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diff --git a/26606-h/26606-h.htm b/26606-h/26606-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b4a5056 --- /dev/null +++ b/26606-h/26606-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5485 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Uncanny Tales, edited by C. Arthur Pearson + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p {margin-top: .75em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: .75em;} + h1,h2,h3 {clear: both; font-weight: normal; line-height: 2;} + h1 {margin-bottom: 2em;} + h3 {margin-top: 2em;} + hr {width: 65%; margin: 2em auto; clear: both;} + .tb {width: 45%;} + table,.tb,.poem {margin: 1em auto;} + .td1 {text-align: left; padding-right: 6em; padding-left: 1em;} + .td2 {text-align: right;} + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .pagenum {position: absolute; right: 1%; font-size: small; font-style: normal; text-align: right; text-indent: 0em;} + .center,h1,h2,h3,.p1,.p3 {text-align: center;} + .smcap,.td1 {font-variant: small-caps;} + .poem {text-align: left; width: 16em;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .trn {border: solid 1px; margin: 3em 15%; padding: 1em; text-align: justify;} + a:link, a:visited {text-decoration: none;} + .p1 {margin-top: 6em; font-size: large;} + .p2 {margin-top: 1em; text-align: left; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold; margin-bottom: 0;} + .p3 {margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em;} + .p4 {font-size: xx-large;} + .bk1 {margin: .25em 10%;} + .bk1 p {font-size: small; text-indent: 2em; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0;} + .bk2 {margin: 0 10%;} + .bk2 p {padding-left: 2em; text-indent: -2em;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Uncanny Tales, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Uncanny Tales + +Author: Various + +Editor: C. Arthur Pearson + +Release Date: September 13, 2008 [EBook #26606] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UNCANNY TALES *** + + + + +Produced by David Clarke, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<h1><big>UNCANNY TALES</big></h1> + +<p class="p1">LONDON<br /> +C. ARTHUR PEARSON, LIMITED<br /> +HENRIETTA STREET, W.C.<br /> +1916</p> + +<hr /> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td class="td2" colspan="3"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> +<tr><td class="td2">I.</td><td class="td1">The Unknown Quantity</td><td class="td2"><a href="#Page_7">7</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="td2">II.</td><td class="td1">The Armless Man</td><td class="td2"><a href="#Page_19">19</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="td2">III.</td><td class="td1">The Tomtom Clue</td><td class="td2"><a href="#Page_33">33</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="td2">IV.</td><td class="td1">The Case of Sir Alister Moeran</td><td class="td2"><a href="#Page_43">43</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="td2">V.</td><td class="td1">The Kiss</td><td class="td2"><a href="#Page_63">63</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="td2">VI.</td><td class="td1">The Goth</td><td class="td2"><a href="#Page_73">73</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="td2">VII.</td><td class="td1">The Last Ascent</td><td class="td2"><a href="#Page_88">88</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="td2">VIII.</td><td class="td1">The Terror by Night</td><td class="td2"><a href="#Page_97">97</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="td2">IX.</td><td class="td1">The Tragedy at the "Loup Noir"</td><td class="td2"><a href="#Page_113">113</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + +<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span></p> +<h1>UNCANNY STORIES</h1> + +<h2>I<br /> +THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY</h2> + +<p><span class="smcap">Professor William James Maynard</span> was in +a singularly happy and contented mood as +he strolled down the High Street after a long +and satisfactory interview with the solicitor to +his late cousin, whose sole heir he was.</p> + +<p>It was exactly a month by the calendar since +he had murdered this cousin, and everything +had gone most satisfactorily since. The fortune +was proving quite as large as he had expected, +and not even an inquest had been held upon +the dead man. The coroner had decided that +it was not necessary, and the Professor had +agreed with him.</p> + +<p>At the funeral the Professor had been the +principal mourner, and the local paper had commented +sympathetically on his evident emotion. +This had been quite genuine, for the Professor +had been fond of his relative, who had always +been very good to him. But still, when an +old man remains obstinately healthy, when +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span>his doctor can say with confidence that he is +good for another twenty years at least, and +when he stands between you and a large fortune +which you need, and of which you can make +much better use in the cause of science and the +pursuit of knowledge, what alternative is there? +It becomes necessary to take steps. Therefore, +the Professor had taken steps.</p> + +<p>Looking back to-day on that day a month +ago, and the critical preceding week, the Professor +felt that the steps he had taken had been +as judicious as successful. He had set himself +to solve a problem in higher mathematics. He +had found it easier to solve than many he was +obliged to grapple with in the course of his +studies.</p> + +<p>A policeman saluted as the Professor passed, +and he acknowledged it with the charming +old world courtesy that made him so popular +a figure in the town. Across the way was the +doctor who had certified the cause of death. +The Professor, passing benevolently on, was +glad he had now enough money to carry out his +projects. He would be able to publish at once +his great work on "The Secondary Variation +of the Differential Calculus," that hitherto had +languished in manuscript. It would make a +sensation, he thought; there was more than one +generally accepted theory he had challenged +or contradicted in it. And he would put in +hand at once his great, his long projected work, +"A History of the Higher Mathematics." It +would take twenty years to complete, it would +cost twenty thousand pounds or more, and it +would breathe into mathematics the new, +vivid life that Bergson's works have breathed +into metaphysics.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Professor thought very kindly of the +dead cousin, whose money would provide for +this great work. He wished greatly the dead +man could know to what high use his fortune +was designed.</p> + +<p>Coming towards him he saw the wife of the +vicar of his parish. The Professor was a regular +church-goer. The vicar's wife saw him, too, +and beamed. She and her husband were more +than a little proud of having so well known a +man in their congregation. She held out her +hand and the Professor was about to take it +when she drew it back with a startled movement.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I beg your pardon!" she exclaimed, +distressed, as she saw him raise his eyebrows. +"There is blood on it."</p> + +<p>Her eyes were fixed on his right hand, which +he was still holding out. In fact, on the palm +a small drop of blood showed distinctly against +the firm, pink flesh. Surprised, the Professor +took out his handkerchief and wiped it away. +He noticed that the vicar's wife was wearing +white kid gloves.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I beg your pardon!" she said again. +"It—it startled me somehow. I thought you +must have cut yourself. I hope it's not much?"</p> + +<p>"Some scratch, I suppose," he said. "It's +nothing."</p> + +<p>The vicar's wife, still slightly discomposed, +launched out into some parochial matter she +had wished to mention to him. They chatted +a few moments and then parted. The Professor +took an opportunity to look at his hand. He +could detect no sign of any cut or abrasion, +the skin seemed whole everywhere. He looked +at his handkerchief. There was still visible<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> +on it the stain where he had wiped his hand, +and this stain seemed certainly blood.</p> + +<p>"Odd!" he muttered as he put the handkerchief +back in his pocket. "Very odd!"</p> + +<p>His thoughts turned again to his projected +"A History of the Higher Mathematics," and +he forgot all about the incident till, as it happened +that day month, the first of the month by the +calendar, when he was sitting in his study +with an eminent colleague to whom he was +explaining his great scheme.</p> + +<p>"If you are able to carry it out," the colleague +said slowly, "your book will mark an epoch +in human thought. But the cost will be tremendous."</p> + +<p>"I estimate it at twenty thousand pounds," +answered the Professor calmly. "I am fully +prepared to spend twice as much. You know +I have recently inherited forty thousand pounds +from a relative?"</p> + +<p>The eminent colleague nodded and looked +very impressed.</p> + +<p>"It is magnificent," he said warmly, "magnificent." +He added: "You've cut yourself, +do you know?"</p> + +<p>"Cut myself?" the Professor echoed, surprised.</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered the eminent colleague, +"there is blood upon your hand—your right +hand."</p> + +<p>In fact a spot of blood, slightly larger than +that which had appeared before, showed plainly +upon the Professor's right hand. He wiped +it away with his handkerchief, and went on +talking eagerly, for he was deeply interested. +He did not think of the matter again till just<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> +as he was getting into bed, when he noticed a +red stain upon his handkerchief. He frowned +and examined his hand carefully. There was +no sign of any wound or cut from which the +blood could have come, and he frowned again.</p> + +<p>"Very odd!" he muttered.</p> + +<p>A calendar hanging on the wall reminded +him that it was the first of the month.</p> + +<p>The days passed, the incident faded from his +memory, and four weeks later he came down +one morning to breakfast in an unusually good +temper. There was a certain theory he had +worked on the night before he meant to write +to a friend about. It seemed to him his demonstration +had been really brilliant, and then, +also, he was already planning out with great +success the details of the scheme for his great +work.</p> + +<p>He was making an excellent breakfast, for +his appetite was always good, and, needing +some more cream, he rang the bell. The maid +appeared, he showed her the empty jug, and as +she took it she dropped it with a sudden cry, +smashing it to pieces on the floor. Very pale, +she stammered out:</p> + +<p>"Beg pardon, sir, your hand—there is blood +upon your hand."</p> + +<p>In fact, on the Professor's right hand there +showed a drop of blood, perceptibly larger this +time than before. The Professor stared at it +stupidly. He was sure it had not been there a +moment before, and he noticed by the heading +of the newspaper at the side of his plate that +this was the first of the month.</p> + +<p>With a hasty movement of his napkin he +wiped the drop of blood away. The maid, still<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> +apologising, began to pick up the pieces of the +jug she had broken; but the Professor had no +further appetite for his breakfast. He silenced +her with a gesture, and, leaving a piece of toast +half-eaten on his plate, he got up and went into +his study.</p> + +<p>All this was trivial, absurd even. Yet somehow +it disturbed him. He got out a magnifying +glass and examined his hand under it. There +was nothing to account for the presence of the +drop of blood he and the maid had seen. It +occurred to him that he might have cut himself +in shaving; but when he looked in the mirror +he could find no trace of even the slightest +wound.</p> + +<p>He decided that, though he had not been +aware of it, his nerves must be a little out of +order. That was disconcerting. He had not +taken his nerves into consideration for the simple +reason that he had never known that he possessed +any. He made up his mind to treat himself +to a holiday in Switzerland. One or two difficult +ascents might brace him up a bit.</p> + +<p>Three days later he was in Switzerland, and +a few days later again he was on the summit +of a minor but still difficult peak. It had been +an exhilarating climb, and he had enjoyed it. +He said something laughingly to the head guide +to the effect that climbing was good sport and +a fine test for the nerves. The head guide agreed, +and added politely that if the nerves of monsieur +the Professor had shown signs of failing on the +lower glacier, for example, they might all have +been in difficulties. The Professor thrilled with +pleasure at the head guide's implied praise. +He was glad to know on such good authority<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> +that his nerves were all right, and the incidents +that had driven him there began to fade in his +memory.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, he found himself watching the +calendar with a certain interest, and when he +woke on the morning of the first day of the +next month he glanced quickly at his right +hand. There was nothing there.</p> + +<p>He dressed and spent, as he had planned, a +quiet day, busy with his correspondence. His +spirits rose as the day passed. He was still +watchful, but more confident; and, after dinner, +though he had meant to go straight to his room, +he agreed to join in a suggested game of bridge. +They were cutting for partners when one of the +ladies who was to take part in the game dropped +with a little cry the card she had just lifted.</p> + +<p>"Oh, there is blood upon your hand," she +cried, "on your right hand, Professor!"</p> + +<p>Upon the Professor's right hand there showed +now a drop of blood, larger still then those other +three had been. Yet the very moment before +it had not been there. The Professor put down +his cards without a word, and left the room, +going straight upstairs.</p> + +<p>The drop of blood was still standing on his +hand. He soaked it up carefully with some +cotton-wool he had, and was not surprised to +find beneath no sign or trace of any cut or wound. +The cotton-wool he made up carefully into a +parcel and addressed it to an analytical chemist +he knew, inclosing with it a short note.</p> + +<p>He rang the bell, sent the parcel to the post, +and then he got out pen and paper and set +himself to solve this problem, as in his life he +had solved so many others.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span></p> + +<p>Only this time it seemed somehow as though +the data were insufficient.</p> + +<p>Idly his pen traced upon the paper in front +of him a large <i>X</i>, the sign of the unknown +quantity.</p> + +<p>But how, in this case, to find out what was +the unknown quantity? His hand, his firm +and steady hand, shook so that he could no +longer hold his pen. He rang the bell again +and ordered a stiff whisky-and-soda. He was +a man of almost ascetic habits, but to-night +he felt that he needed some stimulant.</p> + +<p>Neither did he sleep very well.</p> + +<p>The next day he returned to England. Almost +at once he went to see his friend, the analytical +chemist, to whom he had sent the parcel from +Switzerland.</p> + +<p>"Mammalian blood," pronounced the chemist, +"probably human—rather a curious thing about +it, too."</p> + +<p>"What's that?" asked the Professor.</p> + +<p>"Why," his friend answered, "I was able +to identify the distinctive bacillus——" He +named the rare bacillus of an unusual and obscure +disease. And this disease was that from which +the Professor's cousin had died.</p> + +<p>The professor was a man interested in all +phenomena. In other circumstances he would +have observed keenly that which now occurred, +when the hair of his head underwent a curious +involuntary stiffening and bristling process that +in popular but sufficiently accurate terms, might +be described as "standing on end." But at +the moment he was in no state for scientific +observations.</p> + +<p>He got out of the house somehow. He said<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> +he did not feel well, and his friend, the chemist, +agreed that his holiday in Switzerland did not +seem to have done him much good.</p> + +<p>The Professor went straight home and shut +himself up in his study. It was a fine room, +ranged all round with books. On the shelves +nearest to his hand stood volumes on mathematics, +the theory of mathematics, the study of mathematics, +pure mathematics, applied mathematics. +But there was not any one of these books that +told him anything about such a thing as this. +Though, it is true, there were many references +in them, here and there, to <i>X</i>, the unknown +quantity.</p> + +<p>The Professor took his pen and wrote a large +<i>X</i> upon the sheet of paper in front of him.</p> + +<p>"An unknown quantity!" he muttered. "An +unknown—quantity!"</p> + +<p>The days passed peacefully. Nothing was +out of the ordinary except that the Professor +developed an odd trick of continually glancing +at his right hand. He washed it a good +deal, too. But the first of the month was not +yet.