +again. Exactly at the same moment a man in blue, who had been +appointed as his valet, said very solemnly-- + +"I have put out your clothes, sir." + +"Clothes!" said Syme sardonically. "I have no clothes except +these," and he lifted two long strips of his frock-coat in +fascinating festoons, and made a movement as if to twirl like +a ballet girl. + +"My master asks me to say," said the attendant, "that there is a +fancy dress ball tonight, and that he desires you to put on the +costume that I have laid out. Meanwhile, sir, there is a bottle +of Burgundy and some cold pheasant, which he hopes you will not +refuse, as it is some hours before supper." + +"Cold pheasant is a good thing," said Syme reflectively, "and +Burgundy is a spanking good thing. But really I do not want either +of them so much as I want to know what the devil all this means, +and what sort of costume you have got laid out for me. Where is +it?" + +The servant lifted off a kind of ottoman a long peacock-blue +drapery, rather of the nature of a domino, on the front of which +was emblazoned a large golden sun, and which was splashed here +and there with flaming stars and crescents. + +"You're to be dressed as Thursday, sir," said the valet somewhat +affably. + +"Dressed as Thursday!" said Syme in meditation. "It doesn't sound +a warm costume." + +"Oh, yes, sir," said the other eagerly, "the Thursday costume is +quite warm, sir. It fastens up to the chin." + +"Well, I don't understand anything," said Syme, sighing. "I have +been used so long to uncomfortable adventures that comfortable +adventures knock me out. Still, I may be allowed to ask why I +should be particularly like Thursday in a green frock spotted +all over with the sun and moon. Those orbs, I think, shine on +other days. I once saw the moon on Tuesday, I remember." + +"Beg pardon, sir," said the valet, "Bible also provided for you," +and with a respectful and rigid finger he pointed out a passage +in the first chapter of Genesis. Syme read it wondering. It was +that in which the fourth day of the week is associated with the +creation of the sun and moon. Here, however, they reckoned from +a Christian Sunday. + +"This is getting wilder and wilder," said Syme, as he sat down +in a chair. "Who are these people who provide cold pheasant and +Burgundy, and green clothes and Bibles? Do they provide +everything?" + +"Yes, sir, everything," said the attendant gravely. "Shall I help +you on with your costume?" + +"Oh, hitch the bally thing on!" said Syme impatiently. + +But though he affected to despise the mummery, he felt a curious +freedom and naturalness in his movements as the blue and gold +garment fell about him; and when he found that he had to wear a +sword, it stirred a boyish dream. As he passed out of the room he +flung the folds across his shoulder with a gesture, his sword +stood out at an angle, and he had all the swagger of a troubadour. +For these disguises did not disguise, but reveal. + + + +CHAPTER XV + +THE ACCUSER + +AS Syme strode along the corridor he saw the Secretary standing at +the top of a great flight of stairs. The man had never looked so +noble. He was draped in a long robe of starless black, down the +centre of which fell a band or broad stripe of pure white, like a +single shaft of light. The whole looked like some very severe +ecclesiastical vestment. There was no need for Syme to search his +memory or the Bible in order to remember that the first day of +creation marked the mere creation of light out of darkness. The +vestment itself would alone have suggested the symbol; and Syme +felt also how perfectly this pattern of pure white and black +expressed the soul of the pale and austere Secretary, with his +inhuman veracity and his cold frenzy, which made him so easily +make war on the anarchists, and yet so easily pass for one of +them. Syme was scarcely surprised to notice that, amid all the +ease and hospitality of their new surroundings, this man's eyes +were still stern. No smell of ale or orchards could make the +Secretary cease to ask a reasonable question. + +If Syme had been able to see himself, he would have realised that +he, too, seemed to be for the first time himself and no one else. +For if the Secretary stood for that philosopher who loves the +original and formless light, Syme was a type of the poet who seeks +always to make the light in special shapes, to split it up into +sun and star. The philosopher may sometimes love the infinite; the +poet always loves the finite. For him the great moment is not the +creation of light, but the creation of the sun and moon. + +As they descended the broad stairs together they overtook +Ratcliffe, who was clad in spring green like a huntsman, and the +pattern upon whose garment was a green tangle of trees. For he +stood for that third day on which the earth and green things were +made, and his square, sensible face, with its not unfriendly +cynicism, seemed appropriate enough to it. + +They were led out of another broad and low gateway into a very +large old English garden, full of torches and bonfires, by the +broken light of which a vast carnival of people were dancing in +motley dress. Syme seemed to see every shape in Nature imitated +in some crazy costume. There was a man dressed as a windmill with +enormous sails, a man dressed as an elephant, a man dressed as a +balloon; the two last, together, seemed to keep the thread of +their farcical adventures. Syme even saw, with a queer thrill, +one dancer dressed like an enormous hornbill, with a beak twice +as big as himself--the queer bird which had fixed itself on his +fancy like a living question while he was rushing down the long +road at the Zoological Gardens. There were a thousand other such +objects, however. There was a dancing lamp-post, a dancing apple +tree, a dancing ship. One would have thought that the untamable +tune of some mad musician had set all the common objects of field +and street dancing an eternal jig. And long afterwards, when Syme +was middle-aged and at rest, he could never see one of those +particular objects--a lamppost, or an apple tree, or a windmill-- +without thinking that it was a strayed reveller from that revel +of masquerade. + +On one side of this lawn, alive with dancers, was a sort of green +bank, like the terrace in such old-fashioned gardens. + +Along this, in a kind of crescent, stood seven great chairs, the +thrones of the seven days. Gogol and Dr. Bull were already in their +seats; the Professor was just mounting to his. Gogol, or Tuesday, +had his simplicity well symbolised by a dress designed upon the +division of the waters, a dress that separated upon his forehead +and fell to his feet, grey and silver, like a sheet of rain. The +Professor, whose day was that on which the birds and fishes--the +ruder forms of life--were created, had a dress of dim purple, over +which sprawled goggle-eyed fishes and outrageous tropical birds, +the union in him of unfathomable fancy and of doubt. Dr. Bull, the +last day of Creation, wore a coat covered with heraldic animals in +red and gold, and on his crest a man rampant. He lay back in his +chair with a broad smile, the picture of an optimist in his +element. + +One by one the wanderers ascended the bank and sat in their +strange seats. As each of them sat down a roar of enthusiasm rose +from the carnival, such as that with which crowds receive kings. +Cups were clashed and torches shaken, and feathered hats flung in +the air. The men for whom these thrones were reserved were men +crowned with some extraordinary laurels. But the central chair was +empty. + +Syme was on the left hand of it and the Secretary on the right. +The Secretary looked across the empty throne at Syme, and said, +compressing his lips-- + +"We do not know yet that he is not dead in a field." + +Almost as Syme heard the words, he saw on the sea of human faces in +front of him a frightful and beautiful alteration, as if heaven had +opened behind his head. But Sunday had only passed silently along +the front like a shadow, and had sat in the central seat. He was +draped plainly, in a pure and terrible white, and his hair was like +a silver flame on his forehead. + +For a long time--it seemed for hours--that huge masquerade of +mankind swayed and stamped in front of them to marching and +exultant music. Every couple dancing seemed a separate romance; +it might be a fairy dancing with a pillar-box, or a peasant girl +dancing with the moon; but in each case it was, somehow, as +absurd as Alice in Wonderland, yet as grave and kind as a love +story. At last, however, the thick crowd began to thin itself. +Couples strolled away into the garden-walks, or began to drift +towards that end of the building where stood smoking, in huge +pots like fish-kettles, some hot and scented mixtures of old ale +or wine. Above all these, upon a sort of black framework on the +roof of the house, roared in its iron basket a gigantic bonfire, +which lit up the land for miles. It flung the homely effect of +firelight over the face of vast forests of grey or brown, and it +seemed to fill with warmth even the emptiness of upper night. +Yet this also, after a time, was allowed to grow fainter; the +dim groups gathered more and more round the great cauldrons, or +passed, laughing and clattering, into the inner passages of that +ancient house. Soon there were only some ten loiterers in the +garden; soon only four. Finally the last stray merry-maker ran +into the house whooping to his companions. The fire faded, and +the slow, strong stars came out. And the seven strange men were +left alone, like seven stone statues on their chairs of stone. +Not one of them had spoken a word. + +They seemed in no haste to do so, but heard in silence the hum of +insects and the distant song of one bird. Then Sunday spoke, but +so dreamily that he might have been continuing a conversation +rather than beginning one. + +"We will eat and drink later," he said. "Let us remain together a +little, we who have loved each other so sadly, and have fought so +long. I seem to remember only centuries of heroic war, in which +you were always heroes--epic on epic, iliad on iliad, and you +always brothers in arms. Whether it was but recently (for time is +nothing), or at the beginning of the world, I sent you out to +war. I sat in the darkness, where there is not any created thing, +and to you I was only a voice commanding valour and an unnatural +virtue. You heard the voice in the dark, and you never heard it +again. The sun in heaven denied it, the earth and sky denied it, +all human wisdom denied it. And when I met you in the daylight I +denied it myself." + +Syme stirred sharply in his seat, but otherwise there was silence, +and the incomprehensible went on. + +"But you were men. You did not forget your secret honour, though +the whole cosmos turned an engine of torture to tear it out of +you. I knew how near you were to hell. I know how you, Thursday, +crossed swords with King Satan, and how you, Wednesday, named me +in the hour without hope." + +There was complete silence in the starlit garden, and then the +black-browed Secretary, implacable, turned in his chair towards +Sunday, and said in a harsh voice-- + +"Who and what are you?" + +"I am the Sabbath," said the other without moving. "I am the peace +of God." + +The Secretary started up, and stood crushing his costly robe in his +hand. + +"I know what you mean," he cried, "and it is exactly that that I +cannot forgive you. I know you are contentment, optimism, what do +they call the thing, an ultimate reconciliation. Well, I am not +reconciled. If you were the man in the dark room, why were you also +Sunday, an offense to the sunlight? If you were from the first our +father and our friend, why were you also our greatest enemy? We +wept, we fled in terror; the iron entered into our souls--and you +are the peace of God! Oh, I can forgive God His anger, though it +destroyed nations; but I cannot forgive Him His peace." + +Sunday answered not a word, but very slowly he turned his face of +stone upon Syme as if asking a question. + +"No," said Syme, "I do not feel fierce like that. I am grateful +to you, not only for wine and hospitality here, but for many a +fine scamper and free fight. But I should like to know. My soul +and heart are as happy and quiet here as this old garden, but my +reason is still crying out. I should like to know." + +Sunday looked at Ratcliffe, whose clear voice said-- + +"It seems so silly that you should have been on both sides and +fought yourself." + +Bull said-- + +"I understand nothing, but I am happy. In fact, I am going to +sleep." + +"I am not happy," said the Professor with his head in his hands, +"because I do not understand. You let me stray a little too near +to hell." + +And then Gogol said, with the absolute simplicity of a child-- + +"I wish I knew why I was hurt so much." + +Still Sunday said nothing, but only sat with his mighty chin upon +his hand, and gazed at the distance. Then at last he said-- + +"I have heard your complaints in order. And here, I think, comes +another to complain, and we will hear him also." + +The falling fire in the great cresset threw a last long gleam, like +a bar of burning gold, across the dim grass. Against this fiery +band was outlined in utter black the advancing legs of a black-clad +figure. He seemed to have a fine close suit with knee-breeches such +as that which was worn by the servants of the house, only that it +was not blue, but of this absolute sable. He had, like the +servants, a kind of sword by his side. It was only when he had come +quite close to the crescent of the seven and flung up his face to +look at them, that Syme saw, with thunder-struck clearness, that +the face was the broad, almost ape-like face of his old friend +Gregory, with its rank red hair and its insulting smile. + +"Gregory!" gasped Syme, half-rising from his seat. "Why, this is +the real anarchist!" + +"Yes," said Gregory, with a great and dangerous restraint, "I am +the real anarchist." + +"'Now there was a day,'" murmured Bull, who seemed really to have +fallen asleep, "'when the sons of God came to present themselves +before the Lord, and Satan came also among them.'" + +"You are right," said Gregory, and gazed all round. "I am a +destroyer. I would destroy the world if I could." + +A sense of a pathos far under the earth stirred up in Syme, and +he spoke brokenly and without sequence. + +"Oh, most unhappy man," he cried, "try to be happy! You have red +hair like your sister." + +"My red hair, like red flames, shall burn up the world," said +Gregory. "I thought I hated everything more than common men can +hate anything; but I find that I do not hate everything so much +as I hate you!" + +"I never hated you," said Syme very sadly. + +Then out of this unintelligible creature the last thunders broke. + +"You!" he cried. "You never hated because you never lived. I know +what you are all of you, from first to last--you are the people +in power! You are the police--the great fat, smiling men in blue +and buttons! You are the Law, and you have never been broken. But +is there a free soul alive that does not long to break you, only +because you have never been broken? We in revolt talk all kind of +nonsense doubtless about this crime or that crime of the +Government. It is all folly! The only crime of the Government is +that it governs. The unpardonable sin of the supreme power is +that it is supreme. I do not curse you for being cruel. I do not +curse you (though I might) for being kind. I curse you for being +safe! You sit in your chairs of stone, and have never come down +from them. You are the seven angels of heaven, and you have had +no troubles. Oh, I could forgive you everything, you that rule +all mankind, if I could feel for once that you had suffered for +one hour a real agony such as I--" + +Syme sprang to his feet, shaking from head to foot. + +"I see everything," he cried, "everything that there is. Why does +each thing on the earth war against each other thing? Why does +each small thing in the world have to fight against the world +itself? Why does a fly have to fight the whole universe? Why does +a dandelion have to fight the whole universe? For the same reason +that I had to be alone in the dreadful Council of the Days. So +that each thing that obeys law may have the glory and isolation of +the anarchist. So that each man fighting for order may be as brave +and good a man as the dynamiter. So that the real lie of Satan may +be flung back in the face of this blasphemer, so that by tears and +torture we may earn the right to say to this man, 'You lie!' No +agonies can be too great to buy the right to say to this accuser, +'We also have suffered.' + +"It is not true that we have never been broken. We have been broken +upon the wheel. It is not true that we have never descended from +these thrones. We have descended into hell. We were complaining of +unforgettable miseries even at the very moment when this man +entered insolently to accuse us of happiness. I repel the slander; +we have not been happy. I can answer for every one of the great +guards of Law whom he has accused. At least--" + +He had turned his eyes so as to see suddenly the great face of +Sunday, which wore a strange smile. + +"Have you," he cried in a dreadful voice, "have you ever suffered?" + +As he gazed, the great face grew to an awful size, grew larger than +the colossal mask of Memnon, which had made him scream as a child. +It grew larger and larger, filling the whole sky; then everything +went black. Only in the blackness before it entirely destroyed his +brain he seemed to hear a distant voice saying a commonplace text +that he had heard somewhere, "Can ye drink of the cup that I drink +of?" + +* * * + +When men in books awake from a vision, they commonly find +themselves in some place in which they might have fallen asleep; +they yawn in a chair, or lift themselves with bruised limbs from a +field. Syme's experience was something much more psychologically +strange if there was indeed anything unreal, in the earthly sense, +about the things he had gone through. For while he could always +remember afterwards that he had swooned before the face of Sunday, +he could not remember having ever come to at all. He could only +remember that gradually and naturally he knew that he was and had +been walking along a country lane with an easy and conversational +companion. That companion had been a part of his recent drama; it +was the red-haired poet Gregory. They were walking like old +friends, and were in the middle of a conversation about some +triviality. But Syme could only feel an unnatural buoyancy in his +body and a crystal simplicity in his mind that seemed to be +superior to everything that he said or did. He felt he was in +possession of some impossible good news, which made every other +thing a triviality, but an adorable triviality. + +Dawn was breaking over everything in colours at once clear and +timid; as if Nature made a first attempt at yellow and a first +attempt at rose. A breeze blew so clean and sweet, that one could +not think that it blew from the sky; it blew rather through some +hole in the sky. Syme felt a simple surprise when he saw rising all +round him on both sides of the road the red, irregular buildings of +Saffron Park. He had no idea that he had walked so near London. He +walked by instinct along one white road, on which early birds +hopped and sang, and found himself outside a fenced garden. There +he saw the sister of Gregory, the girl with the gold-red hair, +cutting lilac before breakfast, with the great unconscious gravity +of a girl. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg Etext The Man Who Was Thursday, by Chesterton + diff --git a/old/tmwht10.txt~ b/old/tmwht10.txt~ new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4f8fc6f --- /dev/null +++ b/old/tmwht10.txt~ @@ -0,0 +1,7119 @@ +Project Gutenberg Etext The Man Who Was Thursday, by Chesterton +#7 in our series by G. K. 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It is +possible to say that it is a gripping adventure story of murderous +criminals and brilliant policemen; but it was to be expected that +the author of the Father Brown stories should tell a detective +story like no-one else. On this level, therefore, THE MAN WHO WAS +THURSDAY succeeds superbly; if nothing else, it is a magnificent +tour-de-force of suspense-writing. + +However, the reader will soon discover that it is much more than +that. Carried along on the boisterous rush of the narrative by +Chesterton's wonderful high-spirited style, he will soon see that +he is being carried into much deeper waters than he had planned on; +and the totally unforeseeable denouement will prove for the modern +reader, as it has for thousands of others since 1908 when the book +was first published, an inevitable and moving experience, as the +investigators finally discover who Sunday is. + + + +THE MAN WHO WAS THURSDAY + +A NIGHTMARE + +G. K. CHESTERTON + +To Edmund Clerihew Bentley + +A cloud was on the mind of men, and wailing went the weather, +Yea, a sick cloud upon the soul when we were boys together. +Science announced nonentity and art admired decay; +The world was old and ended: but you and I were gay; +Round us in antic order their crippled vices came-- +Lust that had lost its laughter, fear that had lost its shame. +Like the white lock of Whistler, that lit our aimless gloom, +Men showed their own white feather as proudly as a plume. +Life was a fly that faded, and death a drone that stung; +The world was very old indeed when you and I were young. +They twisted even decent sin to shapes not to be named: +Men were ashamed of honour; but we were not ashamed. +Weak if we were and foolish, not thus we failed, not thus; +When that black Baal blocked the heavens he had no hymns from us +Children we were--our forts of sand were even as weak as eve, +High as they went we piled them up to break that bitter sea. +Fools as we were in motley, all jangling and absurd, +When all church bells were silent our cap and beds were heard. + +Not all unhelped we held the fort, our tiny flags unfurled; +Some giants laboured in that cloud to lift it from the world. +I find again the book we found, I feel the hour that flings +Far out of fish-shaped Paumanok some cry of cleaner things; +And the Green Carnation withered, as in forest fires that pass, +Roared in the wind of all the world ten million leaves of grass; +Or sane and sweet and sudden as a bird sings in the rain-- +Truth out of Tusitala spoke and pleasure out of pain. +Yea, cool and clear and sudden as a bird sings in the grey, +Dunedin to Samoa spoke, and darkness unto day. +But we were young; we lived to see God break their bitter charms. +God and the good Republic come riding back in arms: +We have seen the City of Mansoul, even as it rocked, relieved-- +Blessed are they who did not see, but being blind, believed. + +This is a tale of those old fears, even of those emptied hells, +And none but you shall understand the true thing that it tells-- +Of what colossal gods of shame could cow men and yet crash, +Of what huge devils hid the stars, yet fell at a pistol flash. +The doubts that were so plain to chase, so dreadful to withstand-- +Oh, who shall understand but you; yea, who shall understand? +The doubts that drove us through the night as we two talked amain, +And day had broken on the streets e'er it broke upon the brain. +Between us, by the peace of God, such truth can now be told; +Yea, there is strength in striking root and good in growing old. +We have found common things at last and marriage and a creed, +And I may safely write it now, and you may safely read. + +G. K. C. + + + +CHAPTER I + +THE TWO POETS OF SAFFRON PARK + +THE suburb of Saffron Park lay on the sunset side of London, as +red and ragged as a cloud of sunset. It was built of a bright +brick throughout; its sky-line was fantastic, and even its ground +plan was wild. It had been the outburst of a speculative builder, +faintly tinged with art, who called its architecture sometimes +Elizabethan and sometimes Queen Anne, apparently under the +impression that the two sovereigns were identical. It was described +with some justice as an artistic colony, though it never in any +definable way produced any art. But although its pretensions to be +an intellectual centre were a little vague, its pretensions to be a +pleasant place were quite indisputable. The stranger who looked for +the first time at the quaint red houses could only think how very +oddly shaped the people must be who could fit in to them. Nor when +he met the people was he disappointed in this respect. The place +was not only pleasant, but perfect, if once he could regard it not +as a deception but rather as a dream. Even if the people were not +"artists," the whole was nevertheless artistic. That young man with +the long, auburn hair and the impudent face--that young man was not +really a poet; but surely he was a poem. That old gentleman with +the wild, white beard and the wild, white hat--that venerable +humbug was not really a philosopher; but at least he was the cause +of philosophy in others. That scientific gentleman with the bald, +egg-like head and the bare, bird-like neck had no real right to the +airs of science that he assumed. He had not discovered anything new +in biology; but what biological creature could he have discovered +more singular than himself? Thus, and thus only, the whole place +had properly to be regarded; it had to be considered not so much +as a workshop for artists, but as a frail but finished work of art. +A man who stepped into its social atmosphere felt as if he had +stepped into a written comedy. + +More especially this attractive unreality fell upon it about +nightfall, when the extravagant roofs were dark against the +afterglow and the whole insane village seemed as separate as a +drifting cloud. This again was more strongly true of the many +nights of local festivity, when the little gardens were often +illuminated, and the big Chinese lanterns glowed in the dwarfish +trees like some fierce and monstrous fruit. And this was strongest +of all on one particular evening, still vaguely remembered in the +locality, of which the auburn-haired poet was the hero. It was not +by any means the only evening of which he was the hero. On many +nights those passing by his little back garden might hear his high, +didactic voice laying down the law to men and particularly to +women. The attitude of women in such cases was indeed one of the +paradoxes of the place. Most of the women were of the kind vaguely +called emancipated, and professed some protest against male +supremacy. Yet these new women would always pay to a man the +extravagant compliment which no ordinary woman ever pays to him, +that of listening while he is talking. And Mr. Lucian Gregory, the +red-haired poet, was really (in some sense) a man worth listening +to, even if one only laughed at the end of it. He put the old cant +of the lawlessness of art and the art of lawlessness with a certain +impudent freshness which gave at least a momentary pleasure. He was +helped in some degree by the arresting oddity of his appearance, +which he worked, as the phrase goes, for all it was worth. His dark +red hair parted in the middle was literally like a woman's, and +curved into the slow curls of a virgin in a pre-Raphaelite picture. +From within this almost saintly oval, however, his face projected +suddenly broad and brutal, the chin carried forward with a look of +cockney contempt. This combination at once tickled and terrified +the nerves of a neurotic population. He seemed like a walking +blasphemy, a blend of the angel and the ape. + +This particular evening, if it is remembered for nothing else, +will be remembered in that place for its strange sunset. It looked +like the end of the world. All the heaven seemed covered with a +quite vivid and palpable plumage; you could only say that the sky +was full of feathers, and of feathers that almost brushed the +face. Across the great part of the dome they were grey, with the +strangest tints of violet and mauve and an unnatural pink or pale +green; but towards the west the whole grew past description, +transparent and passionate, and the last red-hot plumes of it +covered up the sun like something too good to be seen. The whole +was so close about the earth, as to express nothing but a violent +secrecy. The very empyrean seemed to be a secret. It expressed +that splendid smallness which is the soul of local patriotism. The +very sky seemed small. + +I say that there are some inhabitants who may remember the evening +if only by that oppressive sky. There are others who may remember +it because it marked the first appearance in the place of the +second poet of Saffron Park. For a long time the red-haired +revolutionary had reigned without a rival; it was upon the night +of the sunset that his solitude suddenly ended. The new poet, who +introduced himself by the name of Gabriel Syme was a very +mild-looking mortal, with a fair, pointed beard and faint, yellow +hair. But an impression grew that he was less meek than he looked. +He signalised his entrance by differing with the established poet, +Gregory, upon the whole nature of poetry. He said that he (Syme) +was poet of law, a poet of order; nay, he said he was a poet of +respectability. So all the Saffron Parkers looked at him as if he +had that moment fallen out of that impossible sky. + +In fact, Mr. Lucian Gregory, the anarchic poet, connected the two +events. + +"It may well be," he said, in his sudden lyrical manner, "it may +well be on such a night of clouds and cruel colours that there is +brought forth upon the earth such a portent as a respectable poet. +You say you are a poet of law; I say you are a contradiction in +terms. I only wonder there were not comets and earthquakes on the +night you appeared in this garden." + +The man with the meek blue eyes and the pale, pointed beard endured +these thunders with a certain submissive solemnity. The third party +of the group, Gregory's sister Rosamond, who had her brother's +braids of red hair, but a kindlier face underneath them, laughed +with such mixture of admiration and disapproval as she gave +commonly to the family oracle. + +Gregory resumed in high oratorical good humour. + +"An artist is identical with an anarchist," he cried. "You might +transpose the words anywhere. An anarchist is an artist. The man +who throws a bomb is an artist, because he prefers a great moment +to everything. He sees how much more valuable is one burst of +blazing light, one peal of perfect thunder, than the mere common +bodies of a few shapeless policemen. An artist disregards all +governments, abolishes all conventions. The poet delights in +disorder only. If it were not so, the most poetical thing in the +world would be the Underground Railway." + +"So it is," said Mr. Syme. + +"Nonsense!" said Gregory, who was very rational when anyone else +attempted paradox. "Why do all the clerks and navvies in the +railway trains look so sad and tired, so very sad and tired? I will +tell you. It is because they know that the train is going right. It +is because they know that whatever place they have taken a ticket +for that place they will reach. It is because after they have +passed Sloane Square they know that the next station must be +Victoria, and nothing but Victoria. Oh, their wild rapture! oh, +their eyes like stars and their souls again in Eden, if the next +station were unaccountably Baker Street!" + +"It is you who are unpoetical," replied the poet Syme. "If what you +say of clerks is true, they can only be as prosaic as your poetry. +The rare, strange thing is to hit the mark; the gross, obvious +thing is to miss it. We feel it is epical when man with one wild +arrow strikes a distant bird. Is it not also epical when man with +one wild engine strikes a distant station? Chaos is dull; because +in chaos the train might indeed go anywhere, to Baker Street or to +Bagdad. But man is a magician, and his whole magic is in this, that +he does say Victoria, and lo! it is Victoria. No, take your books +of mere poetry and prose; let me read a time table, with tears of +pride. Take your Byron, who commemorates the defeats of man; give +me Bradshaw, who commemorates his victories. Give me Bradshaw, I +say!" + +"Must you go?" inquired Gregory sarcastically. + +"I tell you," went on Syme with passion, "that every time a train +comes in I feel that it has broken past batteries of besiegers, and +that man has won a battle against chaos. You say contemptuously +that when one has left Sloane Square one must come to Victoria. I +say that one might do a thousand things instead, and that whenever +I really come there I have the sense of hairbreadth escape. And +when I hear the guard shout out the word 'Victoria,' it is not an +unmeaning word. It is to me the cry of a herald announcing +conquest. It is to me indeed 'Victoria'; it is the victory of +Adam." + +Gregory wagged his heavy, red head with a slow and sad smile. + +"And even then," he said, "we poets always ask the question, 'And +what is Victoria now that you have got there?' You think Victoria +is like the New Jerusalem. We know that the New Jerusalem will only +be like Victoria. Yes, the poet will be discontented even in the +streets of heaven. The poet is always in revolt." + +"There again," said Syme irritably, "what is there poetical about +being in revolt? You might as well say that it is poetical to be +sea-sick. Being sick is a revolt. Both being sick and being +rebellious may be the wholesome thing on certain desperate +occasions; but I'm hanged if I can see why they are poetical. +Revolt in the abstract is--revolting. It's mere vomiting." + +The girl winced for a flash at the unpleasant word, but Syme was +too hot to heed her. + +"It is things going right," he cried, "that is poetical! Our +digestions, for instance, going sacredly and silently right, that +is the foundation of all poetry. Yes, the most poetical thing, more +poetical than the flowers, more poetical than the stars--the most +poetical thing in the world is not being sick." + +"Really," said Gregory superciliously, "the examples you choose--" + +"I beg your pardon," said Syme grimly, "I forgot we had abolished +all conventions." + +For the first time a red patch appeared on Gregory's forehead. + +"You don't expect me," he said, "to revolutionise society on this +lawn?" + +Syme looked straight into his eyes and smiled sweetly. + +"No, I don't," he said; "but I suppose that if you were serious +about your anarchism, that is exactly what you would do." + +Gregory's big bull's eyes blinked suddenly like those of an angry +lion, and one could almost fancy that his red mane rose. + +"Don't you think, then," he said in a dangerous voice, "that I am +serious about my anarchism?" + +"I beg your pardon?" said Syme. + +"Am I not serious about my anarchism?" cried Gregory, with knotted +fists. + +"My dear fellow!" said Syme, and strolled away. + +With surprise, but with a curious pleasure, he found Rosamond +Gregory still in his company. + +"Mr. Syme," she said, "do the people who talk like you and my +brother often mean what they say? Do you mean what you say now?" + +Syme smiled. + +"Do you?" he asked. + +"What do you mean?" asked the girl, with grave eyes. + +"My dear Miss Gregory," said Syme gently, "there are many kinds of +sincerity and insincerity. When you say 'thank you' for the salt, +do you mean what you say? No. When you say 'the world is round,' +do you mean what you say? No. It is true, but you don't mean it. +Now, sometimes a man like your brother really finds a thing he does +mean. It may be only a half-truth, quarter-truth, tenth-truth; but +then he says more than he means--from sheer force of meaning it." + +She was looking at him from under level brows; her face was grave +and open, and there had fallen upon it the shadow of that +unreasoning responsibility which is at the bottom of the most +frivolous woman, the maternal watch which is as old as the world. + +"Is he really an anarchist, then?" she asked. + +"Only in that sense I speak of," replied Syme; "or if you prefer +it, in that nonsense." + +She drew her broad brows together and said abruptly-- + +"He wouldn't really use--bombs or that sort of thing?" + +Syme broke into a great laugh, that seemed too large for his slight +and somewhat dandified figure. + +"Good Lord, no!" he said, "that has to be done anonymously." + +And at that the corners of her own mouth broke into a smile, and +she thought with a simultaneous pleasure of Gregory's absurdity +and of his safety. + +Syme strolled with her to a seat in the corner of the garden, and +continued to pour out his opinions. For he was a sincere man, and +in spite of his superficial airs and graces, at root a humble one. +And it is always the humble man who talks too much; the proud man +watches himself too closely. He defended respectability with +violence and exaggeration. He grew passionate in his praise of +tidiness and propriety. All the time there was a smell of lilac +all round him. Once he heard very faintly in some distant street a +barrel-organ begin to play, and it seemed to him that his heroic +words were moving to a tiny tune from under or beyond the world. + +He stared and talked at the girl's red hair and amused face for +what seemed to be a few minutes; and then, feeling that the groups +in such a place should mix, rose to his feet. To his astonishment, +he discovered the whole garden empty. Everyone had gone long ago, +and he went himself with a rather hurried apology. He left with a +sense of champagne in his head, which he could not afterwards +explain. In the wild events which were to follow this girl had no +part at all; he never saw her again until all his tale was over. +And yet, in some indescribable way, she kept recurring like a +motive in music through all his mad adventures afterwards, and the +glory of her strange hair ran like a red thread through those dark +and ill-drawn tapestries of the night. For what followed was so +improbable, that it might well have been a dream. + +When Syme went out into the starlit street, he found it for the +moment empty. Then he realised (in some odd way) that the silence +was rather a living silence than a dead one. Directly outside the +door stood a street lamp, whose gleam gilded the leaves of the tree +that bent out over the fence behind him. About a foot from the +lamp-post stood a figure almost as rigid and motionless as the +lamp-post itself. The tall hat and long frock coat were black; the +face, in an abrupt shadow, was almost as dark. Only a fringe of +fiery hair against the light, and also something aggressive in the +attitude, proclaimed that it was the poet Gregory. He had something +of the look of a masked bravo waiting sword in hand for his foe. + +He made a sort of doubtful salute, which Syme somewhat more +formally returned. + +"I was waiting for you," said Gregory. "Might I have a moment's +conversation?" + +"Certainly. About what?" asked Syme in a sort of weak wonder. + +Gregory struck out with his stick at the lamp-post, and then at the +tree. "About this and this," he cried; "about order and anarchy. +There is your precious order, that lean, iron lamp, ugly and +barren; and there is anarchy, rich, living, reproducing +itself--there is anarchy, splendid in green and gold." + +"All the same," replied Syme patiently, "just at present you only +see the tree by the light of the lamp. I wonder when you would ever +see the lamp by the light of the tree." Then after a pause he said, +"But may I ask if you have been standing out here in the dark only +to resume our little argument?" + +"No," cried out Gregory, in a voice that rang down the street, "I +did not stand here to resume our argument, but to end it for ever." + +The silence fell again, and Syme, though he understood nothing, +listened instinctively for something serious. Gregory began in a +smooth voice and with a rather bewildering smile. + +"Mr. Syme," he said, "this evening you succeeded in doing something +rather remarkable. You did something to me that no man born of +woman has ever succeeded in doing before." + +"Indeed!" + +"Now I remember," resumed Gregory reflectively, "one other person +succeeded in doing it. The captain of a penny steamer (if I +remember correctly) at Southend. You have irritated me." + +"I am very sorry," replied Syme with gravity. + +"I am afraid my fury and your insult are too shocking to be wiped +out even with an apology," said Gregory very calmly. "No duel +could wipe it out. If I struck you dead I could not wipe it out. +There is only one way by which that insult can be erased, and that +way I choose. I am going, at the possible sacrifice of my life and +honour, to prove to you that you were wrong in what you said." + +"In what I said?" + +"You said I was not serious about being an anarchist." + +"There are degrees of seriousness," replied Syme. "I have never +doubted that you were perfectly sincere in this sense, that you +thought what you said well worth saying, that you thought a +paradox might wake men up to a neglected truth." + +Gregory stared at him steadily and painfully. + +"And in no other sense," he asked, "you think me serious? You think +me a flaneur who lets fall occasional truths. You do not think that +in a deeper, a more deadly sense, I am serious." + +Syme struck his stick violently on the stones of the road. + +"Serious!" he cried. "Good Lord! is this street serious? Are these +damned Chinese lanterns serious? Is the whole caboodle serious? +One comes here and talks a pack of bosh, and perhaps some sense as +well, but I should think very little of a man who didn't keep +something in the background of his life that was more serious than +all this talking--something more serious, whether it was religion +or only drink." + +"Very well," said Gregory, his face darkening, "you shall see +something more serious than either drink or religion." + +Syme stood waiting with his usual air of mildness until Gregory +again opened his lips. + +"You spoke just now of having a religion. Is it really true that +you have one?" + +"Oh," said Syme with a beaming smile, "we are all Catholics now." + +"Then may I ask you to swear by whatever gods or saints your +religion involves that you will not reveal what I am now going to +tell you to any son of Adam, and especially not to the police? +Will you swear that! If you will take upon yourself this awful +abnegations if you will consent to burden your soul with a vow +that you should never make and a knowledge you should never dream +about, I will promise you in return--" + +"You will promise me in return?" inquired Syme, as the other +paused. + +"I will promise you a very entertaining evening." Syme suddenly +took off his hat. + +"Your offer," he said, "is far too idiotic to be declined. You say +that a poet is always an anarchist. I disagree; but I hope at least +that he is always a sportsman. Permit me, here and now, to swear as +a Christian, and promise as a good comrade and a fellow-artist, +that I will not report anything of this, whatever it is, to the +police. And now, in the name of Colney Hatch, what is it?" + +"I think," said Gregory, with placid irrelevancy, "that we