</p> + +<p>On the last day of the month he told his housekeeper +that he was feeling a little unwell. She +was not surprised, for she had thought him looking +ill for some time past. He told her he would +probably spend the next day in bed for a thorough +rest, and she agreed that that would be a very +good idea. When he was in his own room and +had undressed, he bandaged his right hand with +care, tying it up carefully and thoroughly with +three or four of his large linen handkerchiefs.</p> + +<p>"Whatever comes, shall now show," he said +to himself.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span></p> + +<p>He stayed in bed accordingly the next day. +His housekeeper was a little uneasy about him. +He ate nothing and his eyes were strangely +bright and feverish. She overheard him once +muttering something to himself about "the +unknown quantity," and that made her think +that he had been working too hard.</p> + +<p>She decided he must see the doctor. The +Professor refused peremptorily. He declared +he would be quite well again in the morning. +The housekeeper, an old servant, agreed, but +sent for the doctor all the same; and when he +had come the Professor felt he could not refuse +to see him without appearing peculiar. And +he did not wish to appear peculiar. So he saw +the doctor, but declared there was nothing much +the matter, he merely felt a little unwell and out +of sorts and tired.</p> + +<p>"You have hurt your hand?" the doctor +asked, noticing how it was bandaged.</p> + +<p>"I cut it slightly—a trifle," the Professor +answered.</p> + +<p>"Yes," the doctor answered, "I see there +is blood on it."</p> + +<p>"What?" the Professor stammered.</p> + +<p>"There is blood upon your hand," the doctor +repeated.</p> + +<p>The Professor looked. In fact, a deep, wide +stain showed crimson upon the bandages in +which he had swathed his hand. Yet he knew +that the moment before the linen had been fair +and white and clean.</p> + +<p>"It is nothing," he said quickly, hiding his +hand beneath the bed clothes.</p> + +<p>The doctor, a little puzzled, took his leave,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> +but had not gone ten yards when the housekeeper +flew screaming after him. It seemed she +had heard a fall, and when she had gone into +the Professor's bedroom she had found him lying +there dead upon the hearthrug. There was +a razor in his hand, and there was a ghastly +gash across his throat.</p> + +<p>The doctor went back at a run, but there was +nothing he or any man could do. One thing +he noticed, with curiosity, was that the bandage +had been torn away from the dead man's hand +and that oddly enough there seemed to be on +the hand no sign of any cut or wound. There +was a large solitary drop of blood on the palm, +at the root of the thumb; but, of course, that +was no great wonder, for the wound the dead +man had dealt himself had bled freely.</p> + +<p>Apparently death had not been quite instantaneous, +for with a last effort the Professor +seemed to have traced an <i>X</i> upon the floor in +his own blood with his forefinger. The doctor +mentioned this at the inquest—the coroner +had decided at once that in this case an inquest +was certainly necessary—and he suggested that +it showed the Professor had worked too hard +and was suffering from overwork which had +disturbed his mental balance.</p> + +<p>The coroner took the same view, and in his +short address to the jury adduced the incident +as proof of a passing mental disturbance.</p> + +<p>"Very probably," said the coroner, "there +was some problem that had worried him, and that +he was still endeavouring to work out. As +you are aware, gentlemen, the sign <i>X</i> is used +to symbolise the unknown quantity."</p> + +<p>An appropriate verdict was accordingly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> +returned, and the Professor was duly interred +in the same family vault as that in which so +short a time previously his cousin had been +laid to rest.</p> + +<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span></p> +<h2>II<br /> +THE ARMLESS MAN</h2> + +<p><span class="smcap">I first</span> met Bob Masters in the hotel at a place +called Fourteen Streams, not very far from +Kimberley.</p> + +<p>I had for some months been trying to find gold +or diamonds by digging holes in the veldt. But +since this has little or nothing to do with the +story, I pass by my mining adventures and come +back to the hotel. I came to it very readily +that afternoon, for I was very thirsty.</p> + +<p>A tall man standing at the bar turned his head +as I entered and said "Good-day" to me. I +returned the compliment, but took no particular +notice of him at first.</p> + +<p>Suddenly I heard the man say to the barman:</p> + +<p>"I'm ready for another drink."</p> + +<p>That surprised me, because his glass was +still three-quarters full. But I was still more +startled by the action of the barman who lifted +up the glass and held it whilst the man drank.</p> + +<p>Then I saw the reason. The man had no arms.</p> + +<p>You know the easy way in which Englishmen +chum together anywhere out of England, whilst +in their native country nothing save a formal +introduction will make them acquainted? I +made some remark to Masters which led to +another from him, and in five minutes' time we +were chatting on all sorts of topics.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span></p> + +<p>I learnt that Masters, bound for England, +had come in to Fourteen Streams to catch the +train from Kimberley, and, having a few hours +to wait, had strolled up to the collection of tin +huts calling itself a town.</p> + +<p>I was going down to Kimberley too, so of course +we went together, and were quite old friends +by the time we reached that city.</p> + +<p>We had a wash and something to eat, and then +we walked round to the post-office. I used to +have my letters addressed there, <i>poste restante</i>, +and call in for them when I happened to be in +Kimberley.</p> + +<p>I found several letters, one of which altered +the whole course of my life. This was from +Messrs. Harvey, Filson, and Harvey, solicitors, +Lincoln's Inn Fields. It informed me that the +sudden death of my cousin had so affected my +uncle's health that he had followed his only son +within the month. The senior branch of the +family being thus extinct the whole of the entailed +estate had devolved on me.</p> + +<p>The first thing I did was to send off two cablegrams +to say that I was coming home by the +first available boat, one to the solicitors, the other +to Nancy Milward.</p> + +<p>Masters and I arranged to come home together +and eventually reached Cape Town. There we +had considerable trouble at the shipping office. +It was just about the time of year when people +who live in Africa to make money, come over +to England to spend it, and in consequence the +boats were very crowded. Masters demanded +a cabin to himself, a luxury which was not to +be had, though there was one that he and I +could share. He made a tremendous fuss about<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> +doing this, and I thought it very strange, because +I had assisted him in many ways which his mutilation +rendered necessary. However, he had to +give way in the end, and we embarked on the +Castle liner.</p> + +<p>On the voyage he told me how he had lost +his arms. It seemed that he had been sent +up country on some Government job or other, +and had had the ill-fortune to be captured by +the natives. They treated him quite well at +first, but gave him to understand that he must +not try to escape. I suppose that to most men +such a warning would be a direct incitement +to make the attempt. Masters made it and failed. +They cut off his right arm as a punishment. +He waited until the wound was healed and tried +again. Again he failed. This time they cut +off his other arm.</p> + +<p>"Good Lord," I cried. "What devils!"</p> + +<p>"Weren't they!" he said. "And yet, you +know, they were quite good-tempered chaps +when you didn't cross them. I wasn't going +to be beaten by a lot of naked niggers though, +and I made a third attempt.</p> + +<p>"I succeeded all right that time, though, of +course, it was much more difficult. I really +don't know at all how I managed to worry +through. You see, I could only eat plants and +leaves and such fruit as I came across; but I'd +learnt as much as I could of the local botany +in the intervals."</p> + +<p>"Was it worth while?" I asked. "I think +the first failure and its result would have satisfied +me."</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said slowly, "it was worth while. +You see, my wife was waiting for me at home,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> +and I wanted to see her again very badly—you +don't know how badly."</p> + +<p>"I think I can imagine," I said. "Because +there is a girl waiting for me too at home."</p> + +<p>"I saw her before she died," he continued.</p> + +<p>"Died?" I said.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he answered. "She was dying when +I reached home at last, but I was with her at the +end. That was something, wasn't it?"</p> + +<p>I do hate people to tell me this sort of thing. +Not because I do not feel sorry for them; on the +contrary, I feel so sorry that I absolutely fail +to find words to express my sympathy. I +tried, however, to show it in other ways, by the +attentions I paid him and by anticipating his +every wish.</p> + +<p>Yet there were many things that were astonishing +about his actions, things that I wonder +now I did not realise must have been impossible +for him to do for himself, and that yet were done. +But he was so surprisingly dexterous with his +lips, and feet too, when he was in his cabin that +I suppose I put them down to that.</p> + +<p>I remember waking up one night and looking +out of my bunk to see him standing on the +floor. The cabin was only faintly lit by a moonbeam +which found its way through the porthole. +I could not see clearly, but I fancied that he +walked to the door and opened it, and closed +it behind him. He did it all very quickly, as +quickly as I could have done it. As I say, +I was very sleepy, but the sight of the door +opening and shutting like that woke me +thoroughly. Sitting up I shouted at him.</p> + +<p>He heard me and opened the door again, easily,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> +too, much more easily than he seemed to be able +to shut it when he saw me looking at him.</p> + +<p>"Hullo! Awake, old chap?" he said. +"What is it?"</p> + +<p>"Er—nothing," I said. "Or rather I suppose +I was only half awake; but you seemed to open +that door so easily that it quite startled me."</p> + +<p>"One does not always like to let others see +the shifts to which one has to resort," was all +the answer he gave me.</p> + +<p>But I worried over it. The thing bothered me, +because he had made no attempt to explain.</p> + +<p>That was not the only thing I noticed.</p> + +<p>Two or three days later we were sitting together +on deck. I had offered to read to him. I +noticed that he got up out of his chair. Suddenly +I saw the chair move. It gave me a great shock, +for the chair twisted apparently of its own +volition, so that when he sat down again the +sunlight was at his back and not in his eyes, +as I knew it had been previously. But I reasoned +with myself and managed to satisfy myself that +he must have turned the chair round with his +foot. It was just possible that he could have +done so, for it had one of those light wicker-work +seats.</p> + +<p>We had a lovely voyage for three-quarters +of the way, and the sea was as calm as any duck-pond. +But that was all altered when we passed +Cape Finisterre. I have done a lot of knocking +about on the ocean one way and another, but +I never saw the Bay of Biscay deserve its reputation +better.</p> + +<p>I'd much rather see what is going on than be +cooped up below, and after lunch I told Bob +I was going up on deck.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'll only stay there for a bit," I said. "You +make yourself comfortable down here."</p> + +<p>I filled his pipe, put it in his mouth, and gave +him a match; then I left him.</p> + +<p>I made my way up and down the deck for a +time, clutching hold of everything handy, and +rather enjoyed it, though the waves drenched +me to the skin.</p> + +<p>Presently I saw Masters come out of the companion-way +and make his way very skilfully +towards me. Of course it was fearfully dangerous +for him.</p> + +<p>I staggered towards him, and, putting my +lips to his ear, shouted to him to go below at +once.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I shall be all right!" he said, and +laughed.</p> + +<p>"You'll be drowned—drowned," I screamed. +"There was a wave just now that—well, if I +hadn't been able to cling on with both hands +like grim death, I should have gone overboard. +Go below."</p> + +<p>He laughed again and shook his head.</p> + +<p>And then what I dreaded happened. A vast +mountain of green water lifted up its bulk and +fell upon us in a ravening cataract. I clutched +at Masters, but trying to save him and myself +handicapped me badly. The strength of that +mass of water was terrible. It seemed to snatch +at everything with giant hands, and drag all +with it. It tossed a hen-coop high, and carried +it through the rails.</p> + +<p>I felt the grip of my right hand loosen, and the +next instant was carried, still clutching Masters +with my left, towards that gap in the bulwark.</p> + +<p>I managed to seize the end of the broken rail.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> +It held us for a moment, then gave, and for a +moment I hung sheer over the vessel's side.</p> + +<p>In that instant I felt fingers tighten on my +arm, tighten till they bit into the flesh, and I +was pulled back into safety.</p> + +<p>Together we staggered back, and got below +somehow. I was trembling like a leaf, and the +sweat dripped from me. I almost screamed aloud.</p> + +<p>It was not that I was frightened of death. +I've seen too much of that in many parts of the +earth to dread it greatly. It was the thought +of those fingers tightening on me where no +fingers were.</p> + +<p>Masters did not speak a word, nor did I, until +we found ourselves in the cabin.</p> + +<p>I tore the wet clothes off me and turned my +arm to the mirror. I knew I could not have +been mistaken when I felt them.</p> + +<p>There on the upper arm, above the line of +sunburn that one gets from working with sleeves +rolled up, there on the white skin showed <i>the +red marks of four slender fingers and a thumb</i>! +I sat down suddenly at sight of them, and +pulling open a drawer, found a flask of neat +brandy, and gulped it down, emptied it in one +gulp.</p> + +<p>Then I turned to him and pointed to the marks.</p> + +<p>"In God's name, how came these here?" +I said. "What—what happened up there +on deck?"</p> + +<p>He looked at me very gravely.</p> + +<p>"I saved you," he said, "or rather I didn't, +for I could not. But <i>she</i> did."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" I stammered.</p> + +<p>"Let me get these clothes off," he said, "and +some dry ones on; and I'll tell you."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span></p> + +<p>Words fail to describe my feelings as I +watched the clothes come off him and dry ones +go on just as if hands were arranging them.</p> + +<p>I sat and shuddered. I tried to close my eyes, +but the weird, unnatural sight drew them as +a lodestone.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry that you should have had this +shock," he said. "I know what it must have +been like, though it was not so bad for me when +they seemed to come, for they came gradually +as time went on."</p> + +<p>"What came gradually?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Why, these arms! They're what I'm telling +you about. You asked me to tell you, I +thought?"</p> + +<p>"Did I?" I said. "I don't know what I'm +saying or asking. I think I'm going mad, +quite mad."</p> + +<p>"No," he said, "you're as sane as I am, only +when you come across something strange, unique +for that matter, you are naturally terrified. +Well, it was like this. I told you about my +adventures with the niggers up country. That +was quite true. They cut off both my arms—you +can see the stumps for that matter. And I +told you that I came home to find my wife dying. +Her heart had always been weak, I'd known +that, and it had gradually grown more feeble. +There must have been, indeed there was, a strange +sort of telepathy between us. She had had +fearful attacks of heart failure on both occasions +when the niggers had mutilated me, I learnt +on comparing notes.</p> + +<p>"But I had known too, somehow, that I must +escape at all costs. It was the knowledge that +made me try again after each failure. I should<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> +have gone on trying to escape as long as I had +lived, or rather as long as she had lived. I knelt +beside her bed and she put out her arms and +laid them round my neck.</p> + +<p>"'So you have come back to me before I +go,' she said. 'I knew you must, because I +called you so. But you have been long in coming, +almost too long. But I knew I had to see you +again before I died.'</p> + +<p>"I broke down then. I was sorely tried. +No arms even to put round her!</p> + +<p>"'Darling, stay with me for a little, only for +a little while!' I sobbed.</p> + +<p>"She shook her head feebly. 'It is no use, +my dear,' she said, 'I must go.'</p> + +<p>"'I'll come with you,' I said, 'I'll not live +without you.'</p> + +<p>"She shook her head again.</p> + +<p>"'You must be brave, Bob. I shall be +watching you afterwards just as much as if I +still lived on earth. If only I could give you +my arms! A poor, weak woman's arms, but +better than none, dear.'</p> + +<p>"She died some weeks later. I spent all the +time at her bedside, I hardly left her. Her +arms were round me when she died. Shall I +ever feel them round me again? I wonder! +You see, they are mine now.</p> + +<p>"They came to me gradually. It was very +strange at first to have arms and hands which +one couldn't see. I used to keep my eyes shut +as much as possible, and try to fancy that I +had never lost my arms.</p> + +<p>"I got used to them in time. But I have +always been careful not to let people see me +do things that they would know to be impossible<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> +for an armless man. That was what took me +to Africa again, because I could get lost there +and do things for myself with these hands."</p> + +<p>"'And they twain shall be one flesh,'" I +muttered.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, "I think the explanation +must be something of that sort. There's more +than that in it, though; these arms are other +than flesh."</p> + +<p>He sat silent for a time with his head bowed +on his chest. Then he spoke again:</p> + +<p>"I got sick of being alone at last, and was +coming back when I met you at Fourteen Streams. +I don't know what I shall do when I do get +home. I can never rest. I have—what do +they call it—<i>Wanderlust</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Does she ever speak to you from that other +world?" I asked him.</p> + +<p>He shook his head sadly.</p> + +<p>"No, never. But I know she lives somewhere +beyond this world of ours. She must, +because these arms live. So I try always to +act as if she watches everything. I always +try to do the right thing, but, anyway, these +arms and hands would do good of their own +accord. Just now up on the deck I was very +frightened. I'd have saved myself at any cost +almost, and let you go. But I could not do +that. The hands clutched you. It is her will, +so much stronger and purer than mine, that +still persists. It is only when she does not +exert it that I control these arms."</p> + +<p>That was how I learnt the strangest tale that +ever a man was told, and knew the miracle to +which I owed my life.</p> + +<p>It may be that Bob Masters was a coward.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> +He always said that he was. Personally I do +not believe it, for he had the sweetest nature +I ever met.</p> + +<p>He had nowhere to go to in England and +seemed to have no friends. So I made him come +down with me to Englehart, that dear old country +seat of my family in the Western shires which +was now mine.</p> + +<p>Nancy lived in that country, too.</p> + +<p>There was no reason why we should not get +married at once. We had waited long enough.</p> + +<p>I can see again the old, ivy-grown church +where Nancy and I were wed, and Bob Masters +standing by my side as best man.</p> + +<p>I remember feeling in his pocket for the ring, +and as I did so, I felt a hand grasp mine for a +moment.</p> + +<p>Then there was the reception afterwards, and +speech-making—the usual sort of thing.</p> + +<p>Later Nancy and I drove off to the station.</p> + +<p>We had not said good-bye to Bob, for he'd +insisted on driving to the station with the luggage; +said he was going to see the last of us there.</p> + +<p>He was waiting for us in the yard when we +reached it, and walked with us on to the platform.</p> + +<p>We stood there chatting about one thing +and another, when I noticed that Nancy was +not talking much and seemed rather pale. I +was just going to remark on it when we +heard the whistle of the train. There is a sharp +curve in the permanent way outside the station, +so that a train is on you all of a sudden.</p> + +<p>Suddenly to my horror I saw Nancy sway +backwards towards the edge of the platform. +I tried vainly to catch her as she reeled and +fell—right in front of the oncoming train. I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> +sprang forward to leap after her, but hands +grasped me and flung me back so violently +that I fell down on the platform.</p> + +<p>It was Bob Masters who took the place that +should have been mine, and leapt upon the +metals.</p> + +<p>I could not see what happened then. The +station-master says he saw Nancy lifted from +before the engine when it was right upon her. +He says it was as if she was lifted by the wind. +She was quite close to Masters. "Near enough +for him to have lifted her, sir, if he'd had arms." +The two of them staggered for a moment, and +together fell clear of the train.</p> + +<p>Nancy was little the worse for the awful +accident, bruised, of course, but poor Masters +was unconscious.</p> + +<p>We carried him into the waiting-room, laid him +on the cushions there, and sent hot-foot +for the doctor.</p> + +<p>He was a good country practitioner, and, I +suppose, knew the ordinary routine of his work +quite well. He fussed about, hummed and +hawed a lot.</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," he said, as if he were trying to +persuade himself. "Shock, you know. He'll +be better presently. Lucky, though, that he +had no arms."</p> + +<p>I noticed then, for the first time, that the +sleeves of the coat had been shorn away.</p> + +<p>"Doctor," I said, "how is he? Surely, +if he isn't hurt he would not look like that. +What exactly do you mean by shock?"</p> + +<p>"Hum—er," he hesitated, and applied his +stethoscope to Masters' heart again.</p> + +<p>"The heart is very weak," he said at length.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> +"Very weak. He's always very anæmic, I +suppose?"</p> + +<p>"No," I answered. "He's anything but that. +He's——Good Lord, he's bleeding to death! +Put ligatures on his arms. Put ligatures on +his arms."</p> + +<p>"Please keep quiet, Mr. Riverston," the +doctor said. "It must have been a dreadful +experience for you, and you are naturally very +upset."</p> + +<p>I raved and cursed at him. I think I should +have struck him, but the others held me. They +said they would take me away if I did not keep +quiet.</p> + +<p>Bob Masters opened his eyes presently, and +saw them holding me.</p> + +<p>"Please let him go," he said. "It's all right, +old man. It's no use your arguing with them, +they would not understand. I could never +explain to them now, and they would never +believe you. Besides, it's all for the best. Yes, +the train went over them and I'm armless for +the second time. But—not for long!"</p> + +<p>I knelt by his side and sobbed. It all seemed +so dreadful, and yet, I don't think that then +I would have tried to stay his passing. I knew +it was best for him.</p> + +<p>He looked at me very affectionately.</p> + +<p>"I'm so sorry that this should happen on +your wedding-day," he said. "But it would +have been so much worse for you if <i>she</i> had +not helped."</p> + +<p>His voice grew fainter and died away.</p> + +<p>There was a pause for a time, and his breath +came in great sighing sobs.</p> + +<p>Then suddenly he raised himself on the cushions<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> +until he stood upright on his feet, and a smile +broke over his face—a smile so sweet that I +think the angels in Paradise must look like that.</p> + +<p>His voice came strong and loud from his lips.</p> + +<p>"Darling!" he cried. "Darling, your arms +are round me once again! I come! I come!"</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>"One of the most extraordinary cases I have +ever met with," the doctor told the coroner at +the inquest. "He seemed to have all the +symptoms of excessive hæmorrhage."</p> + +<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span></p> +<h2>III<br /> +THE TOMTOM CLUE</h2> + +<p><span class="smcap">I had</span> just settled down for a comfortable +evening over the fire in a saddle-bag chair drawn +up as close to the hearth as the fender would +allow, with a plentiful supply of literature and +whisky, and pipe and tobacco, when the telephone +bell rang loudly and insistently. With a +sigh I rose and took up the receiver.</p> + +<p>"That you?" said a voice I recognised as +that of Jack Bridges. "Can I come round and +see you at once? It's most important. No, +I can't tell you now. I'll be with you in a few +minutes."</p> + +<p>I hung the receiver up again, wondering +what business could fetch Jack Bridges round +at that time of the evening to see me. We +had been the greatest of pals at school and at +the 'Varsity, and had kept the friendship up +ever since, despite my intermittent wanderings +over the face of the globe. But during the +last few days or so Jack had become engaged +to Miss Glanville, the daughter of old Glanville, +of South African fame, and as a love-sick swain I +naturally expected to see very little of him, +until after the wedding at any rate.</p> + +<p>At this time of the evening, according to my +ideas of engaged couples, he should be sitting +in the stalls at some theatre, and not running<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> +round to see bachelor friends with cynical views +on matrimony.</p> + +<p>I had not arrived at a satisfactory solution +when the door opened and Jack walked in. +One glance at his face told me that he was in +trouble, and without a word I pushed him into +my chair and handed him a drink. Then I +sat down on the opposite side of the fire and +waited for him to begin, for a man in need of +sympathy does not want to be worried by +questions.</p> + +<p>He gulped down half his whisky and sat for +a moment gazing into the fire.</p> + +<p>"Jim, old man," he said at length, "I've had +awful news."</p> + +<p>"Not connected with Miss Glanville?" I +asked.</p> + +<p>"In a way, yes. It's broken off, but there's +worse than that—far worse. I can hardly +realise it; I feel numbed at present; it's too +horrible. You remember that when you and +I were at Winchester together my father was +killed during the Matabele War?"</p> + +<p>I nodded.</p> + +<p>"Well," continued Jack, "I heard to-day +that he was not killed by the Matabele, but was +hanged in Bulawayo for murder. In other +words, I am the son of a murderer."</p> + +<p>"Hanged for murder!" I exclaimed in horror. +"Surely there's some mistake?"</p> + +<p>"No," groaned Jack, "it's true enough. I've +seen the newspaper cutting of the time, and I'm +the son of a murderer, who was also a forger, +a thief, and a card-sharper. Old Glanville +told me this evening. It was then that our +engagement was broken off."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Your mother?" I asked. "Have you seen +her?"</p> + +<p>Jack nodded.</p> + +<p>"Poor little woman!" he groaned. "She +has known all along, and her one aim and +object in life has been to keep the awful truth +from me. That was why I was told he died +an honourable death during the war. I've +often wondered why the little mother was always +so sad, and so weighed down by trouble. Now +I know. Good God, what her life must have +been!"</p> + +<p>He rose from his chair and paced up and +down the room for a minute; then he stopped +and stood in front of me, his face working with +emotion.</p> + +<p>"But I don't believe it, Jim," he said, and +there was a ring in his voice. "I don't believe +it, and neither does the little mother. It's +impossible to reconcile the big, bluff man with +the heart of a child, that I remember as my +father, with murder, forgery, or any other crime. +And yet, according to Glanville and the old +newspapers he showed me, Richard Bridges +was one of the most unscrupulous ruffians in +South Africa. In my heart of hearts I know he +didn't do it, and though on the face of it there's +no doubt, I'm going to try and clear his name. +I am sailing for South Africa on Friday."</p> + +<p>"Sailing for South Africa!" I exclaimed. +"What about your work?"</p> + +<p>"My work can go hang!" replied Jack heatedly. +"I want to wipe away the stain from my father's +name, and I mean to do it somehow. That's +why I've run round to see you, old pal, for I +want you to come with me. Knowing Rhodesia<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> +as you do, you're just the man to help me. +Say you'll come?" he pleaded.</p> + +<p>It seemed quite the forlornest hope I had +ever heard of, but Jack's distress was so acute +that I hadn't the heart to refuse.</p> + +<p>"All right, Jack," I said, "I'm with you. +But don't foster any vain hopes. Remember, +it's twenty years ago. It will be a pretty tough +job to prove anything after all these years."</p> + +<p>During the voyage out we had ample time +to go through the small amount of information +about the long-forgotten case that Jack had +been able to collect from the family solicitors.</p> + +<p>In the year 1893, Richard Bridges, who was +a mining engineer of some standing, had made +a trip to Rhodesia with a view to gold and +diamond prospecting. He had been accompanied +by a friend, Thomas Symes, who, so far +as we could ascertain, was an ex-naval officer; +and the two, after a short stay at Bulawayo, +had gone northward across the Guai river into +what was in those days a practically unknown +land. In a little over a year's time Bridges +had returned alone—his companion having been, +so he stated, killed by the Matabele, and for +six months or so he led a dissolute life in Bulawayo +and the district, which ended ultimately in +his execution for murder. There was no doubt +whatever about the murder, or the various +thefts and forgeries that he was accused of, +as he had made a confession at his trial, and we +seemed to be on a wild-goose chase of the worst +variety so far as I could see; but Jack, confident +of his father's innocence, would not hear +of failure.</p> + +<p>"It's impossible to make surmises at this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> +stage," he said. "On the face of it there appears +to be little room for doubt, but no one who +knew my father could possibly connect him +with any sort of crime. Somehow or other, +Jim, I've got to clear his name."</p> + +<p>My memory went back to a tall, sunburnt +man with a kindly manner who had come down +to the school one day and put up a glorious feed +at the tuck shop to Jack and his friends. Afterwards, +at his son's urgent request, he had bared +his chest to show us his tattooing of which +Jack had, boy-like, often boasted to us. I +recalled how we had gazed admiringly at the +skilfully worked picture of Nelson with his +empty sleeve and closed eye and the inscription +underneath: "England expects that every man +this day will do his duty." Jack had explained +with considerable pride that this did not constitute +all, as on his father's back was a wonderful +representation of the <i>Victory</i>, and on other parts +of his body a lion, a snake, and other <i>fauna</i>, +but Richard Bridges had protested laughingly +and refused to undress further for our delectation.</p> + +<p>We reached Bulawayo, but no one in the +city appeared to recall the case at all; indeed, +Bulawayo had grown out of all recognition +since Richard Bridges had passed through it +on his prospecting trip. It was difficult to know +where to start. Even the police could not help, +and had no knowledge of where the murderer +had been buried. No one but an old saloon-keeper +and a couple of miners could recollect +the execution even, and they, so far as they +could remember, had never met Richard Bridges +in the flesh, though his unsavoury reputation +was well known to them.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span></p> + +<p>In despair, Jack suggested a trek up country +towards Barotseland, which was the district +that Bridges and Symes had proposed to prospect, +though, according to all accounts, Symes had +been murdered by the Matabele before they +reached the Guai river.</p> + +<p>For the next month we trekked steadily +northwards, having very fair sport; but, as +I expected, extracting no information whatever +from the natives about the two prospectors +who had passed that way years before. At +length, Jack became more or less reconciled to +failure, and realising the futility of further +search suggested a return to Bulawayo. As +our donkey caravan was beginning to suffer +severely from the fly, I concurred, and we started +to travel slowly back to Bulawayo, shooting +by the way.</p> + +<p>One night after a particularly hard trek we +inspanned at an old <i>kraal</i>, the painted walls +of which told that at one time it had served as +a royal residence, and as I had shot an eland +cow that afternoon, which provided far more +meat than we could consume, we invited the +induna and his tribe to the feast. Not to be +outdone in hospitality, the old chief produced +the kaffir beer of the country, a liquid which +has nothing to recommend it beyond the fact +that it intoxicates rapidly.</p> + +<p>A meat feast and a beer drink is a great event +in the average kaffir's life, and as the evening +wore on a general jollification started to the +thump of tomtoms and the squeak of kaffir +fiddles. There was one very drunk old Barotse, +who sat close to me, and, accompanying himself +with thumps on his tomtom, sang in one droning<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> +key a song about a man who kept snakes and +lions inside him, and from whose chest the +evil eye looked out. At least, so far as I could +gather that was roughly the gist of the song; +but as his tomtom was particularly large and +most obnoxious I politely took it away from him, +and Jack and I used it as a table for our gourds +of kaffir beer, which we were pretending to consume +in large quantities.