will +call a cab." + +He gave two long whistles, and a hansom came rattling down the +road. The two got into it in silence. Gregory gave through the +trap the address of an obscure public-house on the Chiswick bank +of the river. The cab whisked itself away again, and in it these +two fantastics quitted their fantastic town. + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE SECRET OF GABRIEL SYME + +THE cab pulled up before a particularly dreary and greasy beershop, +into which Gregory rapidly conducted his companion. They seated +themselves in a close and dim sort of bar-parlour, at a stained +wooden table with one wooden leg. The room was so small and dark, +that very little could be seen of the attendant who was summoned, +beyond a vague and dark impression of something bulky and bearded. + +"Will you take a little supper?" asked Gregory politely. "The pate +de foie gras is not good here, but I can recommend the game." + +Syme received the remark with stolidity, imagining it to be a joke. +Accepting the vein of humour, he said, with a well-bred +indifference-- + +"Oh, bring me some lobster mayonnaise." + +To his indescribable astonishment, the man only said "Certainly, +sir!" and went away apparently to get it. + +"What will you drink?" resumed Gregory, with the same careless yet +apologetic air. "I shall only have a crepe de menthe myself; I have +dined. But the champagne can really be trusted. Do let me start you +with a half-bottle of Pommery at least?" + +"Thank you!" said the motionless Syme. "You are very good." + +His further attempts at conversation, somewhat disorganised in +themselves, were cut short finally as by a thunderbolt by the +actual appearance of the lobster. Syme tasted it, and found it +particularly good. Then he suddenly began to eat with great +rapidity and appetite. + +"Excuse me if I enjoy myself rather obviously!" he said to Gregory, +smiling. "I don't often have the luck to have a dream like this. It +is new to me for a nightmare to lead to a lobster. It is commonly +the other way." + +"You are not asleep, I assure you," said Gregory. "You are, on the +contrary, close to the most actual and rousing moment of your +existence. Ah, here comes your champagne! I admit that there may be +a slight disproportion, let us say, between the inner arrangements +of this excellent hotel and its simple and unpretentious exterior. +But that is all our modesty. We are the most modest men that ever +lived on earth." + +"And who are we?" asked Syme, emptying his champagne glass. + +"It is quite simple," replied Gregory. "We are the serious +anarchists, in whom you do not believe." + +"Oh!" said Syme shortly. "You do yourselves well in drinks." + +"Yes, we are serious about everything," answered Gregory. + +Then after a pause he added-- + +"If in a few moments this table begins to turn round a little, +don't put it down to your inroads into the champagne. I don't wish +you to do yourself an injustice." + +"Well, if I am not drunk, I am mad," replied Syme with perfect +calm; "but I trust I can behave like a gentleman in either +condition. May I smoke?" + +"Certainly!" said Gregory, producing a cigar-case. "Try one of +mine." + +Syme took the cigar, clipped the end off with a cigar-cutter out +of his waistcoat pocket, put it in his mouth, lit it slowly, and +let out a long cloud of smoke. It is not a little to his credit +that he performed these rites with so much composure, for almost +before he had begun them the table at which he sat had begun to +revolve, first slowly, and then rapidly, as if at an insane +seance. + +"You must not mind it," said Gregory; "it's a kind of screw." + +"Quite so," said Syme placidly, "a kind of screw. How simple that +is!" + +The next moment the smoke of his cigar, which had been wavering +across the room in snaky twists, went straight up as if from a +factory chimney, and the two, with their chairs and table, shot +down through the floor as if the earth had swallowed them. They +went rattling down a kind of roaring chimney as rapidly as a lift +cut loose, and they came with an abrupt bump to the bottom. But +when Gregory threw open a pair of doors and let in a red +subterranean light, Syme was still smoking with one leg thrown +over the other, and had not turned a yellow hair. + +Gregory led him down a low, vaulted passage, at the end of which +was the red light. It was an enormous crimson lantern, nearly as +big as a fireplace, fixed over a small but heavy iron door. In the +door there was a sort of hatchway or grating, and on this Gregory +struck five times. A heavy voice with a foreign accent asked him +who he was. To this he gave the more or less unexpected reply, +"Mr. Joseph Chamberlain." The heavy hinges began to move; it was +obviously some kind of password. + +Inside the doorway the passage gleamed as if it were lined with a +network of steel. On a second glance, Syme saw that the glittering +pattern was really made up of ranks and ranks of rifles and +revolvers, closely packed or interlocked. + +"I must ask you to forgive me all these formalities," said Gregory; +"we have to be very strict here." + +"Oh, don't apologise," said Syme. "I know your passion for law and +order," and he stepped into the passage lined with the steel +weapons. With his long, fair hair and rather foppish frock-coat, he +looked a singularly frail and fanciful figure as he walked down +that shining avenue of death. + +They passed through several such passages, and came out at last +into a queer steel chamber with curved walls, almost spherical in +shape, but presenting, with its tiers of benches, something of the +appearance of a scientific lecture-theatre. There were no rifles or +pistols in this apartment, but round the walls of it were hung more +dubious and dreadful shapes, things that looked like the bulbs of +iron plants, or the eggs of iron birds. They were bombs, and the +very room itself seemed like the inside of a bomb. Syme knocked his +cigar ash off against the wall, and went in. + +"And now, my dear Mr. Syme," said Gregory, throwing himself in an +expansive manner on the bench under the largest bomb, "now we are +quite cosy, so let us talk properly. Now no human words can give +you any notion of why I brought you here. It was one of those quite +arbitrary emotions, like jumping off a cliff or falling in love. +Suffice it to say that you were an inexpressibly irritating fellow, +and, to do you justice, you are still. I would break twenty oaths +of secrecy for the pleasure of taking you down a peg. That way you +have of lighting a cigar would make a priest break the seal of +confession. Well, you said that you were quite certain I was not a +serious anarchist. Does this place strike you as being serious?" + +"It does seem to have a moral under all its gaiety," assented +Syme; "but may I ask you two questions? You need not fear to give +me information, because, as you remember, you very wisely extorted +from me a promise not to tell the police, a promise I shall +certainly keep. So it is in mere curiosity that I make my queries. +First of all, what is it really all about? What is it you object +to? You want to abolish Government?" + +"To abolish God!" said Gregory, opening the eyes of a fanatic. "We +do not only want to upset a few despotisms and police regulations; +that sort of anarchism does exist, but it is a mere branch of the +Nonconformists. We dig deeper and we blow you higher. We wish to +deny all those arbitrary distinctions of vice and virtue, honour +and treachery, upon which mere rebels base themselves. The silly +sentimentalists of the French Revolution talked of the Rights of +Man! We hate Rights as we hate Wrongs. We have abolished Right and +Wrong." + +"And Right and Left," said Syme with a simple eagerness, "I hope +you will abolish them too. They are much more troublesome to me." + +"You spoke of a second question," snapped Gregory. + +"With pleasure," resumed Syme. "In all your present acts and +surroundings there is a scientific attempt at secrecy. I have an +aunt who lived over a shop, but this is the first time I have +found people living from preference under a public-house. You have +a heavy iron door. You cannot pass it without submitting to the +humiliation of calling yourself Mr. Chamberlain. You surround +yourself with steel instruments which make the place, if I may say +so, more impressive than homelike. May I ask why, after taking all +this trouble to barricade yourselves in the bowels of the earth, +you then parade your whole secret by talking about anarchism to +every silly woman in Saffron Park?" + +Gregory smiled. + +"The answer is simple," he said. "I told you I was a serious +anarchist, and you did not believe me. Nor do they believe me. +Unless I took them into this infernal room they would not believe +me." + +Syme smoked thoughtfully, and looked at him with interest. Gregory +went on. + +"The history of the thing might amuse you," he said. "When first I +became one of the New Anarchists I tried all kinds of respectable +disguises. I dressed up as a bishop. I read up all about bishops +in our anarchist pamphlets, in Superstition the Vampire and +Priests of Prey. I certainly understood from them that bishops are +strange and terrible old men keeping a cruel secret from mankind. +I was misinformed. When on my first appearing in episcopal gaiters +in a drawing-room I cried out in a voice of thunder, 'Down! down! +presumptuous human reason!' they found out in some way that I was +not a bishop at all. I was nabbed at once. Then I made up as a +millionaire; but I defended Capital with so much intelligence that +a fool could see that I was quite poor. Then I tried being a +major. Now I am a humanitarian myself, but I have, I hope, enough +intellectual breadth to understand the position of those who, like +Nietzsche, admire violence--the proud, mad war of Nature and all +that, you know. I threw myself into the major. I drew my sword and +waved it constantly. I called out 'Blood!' abstractedly, like a +man calling for wine. I often said, 'Let the weak perish; it is +the Law.' Well, well, it seems majors don't do this. I was nabbed +again. At last I went in despair to the President of the Central +Anarchist Council, who is the greatest man in Europe." + +"What is his name?" asked Syme. + +"You would not know it," answered Gregory. "That is his greatness. +Caesar and Napoleon put all their genius into being heard of, and +they were heard of. He puts all his genius into not being heard of, +and he is not heard of. But you cannot be for five minutes in the +room with him without feeling that Caesar and Napoleon would have +been children in his hands." + +He was silent and even pale for a moment, and then resumed-- + +"But whenever he gives advice it is always something as startling +as an epigram, and yet as practical as the Bank of England. I said +to him, 'What disguise will hide me from the world? What can I find +more respectable than bishops and majors?' He looked at me with his +large but indecipherable face. 'You want a safe disguise, do you? +You want a dress which will guarantee you harmless; a dress in +which no one would ever look for a bomb?' I nodded. He suddenly +lifted his lion's voice. 'Why, then, dress up as an anarchist, you +fool!' he roared so that the room shook. 'Nobody will ever expect +you to do anything dangerous then.' And he turned his broad back +on me without another word. I took his advice, and have never +regretted it. I preached blood and murder to those women day and +night, and--by God!--they would let me wheel their perambulators." + +Syme sat watching him with some respect in his large, blue eyes. + +"You took me in," he said. "It is really a smart dodge." + +Then after a pause he added-- + +"What do you call this tremendous President of yours?" + +"We generally call him Sunday," replied Gregory with simplicity. +"You see, there are seven members of the Central Anarchist +Council, and they are named after days of the week. He is called +Sunday, by some of his admirers Bloody Sunday. It is curious you +should mention the matter, because the very night you have dropped +in (if I may so express it) is the night on which our London +branch, which assembles in this room, has to elect its own deputy +to fill a vacancy in the Council. The gentleman who has for some +time past played, with propriety and general applause, the +difficult part of Thursday, has died quite suddenly. Consequently, +we have called a meeting this very evening to elect a successor." + +He got to his feet and strolled across the room with a sort of +smiling embarrassment. + +"I feel somehow as if you were my mother, Syme," he continued +casually. "I feel that I can confide anything to you, as you have +promised to tell nobody. In fact, I will confide to you something +that I would not say in so many words to the anarchists who will be +coming to the room in about ten minutes. We shall, of course, go +through a form of election; but I don't mind telling you that it is +practically certain what the result will be." He looked down for a +moment modestly. "It is almost a settled thing that I am to be +Thursday." + +"My dear fellow." said Syme heartily, "I congratulate you. A great +career!" + +Gregory smiled in deprecation, and walked across the room, talking +rapidly. + +"As a matter of fact, everything is ready for me on this table," he +said, "and the ceremony will probably be the shortest possible." + +Syme also strolled across to the table, and found lying across it a +walking-stick, which turned out on examination to be a sword-stick, +a large Colt's revolver, a sandwich case, and a formidable flask of +brandy. Over the chair, beside the table, was thrown a +heavy-looking cape or cloak. + +"I have only to get the form of election finished," continued +Gregory with animation, "then I snatch up this cloak and stick, +stuff these other things into my pocket, step out of a door in +this cavern, which opens on the river, where there is a steam-tug +already waiting for me, and then--then--oh, the wild joy of being +Thursday!" And he clasped his hands. + +Syme, who had sat down once more with his usual insolent languor, +got to his feet with an unusual air of hesitation. + +"Why is it," he asked vaguely, "that I think you are quite a decent +fellow? Why do I positively like you, Gregory?" He paused a moment, +and then added with a sort of fresh curiosity, "Is it because you +are such an ass?" + +There was a thoughtful silence again, and then he cried out-- + +"Well, damn it all! this is the funniest situation I have ever been +in in my life, and I am going to act accordingly. Gregory, I gave +you a promise before I came into this place. That promise I would +keep under red-hot pincers. Would you give me, for my own safety, a +little promise of the same kind?" + +"A promise?" asked Gregory, wondering. + +"Yes," said Syme very seriously, "a promise. I swore before God +that I would not tell your secret to the police. Will you swear by +Humanity, or whatever beastly thing you believe in, that you will +not tell my secret to the anarchists?" + +"Your secret?" asked the staring Gregory. "Have you got a secret?" + +"Yes," said Syme, "I have a secret." Then after a pause, "Will you +swear?" + +Gregory glared at him gravely for a few moments, and then said +abruptly-- + +"You must have bewitched me, but I feel a furious curiosity about +you. Yes, I will swear not to tell the anarchists anything you tell +me. But look sharp, for they will be here in a couple of minutes." + +Syme rose slowly to his feet and thrust his long, white hands into +his long, grey trousers' pockets. Almost as he did so there came +five knocks on the outer grating, proclaiming the arrival of the +first of the conspirators. + +"Well," said Syme slowly, "I don't know how to tell you the truth +more shortly than by saying that your expedient of dressing up as +an aimless poet is not confined to you or your President. We have +known the dodge for some time at Scotland Yard." + +Gregory tried to spring up straight, but he swayed thrice. + +"What do you say?" he asked in an inhuman voice. + +"Yes," said Syme simply, "I am a police detective. But I think I +hear your friends coming." + +From the doorway there came a murmur of "Mr. Joseph Chamberlain." +It was repeated twice and thrice, and then thirty times, and the +crowd of Joseph Chamberlains (a solemn thought) could be heard +trampling down the corridor. + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE MAN WHO WAS THURSDAY + +BEFORE one of the fresh faces could appear at the doorway, +Gregory's stunned surprise had fallen from him. He was beside the +table with a bound, and a noise in his throat like a wild beast. +He caught up the Colt's revolver and took aim at Syme. Syme did +not flinch, but he put up a pale and polite hand. + +"Don't be such a silly man," he said, with the effeminate dignity +of a curate. "Don't you see it's not necessary? Don't you see that +we're both in the same boat? Yes, and jolly sea-sick." + +Gregory could not speak, but he could not fire either, and he +looked his question. + +"Don't you see we've checkmated each other?" cried Syme. "I can't +tell the police you are an anarchist. You can't tell the anarchists +I'm a policeman. I can only watch you, knowing what you are; you +can only watch me, knowing what I am. In short, it's a lonely, +intellectual duel, my head against yours. I'm a policeman deprived +of the help of the police. You, my poor fellow, are an anarchist +deprived of the help of that law and organisation which is so +essential to anarchy. The one solitary difference is in your +favour. You are not surrounded by inquisitive policemen; I am +surrounded by inquisitive anarchists. I cannot betray you, but I +might betray myself. Come, come! wait and see me betray myself. I +shall do it so nicely." + +Gregory put the pistol slowly down, still staring at Syme as if he +were a sea-monster. + +"I don't believe in immortality," he said at last, "but if, after +all this, you were to break your word, God would make a hell only +for you, to howl in for ever." + +"I shall not break my word," said Syme sternly, "nor will you +break yours. Here are your friends." + +The mass of the anarchists entered the room heavily, with a +slouching and somewhat weary gait; but one little man, with a +black beard and glasses--a man somewhat of the type of Mr. Tim +Healy--detached himself, and bustled forward with some papers +in his hand. + +"Comrade Gregory," he said, "I suppose this man is a delegate?" + +Gregory, taken by surprise, looked down and muttered the name of +Syme; but Syme replied almost pertly-- + +"I am glad to see that your gate is well enough guarded to make it +hard for anyone to be here who was not a delegate." + +The brow of the little man with the black beard was, however, still +contracted with something like suspicion. + +"What branch do you represent?" he asked sharply. + +"I should hardly call it a branch," said Syme, laughing; "I should +call it at the very least a root." + +"What do you mean?" + +"The fact is," said Syme serenely, "the truth is I am a +Sabbatarian. I have been specially sent here to see that you show +a due observance of Sunday." + +The little man dropped one of his papers, and a flicker of fear +went over all the faces of the group. Evidently the awful +President, whose name was Sunday, did sometimes send down such +irregular ambassadors to such branch meetings. + +"Well, comrade," said the man with the papers after a pause, "I +suppose we'd better give you a seat in the meeting?" + +"If you ask my advice as a friend," said Syme with severe +benevolence, "I think you'd better." + +When Gregory heard the dangerous dialogue end, with a sudden safety +for his rival, he rose abruptly and paced the floor in painful +thought. He was, indeed, in an agony of diplomacy. It was clear +that Syme's inspired impudence was likely to bring him out of all +merely accidental dilemmas. Little was to be hoped from them. He +could not himself betray Syme, partly from honour, but partly also +because, if he betrayed him and for some reason failed to destroy +him, the Syme who escaped would be a Syme freed from all obligation +of secrecy, a Syme who would simply walk to the nearest police +station. After all, it was only one night's discussion, and only +one detective who would know of it. He would let out as little as +possible of their plans that night, and then let Syme go, and +chance it. + +He strode across to the group of anarchists, which was already +distributing itself along the benches. + +"I think it is time we began," he said; "the steam-tug is waiting +on the river already. I move that Comrade Buttons takes the chair." + +This being approved by a show of hands, the little man with the +papers slipped into the presidential seat. + +"Comrades," he began, as sharp as a pistol-shot, "our meeting +tonight is important, though it need not be long. This branch +has always had the honour of electing Thursdays for the Central +European Council. We have elected many and splendid Thursdays. We +all lament the sad decease of the heroic worker who occupied the +post until last week. As you know, his services to the cause were +considerable. He organised the great dynamite coup of Brighton +which, under happier circumstances, ought to have killed everybody +on the pier. As you also know, his death was as self-denying as +his life, for he died through his faith in a hygienic mixture of +chalk and water as a substitute for milk, which beverage he +regarded as barbaric, and as involving cruelty to the cow. +Cruelty, or anything approaching to cruelty, revolted him always. +But it is not to acclaim his virtues that we are met, but for a +harder task. It is difficult properly to praise his qualities, but +it is more difficult to replace them. Upon you, comrades, it +devolves this evening to choose out of the company present the man +who shall be Thursday. If any comrade suggests a name I will put +it to the vote. If no comrade suggests a name, I can only tell +myself that that dear dynamiter, who is gone from us, has carried +into the unknowable abysses the last secret of his virtue and his +innocence." + +There was a stir of almost inaudible applause, such as is sometimes +heard in church. Then a large old man, with a long and venerable +white beard, perhaps the only real working-man present, rose +lumberingly and said-- + +"I move that Comrade Gregory be elected Thursday," and sat +lumberingly down again. + +"Does anyone second?" asked the chairman. + +A little man with a velvet coat and pointed beard seconded. + +"Before I put the matter to the vote," said the chairman, "I will +call on Comrade Gregory to make a statement." + +Gregory rose amid a great rumble of applause. His face was deadly +pale, so that by contrast his queer red hair looked almost scarlet. +But he was smiling and altogether at ease. He had made up his mind, +and he saw his best policy quite plain in front of him like a white +road. His best chance was to make a softened and ambiguous speech, +such as would leave on the detective's mind the impression that the +anarchist brotherhood was a very mild affair after all. He believed +in his own literary power, his capacity for suggesting fine shades +and picking perfect words. He thought that with care he could +succeed, in spite of all the people around him, in conveying an +impression of the institution, subtly and delicately false. Syme +had once thought that anarchists, under all their bravado, were +only playing the fool. Could he not now, in the hour of peril, make +Syme think so again? + +"Comrades," began Gregory, in a low but penetrating voice, "it is +not necessary for me to tell you what is my policy, for it is your +policy also. Our belief has been slandered, it has been disfigured, +it has been utterly confused and concealed, but it has never been +altered. Those who talk about anarchism and its dangers go +everywhere and anywhere to get their information, except to us, +except to the fountain head. They learn about anarchists from +sixpenny novels; they learn about anarchists from tradesmen's +newspapers; they learn about anarchists from Ally Sloper's +Half-Holiday and the Sporting Times. They never learn about +anarchists from anarchists. We have no chance of denying the +mountainous slanders which are heaped upon our heads from one end +of Europe to another. The man who has always heard that we are +walking plagues has never heard our reply. I know that he will not +hear it tonight, though my passion were to rend the roof. For it is +deep, deep under the earth that the persecuted are permitted to +assemble, as the Christians assembled in the Catacombs. But if, by +some incredible accident, there were here tonight a man who all his +life had thus immensely misunderstood us, I would put this question +to him: 'When those Christians met in those Catacombs, what sort of +moral reputation had they in the streets above? What tales were +told of their atrocities by one educated Roman to another? Suppose' +(I would say to him), 'suppose that we are only repeating that +still mysterious paradox of history. Suppose we seem as shocking as +the Christians because we are really as harmless as the Christians. +Suppose we seem as mad as the Christians because we are really as +meek."' + +The applause that had greeted the opening sentences had been +gradually growing fainter, and at the last word it stopped +suddenly. In the abrupt silence, the man with the velvet jacket +said, in a high, squeaky voice-- + +"I'm not meek!" + +"Comrade Witherspoon tells us," resumed Gregory, "that he is not +meek. Ah, how little he knows himself! His words are, indeed, +extravagant; his appearance is ferocious, and even (to an ordinary +taste) unattractive. But only the eye of a friendship as deep and +delicate as mine can perceive the deep foundation of solid meekness +which lies at the base of him, too deep even for himself to see. I +repeat, we are the true early Christians, only that we come too +late. We are simple, as they revere simple--look at Comrade +Witherspoon. We are modest, as they were modest--look at me. We are +merciful--" + +"No, no!" called out Mr. Witherspoon with the velvet jacket. + +"I say we are merciful," repeated Gregory furiously, "as the early +Christians were merciful. Yet this did not prevent their being +accused of eating human flesh. We do not eat human flesh--" + +"Shame!" cried Witherspoon. "Why not?" + +"Comrade Witherspoon," said Gregory, with a feverish gaiety, "is +anxious to know why nobody eats him (laughter). In our society, at +any rate, which loves him sincerely, which is founded upon love--" + +"No, no!" said Witherspoon, "down with love." + +"Which is founded upon love," repeated Gregory, grinding his teeth, +"there will be no difficulty about the aims which we shall pursue +as a body, or which I should pursue were I chosen as the +representative of that body. Superbly careless of the slanders that +represent us as assassins and enemies of human society, we shall +pursue with moral courage and quiet intellectual pressure, the +permanent ideals of brotherhood and simplicity." + +Gregory resumed his seat and passed his hand across his forehead. +The silence was sudden and awkward, but the chairman rose like an +automaton, and said in a colourless voice-- + +"Does anyone oppose the election of Comrade Gregory?" + +The assembly seemed vague and sub-consciously disappointed, and +Comrade Witherspoon moved restlessly on his seat and muttered in +his thick beard. By the sheer rush of routine, however, the motion +would have been put and carried. But as the chairman was opening +his mouth to put it, Syme sprang to his feet and said in a small +and quiet voice-- + +"Yes, Mr. Chairman, I oppose." + +The most effective fact in oratory is an unexpected change in the +voice. Mr. Gabriel Syme evidently understood oratory. Having said +these first formal words in a moderated tone and with a brief +simplicity, he made his next word ring and volley in the vault as +if one of the guns had gone off. + +"Comrades!" he cried, in a voice that made every man jump out of +his boots, "have we come here for this? Do we live underground like +rats in order to listen to talk like this? This is talk we might +listen to while eating buns at a Sunday School treat. Do we line +these walls with weapons and bar that door with death lest anyone +should come and hear Comrade Gregory saying to us, 'Be good, and +you will be happy,' 'Honesty is the best policy,' and 'Virtue is +its own reward'? There was not a word in Comrade Gregory's address +to which a curate could not have listened with pleasure (hear, +hear). But I am not a curate (loud cheers), and I did not listen to +it with pleasure (renewed cheers). The man who is fitted to make a +good curate is not fitted to make a resolute, forcible, and +efficient Thursday (hear, hear)." + +"Comrade Gregory has told us, in only too apologetic a tone, that +we are not the enemies of society. But I say that we are the +enemies of society, and so much the worse for society. We are the +enemies of society, for society is the enemy of humanity, its +oldest and its most pitiless enemy (hear, hear). Comrade Gregory +has told us (apologetically again) that we are not murderers. There +I agree. We are not murderers, we are executioners (cheers)." + +Ever since Syme had risen Gregory had sat staring at him, his face +idiotic with astonishment. Now in the pause his lips of clay +parted, and he said, with an automatic and lifeless distinctness-- + +"You damnable hypocrite!" + +Syme looked straight into those frightful eyes with his own pale +blue ones, and said with dignity-- + +"Comrade Gregory accuses me of hypocrisy. He knows as well as I do +that I am keeping all my engagements and doing nothing but my duty. +I do not mince words. I do not pretend to. I say that Comrade +Gregory is unfit to be Thursday for all his amiable qualities. He +is unfit to be Thursday because of his amiable qualities. We do not +want the Supreme Council of Anarchy infected with a maudlin mercy +(hear, hear). This is no time for ceremonial politeness, neither is +it a time for ceremonial modesty. I set myself against Comrade +Gregory as I would set myself against all the Governments of +Europe, because the anarchist who has given himself to anarchy has +forgotten modesty as much as he has forgotten pride (cheers). I am +not a man at all. I am a cause (renewed cheers). I set myself +against Comrade Gregory as impersonally and as calmly as I should +choose one pistol rather than another out of that rack upon the +wall; and I say that rather than have Gregory and his +milk-and-water methods on the Supreme Council, I would offer myself +for election--" + +His sentence was drowned in a deafening cataract of applause. The +faces, that had grown fiercer and fiercer with approval as his +tirade grew more and more uncompromising, were now distorted with +grins of anticipation or cloven with delighted cries. At the +moment when he announced himself as ready to stand for the post of +Thursday, a roar of excitement and assent broke forth, and became +uncontrollable, and at the same moment Gregory sprang to his feet, +with foam upon his mouth, and shouted against the shouting. + +"Stop, you blasted madmen!" he cried, at the top of a voice that +tore his throat. "Stop, you--" + +But louder than Gregory's shouting and louder than the roar of the +room came the voice of Syme, still speaking in a peal of pitiless +thunder-- + +"I do not go to the Council to rebut that slander that calls us +murderers; I go to earn it (loud and prolonged cheering). To the +priest who says these men are the enemies of religion, to the +judge who says these men are the enemies of law, to the fat +parliamentarian who says these men are the enemies of order and +public decency, to all these I will reply, 'You are false kings, +but you are true prophets. I am come to destroy you, and to fulfil +your prophecies.'" + +The heavy clamour gradually died away, but before it had ceased +Witherspoon had jumped to his feet, his hair and beard all on end, +and had said-- + +"I move, as an amendment, that Comrade Syme be appointed to the post." + +"Stop all this, I tell you!" cried Gregory, with frantic face and +hands. "Stop it, it is all--" + +The voice of the chairman clove his speech with a cold accent. + +"Does anyone second this amendment?" he said. A tall, tired man, +with melancholy eyes and an American chin beard, was observed on +the back bench to be slowly rising to his feet. Gregory had been +screaming for some time past; now there was a change in his accent, +more shocking than any scream. "I end all this!" he said, in a +voice as heavy as stone. + +"This man cannot be elected. He is a--" + +"Yes," said Syme, quite motionless, "what is he?" Gregory's mouth +worked twice without sound; then slowly the blood began to crawl +back into his dead face. "He is a man quite inexperienced in our +work," he said, and sat down abruptly. + +Before he had done so, the long, lean man with the American beard +was again upon his feet, and was repeating in a high American +monotone-- + +"I beg to second the election of Comrade Syme." + +"The amendment will, as usual, be put first," said Mr. Buttons, the +chairman, with mechanical rapidity. + +"The question is that Comrade Syme--" + +Gregory had again sprung to his feet, panting and passionate. + +"Comrades," he cried out, "I am not a madman." + +"Oh, oh!" said Mr. Witherspoon. + +"I am not a madman," reiterated Gregory, with a frightful sincerity +which for a moment staggered the room, "but I give you a counsel +which you can call mad if you like. No, I will not call it a +counsel, for I can give you no reason for it. I will call it a +command. Call it a mad command, but act upon it. Strike, but hear +me! Kill me, but obey me! Do not elect this man." Truth is so +terrible, even in fetters, that for a moment Syme's slender and +insane victory swayed like a reed. But you could not have guessed +it from Syme's bleak blue eyes. He merely began-- + +"Comrade Gregory commands--" + +Then the spell was snapped, and one anarchist called out to Gregory-- + +"Who are you? You are not Sunday"; and another anarchist added in a +heavier voice, "And you are not Thursday." + +"Comrades," cried Gregory, in a voice like that of a martyr who in +an ecstacy of pain has passed beyond pain, "it is nothing to me +whether you detest me as a tyrant or detest me as a slave. If you +will not take my command, accept my degradation. I kneel to you. I +throw myself at your feet. I implore you. Do not elect this man." + +"Comrade Gregory," said the chairman after a painful pause, "this +is really not quite dignified." + +For the first time in the proceedings there was for a few seconds a +real silence. Then Gregory fell back in his seat, a pale wreck of a +man, and the chairman repeated, like a piece of clock-work suddenly +started again-- + +"The question is that Comrade Syme be elected to the post of +Thursday on the General Council." + +The roar rose like the sea, the hands rose like a forest, and three +minutes afterwards Mr. Gabriel Syme, of the Secret Police Service, +was elected to the post of Thursday on the General Council of the +Anarchists of Europe. + +Everyone in the room seemed to feel the tug waiting on the river, +the sword-stick and the revolver, waiting on the table. The instant +the election was ended and irrevocable, and Syme had received the +paper proving his election, they all sprang to their feet, and the +fiery groups moved and mixed in the room. Syme found himself, +somehow or other, face to face with Gregory, who still regarded him +with a stare of stunned hatred. They were silent for many minutes. + +"You are a devil!" said Gregory at last. + +"And you are a gentleman," said Syme with gravity. + +"It was you that entrapped me," began Gregory, shaking from head +to foot, "entrapped me into--" + +"Talk sense," said Syme shortly. "Into what sort of devils' +parliament have you entrapped me, if it comes to that? You made me +swear before I made you. Perhaps we are both doing what we think +right. But what we think right is so damned different that there +can be nothing between us in the way of concession. There is +nothing possible between us but honour and death," and he pulled +the great cloak about his shoulders and picked up the flask from +the table. + +"The boat is quite ready," said Mr. Buttons, bustling up. "Be good +enough to step this way." + +With a gesture that revealed the shop-walker, he led Syme down a +short, iron-bound passage, the still agonised Gregory following +feverishly at their heels. At the end of the passage was a door, +which Buttons opened sharply, showing a sudden blue and silver +picture of the moonlit river, that looked like a scene in a +theatre. Close to the opening lay a dark, dwarfish steam-launch, +like a baby dragon with one red eye. + +Almost in the act of stepping on board, Gabriel Syme turned to the +gaping Gregory. + +"You have kept your word," he said gently, with his face in shadow. +"You are a man of honour, and I thank you. You have kept it even +down to a small particular. There was one special thing you +promised me at the beginning of the affair, and which you have +certainly given me by the end of it." + +"What do you mean?" cried the chaotic Gregory. "What did I promise +you?" + +"A very entertaining evening," said Syme, and he made a military +salute with the sword-stick as the steamboat slid away. + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE TALE OF A DETECTIVE + +GABRIEL SYME was not merely a detective who pretended to be a poet; +he was really a poet who had become a detective. Nor was his hatred +of anarchy hypocritical. He was one of those who are driven early +in life into too conservative an attitude by the bewildering folly +of most revolutionists. He had not attained it by any tame +tradition. His respectability was spontaneous and sudden, a +rebellion against rebellion. He came of a family of cranks, in +which all the oldest people had all the newest notions. One of his +uncles always walked about without a hat, and another had made an +unsuccessful attempt to walk about with a hat and nothing else. His +father cultivated art and self-realisation; his mother went in for +simplicity and hygiene. Hence the child, during his tenderer years, +was wholly unacquainted with any drink between the extremes of +absinth and cocoa, of both of which he had a healthy dislike. The +more his mother preached a more than Puritan abstinence the more +did his father expand into a more than pagan latitude; and by the +time the former had come to enforcing vegetarianism, the latter had +pretty well reached the point of defending cannibalism. + +Being surrounded with every conceivable kind of revolt from +infancy, Gabriel had to revolt into something, so he revolted into +the only thing left--sanity. But there was just enough in him of +the blood of these fanatics to make even his protest for common +sense a little too fierce to be sensible. His hatred of modern +lawlessness had been crowned also by an accident. It happened that +he was walking in a side street at the instant of a dynamite +outrage. He had been blind and deaf for a moment, and then seen, +the smoke clearing, the broken windows and the bleeding faces. +After that he went about as usual--quiet, courteous, rather gentle; +but there was a spot on his mind that was not sane. He did not +regard anarchists, as most of us do, as a handful of morbid men, +combining ignorance with intellectualism. He regarded them as a +huge and pitiless peril, like a Chinese invasion. + +He poured perpetually into newspapers and their waste-paper baskets +a torrent of tales, verses and violent articles, warning men of +this deluge of barbaric denial. But he seemed to be getting no +nearer his enemy, and, what was worse, no nearer a living. As he +paced the Thames embankment, bitterly biting a cheap cigar and +brooding on the advance of Anarchy, there was no anarchist with +a bomb in his pocket so savage or so solitary as he. Indeed, he +always felt that Government stood alone and desperate, with its +back to the wall. He was too quixotic to have cared for it +otherwise. + +He walked on the Embankment once under a dark red sunset. The red +river reflected the red sky, and they both reflected his anger. The +sky, indeed, was so swarthy, and the light on the river relatively +so lurid, that the water almost seemed of fiercer flame than the +sunset it mirrored. It looked like a stream of literal fire winding +under the vast caverns of a subterranean country. + +Syme was shabby in those days. He wore an old-fashioned black +chimney-pot hat; he was wrapped in a yet more old-fashioned cloak, +black and ragged; and the combination gave him the look of the +early villains in Dickens and Bulwer Lytton. Also his yellow beard +and hair were more unkempt and leonine than when they appeared long +afterwards, cut and pointed, on the lawns of Saffron Park. A long, +lean, black cigar, bought in Soho for twopence, stood out from +between his tightened teeth, and altogether he looked a very +satisfactory specimen of the anarchists upon whom he had vowed a +holy war. Perhaps this was why a policeman on the Embankment spoke +to him, and said "Good evening." + +Syme, at a crisis of his morbid fears for humanity, seemed stung by +the mere stolidity of the automatic official, a mere bulk of blue +in the twilight. + +"A good evening is it?" he said sharply. "You fellows would call +the end of the world a good evening. Look at that bloody red sun +and that bloody river! I tell you that if that were literally human +blood, spilt and shining, you would still be standing here as solid +as ever, looking out for some poor harmless tramp whom you could +move on. You policemen are cruel to the poor, but I could forgive +you even your cruelty if it were not for your calm." + +"If we are calm," replied the policeman, "it is the calm of +organised resistance." + +"Eh?" said Syme, staring. + +"The soldier must be calm in the thick of the battle," pursued the +policeman. "The composure of an army is the anger of a nation." + +"Good God, the Board Schools!" said Syme. "Is this undenominational +education?" + +"No," said the policeman sadly, "I never had any of those +advantages. The Board Schools came after my time. What education +I had was very rough and old-fashioned, I am afraid." + +"Where did you have it?" asked Syme, wondering. + +"Oh, at Harrow," said the policeman + +The class sympathies which, false as they are, are the truest +things in so many men, broke out of Syme before he could control +them. + +"But, good Lord, man," he said, "you oughtn't to be a policeman!" + +The policeman sighed and shook his head. + +"I know," he said solemnly, "I know I am not worthy." + +"But why did you join the police?" asked Syme with rude curiosity. + +"For much the same reason that you abused the police," replied the +other. "I found that there was a special opening in the service for +those whose fears for humanity were concerned rather with the +aberrations of the scientific intellect than with the normal and +excusable, though excessive, outbreaks of the human will. I trust +I make myself clear." + +"If you mean that you