</p> + +<p>A gourd, however, is a top-heavy sort of drinking +vessel, and in a very short time I had succeeded +in spilling half a pint or so of my drink on the +parchment of the drum. Not wishing to spoil +the old gentleman's plaything, which he evidently +valued above all things, I mopped up the beer +with my handkerchief, and in doing so removed +from the parchment a portion of the accumulated +filth of ages.</p> + +<p>"Hullo!" said Jack, taking the instrument +from me and holding it up to the firelight. +"There's a picture of some sort here. It looks +like a man in a cocked hat."</p> + +<p>He rubbed it hard with his pocket handkerchief, +and the polishing brought more of the +picture to light, till, plain enough in places +and faded in others, there stood out, the portrait +of a man in an old-fashioned naval uniform +with stars on his breast, and underneath some +letters in the form of a scroll.</p> + +<p>"That's not native work," I exclaimed. +"These are English letters," for I could distinctly +make out the word "man" followed +by a "t" and an "h." "Rub it hard, Jack."</p> + +<p>The grease on the parchment refused to give +way to further polishing, however, and remembering +a bottle of ammonia I kept for insect bites,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> +I mixed some with kaffir beer and poured it +on the head of the tomtom. One touch of the +handkerchief was sufficient once the strong +alkali got to work, and out came the grand old +face of Nelson and underneath his motto:</p> + +<p>"England expects that every man this day +will do his duty."</p> + +<p>Jack dropped the drum as if it had bitten him.</p> + +<p>"What does it mean?" he gasped. "My +father had this on his chest. I remember it +well!"</p> + +<p>I was, however, too busy with the reverse +end of the drum to heed him. On the other +side the ammonia brought out a picture of the +<i>Victory</i>, with the head of a roaring lion below it.</p> + +<p>"Good God!" exclaimed Jack. "My father +had that on his back. Quick, Jim, rub hard! +There should be the family crest to the right—an +eagle with a snake in its talons and R. B. +underneath."</p> + +<p>I rubbed in the spot indicated, and out came +the crest and initials exactly as Jack had described +them. There was something horribly uncanny +and gruesome in finding the tattoo marks of +the dead man on the parchment of a Barotse +tomtom two hundred miles north of the Zambesi, +and for a moment I was too overcome with astonishment +to grasp exactly what it meant. Then +it came to my mind in a flash that the parchment +was nothing else than human skin, and Richard +Bridges' skin at that. I put it down with sudden +reverence, and, beckoning to its owner, demanded +its full history. At first he showed signs of +fear, but promising him a waist length of cloth +if he told the truth, he squatted on his hams +before us and began.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Many, many moons ago, before the white +men came to trade across the Big Water as they +do now, two white baases came into this country +to look for white stones and gold. One baas +was bigger than the other, and on his chest and +on his body were pictures of birds, and beasts, +and strange things. On his chest was a great +inkoos with one eye covered, and on his back +a hut with trees growing straight up into the air +from it. On his loins was a lion of great fierceness, +and coiled round his waist was a hissing +mamba (snake). We were sore afraid, for the +white baas told us he was bewitched, and that if +harm came to either he would uncover the closed +eye of the great inkoos upon his chest, which was +the Evil Eye, and command him to blast the +Barotse and their land for ever.</p> + +<p>"So the white men were suffered to come and +go in peace, for we dreaded the Evil Eye of the +great inkoos. They toiled, these white baases, +digging in the hillside and searching the riverbed; +and then one day it came to pass that they +quarrelled and fought, and the baas with the +pictures was slain. We knew then that his +medicine was bad medicine, otherwise the white +baas without the pictures could not have killed +him. So we were wroth and made to slay the +other baas, but he shot us down with a fire stick +and returned to his own country in haste. Then +did I take the skin from the dead baas, for I +loved him for his pictures, and I made them +into a tomtom. I have spoken."</p> + +<p>"Good heavens!" exclaimed Jack when I +had translated the story. "Then my father +was killed here in Barotseland, and it was Symes, +his murderer, who went back to Bulawayo. It<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> +was that fiend Symes, also, who took my father's +name, probably to draw any money that might +have been left behind, and who, as Richard +Bridges, was hanged for murder. Poor old +dad," he added brokenly, "murdered, and his +body mutilated by savages! But how glad I +am to know that he died an honest man!"</p> + +<p>With the evidence at hand it was easy to prove +the identity of the murderer of twenty years +ago, and, having settled the matter satisfactorily +and cleared the dead man's name, Jack and I +returned to England, where a few weeks later +I had to purchase wedding garments in order +that I might play the part of best man at Jack's +wedding.</p> + +<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p> +<h2>IV<br /> +THE CASE OF SIR ALISTER MOERAN</h2> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Ethne</span>?" My aunt looked at me with raised +brows and smiled. "My dear Maurice, hadn't +you heard? Ethne went abroad directly after +Christmas, with the Wilmotts, for a trip to +Egypt. She's having a glorious time!"</p> + +<p>I am afraid I looked as blank as I felt. I had +only landed in England three days ago, after +two years' service in India, and the one thing +I had been looking forward to was seeing my +cousin Ethne again.</p> + +<p>"Then, since you did not know she was away, +you, of course, have not heard the other news?" +went on my aunt.</p> + +<p>"No," I answered in a wooden voice. "I've +heard nothing."</p> + +<p>She beamed. "The dear child is engaged to +a Sir Alister Moeran, whom she met in Luxor. +Everyone is delighted, as it is a splendid match +for her. Lady Wilmott speaks most highly +of him, a man of excellent family and position, +and perfectly charming to boot."</p> + +<p>I believe I murmured something suitable, +but it was absurd to pretend to be overjoyed at +the news. The galling part of it was that Aunt +Linda knew, and was chuckling, so to speak, +over my discomfiture.</p> + +<p>"If you are going up to Wimberley Park,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> +she went on sweetly, "you will probably meet +them both, as your Uncle Bob has asked us all +there for the February house-party. He cabled +an invitation to Sir Alister as soon as he heard +of the engagement. Wasn't it good of him?"</p> + +<p>I replied that it was; then, having heard quite +enough for one day of the charms of Ethne's +<i>fiancé</i>, I took my leave.</p> + +<p>That night, after cursing myself for a churl, +I wrote and wished her good luck. The next +morning I received a letter from Uncle Bob +asking me to go to Wimberley; and early in +the following week I travelled up to Cumberland. +I received a warm welcome from the old General. +As a boy I used to spend the greater part of my +holidays with him, and being childless himself, +he regarded me more or less as a son.</p> + +<p>On February 16th Ethne, her mother, and Sir +Alister Moeran arrived. I motored to the +station to meet them. The evening was cold +and raw and so dark that it was almost impossible +to distinguish people on the badly lighted little +platform. However, as I groped my way along, +I recognised Ethne's voice, and thus directed, +hurried towards the group. As I did so two +gleaming, golden eyes flashed out at me through +the darkness.</p> + +<p>"Hullo!" I thought. "So she's carted along +the faithful Pincher!" But the next moment I +found I was mistaken, for Ethne was holding +out both hands to me in greeting. There was +no dog with her, and in the bustle that followed, +I forgot to seek further for the solution of those +two fiery lights.</p> + +<p>"It was good of you to come, Maurice," Ethne +said with unmistakable pleasure, then, turning<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> +to the man at her side, "Alister, this is my +cousin, Captain Kilvert, of whom you have heard +me speak."</p> + +<p>We murmured the usual formalities in the +usual manner, but as my fingers touched his, +I experienced the most curious sensation down +the region of my spine. It took me back to +Burma and a certain very uncomfortable night +that I once passed in the jungle. But the +impression was so fleeting as to be indefinable, +and soon I was busy getting everyone settled +in the car.</p> + +<p>So far, except that he possessed an exceptionally +charming voice, I had no chance of forming +an opinion of my cousin's <i>fiancé</i>. It was +half-past seven when we got back to the house, +so we all went straight up to our rooms to dress +for dinner.</p> + +<p>Everyone was assembled in the drawing-room +when Sir Alister Moeran came in, and I shall +never forget the effect his appearance made. +Conversation ceased entirely for an instant. +There was a kind of breathless pause, which was +almost audible as my uncle rose to greet him. +In all my life I had never seen a handsomer man, +and I don't suppose anyone else there had either. +It was the most startling, arresting style of +beauty one could possibly imagine, and yet, +even as I stared at him in admiration, the word +"Black!" flashed into my mind.</p> + +<p>Black! I pulled myself up sharply. We +English, who have lived out in the East, are far +too prone to stigmatise thus anyone who shows +the smallest trace of being a "half breed"; +but in Sir Alister's case there was not even a +suspicion of this. He was no darker than scores<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> +of men of my own nationality, and besides, he +belonged, I knew, to a very old Scottish family. +Yet, try as I would to strangle the idea, all through +the evening the same horrible, unaccountable +notion clung to me.</p> + +<p>That he was the personality of the gathering +there was not the slightest doubt. Men and +women alike seemed attracted by him, for his +individuality was on a par with his looks.</p> + +<p>Several times during dinner I glanced at +Ethne, but it was easy to see that all her attention +was taken up by her lover. Yet, oddly +enough, I was not jealous in the ordinary way. +I saw the folly of imagining that I could stand +a chance against a man like Moeran, and, moreover, +he interested me too deeply. His knowledge +of the East was extraordinary, and later, +when the ladies had retired, he related many +curious experiences.</p> + +<p>"Might I ask," said my uncle's friend, Major +Faucett, suddenly, "whether you were in the +Service, or had you a Government appointment +out there?"</p> + +<p>Sir Alister smiled, and under his moustache +I caught the gleam of strong, white teeth.</p> + +<p>"As a matter of fact, neither. I am almost +ashamed to say I have no profession, unless I +may call myself an explorer."</p> + +<p>"And why not?" put in Uncle Bob. "Provided +your explorations were to some purpose +and of benefit to the community in general, +I consider you are doing something worth while."</p> + +<p>"Exactly," Sir Alister replied. "From my +earliest boyhood I have always had the strangest +hankering for the East. I say strange, because +to my parents it was inexplicable, neither of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> +them having the slightest leaning in that direction, +though to me it seemed the most natural desire +in the world. I was like an alien in a foreign +land, longing to get home. I recollect, as a +child, my nurse thought me a beastly uncanny +kid because I loved to lie in bed and listen to +the cats howling and fighting outside. I +used to put my head half under the blankets +and imagine I was in my lair in the jungle, +and those were the jackals and panthers prowling +around outside."</p> + +<p>"I suppose you'd been reading adventure +books," Uncle Bob said, with a laugh. "I +played at much the same game when I was a +youngster, only in my case it was Redskins."</p> + +<p>"Possibly," Sir Alister answered with a +slight shrug, "only mine wasn't a game that I +played with any other boys, it was a gnawing +desire, which simply had to be satisfied; and the +opportunity came. When I was fourteen, the +father of a school friend of mine, who was going +out to India, asked me to go out with him and +the boy for the trip. Of course, I went."</p> + +<p>"I wonder," the Major remarked, "that you +ever came back once you got there, since you +were so frightfully keen."</p> + +<p>"I was certain I should return," he replied +grimly.</p> + +<p>A pause followed his last words, then Uncle +Bob rose and led the way to the drawing-room, +where for the remainder of the evening Sir Alister +was chiefly monopolised by the ladies.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>"Well, Maurice," Uncle Bob said, when on +the following evening I was sitting in his study<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> +having my usual before-dinner chat with him, +"and how do you like Ethne's future husband?"</p> + +<p>I hesitated. "I—I really don't know," I +replied.</p> + +<p>"Come, boy," he said, with his whimsical +smile, "why not be frank and own to a very +natural jealousy?"</p> + +<p>"Because," I answered simply, "the feeling +Sir Alister Moeran inspires in me is not jealousy, +curiously enough. It's something else, something +indefinable that comes over me now and +again. Dogs don't like him, and that's always +a bad sign, to my thinking."</p> + +<p>My uncle's bushy eyebrows went up slightly.</p> + +<p>"When did you make this discovery?"</p> + +<p>"This morning," I replied. "You know I +took him and Ethne round the place. Well, +the first thing I noticed was that Mike refused +to come with us, although both Ethne and I +called him. As we passed through the hall he +slunk away into the library. I thought it a +bit strange, as he's usually so frantic to go out +with me. Still, I didn't attach any significance +to the matter until later, when we visited the +kennels. I don't know why, but one takes it +for granted that a man is keen on dogs somehow +and——"</p> + +<p>"Isn't Sir Alister?"</p> + +<p>"They are not keen on him, anyhow," I +answered grimly. "They had heard my voice +as we approached and were all barking with +delight, but directly we entered the place there +was a dead silence, save for a few ominous growls +from Argo. It was a most extraordinary sight. +They all bristled up, so to speak, sniffing the air +though on the scent of something. I let<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> +Bess and Fritz loose, but instead of jumping +up, as they usually do, they hung back and showed +the whites of their eyes in a way I've never seen +before. I actually had to whistle to them +sharply several times before they came, and +then it was in a slinking manner, taking good +care to put Ethne and me between themselves +and Moeran, and looking askance at him the +whole while."</p> + +<p>"H'm!" murmured the General with puckered +brows. "That was certainly odd, very odd!"</p> + +<p>"It was," I agreed, warming to the subject, +"but there's odder still to come. I dare say +you'll think it all my fancy, but the minute +those animals put their heads up and sniffed +in that peculiar way, I distinctly smelt the +musky, savage odour of wild beasts. You +know it well, anyone who has been through +a jungle does."</p> + +<p>Uncle Bob nodded. "I know it, too; 'Musky' +is the very word—the smell of sun-warmed +fur. Jove, how it carries me back! I remember +once, years ago, coming upon a litter of lion +cubs, in a cave, when I was out in Africa——"</p> + +<p>"Yes! Yes!" I cried eagerly. "And that +is what I smelt this morning. Those dogs +smelt it, too. They felt that there was something +alien, abnormal in their midst."</p> + +<p>"That something being—Sir Alister Moeran?"</p> + +<p>I felt myself flush up under his gaze. I got +up and walked about the room.</p> + +<p>"I don't understand it," I said doggedly. +"I tell you plainly, Uncle Bob, I don't understand. +My impression of the man last night +was 'black,' but he's not black, I know that +perfectly well, no more than you or I are, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> +yet I can't get over the behaviour of those +hounds. It wasn't only one of 'em, it was +the whole lot. They seemed to regard him as +their natural enemy! And that smell! I'm +sure Ethne detected it too, for she kept glancing +about her in a startled, mystified way."</p> + +<p>"And Sir Alister?" queried the General. +"Do you mean to say he did not notice anything +amiss?"</p> + +<p>I shrugged my shoulders. "He didn't appear +to. I called attention myself to the singular +attitude of the hounds, and he said quite casually: +'Dogs never do take to me much.'"</p> + +<p>Uncle Bob gave a short laugh. "Our friend +is evidently not sensitive." He paused and +rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then added: +"It certainly is rather curious, but, for Heaven's +sake, boy, don't get imagining all sorts of +things!"