make your opinion clear," said Syme, "I +suppose you do. But as for making yourself clear, it is the last +thing you do. How comes a man like you to be talking philosophy +in a blue helmet on the Thames embankment?" + +"You have evidently not heard of the latest development in our +police system," replied the other. "I am not surprised at it. We +are keeping it rather dark from the educated class, because that +class contains most of our enemies. But you seem to be exactly in +the right frame of mind. I think you might almost join us." + +"Join you in what?" asked Syme. + +"I will tell you," said the policeman slowly. "This is the +situation: The head of one of our departments, one of the most +celebrated detectives in Europe, has long been of opinion that a +purely intellectual conspiracy would soon threaten the very +existence of civilisation. He is certain that the scientific and +artistic worlds are silently bound in a crusade against the Family +and the State. He has, therefore, formed a special corps of +policemen, policemen who are also philosophers. It is their +business to watch the beginnings of this conspiracy, not merely in +a criminal but in a controversial sense. I am a democrat myself, +and I am fully aware of the value of the ordinary man in matters of +ordinary valour or virtue. But it would obviously be undesirable to +employ the common policeman in an investigation which is also a +heresy hunt." + +Syme's eyes were bright with a sympathetic curiosity. + +"What do you do, then?" he said. + +"The work of the philosophical policeman," replied the man in +blue, "is at once bolder and more subtle than that of the ordinary +detective. The ordinary detective goes to pot-houses to arrest +thieves; we go to artistic tea-parties to detect pessimists. The +ordinary detective discovers from a ledger or a diary that a crime +has been committed. We discover from a book of sonnets that a crime +will be committed. We have to trace the origin of those dreadful +thoughts that drive men on at last to intellectual fanaticism and +intellectual crime. We were only just in time to prevent the +assassination at Hartle pool, and that was entirely due to the fact +that our Mr. Wilks (a smart young fellow) thoroughly understood a +triolet." + +"Do you mean," asked Syme, "that there is really as much connection +between crime and the modern intellect as all that?" + +"You are not sufficiently democratic," answered the policeman, "but +you were right when you said just now that our ordinary treatment +of the poor criminal was a pretty brutal business. I tell you I am +sometimes sick of my trade when I see how perpetually it means +merely a war upon the ignorant and the desperate. But this new +movement of ours is a very different affair. We deny the snobbish +English assumption that the uneducated are the dangerous criminals. +We remember the Roman Emperors. We remember the great poisoning +princes of the Renaissance. We say that the dangerous criminal is +the educated criminal. We say that the most dangerous criminal now +is the entirely lawless modern philosopher. Compared to him, +burglars and bigamists are essentially moral men; my heart goes out +to them. They accept the essential ideal of man; they merely seek +it wrongly. Thieves respect property. They merely wish the property +to become their property that they may more perfectly respect it. +But philosophers dislike property as property; they wish to destroy +the very idea of personal possession. Bigamists respect marriage, +or they would not go through the highly ceremonial and even +ritualistic formality of bigamy. But philosophers despise marriage +as marriage. Murderers respect human life; they merely wish to +attain a greater fulness of human life in themselves by the +sacrifice of what seems to them to be lesser lives. But +philosophers hate life itself, their own as much as other +people's." + +Syme struck his hands together. + +"How true that is," he cried. "I have felt it from my boyhood, but +never could state the verbal antithesis. The common criminal is a +bad man, but at least he is, as it were, a conditional good man. +He says that if only a certain obstacle be removed--say a wealthy +uncle--he is then prepared to accept the universe and to praise +God. He is a reformer, but not an anarchist. He wishes to cleanse +the edifice, but not to destroy it. But the evil philosopher is +not trying to alter things, but to annihilate them. Yes, the +modern world has retained all those parts of police work which are +really oppressive and ignominious, the harrying of the poor, the +spying upon the unfortunate. It has given up its more dignified +work, the punishment of powerful traitors in the State and +powerful heresiarchs in the Church. The moderns say we must not +punish heretics. My only doubt is whether we have a right to +punish anybody else." + +"But this is absurd!" cried the policeman, clasping his hands with +an excitement uncommon in persons of his figure and costume, "but +it is intolerable! I don't know what you're doing, but you're +wasting your life. You must, you shall, join our special army +against anarchy. Their armies are on our frontiers. Their bolt +is ready to fall. A moment more, and you may lose the glory of +working with us, perhaps the glory of dying with the last heroes +of the world." + +"It is a chance not to be missed, certainly," assented Syme, "but +still I do not quite understand. I know as well as anybody that +the modern world is full of lawless little men and mad little +movements. But, beastly as they are, they generally have the one +merit of disagreeing with each other. How can you talk of their +leading one army or hurling one bolt. What is this anarchy?" + +"Do not confuse it," replied the constable, "with those chance +dynamite outbreaks from Russia or from Ireland, which are really +the outbreaks of oppressed, if mistaken, men. This is a vast +philosophic movement, consisting of an outer and an inner ring. +You might even call the outer ring the laity and the inner ring +the priesthood. I prefer to call the outer ring the innocent +section, the inner ring the supremely guilty section. The outer +ring--the main mass of their supporters--are merely anarchists; +that is, men who believe that rules and formulas have destroyed +human happiness. They believe that all the evil results of human +crime are the results of the system that has called it crime. They +do not believe that the crime creates the punishment. They believe +that the punishment has created the crime. They believe that if a +man seduced seven women he would naturally walk away as blameless +as the flowers of spring. They believe that if a man picked a +pocket he would naturally feel exquisitely good. These I call the +innocent section." + +"Oh!" said Syme. + +"Naturally, therefore, these people talk about 'a happy time +coming'; 'the paradise of the future'; 'mankind freed from the +bondage of vice and the bondage of virtue,' and so on. And so also +the men of the inner circle speak--the sacred priesthood. They +also speak to applauding crowds of the happiness of the future, +and of mankind freed at last. But in their mouths"--and the +policeman lowered his voice--"in their mouths these happy phrases +have a horrible meaning. They are under no illusions; they are too +intellectual to think that man upon this earth can ever be quite +free of original sin and the struggle. And they mean death. When +they say that mankind shall be free at last, they mean that +mankind shall commit suicide. When they talk of a paradise without +right or wrong, they mean the grave. + +"They have but two objects, to destroy first humanity and then +themselves. That is why they throw bombs instead of firing pistols. +The innocent rank and file are disappointed because the bomb has +not killed the king; but the high-priesthood are happy because it +has killed somebody." + +"How can I join you?" asked Syme, with a sort of passion. + +"I know for a fact that there is a vacancy at the moment," said the +policeman, "as I have the honour to be somewhat in the confidence +of the chief of whom I have spoken. You should really come and see +him. Or rather, I should not say see him, nobody ever sees him; but +you can talk to him if you like." + +"Telephone?" inquired Syme, with interest. + +"No," said the policeman placidly, "he has a fancy for always +sitting in a pitch-dark room. He says it makes his thoughts +brighter. Do come along." + +Somewhat dazed and considerably excited, Syme allowed himself to be +led to a side-door in the long row of buildings of Scotland Yard. +Almost before he knew what he was doing, he had been passed through +the hands of about four intermediate officials, and was suddenly +shown into a room, the abrupt blackness of which startled him like +a blaze of light. It was not the ordinary darkness, in which forms +can be faintly traced; it was like going suddenly stone-blind. + +"Are you the new recruit?" asked a heavy voice. + +And in some strange way, though there was not the shadow of a shape +in the gloom, Syme knew two things: first, that it came from a man +of massive stature; and second, that the man had his back to him. + +"Are you the new recruit?" said the invisible chief, who seemed to +have heard all about it. "All right. You are engaged." + +Syme, quite swept off his feet, made a feeble fight against this +irrevocable phrase. + +"I really have no experience," he began. + +"No one has any experience," said the other, "of the Battle of +Armageddon." + +"But I am really unfit--" + +"You are willing, that is enough," said the unknown. + +"Well, really," said Syme, "I don't know any profession of which +mere willingness is the final test." + +"I do," said the other--"martyrs. I am condemning you to death. +Good day." + +Thus it was that when Gabriel Syme came out again into the crimson +light of evening, in his shabby black hat and shabby, lawless +cloak, he came out a member of the New Detective Corps for the +frustration of the great conspiracy. Acting under the advice of his +friend the policeman (who was professionally inclined to neatness), +he trimmed his hair and beard, bought a good hat, clad himself in +an exquisite summer suit of light blue-grey, with a pale yellow +flower in the button-hole, and, in short, became that elegant and +rather insupportable person whom Gregory had first encountered in +the little garden of Saffron Park. Before he finally left the +police premises his friend provided him with a small blue card, +on which was written, "The Last Crusade," and a number, the sign +of his official authority. He put this carefully in his upper +waistcoat pocket, lit a cigarette, and went forth to track and +fight the enemy in all the drawing-rooms of London. Where his +adventure ultimately led him we have already seen. At about +half-past one on a February night he found himself steaming in a +small tug up the silent Thames, armed with swordstick and revolver, +the duly elected Thursday of the Central Council of Anarchists. + +When Syme stepped out on to the steam-tug he had a singular +sensation of stepping out into something entirely new; not merely +into the landscape of a new land, but even into the landscape of a +new planet. This was mainly due to the insane yet solid decision of +that evening, though partly also to an entire change in the weather +and the sky since he entered the little tavern some two hours +before. Every trace of the passionate plumage of the cloudy sunset +had been swept away, and a naked moon stood in a naked sky. The +moon was so strong and full that (by a paradox often to be noticed) +it seemed like a weaker sun. It gave, not the sense of bright +moonshine, but rather of a dead daylight. + +Over the whole landscape lay a luminous and unnatural +discoloration, as of that disastrous twilight which Milton spoke +of as shed by the sun in eclipse; so that Syme fell easily into +his first thought, that he was actually on some other and emptier +planet, which circled round some sadder star. But the more he felt +this glittering desolation in the moonlit land, the more his own +chivalric folly glowed in the night like a great fire. Even the +common things he carried with him--the food and the brandy and the +loaded pistol--took on exactly that concrete and material poetry +which a child feels when he takes a gun upon a journey or a bun +with him to bed. The sword-stick and the brandy-flask, though in +themselves only the tools of morbid conspirators, became the +expressions of his own more healthy romance. The sword-stick +became almost the sword of chivalry, and the brandy the wine of +the stirrup-cup. For even the most dehumanised modern fantasies +depend on some older and simpler figure; the adventures may be +mad, but the adventurer must be sane. The dragon without St. +George would not even be grotesque. So this inhuman landscape was +only imaginative by the presence of a man really human. To Syme's +exaggerative mind the bright, bleak houses and terraces by the +Thames looked as empty as the mountains of the moon. But even the +moon is only poetical because there is a man in the moon. + +The tug was worked by two men, and with much toil went +comparatively slowly. The clear moon that had lit up Chiswick had +gone down by the time that they passed Battersea, and when they +came under the enormous bulk of Westminster day had already begun +to break. It broke like the splitting of great bars of lead, +showing bars of silver; and these had brightened like white fire +when the tug, changing its onward course, turned inward to a large +landing stage rather beyond Charing Cross. + +The great stones of the Embankment seemed equally dark and gigantic +as Syme looked up at them. They were big and black against the huge +white dawn. They made him feel that he was landing on the colossal +steps of some Egyptian palace; and, indeed, the thing suited his +mood, for he was, in his own mind, mounting to attack the solid +thrones of horrible and heathen kings. He leapt out of the boat on +to one slimy step, and stood, a dark and slender figure, amid the +enormous masonry. The two men in the tug put her off again and +turned up stream. They had never spoken a word. + + + +CHAPTER V + +THE FEAST OF FEAR + +AT first the large stone stair seemed to Syme as deserted as a +pyramid; but before he reached the top he had realised that there +was a man leaning over the parapet of the Embankment and looking +out across the river. As a figure he was quite conventional, clad +in a silk hat and frock-coat of the more formal type of fashion; +he had a red flower in his buttonhole. As Syme drew nearer to him +step by step, he did not even move a hair; and Syme could come +close enough to notice even in the dim, pale morning light that +his face was long, pale and intellectual, and ended in a small +triangular tuft of dark beard at the very point of the chin, all +else being clean-shaven. This scrap of hair almost seemed a mere +oversight; the rest of the face was of the type that is best +shaven--clear-cut, ascetic, and in its way noble. Syme drew closer +and closer, noting all this, and still the figure did not stir. + +At first an instinct had told Syme that this was the man whom he +was meant to meet. Then, seeing that the man made no sign, he had +concluded that he was not. And now again he had come back to a +certainty that the man had something to do with his mad adventure. +For the man remained more still than would have been natural if a +stranger had come so close. He was as motionless as a wax-work, +and got on the nerves somewhat in the same way. Syme looked again +and again at the pale, dignified and delicate face, and the face +still looked blankly across the river. Then he took out of his +pocket the note from Buttons proving his election, and put it +before that sad and beautiful face. Then the man smiled, and his +smile was a shock, for it was all on one side, going up in the +right cheek and down in the left. + +There was nothing, rationally speaking, to scare anyone about +this. Many people have this nervous trick of a crooked smile, and +in many it is even attractive. But in all Syme's circumstances, +with the dark dawn and the deadly errand and the loneliness on the +great dripping stones, there was something unnerving in it. + +There was the silent river and the silent man, a man of even +classic face. And there was the last nightmare touch that his +smile suddenly went wrong. + +The spasm of smile was instantaneous, and the man's face dropped +at once into its harmonious melancholy. He spoke without further +explanation or inquiry, like a man speaking to an old colleague. + +"If we walk up towards Leicester Square," he said, "we shall just +be in time for breakfast. Sunday always insists on an early +breakfast. Have you had any sleep?" + +"No," said Syme. + +"Nor have I," answered the man in an ordinary tone. "I shall try to +get to bed after breakfast." + +He spoke with casual civility, but in an utterly dead voice that +contradicted the fanaticism of his face. It seemed almost as if all +friendly words were to him lifeless conveniences, and that his only +life was hate. After a pause the man spoke again. + +"Of course, the Secretary of the branch told you everything that +can be told. But the one thing that can never be told is the last +notion of the President, for his notions grow like a tropical +forest. So in case you don't know, I'd better tell you that he is +carrying out his notion of concealing ourselves by not concealing +ourselves to the most extraordinary lengths just now. Originally, +of course, we met in a cell underground, just as your branch does. +Then Sunday made us take a private room at an ordinary restaurant. +He said that if you didn't seem to be hiding nobody hunted you out. +Well, he is the only man on earth, I know; but sometimes I really +think that his huge brain is going a little mad in its old age. For +now we flaunt ourselves before the public. We have our breakfast on +a balcony--on a balcony, if you please--overlooking Leicester +Square." + +"And what do the people say?" asked Syme. + +"It's quite simple what they say," answered his guide. + +"They say we are a lot of jolly gentlemen who pretend they are +anarchists." + +"It seems to me a very clever idea," said Syme. + +"Clever! God blast your impudence! Clever!" cried out the other in +a sudden, shrill voice which was as startling and discordant as his +crooked smile. "When you've seen Sunday for a split second you'll +leave off calling him clever." + +With this they emerged out of a narrow street, and saw the early +sunlight filling Leicester Square. It will never be known, I +suppose, why this square itself should look so alien and in some +ways so continental. It will never be known whether it was the +foreign look that attracted the foreigners or the foreigners who +gave it the foreign look. But on this particular morning the effect +seemed singularly bright and clear. Between the open square and the +sunlit leaves and the statue and the Saracenic outlines of the +Alhambra, it looked the replica of some French or even Spanish +public place. And this effect increased in Syme the sensation, +which in many shapes he had had through the whole adventure, the +eerie sensation of having strayed into a new world. As a fact, he +had bought bad cigars round Leicester Square ever since he was a +boy. But as he turned that corner, and saw the trees and the +Moorish cupolas, he could have sworn that he was turning into an +unknown Place de something or other in some foreign town. + +At one corner of the square there projected a kind of angle of a +prosperous but quiet hotel, the bulk of which belonged to a street +behind. In the wall there was one large French window, probably +the window of a large coffee-room; and outside this window, almost +literally overhanging the square, was a formidably buttressed +balcony, big enough to contain a dining-table. In fact, it did +contain a dining-table, or more strictly a breakfast-table; and +round the breakfast-table, glowing in the sunlight and evident to +the street, were a group of noisy and talkative men, all dressed +in the insolence of fashion, with white waistcoats and expensive +button-holes. Some of their jokes could almost be heard across the +square. Then the grave Secretary gave his unnatural smile, and Syme +knew that this boisterous breakfast party was the secret conclave +of the European Dynamiters. + +Then, as Syme continued to stare at them, he saw something that he +had not seen before. He had not seen it literally because it was +too large to see. At the nearest end of the balcony, blocking up a +great part of the perspective, was the back of a great mountain of +a man. When Syme had seen him, his first thought was that the +weight of him must break down the balcony of stone. His vastness +did not lie only in the fact that he was abnormally tall and quite +incredibly fat. This man was planned enormously in his original +proportions, like a statue carved deliberately as colossal. His +head, crowned with white hair, as seen from behind looked bigger +than a head ought to be. The ears that stood out from it looked +larger than human ears. He was enlarged terribly to scale; and this +sense of size was so staggering, that when Syme saw him all the +other figures seemed quite suddenly to dwindle and become dwarfish. +They were still sitting there as before with their flowers and +frock-coats, but now it looked as if the big man was entertaining +five children to tea. + +As Syme and the guide approached the side door of the hotel, a +waiter came out smiling with every tooth in his head. + +"The gentlemen are up there, sare," he said. "They do talk and they +do laugh at what they talk. They do say they will throw bombs at ze +king." + +And the waiter hurried away with a napkin over his arm, much +pleased with the singular frivolity of the gentlemen upstairs. + +The two men mounted the stairs in silence. + +Syme had never thought of asking whether the monstrous man who +almost filled and broke the balcony was the great President of whom +the others stood in awe. He knew it was so, with an unaccountable +but instantaneous certainty. Syme, indeed, was one of those men who +are open to all the more nameless psychological influences in a +degree a little dangerous to mental health. Utterly devoid of fear +in physical dangers, he was a great deal too sensitive to the smell +of spiritual evil. Twice already that night little unmeaning things +had peeped out at him almost pruriently, and given him a sense of +drawing nearer and nearer to the head-quarters of hell. And this +sense became overpowering as he drew nearer to the great President. + +The form it took was a childish and yet hateful fancy. As he walked +across the inner room towards the balcony, the large face of Sunday +grew larger and larger; and Syme was gripped with a fear that when +he was quite close the face would be too big to be possible, and +that he would scream aloud. He remembered that as a child he would +not look at the mask of Memnon in the British Museum, because it +was a face, and so large. + +By an effort, braver than that of leaping over a cliff, he went to +an empty seat at the breakfast-table and sat down. The men greeted +him with good-humoured raillery as if they had always known him. He +sobered himself a little by looking at their conventional coats and +solid, shining coffee-pot; then he looked again at Sunday. His face +was very large, but it was still possible to humanity. + +In the presence of the President the whole company looked +sufficiently commonplace; nothing about them caught the eye at +first, except that by the President's caprice they had been dressed +up with a festive respectability, which gave the meal the look of a +wedding breakfast. One man indeed stood out at even a superficial +glance. He at least was the common or garden Dynamiter. He wore, +indeed, the high white collar and satin tie that were the uniform +of the occasion; but out of this collar there sprang a head quite +unmanageable and quite unmistakable, a bewildering bush of brown +hair and beard that almost obscured the eyes like those of a Skye +terrier. But the eyes did look out of the tangle, and they were the +sad eyes of some Russian serf. The effect of this figure was not +terrible like that of the President, but it had every diablerie +that can come from the utterly grotesque. If out of that stiff tie +and collar there had come abruptly the head of a cat or a dog, it +could not have been a more idiotic contrast. + +The man's name, it seemed, was Gogol; he was a Pole, and in this +circle of days he was called Tuesday. His soul and speech were +incurably tragic; he could not force himself to play the +prosperous and frivolous part demanded of him by President Sunday. +And, indeed, when Syme came in the President, with that daring +disregard of public suspicion which was his policy, was actually +chaffing Gogol upon his inability to assume conventional graces. + +"Our friend Tuesday," said the President in a deep voice at once +of quietude and volume, "our friend Tuesday doesn't seem to grasp +the idea. He dresses up like a gentleman, but he seems to be too +great a soul to behave like one. He insists on the ways of the +stage conspirator. Now if a gentleman goes about London in a top +hat and a frock-coat, no one need know that he is an anarchist. +But if a gentleman puts on a top hat and a frock-coat, and then +goes about on his hands and knees--well, he may attract attention. +That's what Brother Gogol does. He goes about on his hands and +knees with such inexhaustible diplomacy, that by this time he +finds it quite difficult to walk upright." + +"I am not good at goncealment," said Gogol sulkily, with a thick +foreign accent; "I am not ashamed of the cause." + +"Yes you are, my boy, and so is the cause of you," said the +President good-naturedly. "You hide as much as anybody; but you +can't do it, you see, you're such an ass! You try to combine two +inconsistent methods. When a householder finds a man under his +bed, he will probably pause to note the circumstance. But if he +finds a man under his bed in a top hat, you will agree with me, +my dear Tuesday, that he is not likely even to forget it. Now +when you were found under Admiral Biffin's bed--" + +"I am not good at deception," said Tuesday gloomily, flushing. + +"Right, my boy, right," said the President with a ponderous +heartiness, "you aren't good at anything." + +While this stream of conversation continued, Syme was looking +more steadily at the men around him. As he did so, he gradually +felt all his sense of something spiritually queer return. + +He had thought at first that they were all of common stature and +costume, with the evident exception of the hairy Gogol. But as he +looked at the others, he began to see in each of them exactly what +he had seen in the man by the river, a demoniac detail somewhere. +That lop-sided laugh, which would suddenly disfigure the fine +face of his original guide, was typical of all these types. Each +man had something about him, perceived perhaps at the tenth or +twentieth glance, which was not normal, and which seemed hardly +human. The only metaphor he could think of was this, that they +all looked as men of fashion and presence would look, with the +additional twist given in a false and curved mirror. + +Only the individual examples will express this half-concealed +eccentricity. Syme's original cicerone bore the title of Monday; +he was the Secretary of the Council, and his twisted smile was +regarded with more terror than anything, except the President's +horrible, happy laughter. But now that Syme had more space and +light to observe him, there were other touches. His fine face +was so emaciated, that Syme thought it must be wasted with some +disease; yet somehow the very distress of his dark eyes denied +this. It was no physical ill that troubled him. His eyes were +alive with intellectual torture, as if pure thought was pain. + +He was typical of each of the tribe; each man was subtly and +differently wrong. Next to him sat Tuesday, the tousle-headed +Gogol, a man more obviously mad. Next was Wednesday, a certain +Marquis de St. Eustache, a sufficiently characteristic figure. The +first few glances found nothing unusual about him, except that he +was the only man at table who wore the fashionable clothes as if +they were really his own. He had a black French beard cut square +and a black English frock-coat cut even squarer. But Syme, +sensitive to such things, felt somehow that the man carried a rich +atmosphere with him, a rich atmosphere that suffocated. It +reminded one irrationally of drowsy odours and of dying lamps in +the darker poems of Byron and Poe. With this went a sense of his +being clad, not in lighter colours, but in softer materials; his +black seemed richer and warmer than the black shades about him, as +if it were compounded of profound colour. His black coat looked as +if it were only black by being too dense a purple. His black beard +looked as if it were only black by being too deep a blue. And in +the gloom and thickness of the beard his dark red mouth showed +sensual and scornful. Whatever he was he was not a Frenchman; he +might be a Jew; he might be something deeper yet in the dark heart +of the East. In the bright coloured Persian tiles and pictures +showing tyrants hunting, you may see just those almond eyes, those +blue-black beards, those cruel, crimson lips. + +Then came Syme, and next a very old man, Professor de Worms, who +still kept the chair of Friday, though every day it was expected +that his death would leave it empty. Save for his intellect, he was +in the last dissolution of senile decay. His face was as grey as +his long grey beard, his forehead was lifted and fixed finally in a +furrow of mild despair. In no other case, not even that of Gogol, +did the bridegroom brilliancy of the morning dress express a more +painful contrast. For the red flower in his button-hole showed up +against a face that was literally discoloured like lead; the whole +hideous effect was as if some drunken dandies had put their clothes +upon a corpse. When he rose or sat down, which was with long labour +and peril, something worse was expressed than mere weakness, +something indefinably connected with the horror of the whole scene. +It did not express decrepitude merely, but corruption. Another +hateful fancy crossed Syme's quivering mind. He could not help +thinking that whenever the man moved a leg or arm might fall off. + +Right at the end sat the man called Saturday, the simplest and the +most baffling of all. He was a short, square man with a dark, +square face clean-shaven, a medical practitioner going by the name +of Bull. He had that combination of savoir-faire with a sort of +well-groomed coarseness which is not uncommon in young doctors. He +carried his fine clothes with confidence rather than ease, and he +mostly wore a set smile. There was nothing whatever odd about him, +except that he wore a pair of dark, almost opaque spectacles. It +may have been merely a crescendo of nervous fancy that had gone +before, but those black discs were dreadful to Syme; they reminded +him of half-remembered ugly tales, of some story about pennies +being put on the eyes of the dead. Syme's eye always caught the +black glasses and the blind grin. Had the dying Professor worn +them, or even the pale Secretary, they would have been appropriate. +But on the younger and grosser man they seemed only an enigma. They +took away the key of the face. You could not tell what his smile or +his gravity meant. Partly from this, and partly because he had a +vulgar virility wanting in most of the others it seemed to Syme +that he might be the wickedest of all those wicked men. Syme even +had the thought that his eyes might be covered up because they were +too frightful to see. + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE EXPOSURE + +SUCH were the six men who had sworn to destroy the world. Again +and again Syme strove to pull together his common sense in their +presence. Sometimes he saw for an instant that these notions were +subjective, that he was only looking at ordinary men, one of whom +was old, another nervous, another short-sighted. The sense of an +unnatural symbolism always settled back on him again. Each figure +seemed to be, somehow, on the borderland of things, just as their +theory was on the borderland of thought. He knew that each one of +these men stood at the extreme end, so to speak, of some wild road +of reasoning. He could only fancy, as in some old-world fable, +that if a man went westward to the end of the world he would find +something--say a tree--that was more or less than a tree, a tree +possessed by a spirit; and that if he went east to the end of the +world he would find something else that was not wholly itself--a +tower, perhaps, of which the very shape was wicked. So these +figures seemed to stand up, violent and unaccountable, against an +ultimate horizon, visions from the verge. The ends of the earth +were closing in. + +Talk had been going on steadily as he took in the scene; and not +the least of the contrasts of that bewildering breakfast-table was +the contrast between the easy and unobtrusive tone of talk and its +terrible purport. They were deep in the discussion of an actual and +immediate plot. The waiter downstairs had spoken quite correctly +when he said that they were talking about bombs and kings. Only +three days afterwards the Czar was to meet the President of the +French Republic in Paris, and over their bacon and eggs upon their +sunny balcony these beaming gentlemen had decided how both should +die. Even the instrument was chosen; the black-bearded Marquis, it +appeared, was to carry the bomb. + +Ordinarily speaking, the proximity of this positive and objective +crime would have sobered Syme, and cured him of all his merely +mystical tremors. He would have thought of nothing but the need of +saving at least two human bodies from being ripped in pieces with +iron and roaring gas. But the truth was that by this time he had +begun to feel a third kind of fear, more piercing and practical +than either his moral revulsion or his social responsibility. Very +simply, he had no fear to spare for the French President or the +Czar; he had begun to fear for himself. Most of the talkers took +little heed of him, debating now with their faces closer together, +and almost uniformly grave, save when for an instant the smile of +the Secretary ran aslant across his face as the jagged lightning +runs aslant across the sky. But there was one persistent thing +which first troubled Syme and at last terrified him. The President +was always looking at him, steadily, and with a great and baffling +interest. The enormous man was quite quiet, but his blue eyes +stood out of his head. And they were always fixed on Syme. + +Syme felt moved to spring up and leap over the balcony. When the +President's eyes were on him he felt as if he were made of glass. +He had hardly the shred of a doubt that in some silent and +extraordinary way Sunday had found out that he was a spy. He +looked over the edge of the balcony, and saw a policeman, standing +abstractedly just beneath, staring at the bright railings and the +sunlit trees. + +Then there fell upon him the great temptation that was to torment +him for many days. In the presence of these powerful and repulsive +men, who were the princes of anarchy, he had almost forgotten the +frail and fanciful figure of the poet Gregory, the mere aesthete of +anarchism. He even thought of him now with an old kindness, as if +they had played together when children. But he remembered that he +was still tied to Gregory by a great promise. He had promised never +to do the very thing that he now felt himself almost in the act of +doing. He had promised not to jump over that balcony and speak to +that policeman. He took his cold hand off the cold stone +balustrade. His soul swayed in a vertigo of moral indecision. He +had only to snap the thread of a rash vow made to a villainous +society, and all his life could be as open and sunny as the square +beneath him. He had, on the other hand, only to keep his antiquated +honour, and be delivered inch by inch into the power of this great +enemy of mankind, whose very intellect was a torture-chamber. +Whenever he looked down into the square he saw the comfortable +policeman, a pillar of common sense and common order. Whenever he +looked back at the breakfast-table he saw the President still +quietly studying him with big, unbearable eyes. + +In all the torrent of his thought there were two thoughts that +never crossed his mind. First, it never occurred to him to doubt +that the President and his Council could crush him if he continued +to stand alone. The place might be public, the project might seem +impossible. But Sunday was not the man who would carry himself +thus easily without having, somehow or somewhere, set open his +iron trap. Either by anonymous poison or sudden street accident, +by hypnotism or by fire from hell, Sunday could certainly strike +him. If he defied the man he was probably dead, either struck +stiff there in his chair or long afterwards as by an innocent +ailment. If he called in the police promptly, arrested everyone, +told all, and set against them the whole energy of England, he +would probably escape; certainly not otherwise. They were a +balconyful of gentlemen overlooking a bright and busy square; but +he felt no more safe with them than if they had been a boatful of +armed pirates overlooking an empty sea. + +There was a second thought that never came to him. It never +occurred to him to be spiritually won over to the enemy. Many +moderns, inured to a weak worship of intellect and force, might +have wavered in their allegiance under this oppression of a great +personality. They might have called Sunday the super-man. If any +such creature be conceivable, he looked, indeed, somewhat like it, +with his earth-shaking abstraction, as of a stone statue walking. +He might have been called something above man, with his large +plans, which were too obvious to be detected, with his large face, +which was too frank to be understood. But this was a kind of +modern meanness to which Syme could not sink even in his extreme +morbidity. Like any man, he was coward enough to fear great force; +but he was not quite coward enough to admire it. + +The men were eating as they talked, and even in this they were +typical. Dr. Bull and the Marquis ate casually and conventionally +of the best things on the table--cold pheasant or Strasbourg pie. +But the Secretary was a vegetarian, and he spoke earnestly of the +projected murder over half a raw tomato and three quarters of a +glass of tepid water. The old Professor had such slops as suggested +a sickening second childhood. And even in this President Sunday +preserved his curious predominance of mere mass. For he ate like +twenty men; he ate incredibly, with a frightful freshness of +appetite, so that it was like watching a sausage factory. Yet +continually, when he had swallowed a dozen crumpets or drunk a +quart of coffee, he would be found with his great head on one side +staring at Syme. + +"I have often wondered," said the Marquis, taking a great bite out +of a slice of bread and jam, "whether it wouldn't be better for me +to do it with a knife. Most of the best things have been brought +off with a knife. And it would be a new emotion to get a knife into +a French President and wriggle it round." + +"You are wrong," said the Secretary, drawing his black brows +together. "The knife was merely the expression of the old personal +quarrel with a personal tyrant. Dynamite is not only our best tool, +but our best symbol. It is as perfect a symbol of us as is incense +of the prayers of the Christians. It expands; it only destroys +because it broadens; even so, thought only destroys because it +broadens. A man's brain is a bomb," he cried out, loosening +suddenly his strange passion and striking his own skull with +violence. "My brain feels like a bomb, night and day. It must +expand! It must expand! A man's brain must expand, if it breaks up +the universe." + +"I don't want the universe broken up just yet," drawled the +Marquis. "I want to do a lot of beastly things before I die. +I thought of one yesterday in bed." + +"No, if the only end of the thing is nothing," said Dr. Bull with +his sphinx-like smile, "it hardly seems worth doing." + +The old Professor was staring at the ceiling with dull eyes. + +"Every man knows in his heart," he said, "that nothing is worth +doing." + +There was a singular silence, and then the Secretary said-- + +"We are wandering, however, from the point. The only question is +how Wednesday is to strike the blow. I take it we should all agree +with the original notion of a bomb. As to the actual arrangements, +I should suggest that tomorrow morning he should go first of all +to--" + +The speech was broken off short under a vast shadow. President +Sunday had risen to his feet, seeming to fill the sky above them. + +"Before we discuss that," he said in a small, quiet voice, "let us +go into a private room. I have something very particular to say." + +Syme stood up before any of the others. The instant of choice had +come at last, the pistol was at his head. On the pavement before +he could hear the policeman idly stir and stamp, for the morning, +though bright, was cold. + +A barrel-organ in the street suddenly sprang with a jerk into a +jovial tune. Syme stood up taut, as if it had been a bugle before +the battle. He found himself filled with a supernatural courage +that came from nowhere. That jingling music seemed full of the +vivacity, the vulgarity, and the irrational valour of the poor, who +in all those unclean streets were all clinging to the decencies and +the charities of Christendom. His youthful prank of being a +policeman had faded from his mind; he did not think of himself as +the representative of the corps of gentlemen turned into fancy +constables, or of the old eccentric who lived in the dark room. +But he did feel himself as the ambassador of all these common and +kindly people in the street, who every day marched into battle to +the music of the barrel-organ. And this high pride in being human +had lifted him unaccountably to an infinite height above the +monstrous men around him. For an instant, at least, he looked down +upon all their sprawling eccentricities from the starry pinnacle +of the commonplace. He felt towards them all that unconscious and +elementary superiority that a brave man feels over powerful beasts +or a wise man over powerful errors. He knew that he had neither the +intellectual nor the physical strength of President Sunday; but in +that moment he minded it no more than the fact that he had not the +muscles of a tiger or a horn on his nose like a rhinoceros. All was +swallowed up in an ultimate certainty that the President was wrong +and that the barrel-organ was right. There clanged in his mind that +unanswerable and terrible truism in the song of Roland-- + + "Pagens ont tort et Chretiens ont droit." + +which in the old nasal French has the clang and groan of great +iron. This liberation of his spirit from the load of his weakness +went with a quite clear decision to embrace death. If the people of +the barrel-organ could keep their old-world obligations, so could +he. This very pride in keeping his word was that he was keeping it +to miscreants. It was his last triumph over these lunatics to go +down into their dark room and die for something that they could not +even understand. The barrel-organ seemed to give the marching tune +with the energy and the mingled noises of a whole orchestra; and he +could hear deep and rolling, under all the trumpets of the pride of +life, the drums of the pride of death. + +The conspirators were already filing through the open window and +into the rooms behind. Syme went last, outwardly calm, but with all +his brain and body throbbing with romantic rhythm. The President +led them down an irregular side stair, such as might be used by +servants, and into a dim, cold, empty room, with a table and +benches, like an abandoned boardroom. When they were all in, he +closed and locked the door. + +The first to speak was Gogol, the irreconcilable, who seemed +bursting with inarticulate grievance. + +"Zso! Zso!" he cried, with an obscure excitement, his heavy Polish +accent becoming almost impenetrable. "You zay you nod 'ide. You zay +you show himselves. It is all nuzzinks. Ven you vant talk +importance you run yourselves in a dark box!" + +The President seemed to take the foreigner's incoherent satire with +entire good humour. + +"You can't get hold of it yet, Gogol," he said in a fatherly way. +"When once they have heard us talking nonsense on that balcony they +will not care where we go afterwards. If we had come here first, we +should have had the whole staff at the keyhole. You don't seem to +know anything about mankind." + +"I die for zem," cried the Pole in thick excitement, "and I slay +zare oppressors. I care not for these games of gonzealment. I would +zmite ze tyrant in ze open square." + +"I see, I see," said the President, nodding kindly as he seated +himself at the top of a long table. "You die for mankind first, and +then you get up and smite their oppressors. So that's all right. +And now may I ask you to control your beautiful sentiments, and sit +down with the other gentlemen at this table. For the first time +this morning something intelligent is going to be said." + +Syme, with the perturbed promptitude he had shown since the +original summons, sat down first. Gogol sat down last, grumbling +in his brown beard about gombromise. No one except Syme seemed to +have any notion of the blow that was about to fall. As for him, +he had merely the feeling of a man mounting the scaffold with the +intention, at any rate, of making a good speech. + +"Comrades," said the President, suddenly rising, "we have spun out +this farce long enough. I have called you down here to tell you +something so simple and shocking that even the waiters upstairs +(long inured to our levities) might hear some new seriousness in +my voice. Comrades, we were discussing plans and naming places. I +propose, before saying anything else, that those plans and places +should not be voted by this meeting, but should be left wholly in +the control of some one reliable member. I suggest Comrade +Saturday, Dr. Bull." + +They all stared at him; then they all started in their seats, for +the next words, though not loud, had a living and sensational +emphasis. Sunday struck the table. + +"Not one word more about the plans and places must be said at this +meeting. Not one tiny detail more about what we mean to do must be +mentioned in this company." + +Sunday had spent his life in astonishing his followers; but it +seemed as if he had never really astonished them until now. They +all moved feverishly in their seats, except Syme. He sat stiff in +his, with his hand in his pocket, and on the handle of his loaded +revolver. When the attack on him came he would sell his life dear. +He would find out at least if the President was mortal. + +Sunday went on smoothly-- + +"You will probably understand that there is only one possible +motive for forbidding free speech at this festival of freedom. +Strangers overhearing us matters nothing. They assume that we +are joking. But what would matter, even unto death, is this, +that there should be one actually among us who is not of us, +who knows our grave purpose, but does not share it, who--" + +The Secretary screamed out suddenly like a woman. + +"It can't be!" he cried, leaping. "There can't--" + +The President flapped his large flat hand on the table like the +fin of some huge fish. + +"Yes," he said slowly, "there is a spy in this room. There is a +traitor at this table. I will waste no more words. His name--" + +Syme half rose from his seat, his finger firm on the trigger. + +"His name is Gogol," said the President. "He is that hairy humbug +over there who pretends to be a Pole." + +Gogol sprang to his feet, a pistol in each hand. With the same +flash three men sprang at his throat. Even the Professor made +an effort to rise. But Syme saw little of the scene, for he was +blinded with a beneficent darkness; he had sunk down into his +seat shuddering, in a palsy of passionate relief. + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE UNACCOUNTABLE CONDUCT OF PROFESSOR DE WORMS + +"SIT down!" said Sunday in a voice that he used once or twice in +his life, a voice that made men drop drawn swords. + +The three who had risen fell away from Gogol, and that equivocal +person himself resumed his seat. + +"Well, my man," said the President briskly, addressing him as one +addresses a total stranger, "will you oblige me by putting your +hand in your upper waistcoat pocket and showing me what you have +there?" + +The alleged Pole was a little pale under his tangle of dark hair, +but he put two fingers into the pocket with apparent coolness and +pulled out a blue strip of card. When Syme saw it lying on the +table, he woke up again to the world outside him. For although +the card lay at the other extreme of the table, and he could read +nothing of the inscription on it, it bore a startling resemblance +to the blue card in his own pocket, the card which had been given +to him when he joined the anti-anarchist constabulary. + +"Pathetic Slav," said the President, "tragic child of Poland, are +you prepared in the presence of that card to deny that you are in +this company--shall we say de trop?" + +"Right oh!" said the late Gogol. It made everyone jump to hear a +clear, commercial and somewhat cockney voice coming out of that +forest of foreign hair. It was irrational, as if a Chinaman had +suddenly spoken with a Scotch accent. + +"I gather that you fully understand your position," said Sunday. + +"You bet," answered the Pole. "I see it's a fair cop. All I say is, +I don't believe any Pole could have imitated my accent like I did +his." + +"I concede the point," said Sunday. "I believe your own accent to +be inimitable, though I shall practise it in my bath. Do you mind +leaving your beard with your card?" + +"Not a bit," answered Gogol; and with one finger he ripped off the +whole of his shaggy head-covering, emerging with thin red hair and +a pale, pert face. "It was hot," he added. + +"I will do you the justice to say," said Sunday, not without a sort +of brutal admiration, "that you seem to have kept pretty cool under +it. Now listen to me. I like you. The consequence is that it would +annoy me for just about two and a half minutes if I heard that you +had died in torments. Well, if you ever tell the police or any +human soul about us, I shall have that two and a half minutes of +discomfort. On your discomfort I will not dwell. Good day. Mind the +step." + +The red-haired detective who had masqueraded as Gogol rose to his +feet without a word, and walked out of the room with an air of +perfect nonchalance. Yet the astonished Syme was able to realise +that this ease was suddenly assumed; for there was a slight stumble +outside the door, which showed that the departing detective had not +minded the step. + +"Time is flying," said the President in his gayest manner, after +glancing at his watch, which like everything about him seemed +bigger than it ought to be. "I must go off at once; I have to +take the chair at a Humanitarian meeting." + +The Secretary turned to him with working eyebrows. + +"Would it not be better," he said a little sharply, "to discuss +further the details of our project, now that the spy has left us?" + +"No, I think not," said the President with a yawn like an +unobtrusive earthquake. "Leave it as it is. Let Saturday settle +it. I must be off. Breakfast here next Sunday." + +But the late loud scenes had whipped up the almost naked nerves +of the Secretary. He was one of those men who are conscientious +even in crime. + +"I must protest, President, that the thing is irregular," he said. +"It is a fundamental rule of our society that all plans shall be +debated in full council. Of course, I fully appreciate your +forethought when in the actual presence of a traitor--" + +"Secretary," said the President seriously, "if you'd take your head +home and boil it for a turnip it might be useful. I can't say. But +it might." + +The Secretary reared back in a kind of equine anger. + +"I really fail to understand--" he began in high offense. + +"That's it, that's it," said the President, nodding a great many +times. "That's where you fail right enough. You fail to understand. +Why, you dancing donkey," he roared, rising, "you didn't want to be +overheard by a spy, didn't you? How do you know you aren't +overheard now?" + +And with these words he shouldered his way out of the room, shaking +with incomprehensible scorn. + +Four of the men left behind gaped after him without any apparent +glimmering of his meaning. Syme alone had even a glimmering, and +such as it was it froze him to the bone. If the last words of the +President meant anything, they meant that he had not after all +passed unsuspected. They meant that while Sunday could not denounce +him like Gogol, he still could not trust him like the others. + +The other four got to their feet grumbling more or less, and betook +themselves elsewhere to find lunch, for it was already well past +midday. The Professor went last, very slowly and painfully. Syme +sat long after the rest had gone, revolving his strange position. +He had escaped a thunderbolt, but he was still under a cloud. At +last he rose and made his way out of the hotel into Leicester +Square. The bright, cold day had grown increasingly colder, and +when he came out into the street he was surprised by a few flakes +of snow. While he still carried the sword-stick and the rest of +Gregory's portable luggage, he had thrown the cloak down and left +it somewhere, perhaps on the steam-tug, perhaps on the balcony. +Hoping, therefore, that the snow-shower might be slight, he stepped +back out of the street for a moment and stood up under the doorway +of a small and greasy hair-dresser's shop, the front window of +which was empty, except for a sickly wax lady in evening dress. + +Snow, however, began to thicken and fall fast; and Syme, having +found one glance at the wax lady quite sufficient to depress his +spirits, stared out instead into the white and empty street. He was +considerably astonished to see, standing quite still outside the +shop and staring into the window, a man. His top hat was loaded +with snow like the hat of Father Christmas, the white drift was +rising round his boots and ankles; but it seemed as if nothing +could tear him away from the contemplation of the colourless wax +doll in dirty evening dress. That any human being should stand in +such weather looking into such a shop was a matter of sufficient +wonder to Syme; but his idle wonder turned suddenly into a personal +shock; for he realised that the man standing there was the +paralytic old Professor de Worms. It scarcely seemed the place for +a person of his years and infirmities. + +Syme was ready to believe anything about the perversions of this +dehumanized brotherhood; but even he could not believe that the +Professor had fallen in love with that particular wax lady. He +could only suppose that the man's malady (whatever it was) involved +some momentary fits of rigidity or trance. He was not inclined, +however, to feel in this case any very compassionate concern. On +the contrary, he rather congratulated himself that the Professor's +stroke and his elaborate and limping walk would make it easy to +escape from him and leave him miles behind. For Syme thirsted first +and last to get clear of the whole poisonous atmosphere, if only +for an hour. Then he could collect his thoughts, formulate his +policy, and decide finally whether he should or should not keep +faith with Gregory. + +He strolled away through the dancing snow, turned up two or three +streets, down through two or three others, and entered a small Soho +restaurant for lunch. He partook reflectively of four small and +quaint courses, drank half a bottle of red wine, and ended up over +black coffee and a black cigar, still thinking. He had taken his +seat in the upper room of the restaurant, which was full of the +chink of knives and the chatter of foreigners. He remembered that +in old days he had imagined that all these harmless and kindly +aliens were anarchists. He shuddered, remembering the real thing. +But even the shudder had the delightful shame of escape. The wine, +the common food, the familiar place, the faces of natural and +talkative men, made him almost feel as if the Council of the Seven +Days had been a bad dream; and although he knew it was nevertheless +an objective reality, it was at least a distant one. Tall houses +and populous streets lay between him and his last sight of the +shameful seven; he was free in free London, and drinking wine among +the free. With a somewhat easier action, he took his hat and stick +and strolled down the stair into the shop below. + +When he entered that lower room he stood stricken and rooted to the +spot. At a small table, close up to the blank window and the white +street of snow, sat the old anarchist Professor over a glass of +milk, with his lifted livid face and pendent eyelids. For an +instant Syme stood as rigid as the stick he leant upon. Then with a +gesture as of blind hurry, he brushed past the Professor, dashing +open the door and slamming it behind him, and stood outside in the +snow. + +"Can that old corpse be following me?" he asked himself, biting his +yellow moustache. "I stopped too long up in that room, so that even +such leaden feet could catch me up. One comfort is, with a little +brisk walking I can put a man like that as far away as Timbuctoo. +Or am I too fanciful? Was he really following me? Surely Sunday +would not be such a fool as to send a lame man?" + +He set off at a smart pace, twisting and whirling his stick, in +the direction of Covent Garden. As he crossed the great market the +snow increased, growing blinding and bewildering as the afternoon +began to darken. The snow-flakes tormented him like a swarm of +silver bees. Getting into his eyes and beard, they added their +unremitting futility to his already irritated nerves; and by the +time that he had come at a swinging pace to the beginning of Fleet +Street, he lost patience, and finding a Sunday teashop, turned +into it to take shelter. He ordered another cup of black coffee +as an excuse. Scarcely had he done so, when Professor de Worms +hobbled heavily into the shop, sat down with difficulty and +ordered a glass of milk. + +Syme's walking-stick had fallen from his hand with a great clang, +which confessed the concealed steel. But the Professor did not look +round. Syme, who was commonly a cool character, was literally +gaping as a rustic gapes at a conjuring trick. He had seen no cab +following; he had heard no wheels outside the shop; to all mortal +appearances the man had come on foot. But the old man could only +walk like a snail, and Syme had walked like the wind. He started up +and snatched his stick, half crazy with the contradiction in mere +arithmetic, and swung out of the swinging doors, leaving his coffee +untasted. An omnibus going to the Bank went rattling by with an +unusual rapidity. He had a violent run of a hundred yards to reach +it; but he managed to spring, swaying upon the splash-board and, +pausing for an instant to pant, he climbed on to the top. When he +had been seated for about half a minute, he heard behind him a sort +of heavy and asthmatic breathing. + +Turning sharply, he saw rising gradually higher and higher up +the omnibus steps a top hat soiled and dripping with snow, and +under the shadow of its brim the short-sighted face and shaky +shoulders of Professor de Worms. He let himself into a seat with +characteristic care, and wrapped himself up to the chin in the +mackintosh rug. + +Every movement of the old man's tottering figure and vague hands, +every uncertain gesture and panic-stricken pause, seemed to put +it beyond question that he was helpless, that he was in the last +imbecility of the body. He moved by inches, he let himself down +with little gasps of caution. And yet, unless the philosophical +entities called time and space have no vestige even of a practical +existence, it appeared quite unquestionable that he had run after +the omnibus. + +Syme sprang erect upon the rocking car, and after staring wildly +at the wintry sky, that grew gloomier every moment, he ran down +the steps. He had repressed an elemental impulse to leap over the +side. + +Too bewildered to look back or to reason, he rushed into one of +the little courts at the side of Fleet Street as a rabbit rushes +into a hole. He had a vague idea, if this incomprehensible old +Jack-in-the-box was really pursuing him, that in that labyrinth of +little streets he could soon throw him off the scent. He dived in +and out of those crooked lanes, which were more like cracks than +thoroughfares; and by the time that he had completed about twenty +alternate angles and described an unthinkable polygon, he paused +to listen for any sound of pursuit. There was none; there could +not in any case have been much, for the little streets were thick +with the soundless snow. Somewhere behind Red Lion Court, however, +he noticed a place where some energetic citizen had cleared away +the snow for a space of about twenty yards, leaving the wet, +glistening cobble-stones. He thought little of this as he passed +it, only plunging into yet another arm of the maze. But when a few +hundred yards farther on he stood still again to listen, his heart +stood still also, for he heard from that space of rugged stones +the clinking crutch and labouring feet of the infernal cripple. + +The sky above was loaded with the clouds of snow, leaving London +in a darkness and oppression premature for that hour of the +evening. On each side of Syme the walls of the alley were blind +and featureless; there was no little window or any kind of eve. He +felt a new impulse to break out of this hive of houses, and to get +once more into the open and lamp-lit street. Yet he rambled and +dodged for a long time before he struck the main thoroughfare. +When he did so, he struck it much farther up than he had fancied. +He came out into what seemed the vast and void of Ludgate Circus, +and saw St. Paul's Cathedral sitting in the sky. + +At first he was startled to find these great roads so empty, as if +a pestilence had swept through the city. Then he told himself that +some degree of emptiness was natural; first because the snow-storm +was even dangerously deep, and secondly because it was Sunday. And +at the very word Sunday he bit his lip; the word was henceforth for +hire like some indecent pun. Under the white fog of snow high up in +the heaven the whole atmosphere of the city was turned to a very +queer kind of green twilight, as of men under the sea. The sealed +and sullen sunset behind the dark dome of St. Paul's had in it +smoky and sinister colours--colours of sickly green, dead red or +decaying bronze, that were just bright enough to emphasise the +solid whiteness of the snow. But right up against these dreary +colours rose the black bulk of the cathedral; and upon the top of +the cathedral was a random splash and great stain of snow, still +clinging as to an Alpine peak. It had fallen accidentally, but just +so fallen as to half drape the dome from its very topmost point, +and to pick out in perfect silver the great orb and the cross. When +Syme saw it he suddenly straightened himself, and made with his +sword-stick an involuntary salute. + +He knew that that evil figure, his shadow, was creeping quickly or +slowly behind him, and he did not care. + +It seemed a symbol of human faith and valour that while the skies +were darkening that high place of the earth was bright. The +devils might have captured heaven, but they had not yet captured +the cross. He had a new impulse to tear out the secret of this +dancing, jumping and pursuing paralytic; and at the entrance of +the court as it opened upon the Circus he turned, stick in hand, +to face his pursuer. + +Professor de Worms came slowly round the corner of the irregular +alley behind him, his unnatural form outlined against a lonely +gas-lamp, irresistibly recalling that very imaginative figure in +the nursery rhymes, "the crooked man who went a crooked mile." He +really looked as if he had been twisted out of shape by the +tortuous streets he had been threading. He came nearer and nearer, +the lamplight shining on his lifted spectacles, his lifted, +patient face. Syme waited for him as St. George waited for the +dragon, as a man waits for a final explanation or for death. And +the old Professor came right up to him and passed him like a total +stranger, without even a blink of his mournful eyelids. + +There was something in this silent and unexpected innocence that +left Syme in a final fury. The man's colourless face and manner +seemed to assert that the whole following had been an accident. +Syme was galvanised with an energy that was something between +bitterness and a burst of boyish derision. He made a wild gesture +as if to knock the old man's hat off, called out something like +"Catch me if you can," and went racing away across the white, open +Circus. Concealment was impossible now; and looking back over his +shoulder, he could see the black figure of the old gentleman coming +after him with long, swinging strides like a man winning a mile +race. But the head upon that bounding body was still pale, grave +and professional, like the head of a lecturer upon the body of a +harlequin. + +This outrageous chase sped across Ludgate Circus, up Ludgate Hill, +round St. Paul's Cathedral, along Cheapside, Syme remembering all +the nightmares he had ever known. Then Syme broke away towards the +river, and ended almost down by the docks. He saw the yellow panes +of a low, lighted public-house, flung himself into it and ordered +beer. It was a foul tavern, sprinkled with foreign sailors, a +place where opium might be smoked or knives drawn. + +A moment later Professor de Worms entered the place, sat down +carefully, and asked for a glass of milk. + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THE PROFESSOR EXPLAINS + +WHEN Gabriel Syme found himself finally established in a chair, +and opposite to him, fixed and final also, the lifted eyebrows and +leaden eyelids of the Professor, his fears fully returned. This +incomprehensible man from the fierce council, after all, had +certainly pursued him. If the man had one character as a paralytic +and another character as a pursuer, the antithesis might make him +more interesting, but scarcely more soothing. It would be a very +small comfort that he could not find the Professor out, if by some +serious accident the Professor should find him out. He emptied a +whole pewter pot of ale before the professor had touched his milk. + +One possibility, however, kept him hopeful and yet helpless. It was +just possible that this escapade signified something other than +even a slight suspicion of him. Perhaps it was some regular form or +sign. Perhaps the foolish scamper was some sort of friendly signal +that he ought to have understood. Perhaps it was a ritual. Perhaps +the new Thursday was always chased along Cheapside, as the new Lord +Mayor is always escorted along it. He was just selecting a +tentative inquiry, when the old Professor opposite suddenly and +simply cut him short. Before Syme could ask the first diplomatic +question, the old anarchist had asked suddenly, without any sort of +preparation-- + +"Are you a policeman?" + +Whatever else Syme had expected, he had never expected anything so +brutal and actual as this. Even his great presence of mind could +only manage a reply with an air of rather blundering jocularity. + +"A policeman?" he said, laughing vaguely. "Whatever made you think +of a policeman in connection with me?" + +"The process was simple enough," answered the Professor patiently. +"I thought you looked like a policeman. I think so now." + +"Did I take a policeman's hat by mistake out of the restaurant?" +asked Syme, smiling wildly. "Have I by any chance got a number +stuck on to me somewhere? Have my boots got that watchful look? +Why must I be a policeman? Do, do let me be a postman." + +The old Professor shook his head with a gravity that gave no hope, +but Syme ran on with a feverish irony. + +"But perhaps I misunderstood the delicacies of your German +philosophy. Perhaps policeman is a relative term. In an +evolutionary sense, sir, the ape fades so gradually into the +policeman, that I myself can never detect the shade. The monkey is +only the policeman that may be. Perhaps a maiden lady on Clapham +Common is only the policeman that might have been. I don't mind +being the policeman that might have been. I don't mind being +anything in German thought." + +"Are you in the police service?" said the old man, ignoring all +Syme's improvised and desperate raillery. "Are you a detective?" + +Syme's heart turned to stone, but his face never changed. + +"Your suggestion is ridiculous," he began. "Why on earth--" + +The old man struck his palsied hand passionately on the rickety +table, nearly breaking it. + +"Did you hear me ask a plain question, you pattering spy?" he +shrieked in a high, crazy voice. "Are you, or are you not, a +police detective?" + +"No!" answered Syme, like a man standing on the hangman's drop. + +"You swear it," said the old man, leaning across to him, his dead +face becoming as it were loathsomely alive. "You swear it! You +swear it! If you swear falsely, will you be damned? Will you be +sure that the devil dances at your funeral? Will you see that the +nightmare sits on your grave? Will there really be no mistake? You +are an anarchist, you are a dynamiter! Above all, you are not in +any sense a detective? You are not in the British police?" + +He leant his angular elbow far across the table, and put up his +large loose hand like a flap to his ear. + +"I am not in the British police," said Syme with insane calm. + +Professor de Worms fell back in his chair with a curious air of +kindly collapse. + +"That's a pity," he said, "because I am." + +Syme sprang up straight, sending back the bench behind him with a +crash. + +"Because you are what?" he said thickly. "You are what?" + +"I am a policeman," said the Professor with his first broad smile. +and beaming through his spectacles. "But as you think policeman +only a relative term, of course I have nothing to do with you. I +am in the British police force; but as you tell me you are not in +the British police force, I can only say that I met you in a +dynamiters' club. I suppose I ought to arrest you." And with these +words he laid on the table before Syme an exact facsimile of the +blue card which Syme had in his own waistcoat pocket, the symbol +of his power from the police. + +Syme had for a flash the sensation that the cosmos had turned +exactly upside down, that all trees were growing downwards and +that all stars were under his feet. Then came slowly the opposite +conviction. For the last twenty-four hours the cosmos had really +been upside down, but now the capsized universe had come right side +up again. This devil from whom he had been fleeing all day was only +an elder brother of his own house, who on the other side of the +table lay back and laughed at him. He did not for the moment ask +any questions of detail; he only knew the happy and silly fact that +this shadow, which had pursued him with an intolerable oppression +of peril, was only the shadow of a friend trying to catch him up. +He knew simultaneously that he was a fool and a free man. For with +any recovery from morbidity there must go a certain healthy +humiliation. There comes a certain point in such conditions when +only three things are possible: first a perpetuation of Satanic +pride, secondly tears, and third laughter. Syme's egotism held hard +to the first course for a few seconds, and then suddenly adopted +the third. Taking his own blue police ticket from his own waist +coat pocket, he tossed it on to the table; then he flung his head +back until his spike of yellow beard almost pointed at the ceiling, +and shouted with a barbaric laughter. + +Even in that close den, perpetually filled with the din of knives, +plates, cans, clamorous voices, sudden struggles and stampedes, +there was something Homeric in Syme's mirth which made many +half-drunken men look round. + +"What yer laughing at, guv'nor?" asked one wondering labourer from +the docks. + +"At myself," answered Syme, and went off again into the agony of +his ecstatic reaction. + +"Pull yourself together," said the Professor, "or you'll get +hysterical. Have some more beer. I'll join you." + +"You haven't drunk your milk," said Syme. + +"My milk!" said the other, in tones of withering and unfathomable +contempt, "my milk! Do you think I'd look at the beastly stuff when +I'm out of sight of the bloody anarchists? We're all Christians in +this room, though perhaps," he added, glancing around at the +reeling crowd, "not strict ones. Finish my milk? Great blazes! yes, +I'll finish it right enough!" and he knocked the tumbler off the +table, making a crash of glass and a splash of silver fluid. + +Syme was staring at him with a happy curiosity. + +"I understand now," he cried; "of course, you're not an old man at +all." + +"I can't take my face off here," replied Professor de Worms. "It's +rather an elaborate make-up. As to whether I'm an old man, that's +not for me to say. I was thirty-eight last birthday." + +"Yes, but I mean," said Syme impatiently, "there's nothing the +matter with you." + +"Yes," answered the other dispassionately. "I am subject to colds." + +Syme's laughter at all this had about it a wild weakness of relief. +He laughed at the idea of the paralytic Professor being really a +young actor dressed up as if for the foot-lights. But he felt that +he would have laughed as loudly if a pepperpot had fallen over. + +The false Professor drank and wiped his false beard. + +"Did you know," he asked, "that that man Gogol was one of us?" + +"I? No, I didn't know it," answered Syme in some surprise. "But +didn't you?" + +"I knew no more than the dead," replied the man who called himself +de Worms. "I thought the President was talking about me, and I +rattled in my boots." + +"And I thought he was talking about me," said Syme, with his rather +reckless laughter. "I had my hand on my revolver all the time." + +"So had I," said the Professor grimly; "so had Gogol evidently." + +Syme struck the table with an exclamation. + +"Why, there were three of us there!" he cried. "Three out of seven +is a fighting number. If we had only known that we were three!" + +The face of Professor de Worms darkened, and he did not look up. + +"We were three," he said. "If we had been three hundred we could +still have done nothing." + +"Not if we were three hundred against four?" asked Syme, jeering +rather boisterously. + +"No," said the Professor with sobriety, "not if we were three +hundred against Sunday." + +And the mere name struck Syme cold and serious; his laughter had +died in his heart before it could die on his lips. The face of +the unforgettable President sprang into his mind as startling as +a coloured photograph, and he remarked this difference between +Sunday and all his satellites, that their faces, however fierce +or sinister, became gradually blurred by memory like other human +faces, whereas Sunday's seemed almost to grow more actual during +absence, as if a man's painted portrait should slowly come alive. + +They were both silent for a measure of moments, and then Syme's +speech came with a rush, like the sudden foaming of champagne. + +"Professor," he cried, "it is intolerable. Are you afraid of this +man?" + +The Professor lifted his heavy lids, and gazed at Syme with large, +wide-open, blue eyes of an almost ethereal honesty. + +"Yes, I am," he said mildly. "So are you." + +Syme was dumb for an instant. Then he rose to his feet erect, like +an insulted man, and thrust the chair away from him. + +"Yes," he said in a voice indescribable, "you are right. I am +afraid of him. Therefore I swear by God that I will seek out this +man whom I fear until I find him, and strike him on the mouth. If +heaven were his throne and the earth his footstool, I swear that +I would pull him down." + +"How?" asked the staring Professor. "Why?" + +"Because I am afraid of him," said Syme; "and no man should leave +in the universe anything of which he is afraid." + +De Worms blinked at him with a sort of blind wonder. He made an +effort to speak, but Syme went on in a low voice, but with an +undercurrent of inhuman exaltation-- + +"Who would condescend to strike down the mere things that he does +not fear? Who would debase himself to be merely brave, like any +common prizefighter? Who would stoop to be fearless--like a tree? +Fight the thing that you fear. You remember the old tale of the +English clergyman who gave the last rites to the brigand of Sicily, +and how on his death-bed the great robber said, 'I can give you no +money, but I can give you advice for a lifetime: your thumb on the +blade, and strike upwards.' So I say to you, strike upwards, if you +strike at the stars." + +The other looked at the ceiling, one of the tricks of his pose. + +"Sunday is a fixed star," he said. + +"You shall see him a falling star," said Syme, and put on his hat. + +The decision of his gesture drew the Professor vaguely to his feet. + +"Have you any idea," he asked, with a sort of benevolent +bewilderment, "exactly where you are going?" + +"Yes," replied Syme shortly, "I am going to prevent this bomb being +thrown in Paris." + +"Have you any conception how?" inquired the other. + +"No," said Syme with equal decision. + +"You remember, of course," resumed the soi-disant de Worms, pulling +his beard and looking out of the window, "that when we broke up +rather hurriedly the whole arrangements for the atrocity were left +in the private hands of the Marquis and Dr. Bull. The Marquis is by +this time probably crossing the Channel. But where he will go and +what he will do it is doubtful whether even the President knows; +certainly we don't know. The only man who does know is Dr. Bull." + +"Confound it!" cried Syme. "And we don't know where he is." + +"Yes," said the other in his curious, absent-minded way, "I know +where he is myself." + +"Will you tell me?" asked Syme with eager eyes. + +"I will take you there," said the Professor, and took down his own +hat from a peg. + +Syme stood looking at him with a sort of rigid excitement. + +"What do you mean?" he asked sharply. "Will you join me? Will you +take the risk?" + +"Young man," said the Professor pleasantly, "I am amused to observe +that you think I am a coward. As to that I will say only one word, +and that shall be entirely in the manner of your own philosophical +rhetoric. You think that it is possible to pull down the President. +I know that it is impossible, and I am going to try it," and +opening the tavern door, which let in a blast of bitter air, they +went out together into the dark streets by the docks. + +Most of the snow was melted or trampled to mud, but here and there +a clot of it still showed grey rather than white in the gloom. The +small streets were sloppy and full of pools, which reflected the +flaming lamps irregularly, and by accident, like fragments of some +other and fallen world. Syme felt almost dazed as he stepped +through this growing confusion of lights and shadows; but his +companion walked on with a certain briskness, towards where, at +the end of the street, an inch or two of the lamplit river looked +like a bar of flame. + +"Where are you going?" Syme inquired. + +"Just now," answered the Professor, "I am going just round the +corner to see whether Dr. Bull has gone to bed. He is hygienic, +and retires early." + +"Dr. Bull!" exclaimed Syme. "Does he live round the corner?" + +"No," answered his friend. "As a matter of fact he lives some way +off, on the other side of the river, but we can tell from here +whether he has gone to bed." + +Turning the corner as he spoke, and facing the dim river, flecked +with flame, he pointed with his stick to the other bank. On the +Surrey side at this point there ran out into the Thames, seeming +almost to overhang it, a bulk and cluster of those tall tenements, +dotted with lighted windows, and rising like factory chimneys to +an almost insane height. Their special poise and position made one +block of buildings especially look like a Tower of Babel with a +hundred eyes. Syme had never seen any of the sky-scraping buildings +in America, so he could only think of the buildings in a dream. + +Even as he stared, the highest light in this innumerably lighted +turret abruptly went out, as if this black Argus had winked at him +with one of his innumerable eyes. + +Professor de Worms swung round on his heel, and struck his stick +against his boot. + +"We are too late," he said, "the hygienic Doctor has gone to bed." + +"What do you mean?" asked Syme. "Does he live over there, then?" + +"Yes," said de Worms, "behind that particular window which you +can't see. Come along and get some dinner. We must call on him +tomorrow morning." + +Without further parley, he led the way through several by-ways +until they came out into the flare and clamour of the East India +Dock Road. The Professor, who seemed to know his way about the +neighbourhood, proceeded to a place where the line of lighted +shops fell back into a sort of abrupt twilight and quiet, in which +an old white inn, all out of repair, stood back some twenty feet +from the road. + +"You can find good English inns left by accident everywhere, like +fossils," explained the Professor. "I once found a decent place in +the West End." + +"I suppose," said Syme, smiling, "that this is the corresponding +decent place in the East End?" + +"It is," said the Professor reverently, and went in. + +In that place they dined and slept, both very thoroughly. The +beans and bacon, which these unaccountable people cooked well, +the astonishing emergence of Burgundy from their cellars, crowned +Syme's sense of a new comradeship and comfort. Through all this +ordeal his root horror had been isolation, and there are no words +to express the abyss between isolation and having one ally. It may +be conceded to the mathematicians that four is twice two. But two +is not twice one; two is two thousand times one. That is why, in +spite of a hundred disadvantages, the world will always return to +monogamy. + +Syme was able to pour out for the first time the whole of his +outrageous tale, from the time when Gregory had taken him to +the little tavern by the river. He did it idly and amply, in a +luxuriant monologue, as a man speaks with very old friends. On +his side, also, the man who had impersonated Professor de Worms +was not less communicative. His own story was almost as silly as +Syme's. + +"That's a good get-up of yours," said Syme, draining a glass of +Macon; "a lot better than old Gogol's. Even at the start I thought +he was a bit too hairy." + +"A difference of artistic theory," replied the Professor pensively. +"Gogol was an idealist. He made up as the abstract or platonic +ideal of an anarchist. But I am a realist. I am a portrait painter. +But, indeed, to say that I am a portrait painter is an inadequate +expression. I am a portrait." + +"I don't understand you," said Syme. + +"I am a portrait," repeated the Professor. "I am a portrait of the +celebrated Professor de Worms, who is, I believe, in Naples." + +"You mean you are made up like him," said Syme. "But doesn't he +know that you are taking his nose in vain?" + +"He knows it right enough," replied his friend cheerfully. + +"Then why doesn't he denounce you?" + +"I have denounced him," answered the Professor. + +"Do explain yourself," said Syme. + +"With pleasure, if you don't mind hearing my story," replied the +eminent foreign philosopher. "I am by profession an actor, and my +name is Wilks. When I was on the stage I mixed with all sorts of +Bohemian and blackguard company. Sometimes I touched the edge of +the turf, sometimes the riff-raff of the arts, and occasionally the +political refugee. In some den of exiled dreamers I was introduced +to the great German Nihilist philosopher, Professor de Worms. I did +not gather much about him beyond his appearance, which was very +disgusting, and which I studied carefully. I understood that he had +proved that the destructive principle in the universe was God; +hence he insisted on the need for a furious and incessant energy, +rending all things in pieces. Energy, he said, was the All. He was +lame, shortsighted, and partially paralytic. When I met him I was +in a frivolous mood, and I disliked him so much that I resolved to +imitate him. If I had been a draughtsman I would have drawn a +caricature. I was only an actor, I could only act a caricature. I +made myself up into what was meant for a wild exaggeration of the +old Professor's dirty old self. When I went into the room full of +his supporters I expected to be received with a roar of laughter, +or (if they were too far gone) with a roar of indignation at the +insult. I cannot describe the surprise I felt when my entrance was +received with a respectful silence, followed (when I had first +opened my lips) with a murmur of admiration. The curse of the +perfect artist had fallen upon me. I had been too subtle, I had +been too true. They thought I really was the great Nihilist +Professor. I was a healthy-minded young man at the time, and I +confess that it was a blow. Before I could fully recover, however, +two or three of these admirers ran up to me radiating indignation, +and told me that a public insult had been put upon me in the next +room. I inquired its nature. It seemed that an impertinent fellow +had dressed himself up as a preposterous parody of myself. I had +drunk more champagne than was good for me, and in a flash of folly +I decided to see the situation through. Consequently it was to meet +the glare of the company and my own lifted eyebrows and freezing +eyes that the real Professor came into the room. + +"I need hardly say there was a collision. The pessimists all round +me looked anxiously from one Professor to