</p> + +<p>This nettled me and made me wish I had held +my tongue. I was quite aware that my story +might have sounded somewhat fantastic from +a stranger; still, he ought to have known me +better than to accuse me of imagination. I +abruptly changed the subject, and shortly after +left the room.</p> + +<p>But I could not banish from my mind the +incident of the morning. I could not forget +the appealing faces of those dogs. Ethne and +Sir Alister had left me there and returned to +the house together, and, after their departure, +those poor, dumb beasts had gathered round +me in a way that was absolutely pathetic, licking +and fondling my hands, as though apologising +for their previous misconduct. Still, I understood. +That bristling up their spines was precisely<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> +the same sensation I had experienced +when I first met Sir Alister Moeran.</p> + +<p>As I was slowly mounting the stairs on my +way up to dress, I heard someone running up +after me, and turned round to find Ethne beside +me.</p> + +<p>"Maurice," she said, rather breathlessly, "tell +me, you did not punish Fritz and Bess for +not coming at once when you called them this +morning?"</p> + +<p>"No," I answered.</p> + +<p>She gave a nervous little laugh. "I'm glad +of that. I thought perhaps——" She stopped +short, then rushed on, "You know how queer +mother is about cats—can't bear one in the +room, and how they always fly out directly +she comes in? Well, dogs are the same with +Alister. He—he told me so himself. It seems +funny to me, and I suppose to you, because +we're so fond of all kinds of animals; but I don't +really see why it should be any more extraordinary +to have an antipathy for dogs than for cats, +and no one thinks anything of it if you dislike +cats."</p> + +<p>"That is so," I said thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>"Anyway," she went on, "it is not our own +fault if a certain animal does not instinctively +take to us."</p> + +<p>"Of course not," I replied stoutly. "You're +surely not worrying about it, are you?"</p> + +<p>She hastened to assure me that she was not, +but I could see that my indorsing her opinion +was a great relief to her. She had been afraid +that I should think it unnatural. I did for +that matter, but I could not, of course, tell her +so.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span></p> + +<p>That night Sir Alister and I sat up late talking +after the other men had retired. We had got +on the subject of India and had been comparing +notes as to our different adventures. From +this we went on to discussing perilous situations +and escapes, and it was then that he narrated +to me a very curious incident.</p> + +<p>"It happened when I was only twenty-one," +he said, "the year after my father died. +I think I told you that as soon as ever I became +my own master, I packed up and was off to the +East. I had a friend with me, a boy who had +been my best pal at school. They used to +call us 'Black and White.' He was fair and +girlish-looking, and his name was Buchanan. +He was just as keen on India as I was, and +purposed writing a book afterwards on our +experiences.</p> + +<p>"Our intention was to explore the wildest, +most savage districts, and as a start we selected +the province of Orissa. The forests there are +wonderful, and it is there, if anywhere, that +the almost extinct Indian lion is still to be +found. We engaged two sturdy hillmen to +accompany us and pushed our way downwards +from Calcutta over mountains, rivers and through +some of the densest jungles I've ever traversed. +It was on the outskirts of one of the latter that +the tragedy took place. We had pitched our +tents one evening after a long, tiring day, and +turned in early to sleep, Buchanan and I in one, +and the two Bhils in the other."</p> + +<p>Sir Alister paused for a few moments, toying +with his cigar in an abstracted manner, then +continued in the same clear, even voice:</p> + +<p>"When I awoke next morning, I found my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> +friend lying beside me dead, and blood all round +us! His throat was torn open by the teeth of +some wild beast, his breast was horribly mauled +and lacerated, and his eyes were wide, staring +open, and their expression was awful. He must +have died a hideous death and known it!"</p> + +<p>Again he stopped, but I made no comment, +only waited with breathless interest till he went on.</p> + +<p>"I called the two men. They came and +looked, and for the first time I saw terror written +on their faces. Their nostrils quivered as though +scenting something; then 'Tiger!' they gasped +simultaneously.</p> + +<p>"One of them said he had heard a stifled +scream in the night, but had thought it merely +some animal in the jungle. The whole thing was +a mystery. How I came to sleep undisturbed +through it all, how I escaped the same fate, and +why the tiger did not carry off his prey——"</p> + +<p>"You are sure it was a tiger?" I put in.</p> + +<p>"I think there was no doubt of it," Sir Alister +replied. "The Bhils swore the teeth-marks were +unmistakable, and not only that, but I saw +another case seven years later. The body of a +young woman was found in the compound outside +my bungalow, done to death in precisely the same +way. And several of the natives testified as to +there being a tiger in that vicinity, for they had +found three or four young goats destroyed in +similar fashion."</p> + +<p>"Who was the girl?" I asked.</p> + +<p>Moeran slowly turned his lucent, amber eyes +upon me as he answered. "She was a German, +a sort of nursery governess at the English doctor's. +He was naturally frightfully upset about it, and a +regular panic sprang up in the neighbourhood.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> +The natives got a superstitious scare—thought one +of their gods was wroth about something and +demanded sacrifice; but the white people were +simply out to kill the tiger."</p> + +<p>"And did they?" I queried eagerly.</p> + +<p>Sir Alister shook his head. "That I can't say, +as I left the place very soon afterwards and went +up to the mountains."</p> + +<p>A long silence followed, during which I stared +at him in mute fascination. Then an unaccountable +impulse made me say abruptly: "Moeran, +how old are you?"</p> + +<p>His finely-marked eyebrows went up in surprise +at the irrelevance of my question, but he smiled.</p> + +<p>"Funny you should ask! It so happens that +it's my birthday to-morrow. I shall be thirty-five."</p> + +<p>"Thirty-five!" I repeated. Then with a +shiver I rose from my seat. The room seemed to +have turned suddenly cold.</p> + +<p>"Come," I said, "let's go to bed."</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Next night at dinner I proposed Sir Alister's +health, and we all drank to him and his "bride-to-be." +They had that day definitely settled the +date of their marriage for two months ahead; +Ethne was looking radiant and everyone seemed +in the best of spirits.</p> + +<p>We danced and romped and played rowdy +games like a pack of children. Nothing was too +silly for us to attempt. While a one-step was in +full swing some would-be wag suddenly turned +off all the lights. It was then that for a moment +I caught sight of a pair of glowing, fiery eyes +shining through the darkness. Instantly my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> +thoughts flew back to that meeting at the station, +when I had fancied that Ethne had her dog in +her arms. A chill, sinister feeling crept over me, +but I kept my gaze fixed steadily in the same +direction. The next minute the lights went up, +and I found myself staring straight at Sir Alister +Moeran. His arm was round Ethne's waist and +she was smiling up into his face. Almost immediately +they took up the dance again, and I and +my partner followed suit. But all my gaiety +had departed. An indefinable oppression seized +me and clung to me for the rest of the evening.</p> + +<p>As I emerged from my room next morning I +saw old Giles, the butler, hurrying down the +corridor towards me.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Maurice—Captain Kilvert, sir!" he +burst out, consternation in every line of his usually +stolid countenance. "A dreadful thing has +happened! How it's come about I can't for the +life of me say, and how we're going to tell the +General, the Lord only knows!"</p> + +<p>"What?" I asked, seizing him by the arm. +"What is it?"</p> + +<p>"The dawg, sir," he answered in a hoarse +whisper, "Mike—in the study——"</p> + +<p>I waited to hear no more, but strode off down +the stairs, Giles hobbling beside me as fast as he +could, and together we entered the study.</p> + +<p>In the middle of the floor lay the body of Mike. +A horrible foreboding gripped me, and I quickly +knelt down and raised the dog's head. His neck +was torn open, bitten right through to the windpipe, +the blood still dripping from it into a dark +pool on the carpet.</p> + +<p>A cold, numbing sensation stole down my +spine and made my legs grow suddenly weak.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> +Beads of perspiration gathered on my forehead +as I slowly rose to my feet and faced Giles.</p> + +<p>"What's the meaning of it, sir?" he asked, +passing his hand across his brow in utter bewilderment. +"That dawg was as right as possible +when I shut up last night, and he couldn't +have got out."</p> + +<p>"No," I answered mechanically, "he couldn't +have got out."</p> + +<p>"Looks like some wild beast had attacked +him," muttered the old man, in awed tones, +as he bent over the lifeless body. "D'ye see +the teeth marks, sir? But it's not possible—not +possible."</p> + +<p>"No," I said again, in the same wooden +fashion. "It's not possible."</p> + +<p>"But how're we going to account for it to +the General?" he cried brokenly. "Oh, Mr. +Maurice, sir, it's dreadful!"</p> + +<p>I nodded. "You're right, Giles! Still, it +isn't your fault, nor mine. Leave the matter +to me. I'll break it to my uncle."</p> + +<p>It was a most unenviable task, but I did it. +Poor Uncle Bob! I shall never forget his face +when he saw the mutilated body of the dog +that for years had been his faithful companion. +He almost wept, only rage and resentment +against the murderer were so strong in him that +they thrust grief for the time into the background. +The mysterious, incomprehensible manner of +the dog's death only added to his anger, for there +was apparently no one on whom to wreak his +vengeance.</p> + +<p>The news caused general concern throughout +the house, and Ethne was frightfully upset.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, Alister, isn't it awful?" she exclaimed, +tears standing in her pretty blue eyes. "Poor, +darling Mike!"</p> + +<p>"Yes," he answered rather absently. "It's +most unfortunate. Valuable dog, too, wasn't +it?"</p> + +<p>I walked away. The man's calm, handsome +face filled me suddenly with unspeakable revulsion. +The atmosphere of the room seemed to +become heavy and noisome. I felt compelled +to get out into the open to breathe.</p> + +<p>I found the General tramping up and down +the drive in the rain, his chin sunk deep into +the collar of his overcoat, his hat pulled low +down over his eyes. I joined him without +speaking, and in silence we paced side by side +for another quarter of an hour.</p> + +<p>"Uncle Bob," I said abruptly at last, "take +my advice. Have one of the hounds indoors +to-night—Princep, he's a good watch-dog."</p> + +<p>The General stopped short in his walk and +looked at me.</p> + +<p>"You've something on your mind, boy. What +is it?"</p> + +<p>"This," I answered grimly. "Whoever, or +whatever killed Mike was in the house last night, +or got in, after Giles shut up. It may still be +there for all we know. In the dark, dark deeds +are done, and—well, I think it's wise to take +precautions."</p> + +<p>"Good God, Maurice, if there is any creature +in hiding, we'll soon have it out! I'll have the +place searched now. But the thing's impossible, +absurd!"</p> + +<p>I shrugged my shoulders. "Then Mike died +a natural death?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Natural?" he echoed fiercely. "Don't talk +rubbish!"</p> + +<p>"In that case," I said quietly, "you'll agree +to let one of the dogs sleep in."</p> + +<p>He gave me a long, troubled, searching look, +then said gruffly: "Very well, but don't make +any fuss about it. Women are such nervous +beings and we don't want to upset anyone."</p> + +<p>"You needn't be afraid of that," I replied, +"I'll manage it all right."</p> + +<p>There was no further talk of Mike that day. +The visitors, seeing how distressed the General +was, by tacit consent avoided the subject, but +everyone felt the dampening effect.</p> + +<p>That night, before I retired to my room, I +took a lantern, went out to the kennels and +brought in Princep, a pure-bred Irish setter. +He was a dog of exceptional intelligence, and when +I spoke to him, explaining the reason of his +presence indoors, he seemed to know instinctively +what was required of him.</p> + +<p>As I passed the study I noticed a light coming +from under the door. Somewhat surprised, I +turned the handle and looked in. My uncle +was seated before his desk in the act of loading +a revolver. He glanced up sharply as I entered.</p> + +<p>"Oh, it's you, is it? Got the dog in?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," I replied, "I've left him in the library +with the door open."</p> + +<p>He regarded the revolver pensively for a few +moments, then laid it down in front of him.</p> + +<p>"You've no theory as to this—this business?"</p> + +<p>I shook my head, I could offer no explanation. +Yet all the while there lurked, deep down in +my heart, a hideous suspicion, a suspicion so +monstrous that had I voiced it, I should probably<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> +have been considered mad. And so I held my +peace on the subject and merely wished my +uncle good-night.</p> + +<p>It was about one o'clock when I got into bed, +but my brain was far too agitated for sleep. +Something I had heard years ago, some old wives' +tales about a man's life changing every seven +years, kept dinning in my head. I was striving +to remember how the story went, when a slight +sound outside caught my ear. In a second I +was out of bed and had silently opened the door. +As I did so, someone passed close by me down the +corridor.</p> + +<p>Cautiously, with beating heart, I crept out and +followed. However, I almost exclaimed aloud +in my amazement, for the light from a window +fell full on the figure ahead of me, and I recognised +my cousin Ethne. She was sleep-walking, +a habit she had had from her childhood, and +which apparently she had never outgrown.</p> + +<p>For some minutes I stood there, undecided how +to act, while she passed on down the stairs, out +of sight. To wake her I knew would be wrong. +I knew, also, that she had walked thus a score +of times without coming to any harm. There +was, therefore, no reason why I should not return +to my room and leave her to her wandering, +yet still I remained rooted to the spot, all my +senses strained, alert. And then suddenly I +heard Princep whine. A series of low, stertorous +growls followed, growls that made my blood +run cold! With swift, noiseless steps, I stole +along to the minstrel's gallery which overlooked +that portion of the hall that communicated +with the library. As I did so, there arose from +immediately below me a succession of sharp<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> +snarls, such as a dog gives when he is in deadly +fear or pain.</p> + +<p>A shaft of moonlight fell across the polished +floor, and by its aid I was just able to distinguish +the form of Princep crouched against the wainscoting. +He was breathing heavily, his head +turned all the while towards the opposite side +of the room. I looked in the same direction. +Out of the darkness gleamed two fiery, golden +orbs, two eyes that moved slowly to and fro, +backwards and forwards, as though the Thing +were prowling round and round. Now it seemed +to crouch as though ready to spring, and I could +hear the savage growling as of some beast of +prey.</p> + +<p>As I watched, horrified, fascinated, a <i>portière</i> +close by was lifted, and the white-robed figure +of Ethne appeared. All heedless of danger +she came on across the hall, and the Thing, with +soft, stealthy tread, came after her. I knew +then that there was not an instant to be lost, +and like a flash I darted along the gallery and +down the stairs. But ere I gained the hall +a piercing scream rent the air, and I was just +in time to see Ethne borne to the ground by a +great, dark form, which had sprung at her like +a tiger.</p> + +<p>Half frantic, I dashed forward, snatching as +I did so a rapier from the wall, the only weapon +handy. But before I reached the spot, a voice +from the study doorway called: "Stop!" and +the next moment the report of a pistol rang out.</p> + +<p>"Good God!" I cried. "Who have you +shot?"</p> + +<p>"Not the girl," answered the grim voice of +my uncle, "you may trust my aim for that!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> +I fired at the eyes of the Thing. Here, quick, +get lights and let's see what has happened."</p> + +<p>But my one and only thought was for Ethne. +Moving across to the dark mass on the floor, +I stretched out my hand. My fingers touched +a smooth, fabric-like cloth, but the smell was the +smell of fur, the musky, sun-warmed fur of the +jungle! With sickening repugnance, I seized +the Thing by its two broad shoulders and rolled +it over. Then I carefully raised Ethne from the +ground. At that moment Giles and a footman +appeared with candles. In silence my uncle +took one and came towards me, the servants +with scared, blanched countenances following.