the other Professor to +see which was really the more feeble. But I won. An old man in poor +health, like my rival, could not be expected to be so impressively +feeble as a young actor in the prime of life. You see, he really +had paralysis, and working within this definite limitation, he +couldn't be so jolly paralytic as I was. Then he tried to blast my +claims intellectually. I countered that by a very simple dodge. +Whenever he said something that nobody but he could understand, I +replied with something which I could not even understand myself. +'I don't fancy,' he said, 'that you could have worked out the +principle that evolution is only negation, since there inheres in +it the introduction of lacuna, which are an essential of +differentiation.' I replied quite scornfully, 'You read all that up +in Pinckwerts; the notion that involution functioned eugenically +was exposed long ago by Glumpe.' It is unnecessary for me to say +that there never were such people as Pinckwerts and Glumpe. But the +people all round (rather to my surprise) seemed to remember them +quite well, and the Professor, finding that the learned and +mysterious method left him rather at the mercy of an enemy slightly +deficient in scruples, fell back upon a more popular form of wit. +'I see,' he sneered, 'you prevail like the false pig in Aesop.' +'And you fail,' I answered, smiling, 'like the hedgehog in +Montaigne.' Need I say that there is no hedgehog in Montaigne? +'Your claptrap comes off,' he said; 'so would your beard.' I had no +intelligent answer to this, which was quite true and rather witty. +But I laughed heartily, answered, 'Like the Pantheist's boots,' at +random, and turned on my heel with all the honours of victory. The +real Professor was thrown out, but not with violence, though one +man tried very patiently to pull off his nose. He is now, I +believe, received everywhere in Europe as a delightful impostor. +His apparent earnestness and anger, you see, make him all the more +entertaining." + +"Well," said Syme, "I can understand your putting on his dirty old +beard for a night's practical joke, but I don't understand your +never taking it off again." + +"That is the rest of the story," said the impersonator. "When I +myself left the company, followed by reverent applause, I went +limping down the dark street, hoping that I should soon be far +enough away to be able to walk like a human being. To my +astonishment, as I was turning the corner, I felt a touch on the +shoulder, and turning, found myself under the shadow of an enormous +policeman. He told me I was wanted. I struck a sort of paralytic +attitude, and cried in a high German accent, 'Yes, I am wanted--by +the oppressed of the world. You are arresting me on the charge of +being the great anarchist, Professor de Worms.' The policeman +impassively consulted a paper in his hand, 'No, sir,' he said +civilly, 'at least, not exactly, sir. I am arresting you on the +charge of not being the celebrated anarchist, Professor de Worms.' +This charge, if it was criminal at all, was certainly the lighter +of the two, and I went along with the man, doubtful, but not +greatly dismayed. I was shown into a number of rooms, and +eventually into the presence of a police officer, who explained +that a serious campaign had been opened against the centres of +anarchy, and that this, my successful masquerade, might be of +considerable value to the public safety. He offered me a good +salary and this little blue card. Though our conversation was +short, he struck me as a man of very massive common sense and +humour; but I cannot tell you much about him personally, because--" + +Syme laid down his knife and fork. + +"I know," he said, "because you talked to him in a dark room." + +Professor de Worms nodded and drained his glass. + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THE MAN IN SPECTACLES + +"BURGUNDY is a jolly thing," said the Professor sadly, as he set +his glass down. + +"You don't look as if it were," said Syme; "you drink it as if it +were medicine." + +"You must excuse my manner," said the Professor dismally, "my +position is rather a curious one. Inside I am really bursting with +boyish merriment; but I acted the paralytic Professor so well, that +now I can't leave off. So that when I am among friends, and have no +need at all to disguise myself, I still can't help speaking slow +and wrinkling my forehead--just as if it were my forehead. I can be +quite happy, you understand, but only in a paralytic sort of way. +The most buoyant exclamations leap up in my heart, but they come +out of my mouth quite different. You should hear me say, 'Buck up, +old cock!' It would bring tears to your eyes." + +"It does," said Syme; "but I cannot help thinking that apart from +all that you are really a bit worried." + +The Professor started a little and looked at him steadily. + +"You are a very clever fellow," he said, "it is a pleasure to work +with you. Yes, I have rather a heavy cloud in my head. There is a +great problem to face," and he sank his bald brow in his two hands. + +Then he said in a low voice-- + +"Can you play the piano?" + +"Yes," said Syme in simple wonder, "I'm supposed to have a good +touch." + +Then, as the other did not speak, he added-- + +"I trust the great cloud is lifted." + +After a long silence, the Professor said out of the cavernous +shadow of his hands-- + +"It would have done just as well if you could work a typewriter." + +"Thank you," said Syme, "you flatter me." + +"Listen to me," said the other, "and remember whom we have to see +tomorrow. You and I are going tomorrow to attempt something which +is very much more dangerous than trying to steal the Crown Jewels +out of the Tower. We are trying to steal a secret from a very +sharp, very strong, and very wicked man. I believe there is no man, +except the President, of course, who is so seriously startling and +formidable as that little grinning fellow in goggles. He has not +perhaps the white-hot enthusiasm unto death, the mad martyrdom for +anarchy, which marks the Secretary. But then that very fanaticism +in the Secretary has a human pathos, and is almost a redeeming +trait. But the little Doctor has a brutal sanity that is more +shocking than the Secretary's disease. Don't you notice his +detestable virility and vitality. He bounces like an india-rubber +ball. Depend on it, Sunday was not asleep (I wonder if he ever +sleeps?) when he locked up all the plans of this outrage in the +round, black head of Dr. Bull." + +"And you think," said Syme, "that this unique monster will be +soothed if I play the piano to him?" + +"Don't be an ass," said his mentor. "I mentioned the piano because +it gives one quick and independent fingers. Syme, if we are to go +through this interview and come out sane or alive, we must have +some code of signals between us that this brute will not see. I +have made a rough alphabetical cypher corresponding to the five +fingers--like this, see," and he rippled with his fingers on the +wooden table--"B A D, bad, a word we may frequently require." + +Syme poured himself out another glass of wine, and began to study +the scheme. He was abnormally quick with his brains at puzzles, +and with his hands at conjuring, and it did not take him long to +learn how he might convey simple messages by what would seem to +be idle taps upon a table or knee. But wine and companionship had +always the effect of inspiring him to a farcical ingenuity, and +the Professor soon found himself struggling with the too vast +energy of the new language, as it passed through the heated brain +of Syme. + +"We must have several word-signs," said Syme seriously--"words that +we are likely to want, fine shades of meaning. My favourite word is +'coeval'. What's yours?" + +"Do stop playing the goat," said the Professor plaintively. "You +don't know how serious this is." + +"'Lush' too," said Syme, shaking his head sagaciously, "we must +have 'lush'--word applied to grass, don't you know?" + +"Do you imagine," asked the Professor furiously, "that we are going +to talk to Dr. Bull about grass?" + +"There are several ways in which the subject could be approached," +said Syme reflectively, "and the word introduced without appearing +forced. We might say, 'Dr. Bull, as a revolutionist, you remember +that a tyrant once advised us to eat grass; and indeed many of us, +looking on the fresh lush grass of summer"' + +"Do you understand," said the other, "that this is a tragedy?" + +"Perfectly," replied Syme; "always be comic in a tragedy. What +the deuce else can you do? I wish this language of yours had a +wider scope. I suppose we could not extend it from the fingers +to the toes? That would involve pulling off our boots and socks +during the conversation, which however unobtrusively performed--" + +"Syme," said his friend with a stern simplicity, "go to bed!" + +Syme, however, sat up in bed for a considerable time mastering the +new code. He was awakened next morning while the east was still +sealed with darkness, and found his grey-bearded ally standing like +a ghost beside his bed. + +Syme sat up in bed blinking; then slowly collected his thoughts, +threw off the bed-clothes, and stood up. It seemed to him in some +curious way that all the safety and sociability of the night before +fell with the bedclothes off him, and he stood up in an air of cold +danger. He still felt an entire trust and loyalty towards his +companion; but it was the trust between two men going to the +scaffold. + +"Well," said Syme with a forced cheerfulness as he pulled on his +trousers, "I dreamt of that alphabet of yours. Did it take you +long to make it up?" + +The Professor made no answer, but gazed in front of him with eyes +the colour of a wintry sea; so Syme repeated his question. + +"I say, did it take you long to invent all this? I'm considered +good at these things, and it was a good hour's grind. Did you +learn it all on the spot?" + +The Professor was silent; his eyes were wide open, and he wore a +fixed but very small smile. + +"How long did it take you?" + +The Professor did not move. + +"Confound you, can't you answer?" called out Syme, in a sudden +anger that had something like fear underneath. Whether or no the +Professor could answer, he did not. + +Syme stood staring back at the stiff face like parchment and the +blank, blue eyes. His first thought was that the Professor had gone +mad, but his second thought was more frightful. After all, what did +he know about this queer creature whom he had heedlessly accepted +as a friend? What did he know, except that the man had been at the +anarchist breakfast and had told him a ridiculous tale? How +improbable it was that there should be another friend there beside +Gogol! Was this man's silence a sensational way of declaring war? +Was this adamantine stare after all only the awful sneer of some +threefold traitor, who had turned for the last time? He stood and +strained his ears in this heartless silence. He almost fancied he +could hear dynamiters come to capture him shifting softly in the +corridor outside. + +Then his eye strayed downwards, and he burst out laughing. Though +the Professor himself stood there as voiceless as a statue, his +five dumb fingers were dancing alive upon the dead table. Syme +watched the twinkling movements of the talking hand, and read +clearly the message-- + +"I will only talk like this. We must get used to it." + +He rapped out the answer with the impatience of relief-- + +"All right. Let's get out to breakfast." + +They took their hats and sticks in silence; but as Syme took his +sword-stick, he held it hard. + +They paused for a few minutes only to stuff down coffee and coarse +thick sandwiches at a coffee stall, and then made their way across +the river, which under the grey and growing light looked as +desolate as Acheron. They reached the bottom of the huge block of +buildings which they had seen from across the river, and began in +silence to mount the naked and numberless stone steps, only pausing +now and then to make short remarks on the rail of the banisters. At +about every other flight they passed a window; each window showed +them a pale and tragic dawn lifting itself laboriously over London. +From each the innumerable roofs of slate looked like the leaden +surges of a grey, troubled sea after rain. Syme was increasingly +conscious that his new adventure had somehow a quality of cold +sanity worse than the wild adventures of the past. Last night, for +instance, the tall tenements had seemed to him like a tower in a +dream. As he now went up the weary and perpetual steps, he was +daunted and bewildered by their almost infinite series. But it was +not the hot horror of a dream or of anything that might be +exaggeration or delusion. Their infinity was more like the empty +infinity of arithmetic, something unthinkable, yet necessary to +thought. Or it was like the stunning statements of astronomy about +the distance of the fixed stars. He was ascending the house of +reason, a thing more hideous than unreason itself. + +By the time they reached Dr. Bull's landing, a last window showed +them a harsh, white dawn edged with banks of a kind of coarse red, +more like red clay than red cloud. And when they entered Dr. Bull's +bare garret it was full of light. + +Syme had been haunted by a half historic memory in connection with +these empty rooms and that austere daybreak. The moment he saw the +garret and Dr. Bull sitting writing at a table, he remembered what +the memory was--the French Revolution. There should have been the +black outline of a guillotine against that heavy red and white of +the morning. Dr. Bull was in his white shirt and black breeches +only; his cropped, dark head might well have just come out of its +wig; he might have been Marat or a more slipshod Robespierre. + +Yet when he was seen properly, the French fancy fell away. The +Jacobins were idealists; there was about this man a murderous +materialism. His position gave him a somewhat new appearance. The +strong, white light of morning coming from one side creating sharp +shadows, made him seem both more pale and more angular than he had +looked at the breakfast on the balcony. Thus the two black glasses +that encased his eyes might really have been black cavities in his +skull, making him look like a death's-head. And, indeed, if ever +Death himself sat writing at a wooden table, it might have been he. + +He looked up and smiled brightly enough as the men came in, and +rose with the resilient rapidity of which the Professor had +spoken. He set chairs for both of them, and going to a peg behind +the door, proceeded to put on a coat and waistcoat of rough, dark +tweed; he buttoned it up neatly, and came back to sit down at his +table. + +The quiet good humour of his manner left his two opponents +helpless. It was with some momentary difficulty that the +Professor broke silence and began, "I'm sorry to disturb you so +early, comrade," said he, with a careful resumption of the slow +de Worms manner. "You have no doubt made all the arrangements for +the Paris affair?" Then he added with infinite slowness, "We have +information which renders intolerable anything in the nature of a +moment's delay." + +Dr. Bull smiled again, but continued to gaze on them without +speaking. The Professor resumed, a pause before each weary word-- + +"Please do not think me excessively abrupt; but I advise you to +alter those plans, or if it is too late for that, to follow your +agent with all the support you can get for him. Comrade Syme and +I have had an experience which it would take more time to recount +than we can afford, if we are to act on it. I will, however, +relate the occurrence in detail, even at the risk of losing time, +if you really feel that it is essential to the understanding of +the problem we have to discuss." + +He was spinning out his sentences, making them intolerably long +and lingering, in the hope of maddening the practical little +Doctor into an explosion of impatience which might show his hand. +But the little Doctor continued only to stare and smile, and the +monologue was uphill work. Syme began to feel a new sickness and +despair. The Doctor's smile and silence were not at all like the +cataleptic stare and horrible silence which he had confronted in +the Professor half an hour before. About the Professor's makeup +and all his antics there was always something merely grotesque, +like a gollywog. Syme remembered those wild woes of yesterday as +one remembers being afraid of Bogy in childhood. But here was +daylight; here was a healthy, square-shouldered man in tweeds, +not odd save for the accident of his ugly spectacles, not glaring +or grinning at all, but smiling steadily and not saying a word. +The whole had a sense of unbearable reality. Under the increasing +sunlight the colours of the Doctor's complexion, the pattern of +his tweeds, grew and expanded outrageously, as such things grow +too important in a realistic novel. But his smile was quite +slight, the pose of his head polite; the only uncanny thing was +his silence. + +"As I say," resumed the Professor, like a man toiling through +heavy sand, "the incident that has occurred to us and has led +us to ask for information about the Marquis, is one which you +may think it better to have narrated; but as it came in the +way of Comrade Syme rather than me--" + +His words he seemed to be dragging out like words in an anthem; +but Syme, who was watching, saw his long fingers rattle quickly +on the edge of the crazy table. He read the message, "You must +go on. This devil has sucked me dry!" + +Syme plunged into the breach with that bravado of improvisation +which always came to him when he was alarmed. + +"Yes, the thing really happened to me," he said hastily. "I had +the good fortune to fall into conversation with a detective who +took me, thanks to my hat, for a respectable person. Wishing to +clinch my reputation for respectability, I took him and made him +very drunk at the Savoy. Under this influence he became friendly, +and told me in so many words that within a day or two they hope +to arrest the Marquis in France. + +"So unless you or I can get on his track--" + +The Doctor was still smiling in the most friendly way, and his +protected eyes were still impenetrable. The Professor signalled to +Syme that he would resume his explanation, and he began again with +the same elaborate calm. + +"Syme immediately brought this information to me, and we came here +together to see what use you would be inclined to make of it. It +seems to me unquestionably urgent that--" + +All this time Syme had been staring at the Doctor almost as +steadily as the Doctor stared at the Professor, but quite without +the smile. The nerves of both comrades-in-arms were near snapping +under that strain of motionless amiability, when Syme suddenly +leant forward and idly tapped the edge of the table. His message +to his ally ran, "I have an intuition." + +The Professor, with scarcely a pause in his monologue, signalled +back, "Then sit on it." + +Syme telegraphed, "It is quite extraordinary." + +The other answered, "Extraordinary rot!" + +Syme said, "I am a poet." + +The other retorted, "You are a dead man." + +Syme had gone quite red up to his yellow hair, and his eyes were +burning feverishly. As he said he had an intuition, and it had +risen to a sort of lightheaded certainty. Resuming his symbolic +taps, he signalled to his friend, "You scarcely realise how poetic +my intuition is. It has that sudden quality we sometimes feel in +the coming of spring." + +He then studied the answer on his friend's fingers. The answer +was, "Go to hell!" + +The Professor then resumed his merely verbal monologue addressed +to the Doctor. + +"Perhaps I should rather say," said Syme on his fingers, "that it +resembles that sudden smell of the sea which may be found in the +heart of lush woods." + +His companion disdained to reply. + +"Or yet again," tapped Syme, "it is positive, as is the passionate +red hair of a beautiful woman." + +The Professor was continuing his speech, but in the middle of it +Syme decided to act. He leant across the table, and said in a +voice that could not be neglected-- + +"Dr. Bull!" + +The Doctor's sleek and smiling head did not move, but they could +have sworn that under his dark glasses his eyes darted towards +Syme. + +"Dr. Bull," said Syme, in a voice peculiarly precise and +courteous, "would you do me a small favour? Would you be so kind +as to take off your spectacles?" + +The Professor swung round on his seat, and stared at Syme with a +sort of frozen fury of astonishment. Syme, like a man who has +thrown his life and fortune on the table, leaned forward with a +fiery face. The Doctor did not move. + +For a few seconds there was a silence in which one could hear a +pin drop, split once by the single hoot of a distant steamer on +the Thames. Then Dr. Bull rose slowly, still smiling, and took +off his spectacles. + +Syme sprang to his feet, stepping backwards a little, like a +chemical lecturer from a successful explosion. His eyes were like +stars, and for an instant he could only point without speaking. + +The Professor had also started to his feet, forgetful of his +supposed paralysis. He leant on the back of the chair and stared +doubtfully at Dr. Bull, as if the Doctor had been turned into a +toad before his eyes. And indeed it was almost as great a +transformation scene. + +The two detectives saw sitting in the chair before them a very +boyish-looking young man, with very frank and happy hazel eyes, an +open expression, cockney clothes like those of a city clerk, and +an unquestionable breath about him of being very good and rather +commonplace. The smile was still there, but it might have been the +first smile of a baby. + +"I knew I was a poet," cried Syme in a sort of ecstasy. "I knew my +intuition was as infallible as the Pope. It was the spectacles that +did it! It was all the spectacles. Given those beastly black eyes, +and all the rest of him his health and his jolly looks, made him a +live devil among dead ones." + +"It certainly does make a queer difference," said the Professor +shakily. "But as regards the project of Dr. Bull--" + +"Project be damned!" roared Syme, beside himself. "Look at him! +Look at his face, look at his collar, look at his blessed boots! +You don't suppose, do you, that that thing's an anarchist?" + +"Syme!" cried the other in an apprehensive agony. + +"Why, by God," said Syme, "I'll take the risk of that myself! Dr. +Bull, I am a police officer. There's my card," and he flung down +the blue card upon the table. + +The Professor still feared that all was lost; but he was loyal. He +pulled out his own official card and put it beside his friend's. +Then the third man burst out laughing, and for the first time that +morning they heard his voice. + +"I'm awfully glad you chaps have come so early," he said, with +a sort of schoolboy flippancy, "for we can all start for France +together. Yes, I'm in the force right enough," and he flicked a +blue card towards them lightly as a matter of form. + +Clapping a brisk bowler on his head and resuming his goblin +glasses, the Doctor moved so quickly towards the door, that the +others instinctively followed him. Syme seemed a little distrait, +and as he passed under the doorway he suddenly struck his stick +on the stone passage so that it rang. + +"But Lord God Almighty," he cried out, "if this is all right, there +were more damned detectives than there were damned dynamiters at +the damned Council!" + +"We might have fought easily," said Bull; "we were four against +three." + +The Professor was descending the stairs, but his voice came up from +below. + +"No," said the voice, "we were not four against three--we were not +so lucky. We were four against One." + +The others went down the stairs in silence. + +The young man called Bull, with an innocent courtesy characteristic +of him, insisted on going last until they reached the street; but +there his own robust rapidity asserted itself unconsciously, and he +walked quickly on ahead towards a railway inquiry office, talking +to the others over his shoulder. + +"It is jolly to get some pals," he said. "I've been half dead with +the jumps, being quite alone. I nearly flung my arms round Gogol +and embraced him, which would have been imprudent. I hope you won't +despise me for having been in a blue funk." + +"All the blue devils in blue hell," said Syme, "contributed to my +blue funk! But the worst devil was you and your infernal goggles." + +The young man laughed delightedly. + +"Wasn't it a rag?" he said. "Such a simple idea--not my own. I +haven't got the brains. You see, I wanted to go into the detective +service, especially the anti-dynamite business. But for that +purpose they wanted someone to dress up as a dynamiter; and they +all swore by blazes that I could never look like a dynamiter. They +said my very walk was respectable, and that seen from behind I +looked like the British Constitution. They said I looked too +healthy and too optimistic, and too reliable and benevolent; they +called me all sorts of names at Scotland Yard. They said that if I +had been a criminal, I might have made my fortune by looking so +like an honest man; but as I had the misfortune to be an honest +man, there was not even the remotest chance of my assisting them by +ever looking like a criminal. But as last I was brought before some +old josser who was high up in the force, and who seemed to have no +end of a head on his shoulders. And there the others all talked +hopelessly. One asked whether a bushy beard would hide my nice +smile; another said that if they blacked my face I might look like +a negro anarchist; but this old chap chipped in with a most +extraordinary remark. 'A pair of smoked spectacles will do it,' he +said positively. 'Look at him now; he looks like an angelic office +boy. Put him on a pair of smoked spectacles, and children will +scream at the sight of him.' And so it was, by George! When once my +eyes were covered, all the rest, smile and big shoulders and short +hair, made me look a perfect little devil. As I say, it was simple +enough when it was done, like miracles; but that wasn't the really +miraculous part of it. There was one really staggering thing about +the business, and my head still turns at it." + +"What was that?" asked Syme. + +"I'll tell you," answered the man in spectacles. "This big pot in +the police who sized me up so that he knew how the goggles would +go with my hair and socks--by God, he never saw me at all!" + +Syme's eyes suddenly flashed on him. + +"How was that?" he asked. "I thought you talked to him." + +"So I did," said Bull brightly; "but we talked in a pitch-dark +room like a coalcellar. There, you would never have guessed that." + +"I could not have conceived it," said Syme gravely. + +"It is indeed a new idea," said the Professor. + +Their new ally was in practical matters a whirlwind. At the +inquiry office he asked with businesslike brevity about the trains +for Dover. Having got his information, he bundled the company into +a cab, and put them and himself inside a railway carriage before +they had properly realised the breathless process. They were +already on the Calais boat before conversation flowed freely. + +"I had already arranged," he explained, "to go to France for my +lunch; but I am delighted to have someone to lunch with me. You +see, I had to send that beast, the Marquis, over with his bomb, +because the President had his eye on me, though God knows how. +I'll tell you the story some day. It was perfectly choking. +Whenever I tried to slip out of it I saw the President somewhere, +smiling out of the bow-window of a club, or taking off his hat to +me from the top of an omnibus. I tell you, you can say what you +like, that fellow sold himself to the devil; he can be in six +places at once." + +"So you sent the Marquis off, I understand," asked the Professor. +"Was it long ago? Shall we be in time to catch him?" + +"Yes," answered the new guide, "I've timed it all. He'll still be +at Calais when we arrive." + +"But when we do catch him at Calais," said the Professor, "what are +we going to do?" + +At this question the countenance of Dr. Bull fell for the first +time. He reflected a little, and then said-- + +"Theoretically, I suppose, we ought to call the police." + +"Not I," said Syme. "Theoretically I ought to drown myself first. I +promised a poor fellow, who was a real modern pessimist, on my word +of honour not to tell the police. I'm no hand at casuistry, but I +can't break my word to a modern pessimist. It's like breaking one's +word to a child." + +"I'm in the same boat," said the Professor. "I tried to tell the +police and I couldn't, because of some silly oath I took. You see, +when I was an actor I was a sort of all-round beast. Perjury or +treason is the only crime I haven't committed. If I did that I +shouldn't know the difference between right and wrong." + +"I've been through all that," said Dr. Bull, "and I've made up my +mind. I gave my promise to the Secretary--you know him, man who +smiles upside down. My friends, that man is the most utterly +unhappy man that was ever human. It may be his digestion, or his +conscience, or his nerves, or his philosophy of the universe, but +he's damned, he's in hell! Well, I can't turn on a man like that, +and hunt him down. It's like whipping a leper. I may be mad, but +that's how I feel; and there's jolly well the end of it." + +"I don't think you're mad," said Syme. "I knew you would decide +like that when first you--" + +"Eh?" said Dr. Bull. + +"When first you took off your spectacles." + +Dr. Bull smiled a little, and strolled across the deck to look at +the sunlit sea. Then he strolled back again, kicking his heels +carelessly, and a companionable silence fell between the three men. + +"Well," said Syme, "it seems that we have all the same kind of +morality or immorality, so we had better face the fact that comes +of it." + +"Yes," assented the Professor, "you're quite right; and we must +hurry up, for I can see the Grey Nose standing out from France." + +"The fact that comes of it," said Syme seriously, "is this, that we +three are alone on this planet. Gogol has gone, God knows where; +perhaps the President has smashed him like a fly. On the Council we +are three men against three, like the Romans who held the bridge. +But we are worse off than that, first because they can appeal to +their organization and we cannot appeal to ours, and second +because--" + +"Because one of those other three men," said the Professor, "is not +a man." + +Syme nodded and was silent for a second or two, then he said-- + +"My idea is this. We must do something to keep the Marquis in +Calais till tomorrow midday. I have turned over twenty schemes in +my head. We cannot denounce him as a dynamiter; that is agreed. We +cannot get him detained on some trivial charge, for we should have +to appear; he knows us, and he would smell a rat. We cannot pretend +to keep him on anarchist business; he might swallow much in that +way, but not the notion of stopping in Calais while the Czar went +safely through Paris. We might try to kidnap him, and lock him up +ourselves; but he is a well-known man here. He has a whole +bodyguard of friends; he is very strong and brave, and the event is +doubtful. The only thing I can see to do is actually to take +advantage of the very things that are in the Marquis's favour. I am +going to profit by the fact that he is a highly respected nobleman. +I am going to profit by the fact that he has many friends and moves +in the best society." + +"What the devil are you talking about?" asked the Professor. + +"The Symes are first mentioned in the fourteenth century," said +Syme; "but there is a tradition that one of them rode behind Bruce +at Bannockburn. Since 1350 the tree is quite clear." + +"He's gone off his head," said the little Doctor, staring. + +"Our bearings," continued Syme calmly, "are 'argent a chevron gules +charged with three cross crosslets of the field.' The motto +varies." + +The Professor seized Syme roughly by the waistcoat. + +"We are just inshore," he said. "Are you seasick or joking in the +wrong place?" + +"My remarks are almost painfully practical," answered Syme, in an +unhurried manner. "The house of St. Eustache also is very ancient. +The Marquis cannot deny that he is a gentleman. He cannot deny +that I am a gentleman. And in order to put the matter of my social +position quite beyond a doubt, I propose at the earliest +opportunity to knock his hat off. But here we are in the harbour." + +They went on shore under the strong sun in a sort of daze. Syme, +who had now taken the lead as Bull had taken it in London, led +them along a kind of marine parade until he came to some cafes, +embowered in a bulk of greenery and overlooking the sea. As he +went before them his step was slightly swaggering, and he swung +his stick like a sword. He was making apparently for the extreme +end of the line of cafes, but he stopped abruptly. With a sharp +gesture he motioned them to silence, but he pointed with one +gloved finger to a cafe table under a bank of flowering foliage +at which sat the Marquis de St. Eustache, his teeth shining in +his thick, black beard, and his bold, brown face shadowed by a +light yellow straw hat and outlined against the violet sea. + + + +CHAPTER X + +THE DUEL + +SYME sat down at a cafe table with his companions, his blue eyes +sparkling like the bright sea below, and ordered a bottle of +Saumur with a pleased impatience. He was for some reason in a +condition of curious hilarity. His spirits were already +unnaturally high; they rose as the Saumur sank, and in half an +hour his talk was a torrent of nonsense. He professed to be +making out a plan of the conversation which was going to ensue +between himself and the deadly Marquis. He jotted it down wildly +with a pencil. It was arranged like a printed catechism, with +questions and answers, and was delivered with an extraordinary +rapidity of utterance. + +"I shall approach. Before taking off his hat, I shall take off my +own. I shall say, 'The Marquis de Saint Eustache, I believe.' He +will say, 'The celebrated Mr. Syme, I presume.' He will say in the +most exquisite French, 'How are you?' I shall reply in the most +exquisite Cockney, 'Oh, just the Syme--' " + +"Oh, shut it," said the man in spectacles. "Pull yourself +together, and chuck away that bit of paper. What are you really +going to do?" + +"But it was a lovely catechism," said Syme pathetically. "Do let +me read it you. It has only forty-three questions and answers, and +some of the Marquis's answers are wonderfully witty. I like to be +just to my enemy." + +"But what's the good of it all?" asked Dr. Bull in exasperation. + +"It leads up to my challenge, don't you see," said Syme, beaming. +"When the Marquis has given the thirty-ninth reply, which runs--" + +"Has it by any chance occurred to you," asked the Professor, with +a ponderous simplicity, "that the Marquis may not say all the +forty-three things you have put down for him? In that case, I +understand, your own epigrams may appear somewhat more forced." + +Syme struck the table with a radiant face. + +"Why, how true that is," he said, "and I never thought of it. Sir, +you have an intellect beyond the common. You will make a name." + +"Oh, you're as drunk as an owl!" said the Doctor. + +"It only remains," continued Syme quite unperturbed, "to adopt +some other method of breaking the ice (if I may so express it) +between myself and the man I wish to kill. And since the course of +a dialogue cannot be predicted by one of its parties alone (as you +have pointed out with such recondite acumen), the only thing to be +done, I suppose, is for the one party, as far as possible, to do +all the dialogue by himself. And so I will, by George!" And he +stood up suddenly, his yellow hair blowing in the slight sea +breeze. + +A band was playing in a cafe chantant hidden somewhere among the +trees, and a woman had just stopped singing. On Syme's heated head +the bray of the brass band seemed like the jar and jingle of that +barrel-organ in Leicester Square, to the tune of which he had once +stood up to die. He looked across to the little table where the +Marquis sat. The man had two companions now, solemn Frenchmen in +frock-coats and silk hats, one of them with the red rosette of the +Legion of Honour, evidently people of a solid social position. +Besides these black, cylindrical costumes, the Marquis, in his +loose straw hat and light spring clothes, looked Bohemian and even +barbaric; but he looked the Marquis. Indeed, one might say that he +looked the king, with his animal elegance, his scornful eyes, and +his proud head lifted against the purple sea. But he was no +Christian king, at any rate; he was, rather, some swarthy despot, +half Greek, half Asiatic, who in the days when slavery seemed +natural looked down on the Mediterranean, on his galley and his +groaning slaves. Just so, Syme thought, would the brown-gold face +of such a tyrant have shown against the dark green olives and the +burning blue. + +"Are you going to address the meeting?" asked the Professor +peevishly, seeing that Syme still stood up without moving. + +Syme drained his last glass of sparkling wine. + +"I am," he said, pointing across to the Marquis and his companions, +"that meeting. That meeting displeases me. I am going to pull that +meeting's great ugly, mahogany-coloured nose." + +He stepped across swiftly, if not quite steadily. The Marquis, +seeing him, arched his black Assyrian eyebrows in surprise, but +smiled politely. + +"You are Mr. Syme, I think," he said. + +Syme bowed. + +"And you are the Marquis de Saint Eustache," he said gracefully. +"Permit me to pull your nose." + +He leant over to do so, but the Marquis started backwards, +upsetting his chair, and the two men in top hats held Syme back +by the shoulders. + +"This man has insulted me!" said Syme, with gestures of +explanation. + +"Insulted you?" cried the gentleman with the red rosette, "when?" + +"Oh, just now," said Syme recklessly. "He insulted my mother." + +"Insulted your mother!" exclaimed the gentleman incredulously. + +"Well, anyhow," said Syme, conceding a point, "my aunt." + +"But how can the Marquis have insulted your aunt just now?" said +the second gentleman with some legitimate wonder. "He has been +sitting here all the time." + +"Ah, it was what he said!" said Syme darkly. + +"I said nothing at all," said the Marquis, "except something +about the band. I only said that I liked Wagner played well." + +"It was an allusion to my family," said Syme firmly. "My aunt +played Wagner badly. It was a painful subject. We are always +being insulted about it." + +"This seems most extraordinary," said the gentleman who was +decore, looking doubtfully at the Marquis. + +"Oh, I assure you," said Syme earnestly, "the whole of your +conversation was simply packed with sinister allusions to my +aunt's weaknesses." + +"This is nonsense!" said the second gentleman. "I for one have +said nothing for half an hour except that I liked the singing of +that girl with black hair." + +"Well, there you are again!" said Syme indignantly. "My aunt's was +red." + +"It seems to me," said the other, "that you are simply seeking a +pretext to insult the Marquis." + +"By George!" said Syme, facing round and looking at him, "what a +clever chap you are!" + +The Marquis started up with eyes flaming like a tiger's. + +"Seeking a quarrel with me!" he cried. "Seeking a fight with me! By +God! there was never a man who had to seek long. These gentlemen +will perhaps act for me. There are still four hours of daylight. +Let us fight this evening." + +Syme bowed with a quite beautiful graciousness. + +"Marquis," he said, "your action is worthy of your fame and blood. +Permit me to consult for a moment with the gentlemen in whose +hands I shall place myself." + +In three long strides he rejoined his companions, and they, who +had seen his champagne-inspired attack and listened to his idiotic +explanations, were quite startled at the look of him. For now that +he came back to them he was quite sober, a little pale, and he +spoke in a low voice of passionate practicality. + +"I have done it," he said hoarsely. "I have fixed a fight on the +beast. But look here, and listen carefully. There is no time for +talk. You are my seconds, and everything must come from you. Now +you must insist, and insist absolutely, on the duel coming off +after seven tomorrow, so as to give me the chance of preventing him +from catching the 7.45 for Paris. If he misses that he misses his +crime. He can't refuse to meet you on such a small point of time +and place. But this is what he will do. He will choose a field +somewhere near a wayside station, where he can pick up the train. +He is a very good swordsman, and he will trust to killing me in +time to catch it. But I can fence well too, and I think I can keep +him in play, at any rate, until the train is lost. Then perhaps he +may kill me to console his feelings. You understand? Very well +then, let me introduce you to some charming friends of mine," and +leading them quickly across the parade, he presented them to the +Marquis's seconds by two very aristocratic names of which they had +not previously heard. + +Syme was subject to spasms of singular common sense, not otherwise +a part of his character. They were (as he said of his impulse about +the spectacles) poetic intuitions, and they sometimes rose to the +exaltation of prophecy. + +He had correctly calculated in this case the policy of his +opponent. When the Marquis was informed by his seconds that Syme +could only fight in the morning, he must fully have realised that +an obstacle had suddenly arisen between him and his bomb-throwing +business in the capital. Naturally he could not explain this +objection to his friends, so he chose the course which Syme had +predicted. He induced his seconds to settle on a small meadow not +far from the railway, and he trusted to the fatality of the first +engagement. + +When he came down very coolly to the field of honour, no one could +have guessed that he had any anxiety about a journey; his hands +were in his pockets, his straw hat on the back of his head, his +handsome face brazen in the sun. But it might have struck a +stranger as odd that there appeared in his train, not only his +seconds carrying the sword-case, but two of his servants carrying +a portmanteau and a luncheon basket. + +Early as was the hour, the sun soaked everything in warmth, and +Syme was vaguely surprised to see so many spring flowers burning +gold and silver in the tall grass in which the whole company stood +almost knee-deep. + +With the exception of the Marquis, all the men were in sombre and +solemn morning-dress, with hats like black chimney-pots; the little +Doctor especially, with the addition of his black spectacles, +looked like an undertaker in a farce. Syme could not help feeling a +comic contrast between this funereal church parade of apparel and +the rich and glistening meadow, growing wild flowers everywhere. +But, indeed, this comic contrast between the yellow blossoms and +the black hats was but a symbol of the tragic contrast between the +yellow blossoms and the black business. On his right was a little +wood; far away to his left lay the long curve of the railway line, +which he was, so to speak, guarding from the Marquis, whose goal +and escape it was. In front of him, behind the black group of his +opponents, he could see, like a tinted cloud, a small almond bush +in flower against the faint line of the sea. + +The member of the Legion of Honour, whose name it seemed was +Colonel Ducroix, approached the Professor and Dr. Bull with great +politeness, and suggested that the play should terminate with the +first considerable hurt. + +Dr. Bull, however, having been carefully coached by Syme upon this +point of policy, insisted, with great dignity and in very bad +French, that it should continue until one of the combatants was +disabled. Syme had made up his mind that he could avoid disabling +the Marquis and prevent the Marquis from disabling him for at +least twenty minutes. In twenty minutes the Paris train would have +gone by. + +"To a man of the well-known skill and valour of Monsieur de St. +Eustache," said the Professor solemnly, "it must be a matter of +indifference which method is adopted, and our principal has strong +reasons for demanding the longer encounter, reasons the delicacy +of which prevent me from being explicit, but for the just and +honourable nature of which I can--" + +"Peste!" broke from the Marquis behind, whose face had suddenly +darkened, "let us stop talking and begin," and he slashed off the +head of a tall flower with his stick. + +Syme understood his rude impatience and instinctively looked over +his shoulder to see whether the train was coming in sight. But +there was no smoke on the horizon. + +Colonel Ducroix knelt down and unlocked the case, taking out a +pair of twin swords, which took the sunlight and turned to two +streaks of white fire. He offered one to the Marquis, who snatched +it without ceremony, and another to Syme, who took it, bent it, +and poised it with as much delay as was consistent with dignity. + +Then the Colonel took out another pair of blades, and taking one +himself and giving another to Dr. Bull, proceeded to place the +men. + +Both combatants had thrown off their coats and waistcoats, and +stood sword in hand. The seconds stood on each side of the line +of fight with drawn swords also, but still sombre in their dark +frock-coats and hats. The principals saluted. The Colonel said +quietly, "Engage!" and the two blades touched and tingled. + +When the jar of the joined iron ran up Syme's arm, all the +fantastic fears that have been the subject of this story fell +from him like dreams from a man waking up in bed. He remembered +them clearly and in order as mere delusions of the nerves--how +the fear of the Professor had been the fear of the tyrannic +accidents of nightmare, and how the fear of the Doctor had been +the fear of the airless vacuum of science. The first was the old +fear that any miracle might happen, the second the more hopeless +modern fear that no miracle can ever happen. But he saw that +these fears were fancies, for he found himself in the presence of +the great fact of the fear of death, with its coarse and pitiless +common sense. He felt like a man who had dreamed all night of +falling over precipices, and had woke up on the morning when he +was to be hanged. For as soon as he had seen the sunlight run +down the channel of his foe's foreshortened blade, and as soon as +he had felt the two tongues of steel touch, vibrating like two +living things, he knew that his enemy was a terrible fighter, and +that probably his last hour had come. + +He felt a strange and vivid value in all the earth around him, in +the grass under his feet; he felt the love of life in all living +things. He could almost fancy that he heard the grass growing; he +could almost fancy that even as he stood fresh flowers were +springing up and breaking into blossom in the meadow--flowers blood +red and burning gold and blue, fulfilling the whole pageant of the +spring. And whenever his eyes strayed for a flash from the calm, +staring, hypnotic eyes of the Marquis, they saw the little tuft of +almond tree against the sky-line. He had the feeling that if by +some miracle he escaped he would be ready to sit for ever before +that almond tree, desiring nothing else in the world. + +But while earth and sky and everything had the living beauty of a +thing lost, the other half of his head was as clear as glass, and +he was parrying his enemy's point with a kind of clockwork skill of +which he had hardly supposed himself capable. Once his enemy's +point ran along his wrist, leaving a slight streak of blood, but it +either was not noticed or was tacitly ignored. Every now and then +he riposted, and once or twice he could almost fancy that he felt +his point go home, but as there was no blood on blade or shirt he +supposed he was mistaken. Then came an interruption and a change. + +At the risk of losing all, the Marquis, interrupting his quiet +stare, flashed one glance over his shoulder at the line of railway +on his right. Then he turned on Syme a face transfigured to that of +a fiend, and began to fight as if with twenty weapons. The attack +came so fast and furious, that the one shining sword seemed a +shower of shining arrows. Syme had no chance to look at the +railway; but also he had no need. He could guess the reason of the +Marquis's sudden madness of battle--the Paris train was in sight. + +But the Marquis's morbid energy over-reached itself. Twice Syme, +parrying, knocked his opponent's point far out of the fighting +circle; and the third time his riposte was so rapid, that there +was no doubt about the hit this time. Syme's sword actually bent +under the weight of the Marquis's body, which it had pierced. + +Syme was as certain that he had stuck his blade into his enemy as +a gardener that he has stuck his spade into the ground. Yet the +Marquis sprang back from the stroke without a stagger, and Syme +stood staring at his own sword-point like an idiot. There was no +blood on it at all. + +There was an instant of rigid silence, and then Syme in his turn +fell furiously on the other, filled with a flaming curiosity. The +Marquis was probably, in a general sense, a better fencer than he, +as he had surmised at the beginning, but at the moment the Marquis +seemed distraught and at a disadvantage. He fought wildly and even +weakly, and he constantly looked away at the railway line, almost +as if he feared the train more than the pointed steel. Syme, on the +other hand, fought fiercely but still carefully, in an intellectual +fury, eager to solve the riddle of his own bloodless sword. For +this purpose, he aimed less at the Marquis's body, and more at his +throat and head. A minute and a half afterwards he felt his point +enter the man's neck below the jaw. It came out clean. Half mad, he +thrust again, and made what should have been a bloody scar on the +Marquis's cheek. But there was no scar. + +For one moment the heaven of Syme again grew black with +supernatural terrors. Surely the man had a charmed life. But this +new spiritual dread was a more awful thing than had been the mere +spiritual topsy-turvydom symbolised by the paralytic who pursued +him. The Professor was only a goblin; this man was a devil--perhaps +he was the Devil! Anyhow, this was certain, that three times had a +human sword been driven into him and made no mark. When Syme had +that thought he drew himself up, and all that was good in him sang +high up in the air as a high wind sings in the trees. He thought of +all the human things in his story--of the Chinese lanterns in +Saffron Park, of the girl's red hair in the garden, of the honest, +beer-swilling sailors down by the dock, of his loyal companions +standing by. Perhaps he had been chosen as a champion of all these +fresh and kindly things to cross swords with the enemy of all +creation. "After all," he said to himself, "I am more than a devil; +I am a man. I can do the one thing which Satan himself cannot do--I +can die," and as the word went through his head, he heard a faint +and far-off hoot, which would soon be the roar of the Paris train. + +He fell to fighting again with a supernatural levity, like a +Mohammedan panting for Paradise. As the train came nearer and +nearer he fancied he could see people putting up the floral +arches in Paris; he joined in the growing noise and the glory of +the great Republic whose gate he was guarding against Hell. His +thoughts rose higher and higher with the rising roar of the +train, which ended, as if proudly, in a long and piercing +whistle. The train stopped. + +Suddenly, to the astonishment of everyone the Marquis sprang back +quite out of sword reach and threw down his sword. The leap was +wonderful, and not the less wonderful because Syme had plunged his +sword a moment before into the man's thigh. + +"Stop!" said the Marquis in a voice that compelled a momentary +obedience. "I want to say something." + +"What is the matter?" asked Colonel Ducroix, staring. "Has there +been foul play?" + +"There has been foul play somewhere," said Dr. Bull, who was a +little pale. "Our principal has wounded the Marquis four times +at least, and he is none the worse ." + +The Marquis put up his hand with a curious air of ghastly +patience. + +"Please let me speak," he said. "It is rather important. Mr. +Syme," he continued, turning to his opponent, "we are fighting +today, if I remember right, because you expressed a wish (which +I thought irrational) to pull my nose. Would you oblige me by +pulling my nose now as quickly as possible? I have to catch a +train." + +"I protest that this is most irregular," said Dr. Bull +indignantly. + +"It is certainly somewhat opposed to precedent," said Colonel +Ducroix, looking wistfully at his principal. "There is, I think, +one case on record (Captain Bellegarde and the Baron Zumpt) in +which the weapons were changed in the middle of the encounter at +the request of one of the combatants. But one can hardly call +one's nose a weapon." + +"Will you or will you not pull my nose?" said the Marquis in +exasperation. "Come, come, Mr. Syme! You wanted to do it, do it! +You can have no conception of how important it is to me. Don't be +so selfish! Pull my nose at once, when I ask you!" and he bent +slightly forward with a fascinating smile. The Paris train, +panting and groaning, had grated into a little station behind the +neighbouring hill. + +Syme had the feeling he had more than once had in these adventures +--the sense that a horrible and sublime wave lifted to heaven was +just toppling over. Walking in a world he half understood, he took +two paces forward and seized the Roman nose of this remarkable +nobleman. He pulled it hard, and it came off in his hand. + +He stood for some seconds with a foolish solemnity, with the +pasteboard proboscis still between his fingers, looking at it, +while the sun and the clouds and the wooded hills looked down +upon this imbecile scene. + +The Marquis broke the silence in a loud and cheerful voice. + +"If anyone has any use for my left eyebrow," he said, "he can have +it. Colonel Ducroix, do accept my left eyebrow! It's the kind of +thing that might come in useful any day," and he gravely tore off +one of his swarthy Assyrian brows, bringing about half his brown +forehead with it, and politely offered it to the Colonel, who +stood crimson and speechless with rage. + +"If I had known," he spluttered, "that I was acting for a poltroon +who pads himself to fight--" + +"Oh, I know, I know!" said the Marquis, recklessly throwing various +parts of himself right and left about the field. "You are making a +mistake; but it can't be explained just now. I tell you the train +has come into the station!" + +"Yes," said Dr. Bull fiercely, "and the train shall go out of the +station. It shall go out without you. We know well enough for what +devil's work--" + +The mysterious Marquis lifted his hands with a desperate gesture. +He was a strange scarecrow standing there in the sun with half his +old face peeled off, and half another face glaring and grinning +from underneath. + +"Will you drive me mad?" he cried. "The train--" + +"You shall not go by the train," said Syme firmly, and grasped his +sword. + +The wild figure turned towards Syme, and seemed to be gathering +itself for a sublime effort before speaking. + +"You great fat, blasted, blear-eyed, blundering, thundering, +brainless, Godforsaken, doddering, damned fool!" he said without +taking breath. "You great silly, pink-faced, towheaded turnip! +You--" + +"You shall not go by this train," repeated Syme. + +"And why the infernal blazes," roared the other, "should I want to +go by the train?" + +"We know all," said the Professor sternly. "You are going to Paris +to throw a bomb!" + +"Going to Jericho to throw a Jabberwock!" cried the other, tearing +his hair, which came off easily. + +"Have you all got softening of the brain, that you don't realise +what I am? Did you really think I wanted to catch that train? +Twenty Paris trains might go by for me. Damn Paris trains!" + +"Then what did you care about?" began the Professor. + +"What did I care about? I didn't care about catching the train; I +cared about whether the train caught me, and now, by God! it has +caught me." + +"I regret to inform you," said Syme with restraint, "that your +remarks convey no impression to my mind. Perhaps if you were to +remove the remains of your original forehead and some portion of +what was once your chin, your meaning would become clearer. Mental +lucidity fulfils itself in many ways. What do you mean by saying +that the train has caught you? It may be my literary fancy, but +somehow I feel that it ought to mean something." + +"It means everything," said the other, "and the end of everything. +Sunday has us now in the hollow of his hand." + +"Us!" repeated the Professor, as if stupefied. "What do you mean by +'us'?" + +"The police, of course!" said the Marquis, and tore off his scalp +and half his face. + +The head which emerged was the blonde, well brushed, smooth-haired +head which is common in the English constabulary, but the face was +terribly pale. + +"I am Inspector Ratcliffe," he said, with a sort of haste that +verged on harshness. "My name is pretty well known to the police, +and I can see well enough that you belong to them. But if there is +any doubt about my position, I have a card" and he began to pull a +blue card from his pocket. + +The Professor gave a tired gesture. + +"Oh, don't show it us," he said wearily; "we've got enough of them +to equip a paper-chase." + +The little man named Bull, had, like many men who seem to be of a +mere vivacious vulgarity, sudden movements of good taste. Here he +certainly saved the situation. In the midst of this staggering +transformation scene he stepped forward with all the gravity and +responsibility of a second, and addressed the two seconds of the +Marquis. + +"Gentlemen," he said, "we all owe you a serious apology; but I +assure you that you have not been made the victims of such a low +joke as you imagine, or indeed of anything undignified in a man of +honour. You have not wasted your time; you have helped to save the +world. We are not buffoons, but very desperate men at war with a +vast conspiracy. A secret society of anarchists is hunting us like +hares; not such unfortunate madmen as may here or there throw a +bomb through starvation or German philosophy, but a rich and +powerful and fanatical church, a church of eastern pessimism, which +holds it holy to destroy mankind like vermin. How hard they hunt us +you can gather from the fact that we are driven to such disguises +as those for which I apologise, and to such pranks as this one by +which you suffer." + +The younger second of the Marquis, a short man with a black +moustache, bowed politely, and said-- + +"Of course, I accept the apology; but you will in your turn forgive +me if I decline to follow you further into your difficulties, and +permit myself to say good morning! The sight of an acquaintance and +distinguished fellow-townsman coming to pieces in the open air is +unusual, and, upon the whole, sufficient for one day. Colonel +Ducroix, I would in no way influence your actions, but if you feel +with me that our present society is a little abnormal, I am now +going to walk back to the town." + +Colonel Ducroix moved mechanically, but then tugged abruptly at his +white moustache and broke out-- + +"No, by George! I won't. If these gentlemen are really in a mess +with a lot of low wreckers like that, I'll see them through it. I +have fought for France, and it is hard if I can't fight for +civilization." + +Dr. Bull took off his hat and waved it, cheering as at a public +meeting. + +"Don't make too much noise," said Inspector Ratcliffe, "Sunday may +hear you." + +"Sunday!" cried Bull, and dropped his hat. + +"Yes," retorted Ratcliffe, "he may be with them." + +"With whom?" asked Syme. + +"With the people out of that train," said the other. + +"What you say seems utterly wild," began Syme. "Why, as a matter of +fact--But, my God," he cried out suddenly, like a man who sees an +explosion a long way off, "by God! if this is true the whole bally +lot of us on the Anarchist Council were against anarchy! Every born +man was a detective except the President and his personal +secretary. What can it mean?" + +"Mean!" said the new policeman with incredible violence. "It means +that we are struck dead! Don't you know Sunday? Don't you know that +his jokes are always so big and simple that one has never thought +of them? Can you think of anything more like Sunday than this, that +he should put all his powerful enemies on the Supreme Council, and +then take care that it was not supreme? I tell you he has bought +every trust, he has captured every cable, he has control of every +railway line--especially of that railway line!" and he pointed a +shaking finger towards the small wayside station. "The whole +movement was controlled by him; half the world was ready to rise +for him. But there were just five people, perhaps, who would have +resisted him . . . and the old devil put them on the Supreme +Council, to waste their time in watching each other. Idiots that +we are, he planned the whole of our idiocies! Sunday knew that the +Professor would chase Syme through London, and that Syme would +fight me in France. And he was combining great masses of capital, +and seizing great lines of telegraphy, while we five idiots were +running after each other like a lot of confounded babies playing +blind man's buff." + +"Well?" asked Syme with a sort of steadiness. + +"Well," replied the other with sudden serenity, "he has found us +playing blind man's buff today in a field of great rustic beauty +and extreme solitude. He has probably captured the world; it only +remains to him to capture this field and all the fools in it. And +since you really want to know what was my objection to the arrival +of that train, I will tell you. My objection was that Sunday or his +Secretary has just this moment got out of it." + +Syme uttered an involuntary cry, and they all turned their eyes +towards the far-off station. It was quite true that a considerable +bulk of people seemed to be moving in their direction. But they +were too distant to be distinguished in any way. + +"It was a habit of the late Marquis de St. Eustache," said the new +policeman, producing a leather case, "always to carry a pair of +opera glasses. Either the President or the Secretary is coming +after us with that mob. They have caught us in a nice quiet place +where we are under no temptations to break our oaths by calling +the police. Dr. Bull, I have a suspicion that you will see better +through these than through your own highly decorative spectacles." + +He handed the field-glasses to the Doctor, who immediately took +off his spectacles and put the apparatus to his eyes. + +"It cannot be as bad as you say," said the Professor, somewhat +shaken. "There are a good number of them certainly, but they may +easily be ordinary tourists." + +"Do ordinary tourists," asked Bull, with the fieldglasses to his +eyes, "wear black masks half-way down the face?" + +Syme almost tore the glasses out of his hand, and looked through +them. Most men in the advancing mob really looked ordinary enough; +but it was quite true that two or three of the leaders in front +wore black half-masks almost down to their mouths. This disguise +is very complete, especially at such a distance, and Syme found +it impossible to conclude anything from the clean-shaven jaws and +chins of the men talking in the front. But presently as they +talked they all smiled and one of them smiled on one side. + + + +CHAPTER XI + +THE CRIMINALS CHASE THE POLICE + +SYME put the field-glasses from his eyes with an almost ghastly +relief. + +"The President is not with them, anyhow," he said, and wiped his +forehead. + +"But surely they are right away on the horizon," said the +bewildered Colonel, blinking and but half recovered from Bull's +hasty though polite explanation. "Could you possibly know your +President among all those people?" + +"Could I know a white elephant among all those people!" answered +Syme somewhat irritably. "As you very truly say, they are on the +horizon; but if he were walking with them . . . by God! I believe +this ground would shake." + +After an instant's pause the new man called Ratcliffe said with +gloomy decision-- + +"Of course the President isn't with them. I wish to Gemini he were. +Much more likely the President is riding in triumph through Paris, +or sitting on the ruins of St. Paul's Cathedral." + +"This is absurd!" said Syme. "Something may have happened in our +absence; but he cannot have carried the world with a rush like +that. It is quite true," he added, frowning dubiously at the +distant fields that lay towards the little station, "it is +certainly true that there seems to be a crowd coming this way; +but they are not all the army that you make out." + +"Oh, they," said the new detective contemptuously; "no they are +not a very valuable force. But let me tell you frankly that they +are precisely calculated to our value--we are not much, my boy, +in Sunday's universe. He has got hold of all the cables and +telegraphs himself. But to kill the Supreme Council he regards as +a trivial matter, like a post card; it may be left to his private +secretary," and he spat on the grass. + +Then he turned to the others and said somewhat austerely-- + +"There is a great deal to be said for death; but if anyone has +any preference for the other alternative, I strongly advise him +to walk after me." + +With these words, he turned his broad back and strode with silent +energy towards the wood. The others gave one glance over their +shoulders, and saw that the dark cloud of men had detached itself +from the station and was moving with a mysterious discipline +across the plain. They saw already, even with the naked eye, black +blots on the foremost faces, which marked the masks they wore. +They turned and followed their leader, who had already struck the +wood, and disappeared among the twinkling trees. + +The sun on the grass was dry and hot. So in plunging into the wood +they had a cool shock of shadow, as of divers who plunge into a +dim pool. The inside of the wood was full of shattered sunlight +and shaken shadows. They made a sort of shuddering veil, almost +recalling the dizziness of a cinematograph. Even the solid figures +walking with him Syme could hardly see for the patterns of sun and +shade that danced upon them. Now a man's head was lit as with a +light of Rembrandt, leaving all else obliterated; now again he had +strong and staring white hands with the face of a negro. The +ex-Marquis had pulled the old straw hat over his eyes, and the +black shade of the brim cut his face so squarely in two that it +seemed to be wearing one of the black half-masks of their pursuers. +The fancy tinted Syme's overwhelming sense of wonder. Was he +wearing a mask? Was anyone wearing a mask? Was anyone anything? +This wood of witchery, in which men's faces turned black and white +by turns, in which their figures first swelled into sunlight and +then faded into formless night, this mere chaos of chiaroscuro +(after the clear daylight outside), seemed to Syme a perfect symbol +of the world in which he had been moving for three days, this world +where men took off their beards and their spectacles and their +noses, and turned into other people. That tragic self-confidence +which he had felt when he believed that the Marquis was a devil +had strangely disappeared now that he knew that the Marquis was +a friend. He felt almost inclined to ask after all these +bewilderments what was a friend and what an enemy. Was there +anything that was apart from what it seemed? The Marquis had taken +off his nose and turned out to be a detective. Might he not just +as well take off his head and turn out to be a hobgoblin? Was not +everything, after all, like this bewildering woodland, this dance +of dark and light? Everything only a glimpse, the glimpse always +unforeseen, and always forgotten. For Gabriel Syme had found in +the heart of that sun-splashed wood what many modern painters had +found there. He had found the thing which the modern people call +Impressionism, which is another name for that final scepticism +which can find no floor to the universe. + +As a man in an evil dream strains himself to scream and wake, Syme +strove with a sudden effort to fling off this last and worst of +his fancies. With two impatient strides he overtook the man in the +Marquis's straw hat, the man whom he had come to address as +Ratcliffe. In a voice exaggeratively loud and cheerful, he broke +the bottomless silence and made conversation. + +"May I ask," he said, "where on earth we are all going to?" + +So genuine had been the doubts of his soul, that he was quite glad +to hear his companion speak in an easy, human voice. + +"We must get down through the town of Lancy to the sea," he said. +"I think that part of the country is least likely to be with +them." + +"What can you mean by all this?" cried Syme. "They can't be +running the real world in that way. Surely not many working men +are anarchists, and surely if they were, mere mobs could not beat +modern armies and police." + +"Mere mobs!" repeated his new friend with a snort of scorn. "So +you talk about mobs and the working classes as if they were the +question. You've got that eternal idiotic idea that if anarchy +came it would come from the poor. Why should it? The poor have +been rebels, but they have never been anarchists; they have more +interest than anyone else in there being some decent government. +The poor man really has a stake in the country. The rich man +hasn't; he can go away to New Guinea in a yacht. The poor have +sometimes objected to being governed badly; the rich have always +objected to being governed at all. Aristocrats were always +anarchists, as you can see from the barons' wars." + +"As a lecture on English history for the little ones," said Syme, +"this is all very nice; but I have not yet grasped its application." + +"Its application is," said his informant, "that most of old Sunday's +right-hand men are South African and American millionaires. That is +why he has got hold of all the communications; and that is why the +last four champions of the anti-anarchist police force are running +through a wood like rabbits." + +"Millionaires I can understand," said Syme thoughtfully, "they are +nearly all mad. But getting hold of a few wicked old gentlemen with +hobbies is one thing; getting hold of great Christian nations is +another. I would bet the nose off my face (forgive the allusion) +that Sunday would stand perfectly helpless before the task of +converting any ordinary healthy person anywhere." + +"Well," said the other, "it rather depends what sort of person you +mean." + +"Well, for instance," said Syme, "he could never convert that +person," and he pointed straight in front of him. + +They had come to an open space of sunlight, which seemed to express +to Syme the final return of his own good sense; and in the middle +of this forest clearing was a figure that might well stand for that +common sense in an almost awful actuality. Burnt by the sun and +stained with perspiration, and grave with the bottomless gravity of +small necessary toils, a heavy French peasant was cutting wood with +a hatchet. His cart stood a few yards off, already half full of +timber; and the horse that cropped the grass was, like his master, +valorous but not desperate; like his master, he was even +prosperous, but yet was almost sad. The man was a Norman, taller +than the average of the French and very angular; and his swarthy +figure stood dark against a square of sunlight, almost like some +allegoric figure of labour frescoed on a ground of gold. + +"Mr. Syme is saying," called out Ratcliffe to the French Colonel, +"that this man, at least, will never be an anarchist." + +"Mr. Syme is right enough there," answered Colonel Ducroix, +laughing, "if only for the reason that he has plenty of property +to defend. But I forgot that in your country you are not used to +peasants being wealthy." + +"He looks poor," said Dr. Bull doubtfully. + +"Quite so," said the Colonel; "that is why he is rich." + +"I have an idea," called out Dr. Bull suddenly; "how much would he +take to give us a lift in his cart? Those dogs are all on foot, and +we could soon leave them behind." + +"Oh, give him anything!" said Syme eagerly. "I have piles of money +on me." + +"That will never do," said the Colonel; "he will never have any +respect for you unless you drive a bargain." + +"Oh, if he haggles!" began Bull impatiently. + +"He haggles because he is a free man," said the other. "You do +not understand; he would not see the meaning of generosity. He is +not being tipped." + +And even while they seemed to hear the heavy feet of their strange +pursuers behind them, they had to stand and stamp while the French +Colonel talked to the French wood-cutter with all the leisurely +badinage and bickering of market-day. At the end of the four +minutes, however, they saw that the Colonel was right, for the +wood-cutter entered into their plans, not with the vague servility +of a tout too-well paid, but with the seriousness of a solicitor +who had been paid the proper fee. He told them that the best thing +they could do was to make their way down to the little inn on the +hills above Lancy, where the innkeeper, an old soldier who had +become devot in his latter years, would be certain to sympathise +with them, and even to take risks in their support. The whole +company, therefore, piled themselves on top of the stacks of wood, +and went rocking in the rude cart down the other and steeper side +of the woodland. Heavy and ramshackle as was the vehicle, it was +driven quickly enough, and they soon had the exhilarating +impression of distancing altogether those, whoever they were, who +were hunting them. For, after all, the riddle as to where the +anarchists had got all these followers was still unsolved. One +man's presence had sufficed for them; they had fled at the first +sight of the deformed smile of the Secretary. Syme every now and +then looked back over his shoulder at the army on their track. + +As the wood grew first thinner and then smaller with distance, he +could see the sunlit slopes beyond it and above it; and across +these was still moving the square black mob like one monstrous +beetle. In the very strong sunlight and with his own very strong +eyes, which were almost telescopic, Syme could see this mass of +men quite plainly. He could see them as separate human figures; +but he was increasingly surprised by the way in which they moved +as one man. They seemed to be dressed in dark clothes and plain +hats, like any common crowd out of the streets; but they did not +spread and sprawl and trail by various lines to the attack, as +would be natural in an ordinary mob. They moved with a sort of +dreadful and wicked woodenness, like a staring army of automatons. + +Syme pointed this out to Ratcliffe. + +"Yes," replied the policeman, "that's discipline. That's Sunday. He +is perhaps five hundred miles off, but the fear of him is on all of +them, like the finger of God. Yes, they are walking regularly; and +you bet your boots that they are talking regularly, yes, and +thinking regularly. But the one important thing for us is that they +are disappearing regularly." + +Syme nodded. It was true that the black patch of the pursuing men +was growing smaller and smaller as the peasant belaboured his +horse. + +The level of the sunlit landscape, though flat as a whole, fell +away on the farther side of the wood in billows of heavy slope +towards the sea, in a way not unlike the lower slopes of the +Sussex downs. The only difference was that in Sussex the road +would have been broken and angular like a little brook, but +here the white French road fell sheer in front of them like a +waterfall. Down this direct descent the cart clattered at a +considerable angle, and in a few minutes, the road growing yet +steeper, they saw below them the little harbour of Lancy and a +great blue arc of the sea. The travelling cloud of their enemies +had wholly disappeared from the horizon. + +The horse and cart took a sharp turn round a clump of elms, and +the horse's nose nearly struck the face of an old gentleman who +was sitting on the benches outside the little cafe of "Le Soleil +d'Or." The peasant grunted an apology, and got down from his +seat. The others also descended one by one, and spoke to the old +gentleman with fragmentary phrases of courtesy, for it was quite +evident from his expansive manner that he was the owner of the +little tavern. + +He was a white-haired, apple-faced old boy, with sleepy eyes and +a grey moustache; stout, sedentary, and very innocent, of a type +that may often be found in France, but is still commoner in +Catholic Germany. Everything about him, his pipe, his pot of beer, +his flowers, and his beehive, suggested an ancestral peace; only +when his visitors looked up as they entered the inn-parlour, they +saw the sword upon the wall. + +The Colonel, who greeted the innkeeper as an old friend, passed +rapidly into the inn-parlour, and sat down ordering some ritual +refreshment. The military decision of his action interested Syme, +who sat next to him, and he took the opportunity when the old +innkeeper had gone out of satisfying his curiosity. + +"May I ask you, Colonel," he said in a low voice, "why we have +come here?" + +Colonel Ducroix smiled behind his bristly white moustache. + +"For two reasons, sir," he said; "and I will give first, not the +most important, but the most utilitarian. We came here because +this is the only place within twenty miles in which we can get +horses." + +"Horses!" repeated Syme, looking up quickly. + +"Yes," replied the other; "if you people are really to distance +your enemies it is horses or nothing for you, unless of course +you have bicycles and motor-cars in your pocket." + +"And where do you advise us to make for?" asked Syme doubtfully. + +"Beyond question," replied the Colonel, "you had better make all +haste to the police station beyond the town. My friend, whom I +seconded under somewhat deceptive circumstances, seems to me to +exaggerate very much the possibilities of a general rising; but +even he would hardly maintain, I suppose, that you were not safe +with the gendarmes." + +Syme nodded gravely; then he said abruptly-- + +"And your other reason for coming here?" + +"My other reason for coming here," said Ducroix soberly, "is that +it is just as well to see a good man or two when one is possibly +near to death." + +Syme looked up at the wall, and saw a crudely-painted and pathetic +religious picture. Then he said-- + +"You are right," and then almost immediately afterwards, "Has +anyone seen about the horses?" + +"Yes," answered Ducroix, "you may be quite certain that I gave +orders the moment I came in. Those enemies of yours gave no +impression of hurry, but they were really moving wonderfully fast, +like a well-trained army. I had no idea that the anarchists had so +much discipline. You have not a moment to waste." + +Almost as he spoke, the old innkeeper with the blue eyes and white +hair came ambling into the room, and announced that six horses +were saddled outside. + +By Ducroix's advice the five others equipped themselves with some +portable form of food and wine, and keeping their duelling swords +as the only weapons available, they clattered away down the steep, +white road. The two servants, who had carried the Marquis's +luggage when he was a marquis, were left behind to drink at the +cafe by common consent, and not at all against their own +inclination. + +By this time the afternoon sun was slanting westward, and by its +rays Syme could see the sturdy figure of the old innkeeper growing +smaller and smaller, but still standing and looking after them +quite silently, the sunshine in his silver hair. Syme had a fixed, +superstitious fancy, left in his mind by the chance phrase of the +Colonel, that this was indeed, perhaps, the last honest stranger +whom he should ever see upon the earth. + +He was still looking at this dwindling figure, which stood as a +mere grey blot touched with a white flame against the great green +wall of the steep down behind him. And as he stared over the top +of the down behind the innkeeper, there appeared an army of +black-clad and marching men. They seemed to hang above the good +man and his house like a black cloud of locusts. The horses had +been saddled none too soon. + + + +CHAPTER XII + +THE EARTH IN ANARCHY + +URGING the horses to a gallop, without respect to the rather +rugged descent of the road, the horsemen soon regained their +advantage over the men on the march, and at last the bulk of the +first buildings of Lancy cut off the sight of their pursuers. +Nevertheless, the ride had been a long one, and by the time they +reached the real town the west was warming with the colour and +quality of sunset. The Colonel suggested that, before making +finally for the police station, they should make the effort, in +passing, to attach to themselves one more individual who might be +useful. + +"Four out of the five rich men in this town," he said, "are common +swindlers. I suppose the proportion is pretty equal all over the +world. The fifth is a friend of mine, and a very fine fellow; and +what is even more important from our point of view, he owns a +motor-car." + +"I am afraid," said the Professor in his mirthful way, looking +back along the white road on which the black, crawling patch might +appear at any moment, "I am afraid we have hardly time for +afternoon calls." + +"Doctor Renard's house is only three minutes off," said the +Colonel. + +"Our danger," said Dr. Bull, "is not two minutes off." + +"Yes," said Syme, "if we ride on fast we must leave them behind, +for they are on foot." + +"He has a motor-car," said the Colonel. + +"But we may not get it," said Bull. + +"Yes, he is quite on your side." + +"But he might be out." + +"Hold your tongue," said Syme suddenly. "What is that noise?" + +For a second they all sat as still as equestrian statues, and +for a second--for two or three or four seconds--heaven and earth +seemed equally still. Then all their ears, in an agony of +attention, heard along the road that indescribable thrill and +throb that means only one thing--horses! + +The Colonel's face had an instantaneous change, as if lightning +had struck it, and yet left it scatheless. + +"They have done us," he said, with brief military irony. "Prepare +to receive cavalry!" + +"Where can they have got the horses?" asked Syme, as he +mechanically urged his steed to a canter. + +The Colonel was silent for a little, then he said in a strained +voice-- + +"I was speaking with strict accuracy when I said that the 'Soleil +d'Or' was the only place where one can get horses within twenty +miles." + +"No!" said Syme violently, "I don't believe he'd do it. Not with +all that white hair." + +"He may have been forced," said the Colonel gently. "They must be +at least a hundred strong, for which reason we are all going to +see my friend Renard, who has a motor-car." + +With these words he swung his horse suddenly round a street +corner, and went down the street with such thundering speed, that +the others, though already well at the gallop, had difficulty in +following the flying tail of his horse. + +Dr. Renard inhabited a high and comfortable house at the top of a +steep street, so that when the riders alighted at his door they +could once more see the solid green ridge of the hill, with the +white road across it, standing up above all the roofs of the town. +They breathed again to see that the road as yet was clear, and they +rang the bell. + +Dr. Renard was a beaming, brown-bearded man, a good example of that +silent but very busy professional class which France has preserved +even more perfectly than England. When the matter was explained to +him he pooh-poohed the panic of the ex-Marquis altogether; he said, +with the solid French scepticism, that there was no conceivable +probability of a general anarchist rising. "Anarchy," he said, +shrugging his shoulders, "it is childishness!" + +"Et ca," cried out the Colonel suddenly, pointing over the other's +shoulder, "and that is childishness, isn't it?" + +They all looked round, and saw a curve of black cavalry come +sweeping over the top of the hill with all the energy of Attila. +Swiftly as they rode, however, the whole rank still kept well +together, and they could see the black vizards of the first line +as level as a line of uniforms. But although the main black +square was the same, though travelling faster, there was now one +sensational difference which they could see clearly upon the slope +of the hill, as if upon a slanted map. The bulk of the riders were +in one block; but one rider flew far ahead of the column, and with +frantic movements of hand and heel urged his horse faster and +faster, so that one might have fancied that he was not the pursuer +but the pursued. But even at that great distance they could see +something so fanatical, so unquestionable in his figure, that they +knew it was the Secretary himself. "I am sorry to cut short a +cultured discussion," said the Colonel, "but can you lend me your +motor-car now, in two minutes?" + +"I have a suspicion that you are all mad," said Dr. Renard, smiling +sociably; "but God forbid that madness should in any way interrupt +friendship. Let us go round to the garage." + +Dr. Renard was a mild man with monstrous wealth; his rooms were +like the Musee de Cluny, and he had three motor-cars. These, +however, he seemed to use very sparingly, having the simple tastes +of the French middle class, and when his impatient friends came to +examine them, it took them some time to assure themselves that one +of them even could be made to work. This with some difficulty they +brought round into the street before the Doctor's house. When they +came out of the dim garage they were startled to find that +twilight had already fallen with the abruptness of night in the +tropics. Either they had been longer in the place than they +imagined, or some unusual canopy of cloud had gathered over the +town. They looked down the steep streets, and seemed to see a +slight mist coming up from the sea. + +"It is now or never," said Dr. Bull. "I hear horses." + +"No," corrected the Professor, "a horse." + +And as they listened, it was evident that the noise, rapidly +coming nearer on the rattling stones, was not the noise of the +whole cavalcade but that of the one horseman, who had left it +far behind--the insane Secretary. + +Syme's family, like most of those who end in the simple life, had +once owned a motor, and he knew all about them. He had leapt at +once into the chauffeur's seat, and with flushed face was wrenching +and tugging at the disused machinery. He bent his strength upon one +handle, and then said quite quietly-- + +"I am afraid it's no go." + +As he spoke, there swept round the corner a man rigid on his +rushing horse, with the rush and rigidity of an arrow. He had a +smile that thrust out his chin as if it were dislocated. He swept +alongside of the stationary car, into which its company had +crowded, and laid his hand on the front. It was the Secretary, +and his mouth went quite straight in the solemnity of triumph. + +Syme was leaning hard upon the steering wheel, and there was no +sound but the rumble of the other pursuers riding into the town. +Then there came quite suddenly a scream of scraping iron, and the +car leapt forward. It plucked the Secretary clean out of his +saddle, as a knife is whipped out of its sheath, trailed him +kicking terribly for twenty yards, and left him flung flat upon +the road far in front of his frightened horse. As the car took +the corner of the street with a splendid curve, they could just +see the other anarchists filling the street and raising their +fallen leader. + +"I can't understand why it has grown so dark," said the Professor +at last in a low voice. + +"Going to be a storm, I think," said Dr. Bull. "I say, it's a pity +we haven't got a light on this car, if only to see by." + +"We have," said the Colonel, and from the floor of the car he +fished up a heavy, old-fashioned, carved iron lantern with a light +inside it. It was obviously an antique, and it would seem as if +its original use had been in some way semi-religious, for there +was a rude moulding of a cross upon one of its sides. + +"Where on earth did you get that?" asked the Professor. + +"I got it where I got the car," answered the Colonel, chuckling, +"from my best friend. While our friend here was fighting with the +steering wheel, I ran up the front steps of the house and spoke to +Renard, who was standing in his own porch, you will remember. 