</p> + +<p>The light fell full upon the dead, upturned face +of Sir Alister Moeran. His upper lip was drawn +back, showing the strong, white teeth. The +two front ones were tipped with blood. Instantly +my eyes turned to Ethne's throat, and there +I saw deep, horrible marks, like the marks of +a tiger's fangs; but, thank God, they had not +penetrated far enough to do any serious injury! +My uncle's shot had come just in time to save her.</p> + +<p>"Merely fainted, hasn't she?" he asked +anxiously.</p> + +<p>I nodded. My relief at finding this was so, +was too great for words.</p> + +<p>"Heaven be praised!" I heard him mutter. +Then lifting my beautiful, unconscious burden +in my arms, I carried her upstairs to her room.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Can I explain, can anyone explain, the +mysterious vagaries of atavism? I only know +that there are amongst us, rare instances fortunately, +but existent nevertheless—men with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> +the souls of beasts. They may be cognisant +of the fact or otherwise. In the case of Sir Alister +I feel sure it was the latter. He had probably +no more idea than I what far-reaching, evil +strain it was that came out in his blood and turned +him, every seven years, practically into a vampire.</p> + +<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span></p> +<h2>V<br /> +THE KISS</h2> + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> quiet of the deserted building incircled +the little, glowing room as the velvet incircles +the jewel in its case. Occasionally faint sounds +came from the distance—the movements of +cleaners at work, a raised voice, the slamming +of a door.</p> + +<p>The man sat at his desk, as he had sat through +the busy day, but he had turned sideways in +his seat, the better to regard the other occupant +of the room.</p> + +<p>She was not beautiful—had no need to be. +Her call to him had been the saner call of mind +to mind. That he desired, besides, the passing +benediction of her hands, the fragrance of her +corn-gold hair, the sight of her slenderness: +this she had guessed and gloried in. Till now, +he had touched her physical self neither in +word nor deed. To-night, she knew, the barriers +would be down; to-night they would kiss.</p> + +<p>Her quiet eyes, held by his during the spell +that had bound them speechless, did not flinch +at the breaking of it.</p> + +<p>"The Lord made the world and then He +made this rotten old office," the man said quietly. +"Into it He put you—and me. What, before +that day, has gone to the making and marring +of me, and the making and perfecting of you,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> +is not to the point. It is enough that we have +realised, heart, and soul, and body, that you +are mine and I am yours."</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said.</p> + +<p>He fell silent again, his eyes on her hungrily. +She felt them and longed for his touch. But +there came only his voice.</p> + +<p>"I want you. The first moment I saw you +I wanted you. I thought then that, whatever +the cost, I would have you. That was in +the early days of our talks here—before you +made it so courageously clear to me that it +would never be possible for you to ignore my +marriage and come to me. That is still so, +isn't it?"</p> + +<p>She moved slightly, like a dreamer in pain, +as again she faced the creed she had hated +through many a sleepless night.</p> + +<p>"It is so," she agreed. "And because it +is so, you are going away to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>They looked at each other across the foot +or two of intervening space. It was a look to +bridge death with. But even beneath their +suffering, her eyes voiced the tremulous waiting +of her lips.</p> + +<p>At last he found words.</p> + +<p>"You are the most wonderful woman in +the world—the pluckiest, the most completely +understanding; you have the widest charity. +I suppose I ought to thank you for it all; +I can't—that's not my way. I have always +demanded of you, demanded enormously, and +received my measure pressed down and running +over. Now I am going to ask this last thing +of you: will you, of your goodness, go away—upstairs,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> +anywhere—and come back in ten +minutes' time? By then I shall have cleared +out."</p> + +<p>She looked at him almost incredulously, +lips parted. Suddenly she seemed a child.</p> + +<p>"You—I——" she stammered. Then +rising to her feet, with a superb simplicity: +"But, you must kiss me before you go. You +must! You—simply <i>must</i>."</p> + +<p>For the space of a flaming moment it seemed +that in one stride he would have crossed to her +side, caught and held her.</p> + +<p>"For God's sake——!" he muttered, in +almost ludicrous fear of himself. Then, with +a big effort, he regained his self-control.</p> + +<p>"Listen," he said hoarsely. "I want to +kiss you so much that I daren't even get to my +feet. Do you understand what that means? +Think of it, just for a moment, and then realise +that <i>I am not going to kiss you</i>. And I have +kissed many women in my time, too, and shall +kiss more, no doubt."</p> + +<p>"But it's not because of that——?"</p> + +<p>"That I'm holding back? No. Neither is +it because I funk the torture of kissing you +once and letting you go. It's because I'm +afraid—for <i>you</i>."</p> + +<p>"For me?"</p> + +<p>"Listen. You have unfolded your beliefs +to me and, though I don't hold them—don't +attempt to live up to your lights—the realisation +of them has given me a reverence for you that +you don't dream of. I have put you in a shrine +and knelt to you; every time you have sat in +that chair and talked with me, I have worshipped +you."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It would not alter—all that," the girl said +faintly, "if you kissed me."</p> + +<p>"I don't believe that; neither do you—no, +you don't! In your heart of hearts you admit +that a woman like you is not kissed for the first +and last time by a man like me. Suppose I +kissed you now? I should awaken something +in you as yet half asleep. You're young and +pulsing with life, and there are—thank Heaven!—few +layers of that damnable young-girl shyness +over you. The world would call you primitive, +I suppose."</p> + +<p>"But I don't——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Lord, you must see it's all or nothing! +You surely understand that after I had left you +you would not go against your morality, perhaps, +but you would adjust it, in spite of yourself, +to meet your desires! I cannot—safely—kiss +you."</p> + +<p>"But you are going away for good!"</p> + +<p>"For good! Child, do you think my going +will be your safeguard? If you wanted me +so much that you came to think it was right +and good to want me, wouldn't you find me, +send for me, call for me? And I should come. +God! I can see the look in your eyes now, +when the want had been satisfied, and you +could not drug your creed any more."</p> + +<p>Her breath came in a long sigh. Then she +tried to speak; tried again.</p> + +<p>"It is so, isn't it?" he asked.</p> + +<p>She nodded. Speech was too difficult. With +the movement a strand of the corn-gold hair +came tumbling down the side of her face.</p> + +<p>"Then, that being the case," said the man, +with infinite gentleness, his eyes on the little,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> +tumbling lock, "I shall not attempt so much +as to touch your hand before you leave the room."</p> + +<p>At the door she turned.</p> + +<p>"Tell me once again," she said. "You +<i>want</i> to kiss me?"</p> + +<p>He gripped the arms of his chair; from where +she stood, she could see the veins standing out +on his hands.</p> + +<p>"I want to kiss you," he said fiercely. "I +want to kiss you. If there were any way of +cutting off to-morrow—all the to-morrows—with +the danger they hold for us—I would kiss +you. I would kiss you, and kiss you, and kiss +you!"</p> + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>Where her feet took her during the thousand, +thousand years that was his going she could +never afterwards say; but she found herself +at last at the top of the great building, at an +open window, leaning out, with the rain beating +into her eyes.</p> + +<p>Far below her the lights wavered and later +she remembered that echoes of a far-off tumult +had reached her as she sat. But her ears held +only the memory of a man's footsteps—the +eager tread that had never lingered so much +as a second's space on its way to her; that +had often stumbled slightly on the threshold +of her presence; that she had heard and welcomed +in her dreams; that would not come +again.</p> + +<p>The raindrops lay like tears upon her face.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span></p> + +<p>She brushed them aside, and, rising, put up +her hands to feel the wet lying heavy on her +hair. The coldness of her limbs surprised her +faintly. Downstairs she went again, the echoes +mocking every step.</p> + +<p>She closed the door of the room behind her +and idly cleared a scrap of paper from a chair. +Mechanically her hands went to the litter on +his desk and she had straightened it all before +she realised that there was no longer any need. +To-morrow would bring a voice she did not know; +would usher a stranger into her room to take +her measure from behind a barrier of formality. +For the rest there would be work, and food, +and sleep.</p> + +<p>These things would make life—life that had +been love.</p> + +<p>She put on her hat and coat. The room +seemed smaller somehow and shabbier. The +shaded lights that had invited, now merely irritated; +the whimsical disorder of books and papers +spoke only of an uncompleted task. Gone +was the glamour and the promise and the good +comradeship. He had taken them all. She +faced to-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow +empty-handed—in her heart the memory of +words that had seared and healed in a breath, +and the dead dream of a kiss. Her throat +ached with the pain of it.</p> + +<p>And then suddenly she heard him coming +back!</p> + +<p>She stiffened. For one instant, mind and +body, she was rigid with the sheer wonder of +it. Then, as the atmosphere of the room surged +back, tense with vitality, her mind leapt forward +in welcome. He was coming back, coming<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> +back! The words hammered themselves out +to the rhythm of the eager tread that never +lingered so much as a second's space on its way +to her, that stumbled slightly on the threshold +of her presence.</p> + +<p>By some queer, reflex twist of memory, +her hands brushed imaginary raindrops from +her face and strayed uncertainly to where the +wet had lain on her hair.</p> + +<p>The door opened and closed behind him.</p> + +<p>"I've come back. I've come back to kiss +you. Dear—<i>dear</i>!"</p> + +<p>Her outflung hand checked him in his stride +towards her. Words came stammering to her +lips.</p> + +<p>"Why—but—this isn't—I don't understand! +All you said—it was true, surely? +It was cruel of you to make me know it was +true and then come back!"</p> + +<p>"Let me kiss you—let me, let me!" He +was overwhelming her, ignoring her resistance. +"I must kiss you, I must kiss you." He said +it again and again.</p> + +<p>"No, no, you shan't—you can't play with +me! You said you were afraid for me, and +you made me afraid, too—of my weakness—of +the danger—of my longing for you——"</p> + +<p>"Let me kiss you! Yes, you shall let me; +you <i>shall</i> let me." His arms held her, his +face touched hers.</p> + +<p>"Aren't you afraid any more? Has a miracle +happened—may we kiss in spite of to-morrow?"</p> + +<p>Inch by inch she was relaxing. All thought +was slipping away into a great white light that +held no to-morrows, nor any fear of them, nor +of herself, nor of anything. The light crept<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> +to her feet, rose to her heart, her head. Through +the radiance came his words.</p> + +<p>"Yes, a miracle. Oh, my dear—my little +child! I've come back to kiss you, little child."</p> + +<p>"Kiss me, then," she said against his lips.</p> + +<h3>III</h3> + +<p>Hazily she was aware that he had released +her; that she had raised her head; that against +the rough tweed of his shoulder there lay a +long, corn-gold hair.</p> + +<p>She laughed shakily and her hand went up +to remove it; but he caught her fingers and +held them to his face. And with the movement +and his look there came over her in a wave the +shame of her surrender, a shame that was yet +a glory, a diadem of pride. She turned blindly +away.</p> + +<p>"Please," she heard herself saying, "let me +go now. I want to be alone. I want to—please +don't tell me to-night. To-morrow——"</p> + +<p>She was at the door, groping for the handle. +Behind her she heard his voice; it was very +tender.</p> + +<p>"I shall always kneel to you—in your shrine."</p> + +<p>Then she was outside, and the chilly passages +were cooling her burning face. She had left +him in the room behind her; and she knew +he would wait there long enough to allow her +to leave the building. Almost immediately, +it seemed, she was downstairs in the hall, had +reached the entrance.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span></p> + +<p>She confronted a group of white-faced, silent +men.</p> + +<p>"Why, is anything the matter? What has +happened? O'Dell?"</p> + +<p>The porter stood forward. He cleared his +throat twice, but for all that, his words were +barely audible.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Miss Carryll. Good-night, miss. You'd +best be going on, miss, if you'll excuse——"</p> + +<p>Behind O'Dell stood a policeman; behind +him again, a grave-eyed man stooped to an +unusual task. It arrested her attention like +the flash of red danger.</p> + +<p>"Why is the door of your room being locked, +O'Dell?" She knew her curiosity was indecent, +but some powerful premonition was stirring +in her, and she could not pass on. "Has there +been an accident? Who is in there?"</p> + +<p>Then, almost under her feet, she saw a dark +pool lying sluggishly against the tiles; nearer +the door another—on the pavement outside +another—and yet another. She gasped, drew +back, felt horribly sick; and, as she turned, +she caught O'Dell's muttered aside to the policeman.</p> + +<p>"Young lady's 'is seccereterry—must be the +last that seen 'im alive. All told, 'tain't more'n +'arf-an-'our since 'e left. 'Good-night, O'Dell,' +sez 'e. 'Miss Carryll's still working—don't +lock 'er in,' sez 'e. Would 'ave 'is joke. Must +'ave gone round the corner an' slap inter the +car. Wish to God the amberlance——"</p> + +<p>Her cry cut into his words as she flung herself +forward. Her fingers wrenched at the key +of the locked door and turned it, in spite of +the detaining hands that seemed light as leaves<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> +upon her shoulder, and as easily shaken off. +Unhearing, unheeding, she forced her way into +the glare of electric light flooding the little room—beating +down on to the table and its sheeted +burden. Before she reached it, knowledge had +dropped upon her like a mantle.</p> + +<p>Her face was grey as the one from which she +drew the merciful coverings, but her eyes went +fearlessly to that which she sought.</p> + +<p>Against the rough tweed of the shoulder lay +a long, corn-gold hair.</p> + +<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span></p> +<h2>VI<br /> +THE GOTH</h2> + +<p><span class="smcap">Young</span> Cargill smiled as Mrs. Lardner finished +her account.</p> + +<p>"And do you really think that the fact that +the poor chap was drowned had anything to do +with it?" he asked. "Why, you admit yourself +that he was known to have been drinking +just before he fell out of his boat!"</p> + +<p>"You may say what you like," returned his +hostess impressively, "but since first we came +to live at Tryn yr Wylfa only four people besides +poor Roberts have defied the Fates, and each +of them was drowned within the year.</p> + +<p>"They were all tourists," she added with something +suspiciously like satisfaction.</p> + +<p>"I am not a superstitious man myself," supplemented +the Major. "But you can't get away +from the facts, you know, Cargill."</p> + +<p>Cargill said no more. He perceived that they +had lived long enough in retirement in the little +Welsh village to have acquired a pride in its +legend.</p> + +<p>The legend and the mountains are the two +attractions of Tryn yr Wylfa—the official guidebook +devotes an equal amount of space to each. +It will tell you that the bay, across which the +quarry's tramp steamers now sail, was once +dry land on which stood a village. Deep in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> +water the remains of this village can still be seen +in clear weather. But whosoever dares to look +upon them will be drowned within the year. +A local publication gives full details of those +who have looked—and perished.</p> + +<p>The legend had received an unexpected boom +in the drowning of Roberts, which had just +occurred. Roberts was a fisherman who had +recently come from the South. One calm day +in February he had rowed out into the bay in +fulfilment of a drunken boast. He was drowned +three days before Midsummer.