'I +suppose,' I said, 'there's no time to get a lamp.' He looked up, +blinking amiably at the beautiful arched ceiling of his own front +hall. From this was suspended, by chains of exquisite ironwork, +this lantern, one of the hundred treasures of his treasure house. +By sheer force he tore the lamp out of his own ceiling, shattering +the painted panels, and bringing down two blue vases with his +violence. Then he handed me the iron lantern, and I put it in the +car. Was I not right when I said that Dr. Renard was worth +knowing?" + +"You were," said Syme seriously, and hung the heavy lantern over +the front. There was a certain allegory of their whole position +in the contrast between the modern automobile and its strange +ecclesiastical lamp. Hitherto they had passed through the quietest +part of the town, meeting at most one or two pedestrians, who could +give them no hint of the peace or the hostility of the place. Now, +however, the windows in the houses began one by one to be lit up, +giving a greater sense of habitation and humanity. Dr. Bull turned +to the new detective who had led their flight, and permitted +himself one of his natural and friendly smiles. + +"These lights make one feel more cheerful." + +Inspector Ratcliffe drew his brows together. + +"There is only one set of lights that make me more cheerful," he +said, "and they are those lights of the police station which I can +see beyond the town. Please God we may be there in ten minutes." + +Then all Bull's boiling good sense and optimism broke suddenly out +of him. + +"Oh, this is all raving nonsense!" he cried. "If you really think +that ordinary people in ordinary houses are anarchists, you must be +madder than an anarchist yourself. If we turned and fought these +fellows, the whole town would fight for us." + +"No," said the other with an immovable simplicity, "the whole town +would fight for them. We shall see." + +While they were speaking the Professor had leant forward with +sudden excitement. + +"What is that noise?" he said. + +"Oh, the horses behind us, I suppose," said the Colonel. "I thought +we had got clear of them." + +"The horses behind us! No," said the Professor, "it is not horses, +and it is not behind us." + +Almost as he spoke, across the end of the street before them two +shining and rattling shapes shot past. They were gone almost in a +flash, but everyone could see that they were motor-cars, and the +Professor stood up with a pale face and swore that they were the +other two motor-cars from Dr. Renard's garage. + +"I tell you they were his," he repeated, with wild eyes, "and they +were full of men in masks!" + +"Absurd!" said the Colonel angrily. "Dr. Renard would never give +them his cars." + +"He may have been forced," said Ratcliffe quietly. "The whole town +is on their side." + +"You still believe that," asked the Colonel incredulously. + +"You will all believe it soon," said the other with a hopeless +calm. + +There was a puzzled pause for some little time, and then the +Colonel began again abruptly-- + +"No, I can't believe it. The thing is nonsense. The plain people of +a peaceable French town--" + +He was cut short by a bang and a blaze of light, which seemed close +to his eyes. As the car sped on it left a floating patch of white +smoke behind it, and Syme had heard a shot shriek past his ear. + +"My God!" said the Colonel, "someone has shot at us." + +"It need not interrupt conversation," said the gloomy Ratcliffe. +"Pray resume your remarks, Colonel. You were talking, I think, +about the plain people of a peaceable French town." + +The staring Colonel was long past minding satire. He rolled his +eyes all round the street. + +"It is extraordinary," he said, "most extraordinary." + +"A fastidious person," said Syme, "might even call it unpleasant. +However, I suppose those lights out in the field beyond this street +are the Gendarmerie. We shall soon get there." + +"No," said Inspector Ratcliffe, "we shall never get there." + +He had been standing up and looking keenly ahead of him. Now he sat +down and smoothed his sleek hair with a weary gesture. + +"What do you mean?" asked Bull sharply. + +"I mean that we shall never get there," said the pessimist +placidly. "They have two rows of armed men across the road already; +I can see them from here. The town is in arms, as I said it was. +I can only wallow in the exquisite comfort of my own exactitude." + +And Ratcliffe sat down comfortably in the car and lit a cigarette, +but the others rose excitedly and stared down the road. Syme had +slowed down the car as their plans became doubtful, and he brought +it finally to a standstill just at the corner of a side street +that ran down very steeply to the sea. + +The town was mostly in shadow, but the sun had not sunk; wherever +its level light could break through, it painted everything a +burning gold. Up this side street the last sunset light shone as +sharp and narrow as the shaft of artificial light at the theatre. +It struck the car of the five friends, and lit it like a burning +chariot. But the rest of the street, especially the two ends of +it, was in the deepest twilight, and for some seconds they could +see nothing. Then Syme, whose eyes were the keenest, broke into a +little bitter whistle, and said + +"It is quite true. There is a crowd or an army or some such thing +across the end of that street." + +"Well, if there is," said Bull impatiently, "it must be something +else--a sham fight or the mayor's birthday or something. I cannot +and will not believe that plain, jolly people in a place like this +walk about with dynamite in their pockets. Get on a bit, Syme, and +let us look at them." + +The car crawled about a hundred yards farther, and then they were +all startled by Dr. Bull breaking into a high crow of laughter. + +"Why, you silly mugs!" he cried, "what did I tell you. That +crowd's as law-abiding as a cow, and if it weren't, it's on our +side." + +"How do you know?" asked the professor, staring. + +"You blind bat," cried Bull, "don't you see who is leading them?" + +They peered again, and then the Colonel, with a catch in his +voice, cried out-- + +"Why, it's Renard!" + +There was, indeed, a rank of dim figures running across the road, +and they could not be clearly seen; but far enough in front to +catch the accident of the evening light was stalking up and down +the unmistakable Dr. Renard, in a white hat, stroking his long +brown beard, and holding a revolver in his left hand. + +"What a fool I've been!" exclaimed the Colonel. "Of course, the +dear old boy has turned out to help us." + +Dr. Bull was bubbling over with laughter, swinging the sword in +his hand as carelessly as a cane. He jumped out of the car and +ran across the intervening space, calling out-- + +"Dr. Renard! Dr. Renard!" + +An instant after Syme thought his own eyes had gone mad in his +head. For the philanthropic Dr. Renard had deliberately raised his +revolver and fired twice at Bull, so that the shots rang down the +road. + +Almost at the same second as the puff of white cloud went up from +this atrocious explosion a long puff of white cloud went up also +from the cigarette of the cynical Ratcliffe. Like all the rest he +turned a little pale, but he smiled. Dr. Bull, at whom the bullets +had been fired, just missing his scalp, stood quite still in the +middle of the road without a sign of fear, and then turned very +slowly and crawled back to the car, and climbed in with two holes +through his hat. + +"Well," said the cigarette smoker slowly, "what do you think now?" + +"I think," said Dr. Bull with precision, "that I am lying in bed +at No. 217 Peabody Buildings, and that I shall soon wake up with a +jump; or, if that's not it, I think that I am sitting in a small +cushioned cell in Hanwell, and that the doctor can't make much of +my case. But if you want to know what I don't think, I'll tell you. +I don't think what you think. I don't think, and I never shall +think, that the mass of ordinary men are a pack of dirty modern +thinkers. No, sir, I'm a democrat, and I still don't believe that +Sunday could convert one average navvy or counter-jumper. No, I may +be mad, but humanity isn't." + +Syme turned his bright blue eyes on Bull with an earnestness which +he did not commonly make clear. + +"You are a very fine fellow," he said. "You can believe in a sanity +which is not merely your sanity. And you're right enough about +humanity, about peasants and people like that jolly old innkeeper. +But you're not right about Renard. I suspected him from the first. +He's rationalistic, and, what's worse, he's rich. When duty and +religion are really destroyed, it will be by the rich." + +"They are really destroyed now," said the man with a cigarette, and +rose with his hands in his pockets. "The devils are coming on!" + +The men in the motor-car looked anxiously in the direction of his +dreamy gaze, and they saw that the whole regiment at the end of the +road was advancing upon them, Dr. Renard marching furiously in +front, his beard flying in the breeze. + +The Colonel sprang out of the car with an intolerant exclamation. + +"Gentlemen," he cried, "the thing is incredible. It must be a +practical joke. If you knew Renard as I do--it's like calling Queen +Victoria a dynamiter. If you had got the man's character into your +head--" + +"Dr. Bull," said Syme sardonically, "has at least got it into his +hat." + +"I tell you it can't be!" cried the Colonel, stamping. + +"Renard shall explain it. He shall explain it to me," and he strode +forward. + +"Don't be in such a hurry," drawled the smoker. "He will very soon +explain it to all of us." + +But the impatient Colonel was already out of earshot, advancing +towards the advancing enemy. The excited Dr. Renard lifted his +pistol again, but perceiving his opponent, hesitated, and the +Colonel came face to face with him with frantic gestures of +remonstrance. + +"It is no good," said Syme. "He will never get anything out of that +old heathen. I vote we drive bang through the thick of them, bang +as the bullets went through Bull's hat. We may all be killed, but +we must kill a tidy number of them." + +"I won't 'ave it," said Dr. Bull, growing more vulgar in the +sincerity of his virtue. "The poor chaps may be making a mistake. +Give the Colonel a chance." + +"Shall we go back, then?" asked the Professor. + +"No," said Ratcliffe in a cold voice, "the street behind us is held +too. In fact, I seem to see there another friend of yours, Syme." + +Syme spun round smartly, and stared backwards at the track which +they had travelled. He saw an irregular body of horsemen gathering +and galloping towards them in the gloom. He saw above the foremost +saddle the silver gleam of a sword, and then as it grew nearer the +silver gleam of an old man's hair. The next moment, with shattering +violence, he had swung the motor round and sent it dashing down the +steep side street to the sea, like a man that desired only to die. + +"What the devil is up?" cried the Professor, seizing his arm. + +"The morning star has fallen!" said Syme, as his own car went down +the darkness like a falling star. + +The others did not understand his words, but when they looked back +at the street above they saw the hostile cavalry coming round the +corner and down the slopes after them; and foremost of all rode the +good innkeeper, flushed with the fiery innocence of the evening +light. + +"The world is insane!" said the Professor, and buried his face in +his hands. + +"No," said Dr. Bull in adamantine humility, "it is I." + +"What are we going to do?" asked the Professor. + +"At this moment," said Syme, with a scientific detachment, "I think +we are going to smash into a lamppost." + +The next instant the automobile had come with a catastrophic jar +against an iron object. The instant after that four men had crawled +out from under a chaos of metal, and a tall lean lamp-post that had +stood up straight on the edge of the marine parade stood out, bent +and twisted, like the branch of a broken tree. + +"Well, we smashed something," said the Professor, with a faint +smile. "That's some comfort." + +"You're becoming an anarchist," said Syme, dusting his clothes +with his instinct of daintiness. + +"Everyone is," said Ratcliffe. + +As they spoke, the white-haired horseman and his followers came +thundering from above, and almost at the same moment a dark string +of men ran shouting along the sea-front. Syme snatched a sword, +and took it in his teeth; he stuck two others under his arm-pits, +took a fourth in his left hand and the lantern in his right, and +leapt off the high parade on to the beach below. + +The others leapt after him, with a common acceptance of such +decisive action, leaving the debris and the gathering mob above +them. + +"We have one more chance," said Syme, taking the steel out of his +mouth. "Whatever all this pandemonium means, I suppose the police +station will help us. We can't get there, for they hold the way. +But there's a pier or breakwater runs out into the sea just here, +which we could defend longer than anything else, like Horatius and +his bridge. We must defend it till the Gendarmerie turn out. Keep +after me." + +They followed him as he went crunching down the beach, and in a +second or two their boots broke not on the sea gravel, but on +broad, flat stones. They marched down a long, low jetty, running +out in one arm into the dim, boiling sea, and when they came to +the end of it they felt that they had come to the end of their +story. They turned and faced the town. + +That town was transfigured with uproar. All along the high parade +from which they had just descended was a dark and roaring stream +of humanity, with tossing arms and fiery faces, groping and +glaring towards them. The long dark line was dotted with torches +and lanterns; but even where no flame lit up a furious face, they +could see in the farthest figure, in the most shadowy gesture, an +organised hate. It was clear that they were the accursed of all +men, and they knew not why. + +Two or three men, looking little and black like monkeys, leapt +over the edge as they had done and dropped on to the beach. These +came ploughing down the deep sand, shouting horribly, and strove +to wade into the sea at random. The example was followed, and the +whole black mass of men began to run and drip over the edge like +black treacle. + +Foremost among the men on the beach Syme saw the peasant who had +driven their cart. He splashed into the surf on a huge +cart-horse, and shook his axe at them. + +"The peasant!" cried Syme. "They have not risen since the Middle +Ages." + +"Even if the police do come now," said the Professor mournfully, +"they can do nothing with this mob." + +"Nonsence!" said Bull desperately; "there must be some people +left in the town who are human." + +"No," said the hopeless Inspector, "the human being will soon be +extinct. We are the last of mankind." + +"It may be," said the Professor absently. Then he added in his +dreamy voice, "What is all that at the end of the 'Dunciad'? + + 'Nor public flame; nor private, dares to shine; + Nor human light is left, nor glimpse divine! + Lo! thy dread Empire, Chaos, is restored; + Light dies before thine uncreating word: + Thy hand, great Anarch, lets the curtain fall; + And universal darkness buries all."' + +"Stop!" cried Bull suddenly, "the gendarmes are out." + +The low lights of the police station were indeed blotted and +broken with hurrying figures, and they heard through the darkness +the clash and jingle of a disciplined cavalry. + +"They are charging the mob!" cried Bull in ecstacy or alarm. + +"No," said Syme, "they are formed along the parade." + +"They have unslung their carbines," cried Bull dancing with +excitement. + +"Yes," said Ratcliffe, "and they are going to fire on us." + +As he spoke there came a long crackle of musketry, and bullets +seemed to hop like hailstones on the stones in front of them. + +"The gendarmes have joined them!" cried the Professor, and struck +his forehead. + +"I am in the padded cell," said Bull solidly. + +There was a long silence, and then Ratcliffe said, looking out +over the swollen sea, all a sort of grey purple-- + +"What does it matter who is mad or who is sane? We shall all be +dead soon." + +Syme turned to him and said-- + +"You are quite hopeless, then?" + +Mr. Ratcliffe kept a stony silence; then at last he said quietly-- + +"No; oddly enough I am not quite hopeless. There is one insane +little hope that I cannot get out of my mind. The power of this +whole planet is against us, yet I cannot help wondering whether +this one silly little hope is hopeless yet." + +"In what or whom is your hope?" asked Syme with curiosity. + +"In a man I never saw," said the other, looking at the leaden sea. + +"I know what you mean," said Syme in a low voice, "the man in the +dark room. But Sunday must have killed him by now." + +"Perhaps," said the other steadily; "but if so, he was the only +man whom Sunday found it hard to kill." + +"I heard what you said," said the Professor, with his back turned. +"I also am holding hard on to the thing I never saw." + +All of a sudden Syme, who was standing as if blind with +introspective thought, swung round and cried out, like a man +waking from sleep-- + +"Where is the Colonel? I thought he was with us!" + +"The Colonel! Yes," cried Bull, "where on earth is the Colonel?" + +"He went to speak to Renard," said the Professor. + +"We cannot leave him among all those beasts," cried Syme. "Let us +die like gentlemen if--" + +"Do not pity the Colonel," said Ratcliffe, with a pale sneer. "He +is extremely comfortable. He is--" + +"No! no! no!" cried Syme in a kind of frenzy, "not the Colonel too! +I will never believe it!" + +"Will you believe your eyes?" asked the other, and pointed to the +beach. + +Many of their pursuers had waded into the water shaking their +fists, but the sea was rough, and they could not reach the pier. +Two or three figures, however, stood on the beginning of the stone +footway, and seemed to be cautiously advancing down it. The glare +of a chance lantern lit up the faces of the two foremost. One face +wore a black half-mask, and under it the mouth was twisting about +in such a madness of nerves that the black tuft of beard wriggled +round and round like a restless, living thing. The other was the +red face and white moustache of Colonel Ducroix. They were in +earnest consultation. + +"Yes, he is gone too," said the Professor, and sat down on a +stone. "Everything's gone. I'm gone! I can't trust my own bodily +machinery. I feel as if my own hand might fly up and strike me." + +"When my hand flies up," said Syme, "it will strike somebody +else," and he strode along the pier towards the Colonel, the +sword in one hand and the lantern in the other. + +As if to destroy the last hope or doubt, the Colonel, who saw him +coming, pointed his revolver at him and fired. The shot missed +Syme, but struck his sword, breaking it short at the hilt. Syme +rushed on, and swung the iron lantern above his head. + +"Judas before Herod!" he said, and struck the Colonel down upon +the stones. Then he turned to the Secretary, whose frightful mouth +was almost foaming now, and held the lamp high with so rigid and +arresting a gesture, that the man was, as it were, frozen for a +moment, and forced to hear. + +"Do you see this lantern?" cried Syme in a terrible voice. "Do you +see the cross carved on it, and the flame inside? You did not make +it. You did not light it. Better men than you, men who could +believe and obey, twisted the entrails of iron and preserved the +legend of fire. There is not a street you walk on, there is not a +thread you wear, that was not made as this lantern was, by denying +your philosophy of dirt and rats. You can make nothing. You can +only destroy. You will destroy mankind; you will destroy the world. +Let that suffice you. Yet this one old Christian lantern you shall +not destroy. It shall go where your empire of apes will never have +the wit to find it." + +He struck the Secretary once with the lantern so that he staggered; +and then, whirling it twice round his head, sent it flying far out +to sea, where it flared like a roaring rocket and fell. + +"Swords!" shouted Syme, turning his flaming face to the three +behind him. "Let us charge these dogs, for our time has come to +die." + +His three companions came after him sword in hand. Syme's sword +was broken, but he rent a bludgeon from the fist of a fisherman, +flinging him down. In a moment they would have flung themselves +upon the face of the mob and perished, when an interruption came. +The Secretary, ever since Syme's speech, had stood with his hand +to his stricken head as if dazed; now he suddenly pulled off his +black mask. + +The pale face thus peeled in the lamplight revealed not so much +rage as astonishment. He put up his hand with an anxious authority. + +"There is some mistake," he said. "Mr. Syme, I hardly think you +understand your position. I arrest you in the name of the law." + +"Of the law?" said Syme, and dropped his stick. + +"Certainly!" said the Secretary. "I am a detective from Scotland +Yard," and he took a small blue card from his pocket. + +"And what do you suppose we are?" asked the Professor, and threw +up his arms. + +"You," said the Secretary stiffly, "are, as I know for a fact, +members of the Supreme Anarchist Council. Disguised as one of +you, I--" + +Dr. Bull tossed his sword into the sea. + +"There never was any Supreme Anarchist Council," he said. "We were +all a lot of silly policemen looking at each other. And all these +nice people who have been peppering us with shot thought we were +the dynamiters. I knew I couldn't be wrong about the mob," he said, +beaming over the enormous multitude, which stretched away to the +distance on both sides. "Vulgar people are never mad. I'm vulgar +myself, and I know. I am now going on shore to stand a drink to +everybody here." + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE PURSUIT OF THE PRESIDENT + +NEXT morning five bewildered but hilarious people took the boat for +Dover. The poor old Colonel might have had some cause to complain, +having been first forced to fight for two factions that didn't +exist, and then knocked down with an iron lantern. But he was a +magnanimous old gentleman, and being much relieved that neither +party had anything to do with dynamite, he saw them off on the pier +with great geniality. + +The five reconciled detectives had a hundred details to explain to +each other. The Secretary had to tell Syme how they had come to +wear masks originally in order to approach the supposed enemy as +fellow-conspirators; + +Syme had to explain how they had fled with such swiftness through +a civilised country. But above all these matters of detail which +could be explained, rose the central mountain of the matter that +they could not explain. What did it all mean? If they were all +harmless officers, what was Sunday? If he had not seized the world, +what on earth had he been up to? Inspector Ratcliffe was still +gloomy about this. + +"I can't make head or tail of old Sunday's little game any more +than you can," he said. "But whatever else Sunday is, he isn't +a blameless citizen. Damn it! do you remember his face?" + +"I grant you," answered Syme, "that I have never been able to +forget it." + +"Well," said the Secretary, "I suppose we can find out soon, for +tomorrow we have our next general meeting. You will excuse me," +he said, with a rather ghastly smile, "for being well acquainted +with my secretarial duties." + +"I suppose you are right," said the Professor reflectively. "I +suppose we might find it out from him; but I confess that I should +feel a bit afraid of asking Sunday who he really is." + +"Why," asked the Secretary, "for fear of bombs?" + +"No," said the Professor, "for fear he might tell me." + +"Let us have some drinks," said Dr. Bull, after a silence. + +Throughout their whole journey by boat and train they were highly +convivial, but they instinctively kept together. Dr. Bull, who had +always been the optimist of the party, endeavoured to persuade the +other four that the whole company could take the same hansom cab +from Victoria; but this was over-ruled, and they went in a +four-wheeler, with Dr. Bull on the box, singing. They finished +their journey at an hotel in Piccadilly Circus, so as to be close +to the early breakfast next morning in Leicester Square. Yet even +then the adventures of the day were not entirely over. Dr. Bull, +discontented with the general proposal to go to bed, had strolled +out of the hotel at about eleven to see and taste some of the +beauties of London. Twenty minutes afterwards, however, he came +back and made quite a clamour in the hall. Syme, who tried at +first to soothe him, was forced at last to listen to his +communication with quite new attention. + +"I tell you I've seen him!" said Dr. Bull, with thick emphasis. + +"Whom?" asked Syme quickly. "Not the President?" + +"Not so bad as that," said Dr. Bull, with unnecessary laughter, +"not so bad as that. I've got him here." + +"Got whom here?" asked Syme impatiently. + +"Hairy man," said the other lucidly, "man that used to be hairy +man--Gogol. Here he is," and he pulled forward by a reluctant +elbow the identical young man who five days before had marched +out of the Council with thin red hair and a pale face, the first +of all the sham anarchists who had been exposed. + +"Why do you worry with me?" he cried. "You have expelled me as a +spy." + +"We are all spies!" whispered Syme. + +"We're all spies!" shouted Dr. Bull. "Come and have a drink." + +Next morning the battalion of the reunited six marched stolidly +towards the hotel in Leicester Square. + +"This is more cheerful," said Dr. Bull; "we are six men going to +ask one man what he means." + +"I think it is a bit queerer than that," said Syme. "I think it +is six men going to ask one man what they mean." + +They turned in silence into the Square, and though the hotel was +in the opposite corner, they saw at once the little balcony and a +figure that looked too big for it. He was sitting alone with bent +head, poring over a newspaper. But all his councillors, who had +come to vote him down, crossed that Square as if they were watched +out of heaven by a hundred eyes. + +They had disputed much upon their policy, about whether they +should leave the unmasked Gogol without and begin diplomatically, +or whether they should bring him in and blow up the gunpowder at +once. The influence of Syme and Bull prevailed for the latter +course, though the Secretary to the last asked them why they +attacked Sunday so rashly. + +"My reason is quite simple," said Syme. "I attack him rashly +because I am afraid of him." + +They followed Syme up the dark stair in silence, and they all came +out simultaneously into the broad sunlight of the morning and the +broad sunlight of Sunday's smile. + +"Delightful!" he said. "So pleased to see you all. What an +exquisite day it is. Is the Czar dead?" + +The Secretary, who happened to be foremost, drew himself together +for a dignified outburst. + +"No, sir," he said sternly "there has been no massacre. I bring you +news of no such disgusting spectacles." + +"Disgusting spectacles?" repeated the President, with a bright, +inquiring smile. "You mean Dr. Bull's spectacles?" + +The Secretary choked for a moment, and the President went on with +a sort of smooth appeal-- + +"Of course, we all have our opinions and even our eyes, but really +to call them disgusting before the man himself--" + +Dr. Bull tore off his spectacles and broke them on the table. + +"My spectacles are blackguardly," he said, "but I'm not. Look at +my face." + +"I dare say it's the sort of face that grows on one," said the +President, "in fact, it grows on you; and who am I to quarrel +with the wild fruits upon the Tree of Life? I dare say it will +grow on me some day." + +"We have no time for tomfoolery," said the Secretary, breaking in +savagely. "We have come to know what all this means. Who are you? +What are you? Why did you get us all here? Do you know who and +what we are? Are you a half-witted man playing the conspirator, +or are you a clever man playing the fool? Answer me, I tell you." + +"Candidates," murmured Sunday, "are only required to answer eight +out of the seventeen questions on the paper. As far as I can make +out, you want me to tell you what I am, and what you are, and what +this table is, and what this Council is, and what this world is +for all I know. Well, I will go so far as to rend the veil of one +mystery. If you want to know what you are, you are a set of +highly well-intentioned young jackasses." + +"And you," said Syme, leaning forward, "what are you?" + +"I? What am I?" roared the President, and he rose slowly to an +incredible height, like some enormous wave about to arch above +them and break. "You want to know what I am, do you? Bull, you +are a man of science. Grub in the roots of those trees and find +out the truth about them. Syme, you are a poet. Stare at those +morning clouds. But I tell you this, that you will have found +out the truth of the last tree and the top-most cloud before the +truth about me. You will understand the sea, and I shall be still +a riddle; you shall know what the stars are, and not know what I +am. Since the beginning of the world all men have hunted me like +a wolf--kings and sages, and poets and lawgivers, all the +churches, and all the philosophies. But I have never been caught +yet, and the skies will fall in the time I turn to bay. I have +given them a good run for their money, and I will now." + +Before one of them could move, the monstrous man had swung himself +like some huge ourang-outang over the balustrade of the balcony. +Yet before he dropped he pulled himself up again as on a horizontal +bar, and thrusting his great chin over the edge of the balcony, +said solemnly-- + +"There's one thing I'll tell you though about who I am. I am the +man in the dark room, who made you all policemen." + +With that he fell from the balcony, bouncing on the stones below +like a great ball of india-rubber, and went bounding off towards +the corner of the Alhambra, where he hailed a hansom-cab and sprang +inside it. The six detectives had been standing thunderstruck and +livid in the light of his last assertion; but when he disappeared +into the cab, Syme's practical senses returned to him, and leaping +over the balcony so recklessly as almost to break his legs, he +called another cab. + +He and Bull sprang into the cab together, the Professor and the +Inspector into another, while the Secretary and the late Gogol +scrambled into a third just in time to pursue the flying Syme, who +was pursuing the flying President. Sunday led them a wild chase +towards the north-west, his cabman, evidently under the influence +of more than common inducements, urging the horse at breakneck +speed. But Syme was in no mood for delicacies, and he stood up in +his own cab shouting, "Stop thief!" until crowds ran along beside +his cab, and policemen began to stop and ask questions. All this +had its influence upon the President's cabman, who began to look +dubious, and to slow down to a trot. He opened the trap to talk +reasonably to his fare, and in so doing let the long whip droop +over the front of the cab. Sunday leant forward, seized it, and +jerked it violently out of the man's hand. Then standing up in +front of the cab himself, he lashed the horse and roared aloud, +so that they went down the streets like a flying storm. Through +street after street and square after square went whirling this +preposterous vehicle, in which the fare was urging the horse and +the driver trying desperately to stop it. The other three cabs +came after it (if the phrase be permissible of a cab) like panting +hounds. Shops and streets shot by like rattling arrows. + +At the highest ecstacy of speed, Sunday turned round on the +splashboard where he stood, and sticking his great grinning head +out of the cab, with white hair whistling in the wind, he made a +horrible face at his pursuers, like some colossal urchin. Then +raising his right hand swiftly, he flung a ball of paper in Syme's +face and vanished. Syme caught the thing while instinctively +warding it off, and discovered that it consisted of two crumpled +papers. One was addressed to himself, and the other to Dr. Bull, +with a very long, and it is to be feared partly ironical, string +of letters after his name. Dr. Bull's address was, at any rate, +considerably longer than his communication, for the communication +consisted entirely of the words:-- + +"What about Martin Tupper now?" + +"What does the old maniac mean?" asked Bull, staring at the words. +"What does yours say, Syme?" + +Syme's message was, at any rate, longer, and ran as follows:-- + +"No one would regret anything in the nature of an interference by +the Archdeacon more than I. I trust it will not come to that. But, +for the last time, where are your goloshes? The thing is too bad, +especially after what uncle said." + +The President's cabman seemed to be regaining some control over +his horse, and the pursuers gained a little as they swept round +into the Edgware Road. And here there occurred what seemed to the +allies a providential stoppage. Traffic of every kind was swerving +to right or left or stopping, for down the long road was coming +the unmistakable roar announcing the fire-engine, which in a few +seconds went by like a brazen thunderbolt. But quick as it went +by, Sunday had bounded out of his cab, sprung at the fire-engine, +caught it, slung himself on to it, and was seen as he disappeared +in the noisy distance talking to the astonished fireman with +explanatory gestures. + +"After him!" howled Syme. "He can't go astray now. There's no +mistaking a fire-engine." + +The three cabmen, who had been stunned for a moment, whipped +up their horses and slightly decreased the distance between +themselves and their disappearing prey. The President +acknowledged this proximity by coming to the back of the car, +bowing repeatedly, kissing his hand, and finally flinging a +neatly-folded note into the bosom of Inspector Ratcliffe. When +that gentleman opened it, not without impatience, he found it +contained the words:-- + +"Fly at once. The truth about your trouser-stretchers is known. +--A FRIEND." + +The fire-engine had struck still farther to the north, into a +region that they did not recognise; and as it ran by a line of high +railings shadowed with trees, the six friends were startled, but +somewhat relieved, to see the President leap from the fire-engine, +though whether through another whim or the increasing protest of +his entertainers they could not see. Before the three cabs, +however, could reach up to the spot, he had gone up the high +railings like a huge grey cat, tossed himself over, and vanished +in a darkness of leaves. + +Syme with a furious gesture stopped his cab, jumped out, and +sprang also to the escalade. When he had one leg over the fence +and his friends were following, he turned a face on them which +shone quite pale in the shadow. + +"What place can this be?" he asked. "Can it be the old devil's +house? I've heard he has a house in North London." + +"All the better," said the Secretary grimly, planting a foot in +a foothold, "we shall find him at home." + +"No, but it isn't that," said Syme, knitting his brows. "I hear +the most horrible noises, like devils laughing and sneezing and +blowing their devilish noses!" + +"His dogs barking, of course," said the Secretary. + +"Why not say his black-beetles barking!" said Syme furiously, +"snails barking! geraniums barking! Did you ever hear a dog bark +like that?" + +He held up his hand, and there came out of the thicket a long +growling roar that seemed to get under the skin and freeze the +flesh--a low thrilling roar that made a throbbing in the air +all about them. + +"The dogs of Sunday would be no ordinary dogs," said Gogol, and +shuddered. + +Syme had jumped down on the other side, but he still stood +listening impatiently. + +"Well, listen to that," he said, "is that a dog--anybody's dog?" + +There broke upon their ear a hoarse screaming as of things +protesting and clamouring in sudden pain; and then, far off +like an echo, what sounded like a long nasal trumpet. + +"Well, his house ought to be hell!" said the Secretary; "and if +it is hell, I'm going in!" and he sprang over the tall railings +almost with one swing. + +The others followed. They broke through a tangle of plants and +shrubs, and came out on an open path. Nothing was in sight, but +Dr. Bull suddenly struck his hands together. + +"Why, you asses," he cried, "it's the Zoo!" + +As they were looking round wildly for any trace of their wild +quarry, a keeper in uniform came running along the path with a +man in plain clothes. + +"Has it come this way?" gasped the keeper. + +"Has what?" asked Syme. + +"The elephant!" cried the keeper. "An elephant has gone mad and +run away!" + +"He has run away with an old gentleman," said the other stranger +breathlessly, "a poor old gentleman with white hair!" + +"What sort of old gentleman?" asked Syme, with great curiosity. + +"A very large and fat old gentleman in light grey clothes," said +the keeper eagerly. + +"Well," said Syme, "if he's that particular kind of old gentleman, +if you're quite sure that he's a large and fat old gentleman in +grey clothes, you may take my word for it that the elephant has +not run away with him. He has run away with the elephant. The +elephant is not made by God that could run away with him if he +did not consent to the elopement. And, by thunder, there he is!" + +There was no doubt about it this time. Clean across the space of +grass, about two hundred yards away, with a crowd screaming and +scampering vainly at his heels, went a huge grey elephant at an +awful stride, with his trunk thrown out as rigid as a ship's +bowsprit, and trumpeting like the trumpet of doom. On the back of +the bellowing and plunging animal sat President Sunday with all +the placidity of a sultan, but goading the animal to a furious +speed with some sharp object in his hand. + +"Stop him!" screamed the populace. "He'll be out of the gate!" + +"Stop a landslide!" said the keeper. "He is out of the gate!" + +And even as he spoke, a final crash and roar of terror announced +that the great grey elephant had broken out of the gates of the +Zoological Gardens, and was careening down Albany Street like a +new and swift sort of omnibus. + +"Great Lord!" cried Bull, "I never knew an elephant could go so +fast. Well, it must be hansom-cabs again if we are to keep him in +sight." + +As they raced along to the gate out of which the elephant had +vanished, Syme felt a glaring panorama of the strange animals in +the cages which they passed. Afterwards he thought it queer that +he should have seen them so clearly. He remembered especially +seeing pelicans, with their preposterous, pendant throats. He +wondered why the pelican was the symbol of charity, except it was +that it wanted a good deal of charity to admire a pelican. He +remembered a hornbill, which was simply a huge yellow beak with a +small bird tied on behind it. The whole gave him a sensation, the +vividness of which he could not explain, that Nature was always +making quite mysterious jokes. Sunday had told them that they +would understand him when they had understood the stars. He +wondered whether even the archangels understood the hornbill. + +The six unhappy detectives flung themselves into cabs and followed +the elephant sharing the terror which he spread through the long +stretch of the streets. This time Sunday did not turn round, but +offered them the solid stretch of his unconscious back, which +maddened them, if possible, more than his previous mockeries. Just +before they came to Baker Street, however, he was seen to throw +something far up into the air, as a boy does a ball meaning to +catch it again. But at their rate of racing it fell far behind, +just by the cab containing Gogol; and in faint hope of a clue or +for some impulse unexplainable, he stopped his cab so as to pick it +up. It was addressed to himself, and was quite a bulky parcel. On +examination, however, its bulk was found to consist of thirty-three +pieces of paper of no value wrapped one round the other. When the +last covering was torn away it reduced itself to a small slip of +paper, on which was written:-- + +"The word, I fancy, should be 'pink'." + +The man once known as Gogol said nothing, but the movements of his +hands and feet were like those of a man urging a horse to renewed +efforts. + +Through street after street, through district after district, went +the prodigy of the flying elephant, calling crowds to every window, +and driving the traffic left and right. And still through all this +insane publicity the three cabs toiled after it, until they came to +be regarded as part of a procession, and perhaps the advertisement +of a circus. They went at such a rate that distances were shortened +beyond belief, and Syme saw the Albert Hall in Kensington when he +thought that he was still in Paddington. The animal's pace was even +more fast and free through the empty, aristocratic streets of South +Kensington, and he finally headed towards that part of the sky-line +where the enormous Wheel of Earl's Court stood up in the sky. The +wheel grew larger and larger, till it filled heaven like the wheel +of stars. + +The beast outstripped the cabs. They lost him round several +corners, and when they came to one of the gates of the Earl's Court +Exhibition they found themselves finally blocked. In front of them +was an enormous crowd; in the midst of it was an enormous elephant, +heaving and shuddering as such shapeless creatures do. But the +President had disappeared. + +"Where has he gone to?" asked Syme, slipping to the ground. + +"Gentleman rushed into the Exhibition, sir!" said an official in a +dazed manner. Then he added in an injured voice: "Funny gentleman, +sir. Asked me to hold his horse, and gave me this." + +He held out with distaste a piece of folded paper, addressed: "To +the Secretary of the Central Anarchist Council." + +The Secretary, raging, rent it open, and found written inside it:-- + + "When the herring runs a mile, + Let the Secretary smile; + When the herring tries to fly, + Let the Secretary die. + Rustic Proverb." + +"Why the eternal crikey," began the Secretary, "did you let the +man in? Do people commonly come to you Exhibition riding on mad +elephants? Do--" + +"Look!" shouted Syme suddenly. "Look over there!" + +"Look at what?" asked the Secretary savagely. + +"Look at the captive balloon!" said Syme, and pointed in a frenzy. + +"Why the blazes should I look at a captive balloon?" demanded the +Secretary. "What is there queer about a captive balloon?" + +"Nothing," said Syme, "except that it isn't captive!" + +They all turned their eyes to where the balloon swung and swelled +above the Exhibition on a string, like a child's balloon. A second +afterwards the string came in two just under the car, and the +balloon, broken loose, floated away with the freedom of a soap +bubble. + +"Ten thousand devils!" shrieked the Secretary. "He's got into it!" +and he shook his fists at the sky. + +The balloon, borne by some chance wind, came right above them, and +they could see the great white head of the President peering over +the side and looking benevolently down on them. + +"God bless my soul!" said the Professor with the elderly manner +that he could never disconnect from his bleached beard and +parchment face. "God bless my soul! I seemed to fancy that +something fell on the top of my hat!" + +He put up a trembling hand and took from that shelf a piece of +twisted paper, which he opened absently only to find it inscribed +with a true lover's knot and, the words:-- + +"Your beauty has not left me indifferent.