</p> + +<p>After dinner young Cargill forgot about it. +He forgot almost everything except Betty +Lardner. But, oddly enough, as he walked back +to the hotel it was just Betty Lardner who made +him think again of the legend. He was in love, +and, being very young, wanted to do something +insanely heroic. To defy the Fates by looking +on the sunken village was an obvious outlet for +heroism.</p> + +<p>He must have thought a good deal about it +before he fell asleep, for he remembered his +resolution on the following morning.</p> + +<p>After breakfast he sauntered along the brief +strip of asphalt which the villagers believe to be +a promenade. He was not actually thinking +of the legend; to be precise, he was thinking of +Betty Lardner, but he was suddenly reminded +of it by a boatman pressing him for his custom.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said abruptly. "I will hire your +boat if you will row me out to the sunken village. +I want to look at it."</p> + +<p>The Welshman eyed him suspiciously, +perceived that he was not joking, and shook +his head.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Come," persisted Cargill, "I will make it +a sovereign if you care to do it."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, but indeed, no, sir," replied +the Welshman. "Not if it wass a hundred +sofereigns!"</p> + +<p>"Surely you are not afraid?"</p> + +<p>"It iss not fit," retorted the Welshman, +turning on his heel.</p> + +<p>It was probably this opposition that made +young Cargill decide that it would be really +worth while to defy the legend.</p> + +<p>He did not approach the only other boatman. +He considered the question of swimming. The +knowledge that the distance there and back +was nearly five miles did not render the feat +impossible, for he was a champion swimmer.</p> + +<p>But he soon thought of a better way. He went +back to the hotel and sought out Bissett. Bissett +was a fellow member of the Middle Temple, +as contentedly briefless as himself. And Bissett +possessed a motor-boat.</p> + +<p>Bissett was not exactly keen on the prospect.</p> + +<p>"Don't you think it is rather a silly thing +to do?" he reasoned. "Of course it's all rot +in a way—it must be. But isn't it just as well +to treat that sort of thing with respect?"</p> + +<p>Eventually he agreed to take the motor-boat +to within a few hundred yards of the spot. They +would tow a dinghy, in which young Cargill +could finish the journey.</p> + +<p>It took young Cargill half-an-hour to find the +spot. But he did find it, and he did look upon, +and actually see, all that remained of the sunken +village.</p> + +<p>He felt vaguely ashamed of himself when he +returned to dry land. He noticed that several<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> +of the villagers gave him unfriendly glances; +and he resolved that he would say nothing of the +matter to the Lardners.</p> + +<p>They were having tea on the lawn when he +dropped in. He thought that Mrs. Lardner's +welcome was a trifle chilly. After tea Betty +executed a quite deliberate manœuvre to avoid +having him for a partner at tennis. But he ran +her to earth later, when they were picking up +the balls.</p> + +<p>"How <i>could</i> you?" was all she said.</p> + +<p>"I—I didn't know you knew," he stammered +weakly.</p> + +<p>"Of course everybody knows! It was all +over the village before you returned.</p> + +<p>"Can't you see what that legend meant to +us?" she went on. "It was a thing of beauty. +And now you have spoilt it. It's like burning +down the trees of the Fairy Glen. You—you +<i>Goth</i>!"</p> + +<p>"But suppose I am drowned before the year +is out—like Roberts?" he suggested jocularly.</p> + +<p>"Then I will forgive you," she said. And to +Cargill it sounded exactly as if she meant what +she said.</p> + +<p>A few days later he returned to town. For +six months he thought little about the legend. +Then he was reminded of it.</p> + +<p>He had been spending a week-end at Brighton. +On the return journey he had a first-class smoker +in the rear of the train to himself. Towards +the end of the hour he dozed and dreamt of the +day he had looked on the sunken village. He +was awakened when the train made its usual +stop on the bridge outside Victoria.</p> + +<p>It had been a pleasant dream, and he was still<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> +trying to preserve the illusion when his eye +fell lazily on the window, and he noticed that +there was a dense fog.</p> + +<p>"Bit rough on the legend that I happened +to be a Londoner!" he mused. "It isn't easy +to drown a man in town!"</p> + +<p>He stood up with the object of removing his +dressing-case from the rack. But before he +reached it there was the shriek of a whistle, a +violent shock, and he was hurled heavily into +the opposite seat.</p> + +<p>It was not a collision in the newspaper sense +of the word. No one was hurt. A local train, +creeping along at four miles an hour, had simply +missed its signal in the fog and bumped the +Brighton train.</p> + +<p>Young Cargill, in common with most other +passengers put his head out of the window. He +saw nothing—except the parapet of the bridge.</p> + +<p>"By God!" he muttered. "If that other +train had been going a little faster——"</p> + +<p>He could just hear the river gurgling beneath +him.</p> + +<p>He had got over his fright by the time he +reached Victoria.</p> + +<p>"Just a common-place accident," he assured +himself, as he drove in a taxi-cab to his chambers. +"That's the worst of it! If I happened to be +drowned in the ordinary way they'd swear it +was the legend. I suppose, for that reason, +I had better not take any risks. Anyhow, +I needn't go near the sea until the year is +out!"</p> + +<p>The superstitious would doubtless affirm that +the Fates had sent him one warning and, angered +at his refusal to accept it, had determined to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> +drive home the lesson of his own impotence. +For when he arrived at his chambers he found +a cablegram from Paris awaiting him.</p> + +<p>"Hullo, this must be from Uncle Peter!" +he exclaimed, as he tore open the envelope.</p> + +<p>"<i>Fear uncle dying. Come at once.—Machell.</i>"</p> + +<p>Machell was the elder Cargill's secretary, and +young Cargill was the old man's heir.</p> + +<p>It was not until he was in the boat-train that +he realised that he was about to cross the sea.</p> + +<p>It was a coincidence—an odd coincidence. +When the ship tossed in an unusually rough crossing +he was prepared to admit to himself that +it was an uncanny coincidence.</p> + +<p>He stayed a week in Paris for his uncle's funeral. +When he made the return journey the Channel +was like the proverbial mill pond. But it was +not until the ship had actually put into Dover +that he laughed at the failure of the Fates to +take the opportunity to drown him.</p> + +<p>He laughed, to be exact, as he was stepping +down the gangway. At the end of the gangway +the fold of the rug which he was carrying on his +arm, caught in the railings. He turned sharply +to free it and stepping back, cannoned into an +officer of the dock. It threw him off his balance +on the edge of the dockside.</p> + +<p>Even if the official had not grabbed him, it +is highly probable that he could have saved +himself from falling into the water, because +the gangway railing was in easy reach; and if +you remember that he was a champion swimmer, +you will agree that it is still more probable that +he would not have been drowned, even if he had +fallen.</p> + +<p>But the incident made its impression. His<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> +thoughts reverted to it constantly during the next +few days. Then he told himself that his attendance +at the last rites of his uncle had made him +morbid, and was more or less successful in dismissing +the affair from his mind.</p> + +<p>He had many friends in common with the +Lardners. Early in February he was invited +for a week's hunting to a house at which Betty +Lardner was also a guest.</p> + +<p>She had not forgotten. She did her best +to avoid him, and succeeded remarkably well, +in spite of the fact that their hostess, knowing +something of young Cargill's feelings, made +several efforts to throw them together.</p> + +<p>One day at the end of the hunt he came alongside +of her and they walked their horses home +together. When he was sure that they were +out of earshot he asked:</p> + +<p>"You haven't forgiven me yet?"</p> + +<p>"You know the conditions," she replied +banteringly.</p> + +<p>"You leave me no alternative to suicide," +he protested.</p> + +<p>"That would be cheating," she said. "You +must be drowned honestly, or it's no good."</p> + +<p>Then he made a foolish reply. He thought +her humour forced and it annoyed him. Remember +that he was exasperated. He had +looked forward to meeting her, and now she +was treating him with studied coldness over +what still seemed to him a comparatively trifling +matter.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid," he said, "that that is hardly +likely to occur. The fact of my being a townsman +instead of a drunken boatman doesn't +give your legend a fair chance!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span></p> + +<p>Less than an hour afterwards he was having +his bath before dressing for dinner. The water +was deliciously hot, and the room was full of +steam. As he lay in the bath a drowsiness +stole over him. Enjoying the keen physical +pleasure of it, he thought what a wholly delightful +thing was a hot bath after a day's hard hunting. +His mind, bordering on sleep, dwelt lazily +on hot baths in general. And then with a +startling suddenness came the thought that, +before now, men had been drowned in their +baths!</p> + +<p>With a shock he realised that he had almost +fallen asleep. He tried to rouse himself, but +a faintness had seized him. That steam—he +could not breathe! He was certain he was +going to faint.</p> + +<p>With a desperate effort of the will he hurled +himself out of the bath and threw open the +window.</p> + +<p>It must have been the bath episode that +first aroused the sensation of positive fear +in Cargill. For it was almost a month later +when he surprised the secretary of that swimming +club of which he was the main pillar by +his refusal to take part in any events for the +coming season.</p> + +<p>He was beginning to take precautions.</p> + +<p>Late one night, when taxi-cabs were scarce, +he found that his quickest way to reach home +would be by means of one of the tubes. He +was in the descending lift when he suddenly +remembered that that particular tube ran beneath +the river. Suppose an accident should +occur—a leakage! After all such a thing was +within the bounds of possibility. Instantly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> +there rose before him the vision of a black torrent +roaring through the tunnel.</p> + +<p>Without waiting for the lift to ascend he rushed +to the staircase, and sweating with terror gained +the street and bribed a loafer to find him a +cab.</p> + +<p>He made an effort to take himself seriously +in hand after that. More than one acquaintance +had lately told him that he was looking "nervy." +In the last few weeks his sane and normal self +seemed to have shrunk within him. But it was +still capable of asserting itself under favourable +conditions. It would talk aloud to the rest of +him as if to a separate individual.</p> + +<p>"Look here, old man, this superstitious +nonsense is becoming an obsession to you," it +said one fine April morning. "Yes, I mean +what I say—an obsession! You must pull +yourself together or you'll go stark mad, and +then you'll probably go and throw yourself over +the Embankment. That legend is all bosh! +You're in the twentieth century, and you're +not a drunken fisherman——"</p> + +<p>"Hullo, young Cargill!"</p> + +<p>The door burst open and Stranack, oozing +health and sanity, glared at him.</p> + +<p>"Jove! What a wreck you look!" continued +Stranack. "You've been frousting too much. +I'm glad I came. The car's outside, and we'll +run down to Kingston, take a skiff and pull +up to Molesey."</p> + +<p>The river! Young Cargill felt the blood +singing in his ears.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I can't manage it. I—I've got +an appointment this afternoon," he stammered.</p> + +<p>Stranack perceived that he was lying, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> +wondered. For a few minutes he gossiped, +while young Cargill was repeating to himself:</p> + +<p>"You must pull yourself together. It's +becoming an obsession. You must pull yourself +together."</p> + +<p>He was vaguely conscious that Stranack +was about to depart. Stranack was already +in the doorway. His chance of killing the +obsession was slipping from him! A special +effort and then:</p> + +<p>"Stop!" cried Cargill. "I—I'll come with +you, Stranack."</p> + +<p>Oddly enough, he felt much better when they +were actually on the river. He had never +been afraid of water, as such. And the familiar +scenery, together with the wholesome exercise +of sculling, acted as a tonic to his nerves.</p> + +<p>They pulled above Molesey lock. When they +were returning, Stranack said:</p> + +<p>"You'll take her through the lock, won't +you?"</p> + +<p>It was a needless remark, and if Stranack +had not made it all might have been well. As +a fact, it set Cargill asking himself why he should +not take her through the lock. He was admitted +to be a much better boatman than Stranack, +and everyone knew that it required a certain +amount of skill to manage a lock properly. +Locks were dangerous if you played the fool. +Before now people had been drowned in locks.</p> + +<p>The rest was inevitable. He lost his head +as the lower gates swung open, and broke the +rule of the river by pushing out in front of a +launch. The launch was already under way, +and young Cargill trying to avoid it better, +thrust with his boat-hook at the side of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> +lock. The thrust was nervous and ill-calculated, +and the next instant the skiff had blundered +under the bows of the launch.</p> + +<p>It happened very quickly. The skiff was forced, +broadside on, against the lock gates, and was +splintered like firewood. Cargill fell backwards, +struck his head heavily against the gates—and +sank.</p> + +<p>He returned to consciousness in the lock-keeper's +lodge. He had been under water a +dangerously long time before Stranack, who had +suffered no more than a wetting, had found +him. It had been touch and go for his life, +but artificial respiration had succeeded.</p> + +<p>He soon went to pieces after that.</p> + +<p>From one of the windows of his chambers +the river was just visible. One morning he +deliberately pulled the blind down. The action +was important. It signified that he had definitely +given up pretending that he had the power +of shaking off the obsession.</p> + +<p>But if he could not shake it off, he could at +least keep it temporarily at bay. He started +a guerilla campaign against the obsession with +the aid of the brandy bottle. He was rarely +drunk, and as rarely sober.</p> + +<p>He was sober the day he was compelled to +call on an aunt who lived in the still prosperous +outskirts of Paddington. It was one of his +good days and, in spite of his sobriety, he had +himself in very good control when he left his +aunt.</p> + +<p>In his search for a cab it became necessary +for him to cross the canal. On the bridge he +paused and, gripping the parapet, made a surprise +attack upon his enemy.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span></p> + +<p>Some children, playing on the tow path, helped +him considerably. Their delightful sanity in +the presence of the water was worth more to +him than the brandy. He was positively winning +the battle, when one of the children fell into +the water.</p> + +<p>For an instant he hesitated. Then, as on the +night of the Tube episode, panic seized him. +The next instant the man who was probably +the best amateur swimmer in England, was +running with all his might away from the canal.</p> + +<p>When he reached his chambers he waited, +with the assistance of the brandy, until his +man brought him the last edition of the evening +paper. A tiny paragraph on the back sheet +told him of the tragedy.</p> + +<p>An hour later his man found him face downwards +on the hearthrug and, wrongly attributing +his condition wholly to the brandy, put him to +bed.</p> + +<p>He was in bed about three weeks. The doctor, +who was also a personal friend, was shrewd +enough to suspect that the brandy was the +effect, rather than the cause of the nerve trouble.</p> + +<p>About the first week in June Cargill was allowed +to get up.</p> + +<p>"You've got to go away," said the doctor +one morning. "You are probably aware that +your nerves have gone to pieces. The sea is +the place for you!"</p> + +<p>The gasp that followed was scarcely audible, +and the doctor missed it.</p> + +<p>"You went to Tryn yr Wylfa about this +time last year," continued the doctor. "Go +there again! Go for long walks on the mountains, +and put up at a temperance hotel."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span></p> + +<p>He went to Tryn yr Wylfa.</p> + +<p>The train journey of six hours knocked him +up for another week. By the time he was +strong enough for the promenade it was the +fourteenth of June. He noticed the date on +the hotel calendar, and realised that the Fates +had another ten days in which to drown him.