--From LITTLE SNOWDROP." + +There was a short silence, and then Syme said, biting his beard-- + +"I'm not beaten yet. The blasted thing must come down somewhere. +Let's follow it!" + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +THE SIX PHILOSOPHERS + +ACROSS green fields, and breaking through blooming hedges, toiled +six draggled detectives, about five miles out of London. The +optimist of the party had at first proposed that they should +follow the balloon across South England in hansom-cabs. But he +was ultimately convinced of the persistent refusal of the balloon +to follow the roads, and the still more persistent refusal of the +cabmen to follow the balloon. Consequently the tireless though +exasperated travellers broke through black thickets and ploughed +through ploughed fields till each was turned into a figure too +outrageous to be mistaken for a tramp. Those green hills of +Surrey saw the final collapse and tragedy of the admirable light +grey suit in which Syme had set out from Saffron Park. His silk +hat was broken over his nose by a swinging bough, his coat-tails +were torn to the shoulder by arresting thorns, the clay of +England was splashed up to his collar; but he still carried his +yellow beard forward with a silent and furious determination, and +his eyes were still fixed on that floating ball of gas, which in +the full flush of sunset seemed coloured like a sunset cloud. + +"After all," he said, "it is very beautiful!" + +"It is singularly and strangely beautiful!" said the Professor. "I +wish the beastly gas-bag would burst!" + +"No," said Dr. Bull, "I hope it won't. It might hurt the old boy." + +"Hurt him!" said the vindictive Professor, "hurt him! Not as much +as I'd hurt him if I could get up with him. Little Snowdrop!" + +"I don't want him hurt, somehow," said Dr. Bull. + +"What!" cried the Secretary bitterly. "Do you believe all that tale +about his being our man in the dark room? Sunday would say he was +anybody." + +"I don't know whether I believe it or not," said Dr. Bull. "But it +isn't that that I mean. I can't wish old Sunday's balloon to burst +because--" + +"Well," said Syme impatiently, "because?" + +"Well, because he's so jolly like a balloon himself," said Dr. Bull +desperately. "I don't understand a word of all that idea of his +being the same man who gave us all our blue cards. It seems to make +everything nonsense. But I don't care who knows it, I always had a +sympathy for old Sunday himself, wicked as he was. Just as if he +was a great bouncing baby. How can I explain what my queer sympathy +was? It didn't prevent my fighting him like hell! Shall I make it +clear if I say that I liked him because he was so fat?" + +"You will not," said the Secretary. + +"I've got it now," cried Bull, "it was because he was so fat and so +light. Just like a balloon. We always think of fat people as heavy, +but he could have danced against a sylph. I see now what I mean. +Moderate strength is shown in violence, supreme strength is shown +in levity. It was like the old speculations--what would happen if +an elephant could leap up in the sky like a grasshopper?" + +"Our elephant," said Syme, looking upwards, "has leapt into the +sky like a grasshopper." + +"And somehow," concluded Bull, "that's why I can't help liking old +Sunday. No, it's not an admiration of force, or any silly thing +like that. There is a kind of gaiety in the thing, as if he were +bursting with some good news. Haven't you sometimes felt it on a +spring day? You know Nature plays tricks, but somehow that day +proves they are good-natured tricks. I never read the Bible myself, +but that part they laugh at is literal truth, 'Why leap ye, ye high +hills?' The hills do leap--at least, they try to. . . . Why do I +like Sunday? . . . how can I tell you? . . . because he's such a +Bounder." + +There was a long silence, and then the Secretary said in a curious, +strained voice-- + +"You do not know Sunday at all. Perhaps it is because you are +better than I, and do not know hell. I was a fierce fellow, and a +trifle morbid from the first. The man who sits in darkness, and +who chose us all, chose me because I had all the crazy look of a +conspirator--because my smile went crooked, and my eyes were +gloomy, even when I smiled. But there must have been something in +me that answered to the nerves in all these anarchic men. For when +I first saw Sunday he expressed to me, not your airy vitality, but +something both gross and sad in the Nature of Things. I found him +smoking in a twilight room, a room with brown blind down, +infinitely more depressing than the genial darkness in which our +master lives. He sat there on a bench, a huge heap of a man, dark +and out of shape. He listened to all my words without speaking or +even stirring. I poured out my most passionate appeals, and asked +my most eloquent questions. Then, after a long silence, the Thing +began to shake, and I thought it was shaken by some secret malady. +It shook like a loathsome and living jelly. It reminded me of +everything I had ever read about the base bodies that are the +origin of life--the deep sea lumps and protoplasm. It seemed like +the final form of matter, the most shapeless and the most shameful. +I could only tell myself, from its shudderings, that it was +something at least that such a monster could be miserable. And +then it broke upon me that the bestial mountain was shaking with +a lonely laughter, and the laughter was at me. Do you ask me to +forgive him that? It is no small thing to be laughed at by +something at once lower and stronger than oneself." + +"Surely you fellows are exaggerating wildly," cut in the clear +voice of Inspector Ratcliffe. "President Sunday is a terrible +fellow for one's intellect, but he is not such a Barnum's freak +physically as you make out. He received me in an ordinary office, +in a grey check coat, in broad daylight. He talked to me in an +ordinary way. But I'll tell you what is a trifle creepy about +Sunday. His room is neat, his clothes are neat, everything seems +in order; but he's absent-minded. Sometimes his great bright eyes +go quite blind. For hours he forgets that you are there. Now +absent-mindedness is just a bit too awful in a bad man. We think +of a wicked man as vigilant. We can't think of a wicked man who is +honestly and sincerely dreamy, because we daren't think of a wicked +man alone with himself. An absentminded man means a good-natured +man. It means a man who, if he happens to see you, will apologise. +But how will you bear an absentminded man who, if he happens to see +you, will kill you? That is what tries the nerves, abstraction +combined with cruelty. Men have felt it sometimes when they went +through wild forests, and felt that the animals there were at once +innocent and pitiless. They might ignore or slay. How would you +like to pass ten mortal hours in a parlour with an absent-minded +tiger?" + +"And what do you think of Sunday, Gogol?" asked Syme. + +"I don't think of Sunday on principle," said Gogol simply, "any +more than I stare at the sun at noonday." + +"Well, that is a point of view," said Syme thoughtfully. "What do +you say, Professor?" + +The Professor was walking with bent head and trailing stick, and +he did not answer at all. + +"Wake up, Professor!" said Syme genially. "Tell us what you think +of Sunday." + +The Professor spoke at last very slowly. + +"I think something," he said, "that I cannot say clearly. Or, +rather, I think something that I cannot even think clearly. But +it is something like this. My early life, as you know, was a bit +too large and loose. + +"Well, when I saw Sunday's face I thought it was too large-- +everybody does, but I also thought it was too loose. The face +was so big, that one couldn't focus it or make it a face at all. +The eye was so far away from the nose, that it wasn't an eye. +The mouth was so much by itself, that one had to think of it by +itself. The whole thing is too hard to explain." + +He paused for a little, still trailing his stick, and then went +on-- + +"But put it this way. Walking up a road at night, I have seen a +lamp and a lighted window and a cloud make together a most complete +and unmistakable face. If anyone in heaven has that face I shall +know him again. Yet when I walked a little farther I found that +there was no face, that the window was ten yards away, the lamp ten +hundred yards, the cloud beyond the world. Well, Sunday's face +escaped me; it ran away to right and left, as such chance pictures +run away. And so his face has made me, somehow, doubt whether there +are any faces. I don't know whether your face, Bull, is a face or a +combination in perspective. Perhaps one black disc of your beastly +glasses is quite close and another fifty miles away. Oh, the doubts +of a materialist are not worth a dump. Sunday has taught me the +last and the worst doubts, the doubts of a spiritualist. I am a +Buddhist, I suppose; and Buddhism is not a creed, it is a doubt. My +poor dear Bull, I do not believe that you really have a face. I +have not faith enough to believe in matter." + +Syme's eyes were still fixed upon the errant orb, which, reddened +in the evening light, looked like some rosier and more innocent +world. + +"Have you noticed an odd thing," he said, "about all your +descriptions? Each man of you finds Sunday quite different, yet +each man of you can only find one thing to compare him to--the +universe itself. Bull finds him like the earth in spring, Gogol +like the sun at noonday. The Secretary is reminded of the shapeless +protoplasm, and the Inspector of the carelessness of virgin +forests. The Professor says he is like a changing landscape. This +is queer, but it is queerer still that I also have had my odd +notion about the President, and I also find that I think of Sunday +as I think of the whole world." + +"Get on a little faster, Syme," said Bull; "never mind the +balloon." + +"When I first saw Sunday," said Syme slowly, "I only saw his back; +and when I saw his back, I knew he was the worst man in the world. +His neck and shoulders were brutal, like those of some apish god. +His head had a stoop that was hardly human, like the stoop of an +ox. In fact, I had at once the revolting fancy that this was not +a man at all, but a beast dressed up in men's clothes." + +"Get on," said Dr. Bull. + +"And then the queer thing happened. I had seen his back from the +street, as he sat in the balcony. Then I entered the hotel, and +coming round the other side of him, saw his face in the sunlight. +His face frightened me, as it did everyone; but not because it was +brutal, not because it was evil. On the contrary, it frightened me +because it was so beautiful, because it was so good." + +"Syme," exclaimed the Secretary, "are you ill?" + +"It was like the face of some ancient archangel, judging justly +after heroic wars. There was laughter in the eyes, and in the mouth +honour and sorrow. There was the same white hair, the same great, +grey-clad shoulders that I had seen from behind. But when I saw him +from behind I was certain he was an animal, and when I saw him in +front I knew he was a god." + +"Pan," said the Professor dreamily, "was a god and an animal." + +"Then, and again and always," went on Syme like a man talking to +himself, "that has been for me the mystery of Sunday, and it is +also the mystery of the world. When I see the horrible back, I am +sure the noble face is but a mask. When I see the face but for an +instant, I know the back is only a jest. Bad is so bad, that we +cannot but think good an accident; good is so good, that we feel +certain that evil could be explained. But the whole came to a kind +of crest yesterday when I raced Sunday for the cab, and was just +behind him all the way." + +"Had you time for thinking then?" asked Ratcliffe. + +"Time," replied Syme, "for one outrageous thought. I was suddenly +possessed with the idea that the blind, blank back of his head +really was his face--an awful, eyeless face staring at me! And I +fancied that the figure running in front of me was really a figure +running backwards, and dancing as he ran." + +"Horrible!" said Dr. Bull, and shuddered. + +"Horrible is not the word," said Syme. "It was exactly the worst +instant of my life. And yet ten minutes afterwards, when he put his +head out of the cab and made a grimace like a gargoyle, I knew that +he was only like a father playing hide-and-seek with his children." + +"It is a long game," said the Secretary, and frowned at his broken +boots. + +"Listen to me," cried Syme with extraordinary emphasis. "Shall I +tell you the secret of the whole world? It is that we have only +known the back of the world. We see everything from behind, and it +looks brutal. That is not a tree, but the back of a tree. That is +not a cloud, but the back of a cloud. Cannot you see that +everything is stooping and hiding a face? If we could only get +round in front--" + +"Look!" cried out Bull clamorously, "the balloon is coming down!" + +There was no need to cry out to Syme, who had never taken his eyes +off it. He saw the great luminous globe suddenly stagger in the +sky, right itself, and then sink slowly behind the trees like a +setting sun. + +The man called Gogol, who had hardly spoken through all their weary +travels, suddenly threw up his hands like a lost spirit. + +"He is dead!" he cried. "And now I know he was my friend--my friend +in the dark!" + +"Dead!" snorted the Secretary. "You will not find him dead easily. +If he has been tipped out of the car, we shall find him rolling as +a colt rolls in a field, kicking his legs for fun." + +"Clashing his hoofs," said the Professor. "The colts do, and so did +Pan." + +"Pan again!" said Dr. Bull irritably. "You seem to think Pan is +everything." + +"So he is," said the Professor, "in Greek. He means everything." + +"Don't forget," said the Secretary, looking down, "that he also +means Panic." + +Syme had stood without hearing any of the exclamations. + +"It fell over there," he said shortly. "Let us follow it!" + +Then he added with an indescribable gesture-- + +"Oh, if he has cheated us all by getting killed! It would be like +one of his larks." + +He strode off towards the distant trees with a new energy, his rags +and ribbons fluttering in the wind. The others followed him in a +more footsore and dubious manner. And almost at the same moment all +six men realised that they were not alone in the little field. + +Across the square of turf a tall man was advancing towards them, +leaning on a strange long staff like a sceptre. He was clad in a +fine but old-fashioned suit with knee-breeches; its colour was +that shade between blue, violet and grey which can be seen in +certain shadows of the woodland. His hair was whitish grey, and +at the first glance, taken along with his knee-breeches, looked +as if it was powdered. His advance was very quiet; but for the +silver frost upon his head, he might have been one to the shadows +of the wood. + +"Gentlemen," he said, "my master has a carriage waiting for you in +the road just by." + +"Who is your master?" asked Syme, standing quite still. + +"I was told you knew his name," said the man respectfully. + +There was a silence, and then the Secretary said-- + +"Where is this carriage?" + +"It has been waiting only a few moments," said the stranger. "My +master has only just come home." + +Syme looked left and right upon the patch of green field in which +he found himself. The hedges were ordinary hedges, the trees seemed +ordinary trees; yet he felt like a man entrapped in fairyland. + +He looked the mysterious ambassador up and down, but he could +discover nothing except that the man's coat was the exact colour of +the purple shadows, and that the man's face was the exact colour of +the red and brown and golden sky. + +"Show us the place," Syme said briefly, and without a word the man +in the violet coat turned his back and walked towards a gap in the +hedge, which let in suddenly the light of a white road. + +As the six wanderers broke out upon this thoroughfare, they saw the +white road blocked by what looked like a long row of carriages, +such a row of carriages as might close the approach to some house +in Park Lane. Along the side of these carriages stood a rank of +splendid servants, all dressed in the grey-blue uniform, and all +having a certain quality of stateliness and freedom which would not +commonly belong to the servants of a gentleman, but rather to the +officials and ambassadors of a great king. There were no less than +six carriages waiting, one for each of the tattered and miserable +band. All the attendants (as if in court-dress) wore swords, and as +each man crawled into his carriage they drew them, and saluted with +a sudden blaze of steel. + +"What can it all mean?" asked Bull of Syme as they separated. "Is +this another joke of Sunday's?" + +"I don't know," said Syme as he sank wearily back in the cushions +of his carriage; "but if it is, it's one of the jokes you talk +about. It's a good-natured one." + +The six adventurers had passed through many adventures, but not one +had carried them so utterly off their feet as this last adventure +of comfort. They had all become inured to things going roughly; but +things suddenly going smoothly swamped them. They could not even +feebly imagine what the carriages were; it was enough for them to +know that they were carriages, and carriages with cushions. They +could not conceive who the old man was who had led them; but it was +quite enough that he had certainly led them to the carriages. + +Syme drove through a drifting darkness of trees in utter +abandonment. It was typical of him that while he had carried his +bearded chin forward fiercely so long as anything could be done, +when the whole business was taken out of his hands he fell back +on the cushions in a frank collapse. + +Very gradually and very vaguely he realised into what rich roads +the carriage was carrying him. He saw that they passed the stone +gates of what might have been a park, that they began gradually to +climb a hill which, while wooded on both sides, was somewhat more +orderly than a forest. Then there began to grow upon him, as upon a +man slowly waking from a healthy sleep, a pleasure in everything. +He felt that the hedges were what hedges should be, living walls; +that a hedge is like a human army, disciplined, but all the more +alive. He saw high elms behind the hedges, and vaguely thought how +happy boys would be climbing there. Then his carriage took a turn +of the path, and he saw suddenly and quietly, like a long, low, +sunset cloud, a long, low house, mellow in the mild light of +sunset. All the six friends compared notes afterwards and +quarrelled; but they all agreed that in some unaccountable way the +place reminded them of their boyhood. It was either this elm-top +or that crooked path, it was either this scrap of orchard or that +shape of a window; but each man of them declared that he could +remember this place before he could remember his mother. + +When the carriages eventually rolled up to a large, low, cavernous +gateway, another man in the same uniform, but wearing a silver star +on the grey breast of his coat, came out to meet them. This +impressive person said to the bewildered Syme-- + +"Refreshments are provided for you in your room." + +Syme, under the influence of the same mesmeric sleep of amazement, +went up the large oaken stairs after the respectful attendant. He +entered a splendid suite of apartments that seemed to be designed +specially for him. He walked up to a long mirror with the ordinary +instinct of his class, to pull his tie straight or to smooth his +hair; and there he saw the frightful figure that he was--blood +running down his face from where the bough had struck him, his hair +standing out like yellow rags of rank grass, his clothes torn into +long, wavering tatters. At once the whole enigma sprang up, simply +as the question of how he had got there, and how he was to get out +again. Exactly at the same moment a man in blue, who had been +appointed as his valet, said very solemnly-- + +"I have put out your clothes, sir." + +"Clothes!" said Syme sardonically. "I have no clothes except +these," and he lifted two long strips of his frock-coat in +fascinating festoons, and made a movement as if to twirl like +a ballet girl. + +"My master asks me to say," said the attendant, "that there is a +fancy dress ball tonight, and that he desires you to put on the +costume that I have laid out. Meanwhile, sir, there is a bottle +of Burgundy and some cold pheasant, which he hopes you will not +refuse, as it is some hours before supper." + +"Cold pheasant is a good thing," said Syme reflectively, "and +Burgundy is a spanking good thing. But really I do not want either +of them so much as I want to know what the devil all this means, +and what sort of costume you have got laid out for me. Where is +it?" + +The servant lifted off a kind of ottoman a long peacock-blue +drapery, rather of the nature of a domino, on the front of which +was emblazoned a large golden sun, and which was splashed here +and there with flaming stars and crescents. + +"You're to be dressed as Thursday, sir," said the valet somewhat +affably. + +"Dressed as Thursday!" said Syme in meditation. "It doesn't sound +a warm costume." + +"Oh, yes, sir," said the other eagerly, "the Thursday costume is +quite warm, sir. It fastens up to the chin." + +"Well, I don't understand anything," said Syme, sighing. "I have +been used so long to uncomfortable adventures that comfortable +adventures knock me out. Still, I may be allowed to ask why I +should be particularly like Thursday in a green frock spotted +all over with the sun and moon. Those orbs, I think, shine on +other days. I once saw the moon on Tuesday, I remember." + +"Beg pardon, sir," said the valet, "Bible also provided for you," +and with a respectful and rigid finger he pointed out a passage +in the first chapter of Genesis. Syme read it wondering. It was +that in which the fourth day of the week is associated with the +creation of the sun and moon. Here, however, they reckoned from +a Christian Sunday. + +"This is getting wilder and wilder," said Syme, as he sat down +in a chair. "Who are these people who provide cold pheasant and +Burgundy, and green clothes and Bibles? Do they provide +everything?" + +"Yes, sir, everything," said the attendant gravely. "Shall I help +you on with your costume?" + +"Oh, hitch the bally thing on!" said Syme impatiently. + +But though he affected to despise the mummery, he felt a curious +freedom and naturalness in his movements as the blue and gold +garment fell about him; and when he found that he had to wear a +sword, it stirred a boyish dream. As he passed out of the room he +flung the folds across his shoulder with a gesture, his sword +stood out at an angle, and he had all the swagger of a troubadour. +For these disguises did not disguise, but reveal. + + + +CHAPTER XV + +THE ACCUSER + +AS Syme strode along the corridor he saw the Secretary standing at +the top of a great flight of stairs. The man had never looked so +noble. He was draped in a long robe of starless black, down the +centre of which fell a band or broad stripe of pure white, like a +single shaft of light. The whole looked like some very severe +ecclesiastical vestment. There was no need for Syme to search his +memory or the Bible in order to remember that the first day of +creation marked the mere creation of light out of darkness. The +vestment itself would alone have suggested the symbol; and Syme +felt also how perfectly this pattern of pure white and black +expressed the soul of the pale and austere Secretary, with his +inhuman veracity and his cold frenzy, which made him so easily +make war on the anarchists, and yet so easily pass for one of +them. Syme was scarcely surprised to notice that, amid all the +ease and hospitality of their new surroundings, this man's eyes +were still stern. No smell of ale or orchards could make the +Secretary cease to ask a reasonable question. + +If Syme had been able to see himself, he would have realised that +he, too, seemed to be for the first time himself and no one else. +For if the Secretary stood for that philosopher who loves the +original and formless light, Syme was a type of the poet who seeks +always to make the light in special shapes, to split it up into +sun and star. The philosopher may sometimes love the infinite; the +poet always loves the finite. For him the great moment is not the +creation of light, but the creation of the sun and moon. + +As they descended the broad stairs together they overtook +Ratcliffe, who was clad in spring green like a huntsman, and the +pattern upon whose garment was a green tangle of trees. For he +stood for that third day on which the earth and green things were +made, and his square, sensible face, with its not unfriendly +cynicism, seemed appropriate enough to it. + +They were led out of another broad and low gateway into a very +large old English garden, full of torches and bonfires, by the +broken light of which a vast carnival of people were dancing in +motley dress. Syme seemed to see every shape in Nature imitated +in some crazy costume. There was a man dressed as a windmill with +enormous sails, a man dressed as an elephant, a man dressed as a +balloon; the two last, together, seemed to keep the thread of +their farcical adventures. Syme even saw, with a queer thrill, +one dancer dressed like an enormous hornbill, with a beak twice +as big as himself--the queer bird which had fixed itself on his +fancy like a living question while he was rushing down the long +road at the Zoological Gardens. There were a thousand other such +objects, however. There was a dancing lamp-post, a dancing apple +tree, a dancing ship. One would have thought that the untamable +tune of some mad musician had set all the common objects of field +and street dancing an eternal jig. And long afterwards, when Syme +was middle-aged and at rest, he could never see one of those +particular objects--a lamppost, or an apple tree, or a windmill-- +without thinking that it was a strayed reveller from that revel +of masquerade. + +On one side of this lawn, alive with dancers, was a sort of green +bank, like the terrace in such old-fashioned gardens. + +Along this, in a kind of crescent, stood seven great chairs, the +thrones of the seven days. Gogol and Dr. Bull were already in their +seats; the Professor was just mounting to his. Gogol, or Tuesday, +had his simplicity well symbolised by a dress designed upon the +division of the waters, a dress that separated upon his forehead +and fell to his feet, grey and silver, like a sheet of rain. The +Professor, whose day was that on which the birds and fishes--the +ruder forms of life--were created, had a dress of dim purple, over +which sprawled goggle-eyed fishes and outrageous tropical birds, +the union in him of unfathomable fancy and of doubt. Dr. Bull, the +last day of Creation, wore a coat covered with heraldic animals in +red and gold, and on his crest a man rampant. He lay back in his +chair with a broad smile, the picture of an optimist in his +element. + +One by one the wanderers ascended the bank and sat in their +strange seats. As each of them sat down a roar of enthusiasm rose +from the carnival, such as that with which crowds receive kings. +Cups were clashed and torches shaken, and feathered hats flung in +the air. The men for whom these thrones were reserved were men +crowned with some extraordinary laurels. But the central chair was +empty. + +Syme was on the left hand of it and the Secretary on the right. +The Secretary looked across the empty throne at Syme, and said, +compressing his lips-- + +"We do not know yet that he is not dead in a field." + +Almost as Syme heard the words, he saw on the sea of human faces in +front of him a frightful and beautiful alteration, as if heaven had +opened behind his head. But Sunday had only passed silently along +the front like a shadow, and had sat in the central seat. He was +draped plainly, in a pure and terrible white, and his hair was like +a silver flame on his forehead. + +For a long time--it seemed for hours--that huge masquerade of +mankind swayed and stamped in front of them to marching and +exultant music. Every couple dancing seemed a separate romance; +it might be a fairy dancing with a pillar-box, or a peasant girl +dancing with the moon; but in each case it was, somehow, as +absurd as Alice in Wonderland, yet as grave and kind as a love +story. At last, however, the thick crowd began to thin itself. +Couples strolled away into the garden-walks, or began to drift +towards that end of the building where stood smoking, in huge +pots like fish-kettles, some hot and scented mixtures of old ale +or wine. Above all these, upon a sort of black framework on the +roof of the house, roared in its iron basket a gigantic bonfire, +which lit up the land for miles. It flung the homely effect of +firelight over the face of vast forests of grey or brown, and it +seemed to fill with warmth even the emptiness of upper night. +Yet this also, after a time, was allowed to grow fainter; the +dim groups gathered more and more round the great cauldrons, or +passed, laughing and clattering, into the inner passages of that +ancient house. Soon there were only some ten loiterers in the +garden; soon only four. Finally the last stray merry-maker ran +into the house whooping to his companions. The fire faded, and +the slow, strong stars came out. And the seven strange men were +left alone, like seven stone statues on their chairs of stone. +Not one of them had spoken a word. + +They seemed in no haste to do so, but heard in silence the hum of +insects and the distant song of one bird. Then Sunday spoke, but +so dreamily that he might have been continuing a conversation +rather than beginning one. + +"We will eat and drink later," he said. "Let us remain together a +little, we who have loved each other so sadly, and have fought so +long. I seem to remember only centuries of heroic war, in which +you were always heroes--epic on epic, iliad on iliad, and you +always brothers in arms. Whether it was but recently (for time is +nothing), or at the beginning of the world, I sent you out to +war. I sat in the darkness, where there is not any created thing, +and to you I was only a voice commanding valour and an unnatural +virtue. You heard the voice in the dark, and you never heard it +again. The sun in heaven denied it, the earth and sky denied it, +all human wisdom denied it. And when I met you in the daylight I +denied it myself." + +Syme stirred sharply in his seat, but otherwise there was silence, +and the incomprehensible went on. + +"But you were men. You did not forget your secret honour, though +the whole cosmos turned an engine of torture to tear it out of +you. I knew how near you were to hell. I know how you, Thursday, +crossed swords with King Satan, and how you, Wednesday, named me +in the hour without hope." + +There was complete silence in the starlit garden, and then the +black-browed Secretary, implacable, turned in his chair towards +Sunday, and said in a harsh voice-- + +"Who and what are you?" + +"I am the Sabbath," said the other without moving. "I am the peace +of God." + +The Secretary started up, and stood crushing his costly robe in his +hand. + +"I know what you mean," he cried, "and it is exactly that that I +cannot forgive you. I know you are contentment, optimism, what do +they call the thing, an ultimate reconciliation. Well, I am not +reconciled. If you were the man in the dark room, why were you also +Sunday, an offense to the sunlight? If you were from the first our +father and our friend, why were you also our greatest enemy? We +wept, we fled in terror; the iron entered into our souls--and you +are the peace of God! Oh, I can forgive God His anger, though it +destroyed nations; but I cannot forgive Him His peace." + +Sunday answered not a word, but very slowly he turned his face of +stone upon Syme as if asking a question. + +"No," said Syme, "I do not feel fierce like that. I am grateful +to you, not only for wine and hospitality here, but for many a +fine scamper and free fight. But I should like to know. My soul +and heart are as happy and quiet here as this old garden, but my +reason is still crying out. I should like to know." + +Sunday looked at Ratcliffe, whose clear voice said-- + +"It seems so silly that you should have been on both sides and +fought yourself." + +Bull said-- + +"I understand nothing, but I am happy. In fact, I am going to +sleep." + +"I am not happy," said the Professor with his head in his hands, +"because I do not understand. You let me stray a little too near +to hell." + +And then Gogol said, with the absolute simplicity of a child-- + +"I wish I knew why I was hurt so much." + +Still Sunday said nothing, but only sat with his mighty chin upon +his hand, and gazed at the distance. Then at last he said-- + +"I have heard your complaints in order. And here, I think, comes +another to complain, and we will hear him also." + +The falling fire in the great cresset threw a last long gleam, like +a bar of burning gold, across the dim grass. Against this fiery +band was outlined in utter black the advancing legs of a black-clad +figure. He seemed to have a fine close suit with knee-breeches such +as that which was worn by the servants of the house, only that it +was not blue, but of this absolute sable. He had, like the +servants, a kind of sword by his side. It was only when he had come +quite close to the crescent of the seven and flung up his face to +look at them, that Syme saw, with thunder-struck clearness, that +the face was the broad, almost ape-like face of his old friend +Gregory, with its rank red hair and its insulting smile. + +"Gregory!" gasped Syme, half-rising from his seat. "Why, this is +the real anarchist!" + +"Yes," said Gregory, with a great and dangerous restraint, "I am +the real anarchist." + +"'Now there was a day,'" murmured Bull, who seemed really to have +fallen asleep, "'when the sons of God came to present themselves +before the Lord, and Satan came also among them.'" + +"You are right," said Gregory, and gazed all round. "I am a +destroyer. I would destroy the world if I could." + +A sense of a pathos far under the earth stirred up in Syme, and +he spoke brokenly and without sequence. + +"Oh, most unhappy man," he cried, "try to be happy! You have red +hair like your sister." + +"My red hair, like red flames, shall burn up the world," said +Gregory. "I thought I hated everything more than common men can +hate anything; but I find that I do not hate everything so much +as I hate you!" + +"I never hated you," said Syme very sadly. + +Then out of this unintelligible creature the last thunders broke. + +"You!" he cried. "You never hated because you never lived. I know +what you are all of you, from first to last--you are the people +in power! You are the police--the great fat, smiling men in blue +and buttons! You are the Law, and you have never been broken. But +is there a free soul alive that does not long to break you, only +because you have never been broken? We in revolt talk all kind of +nonsense doubtless about this crime or that crime of the +Government. It is all folly! The only crime of the Government is +that it governs. The unpardonable sin of the supreme power is +that it is supreme. I do not curse you for being cruel. I do not +curse you (though I might) for being kind. I curse you for being +safe! You sit in your chairs of stone, and have never come down +from them. You are the seven angels of heaven, and you have had +no troubles. Oh, I could forgive you everything, you that rule +all mankind, if I could feel for once that you had suffered for +one hour a real agony such as I--" + +Syme sprang to his feet, shaking from head to foot. + +"I see everything," he cried, "everything that there is. Why does +each thing on the earth war against each other thing? Why does +each small thing in the world have to fight against the world +itself? Why does a fly have to fight the whole universe? Why does +a dandelion have to fight the whole universe? For the same reason +that I had to be alone in the dreadful Council of the Days. So +that each thing that obeys law may have the glory and isolation of +the anarchist. So that each man fighting for order may be as brave +and good a man as the dynamiter. So that the real lie of Satan may +be flung back in the face of this blasphemer, so that by tears and +torture we may earn the right to say to this man, 'You lie!' No +agonies can be too great to buy the right to say to this accuser, +'We also have suffered.' + +"It is not true that we have never been broken. We have been broken +upon the wheel. It is not true that we have never descended from +these thrones. We have descended into hell. We were complaining of +unforgettable miseries even at the very moment when this man +entered insolently to accuse us of happiness. I repel the slander; +we have not been happy. I can answer for every one of the great +guards of Law whom he has accused. At least--" + +He had turned his eyes so as to see suddenly the great face of +Sunday, which wore a strange smile. + +"Have you," he cried in a dreadful voice, "have you ever suffered?" + +As he gazed, the great face grew to an awful size, grew larger than +the colossal mask of Memnon, which had made him scream as a child. +It grew larger and larger, filling the whole sky; then everything +went black. Only in the blackness before it entirely destroyed his +brain he seemed to hear a distant voice saying a commonplace text +that he had heard somewhere, "Can ye drink of the cup that I drink +of?" + +* * * + +When men in books awake from a vision, they commonly find +themselves in some place in which they might have fallen asleep; +they yawn in a chair, or lift themselves with bruised limbs from a +field. Syme's experience was something much more psychologically +strange if there was indeed anything unreal, in the earthly sense, +about the things he had gone through. For while he could always +remember afterwards that he had swooned before the face of Sunday, +he could not remember having ever come to at all. He could only +remember that gradually and naturally he knew that he was and had +been walking along a country lane with an easy and conversational +companion. That companion had been a part of his recent drama; it +was the red-haired poet Gregory. They were walking like old +friends, and were in the middle of a conversation about some +triviality. But Syme could only feel an unnatural buoyancy in his +body and a crystal simplicity in his mind that seemed to be +superior to everything that he said or did. He felt he was in +possession of some impossible good news, which made every other +thing a triviality, but an adorable triviality. + +Dawn was breaking over everything in colours at once clear and +timid; as if Nature made a first attempt at yellow and a first +attempt at rose. A breeze blew so clean and sweet, that one could +not think that it blew from the sky; it blew rather through some +hole in the sky. Syme felt a simple surprise when he saw rising all +round him on both sides of the road the red, irregular buildings of +Saffron Park. He had no idea that he had walked so near London. He +walked by instinct along one white road, on which early birds +hopped and sang, and found himself outside a fenced garden. There +he saw the sister of Gregory, the girl with the gold-red hair, +cutting lilac before breakfast, with the great unconscious gravity +of a girl. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg Etext The Man Who Was Thursday, by Chesterton + diff --git a/old/tmwht10.zip b/old/tmwht10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..412e5c3 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/tmwht10.zip diff --git a/old/tmwht10.zip~ b/old/tmwht10.zip~ Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..412e5c3 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/tmwht10.zip~ |