</p> + +<p>He did not call on the Lardners. He felt +that he couldn't—after the canal episode. Four +of the ten days had passed before Betty Lardner +ran across him on the promenade.</p> + +<p>She noticed at once the change in him, and +was kinder than she had ever been before.</p> + +<p>"Next Saturday," he said, "is the anniversary!"</p> + +<p>For answer she smiled at him, and he might +have smiled back if he had not remembered +the canal.</p> + +<p>She met him each morning after that, so that +she was with him on the day when he made his +atonement.</p> + +<p>There had been a violent storm in the early +morning. It had driven one of the quarry +steamers on to the long sand-bank that lies +submerged between Tryn yr Wylfa and Puffin +Island. The gale still lasted, and the steamer +was in momentary danger of becoming a complete +wreck.</p> + +<p>There is no lifeboat service at Tryn yr Wylfa. +It was impossible to launch an ordinary boat +in such a sea.</p> + +<p>Colonel Denbigh, the owner of the quarry +and local magnate, who had been superintending +what feeble efforts had been made to effect +a rescue, answered gloomily when Betty Lardner +asked him if there were any hope.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It's a terrible thing," he jerked. "First +time there has been a wreck hereabouts. It's +hopeless trying to launch a boat——"</p> + +<p>"Suppose a fellow were to swim out to the +wreck with a life-line in tow?"</p> + +<p>It was young Cargill who spoke.</p> + +<p>The Colonel glared at him contemptuously.</p> + +<p>"He would need to be a pretty fine swimmer," +he returned.</p> + +<p>"I don't want to blow my own trumpet, but +I am considered to be one of the best amateur +swimmers in the country," replied Cargill calmly. +"If you will tell your men to get the line ready, +I will borrow a bathing suit from somewhere."</p> + +<p>They both stared at him in amazement.</p> + +<p>"But you are still an invalid," cried Betty +Lardner. "You——"</p> + +<p>She stopped short and regarded him with +fresh wonder. Somehow he no longer looked +an invalid.</p> + +<p>Mechanically she walked by his side to the +little bathing office. Suddenly she clutched +his arm.</p> + +<p>"Jack," she said, "have you forgotten the—the +legend?"</p> + +<p>"Betty," he replied, "have you forgotten +the crew?"</p> + +<p>While he was undressing the attendant asked +him some trivial question. He did not hear the +man. His thoughts were far away. He was +thinking of a group of children playing on the +bank of a canal.</p> + +<p>To the accompaniment of the Colonel's protests +they fixed a belt on him, to which was attached +the life-line.</p> + +<p>He walked along the sloping wooden projection<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> +that is used as a landing stage for pleasure +skiffs, walked until the water splashed over +him. Then he dived into the boiling surf.</p> + +<p>Thus it was that he earned Betty Lardner's +forgiveness.</p> + +<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></p> +<h2>VII<br /> +THE LAST ASCENT</h2> + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> extraordinary rapidity with which a successful +airman may achieve fame was well shown +in the case of my friend, Radcliffe Thorpe. +One week known merely to a few friends as a +clever young engineer, the next his name was +on the lips of the civilised world. His first +success was followed by a series of remarkable +feats, of which his flight above the Atlantic, +his race with the torpedo-boat-destroyers across +the North Sea, and his sensational display +during the military manœuvres on Salisbury +Plain, impressed his name and personality firmly +upon the fickle mind of the public, and explains +the tremendous excitement caused by his inexplicable +disappearance during the great aviation +meeting at Attercliffe, near London, towards +the end of the summer.</p> + +<p>Few people, I suppose, have forgotten the +facts. For some time previously he had been +devoting himself more especially to ascending +to as great a height as possible. He held all +the records for height, and it was known that +at Attercliffe he meant to endeavour to eclipse +his own achievements.</p> + +<p>It was a lovely day, not a breath of wind<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> +stirring, not a cloud in the sky. We saw him +start. We saw him fly up and up in great +sweeping spirals. We saw him climb higher +and ever higher into the azure space. We watched +him, those of us whose eyes could bear the strain, +as he dwindled to a dot and a speck, till at last +he passed beyond sight.</p> + +<p>It was a stirring thing to see a man thus storm, +as it were, the walls of Heaven and probe the +very mysteries of space. I remember I felt +quite annoyed with someone who was taking +a cinematograph record. It seemed such a +sordid, business-like thing to be doing at such +a moment.</p> + +<p>Presently the aeroplane came into sight again +and was greeted with a sudden roar of cheering.</p> + +<p>"He is doing a glide down," someone cried +excitedly, and though someone else declared +that a glide from such a height was unthinkable +and impossible, yet it was soon plain that the +first speaker was right.</p> + +<p>Down through unimaginable thousands of +feet, straight and swift swept the machine, +making such a sweep as the eagle in its pride +would never have dared. People held their +breath to watch, expecting every moment some +catastrophe. But the machine kept on an even +keel, and in a few moments I joined with the +others in a wild rush to the field at a little distance +where the machine, like a mighty bird, +had alighted easily and safely.</p> + +<p>But when we reached it we doubted our +own eyes, our own sanity. There was no sign +anywhere of Radcliffe Thorpe!</p> + +<p>No one knew what to say; we looked blankly +at our neighbours, and one man got down on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> +his hands and knees and peered under the body +of the machine as if he suspected Radcliffe of +hiding there. Then the chairman of the meeting, +Lord Fallowfield, made a curious discovery.</p> + +<p>"Look," he said in a high, shaken voice, +"the steering wheel is jammed!"</p> + +<p>It was true. The steering wheel had been +carefully fastened in one position, and the lever +controlling the planes had also been fixed so +as to hold them at the right angle for a downward +glide. That was strange enough, but in +face of the mystery of Radcliffe's disappearance +little attention was paid it.</p> + +<p>Where, then, was its pilot? That was the +question that was filling everybody's mind. +He had vanished as utterly as vanishes the +mist one sees rising in the sunshine.</p> + +<p>It was supposed he must have fallen from his +seat, but as to how that had happened, how it +was that no fragment of his body or his clothing +was ever found, above all, how it was that his +aeroplane had returned, the engine cut off, the +planes secured in correct position, no even +moderately plausible explanation was ever put +forward.</p> + +<p>The loss to aeronautics was felt to be severe. +From childhood Radcliffe had shown that, in +addition to this, he had a marked aptitude +for drawing, usually held at the service of his +profession, but now and again exercised in +producing sketches of his friends.</p> + +<p>Among those who knew him privately he +was fairly popular, though not, perhaps, so +much so as he deserved; certainly he had a way +of talking "shop" which was a trifle tiring to those<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> +who did not figure the world as one vast engineering +problem, while with women he was apt +to be brusque and short-mannered.</p> + +<p>My surprise, then, can be imagined when, +calling one afternoon on him and having to +wait a little, I had noticed lying on his desk +a crayon sketch of a woman's face. It was +a very lovely face, the features almost perfect, +and yet there was about it something unearthly +and spectral that was curiously disturbing.</p> + +<p>"Smitten at last?" I asked jestingly, and yet +aware of a certain odd discomfort.</p> + +<p>When, he saw what I was looking at he went +very pale.</p> + +<p>"Who is it?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh, just—someone!" he answered.</p> + +<p>He took the sketch from me, looked at it, +frowned and locked it away. As he seemed +unwilling to pursue the subject, I went on to +talk of the business I had come about, and I +congratulated him on his flight of the day before +in which he had broken the record for height. +As I was going he said:</p> + +<p>"By the way, that sketch—what did you +think of it?"</p> + +<p>"Why, that you had better be careful," I +answered, laughing; "or you'll be falling from +your high estate of bachelordom."</p> + +<p>He gave so violent a start, his face expressed +so much of apprehension and dismay, that I +stared at him blankly. Recovering himself with +an effort, he stammered out:</p> + +<p>"It's not—I mean—it's an imaginary portrait."</p> + +<p>"Then," I said, amazed in my turn, "you've +a jolly sight more imagination than anyone +ever credited you with."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span></p> + +<p>The incident remained in my mind. As a +matter of fact, practical Radcliffe Thorpe, absorbed +in questions of strain and ease, his head +full of cylinders and wheels and ratchets and +the Lord knows what else, would have seemed +to me the last man on earth to create that haunting, +strange, unearthly face, human in form, but +not in expression.</p> + +<p>It was about this time that Radcliffe began +to give so much attention to the making of +very high flights. His favourite time was in +the early morning, as soon as it was light. +Then in the chill dawn he would rise and soar +and wing his flight high and ever higher, up +and up, till the eye could no longer follow his +ascent.</p> + +<p>I remember he made one of these strange, +solitary flights when I was spending the week-end +with him at his cottage near the Attercliffe +Aviation Grounds.</p> + +<p>I had come down from town somewhat late the +night before, and I remember that just before +we went to bed we went out for a few minutes to +enjoy the beauty of a perfect night. The moon +was shining in a clear sky, not a sound or a breath +disturbed the sublime quietude; in the south one +wondrous star gleamed low on the horizon. +Neither of us spoke; it was enough to drink in the +beauty of such rare perfection, and I noticed how +Radcliffe kept his eyes fixed upwards on the dark +blue vault of space.</p> + +<p>"Are you longing to be up there?" I asked +him jestingly.</p> + +<p>He started and flushed, and he then went very +pale, and to my surprise I saw that he was +shivering.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You are getting cold," I said. "We had +better go in."</p> + +<p>He nodded without answering, and, as we +turned to go in, I heard quite plainly and distinctly +a low, strange laugh, a laugh full of a honeyed +sweetness that yet thrilled me with great fear.</p> + +<p>"What's that?" I said, stopping short.</p> + +<p>"What?" Radcliffe asked.</p> + +<p>"Someone laughed," I said, and I stared all +round and then upwards. "I thought it came +from up there," I said in a bewildered way, +pointing upwards.</p> + +<p>He gave me an odd look and, without answering, +went into the cottage. He had said nothing of +having planned any flight for the next morning; +but in the early morning, the chill and grey dawn, +I was roused by the drumming of his engine. At +once I jumped up out of bed and ran to the +window.</p> + +<p>The machine was raising itself lightly and +easily from the ground. I watched him wing his +god-like way up through the still, soft air till he +was lost to view. Then, after a time, I saw him +emerge again from those immensities of space. +He came down in one long majestic sweep, and +alighted in a field a little way away from the house, +leaving the aeroplane for his mechanics to fetch +up presently.</p> + +<p>"Hullo!" I greeted him. "Why didn't you +tell me you were going up?"</p> + +<p>As I spoke I heard plainly and distinctly, as +plainly as ever I heard anything in my life, that +low, strange laugh, that I had heard before, so +silvery sweet and yet somehow so horrible.</p> + +<p>"What's that?" I said, stopping short and +staring blankly upwards, for, absurd though it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> +seems, that weird sound seemed to come floating +down from an infinite height above us.</p> + +<p>"Not high enough," he muttered like a man in +an ecstasy. "Not high enough yet."</p> + +<p>He walked away from me then without another +word. When I entered the cottage he was seated +at the table sketching a woman's face—the same +face I had seen in that other sketch of his, spectral, +unreal, and lovely.</p> + +<p>"What on earth——?" I began.</p> + +<p>"Nothing on earth," he answered in a strange +voice. Then he laughed and jumped up, and +tore his sketch across.</p> + +<p>He seemed quite his old self again, chatty and +pleasant, and with his old passion for talking +"shop." He launched into a long explanation of +some scheme he had in mind for securing automatic +balancing.</p> + +<p>I never told anyone about that strange, mocking +laugh, in fact, I had almost forgotten the incident +altogether when something brought every detail +back to my memory. I had a letter from a person +who signed himself "George Barnes."</p> + +<p>Barnes, it seemed, was the operator who had +taken the pictures of that last ascent, and as he +understood I had been Mr. Thorpe's greatest +friend, he wanted to see me. Certain expressions +in the letter aroused my curiosity. I replied. +He asked for an appointment at a time that was +not very convenient, and finally I arranged to call +at his house one evening.</p> + +<p>It was one of those smart little six-room villas +of which so many have been put up in the London +suburbs of late. Barnes was buying it on the +instalment system, and I quite won his heart by +complimenting him on it. But for that, I doubt<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> +if anything would have come of my visit, for he +was plainly nervous and ill at ease and very +repentant of ever having said anything. But +after my compliment to the house we got on +better.</p> + +<p>"It's on my mind," he said; "I shan't be easy +till someone else knows."</p> + +<p>We were in the front room where a good fire +was burning—in my honour, I guessed, for the +apartment had not the air of being much used. +On the table were some photographs. Barnes +showed them me. They were enlargements from +those he had taken of poor Radcliffe's last ascent.</p> + +<p>"They've been shown all over the world," he +said. "Millions of people have seen them."</p> + +<p>"Well?" I said.</p> + +<p>"But there's one no one has seen—no one +except me."</p> + +<p>He produced another print and gave it to +me. I glanced at it. It seemed much like the +others, having been apparently one of the last +of the series, taken when the aeroplane was at +a great height. The only thing in which it +differed from the others was that it seemed a +trifle blurred.</p> + +<p>"A poor one," I said; "it's misty."</p> + +<p>"Look at the mist," he said.</p> + +<p>I did so. Slowly, very slowly, I began to +see that that misty appearance had a shape, a +form. Even as I looked I saw the features of +a human countenance—and yet not human +either, so spectral was it, so unreal and strange. +I felt the blood run cold in my veins and the +hair bristle on the scalp of my head, for I +recognised beyond all doubt that this face on +the photograph was the same as that Radcliffe<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> +had sketched. The resemblance was absolute, +no one who had seen the one could mistake the +other.</p> + +<p>"You see it?" Barnes muttered, and his +face was almost as pale as mine.</p> + +<p>"There's a woman," I stammered, "a woman +floating in the air by his side. Her arms are +held out to him."</p> + +<p>"Yes," Barnes said. "Who was she?"</p> + +<p>The print slipped from my hands and fluttered +to the ground. Barnes picked it up and put +it in the fire. Was it fancy or, as it flared up, +and burnt and was consumed, did I really +hear a faint laugh floating downwards from the +upper air?</p> + +<p>"I destroyed the negative," Barnes said, +"and I told my boss something had gone wrong +with it. No one has seen that photograph but +you and me, and now no one ever will."</p> + +<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span></p> +<h2>VIII<br /> +THE TERROR BY NIGHT</h2> + +<p><span class="smcap">Maynard</span> disincumbered himself from his fishing-creel, +stabbed the butt of his rod into the turf, +and settled down in the heather to fill a pipe. +All round him stretched the undulating moor, +purple in the late summer sunlight. To the +southward, low down, a faint haze told where +the sea lay. The stream at his feet sang its +queer, crooning moor-song as it rambled onward, +chuckling to meet a bed of pebbles somewhere +out of sight, whispering mysteriously to the +rushes that fringed its banks of peat, deepening +to a sudden contralto as it poured over granite +boulders into a scum-flecked pool below.</p> + +<p>For a long time the man sat smoking. Occasionally +he turned his head to watch with keen +eyes the fretful movements of a fly hovering +above the water. Then a sudden dimple in +the smooth surface of the stream arrested his +attention. A few concentric ripples widened, +travelled towards him, and were absorbed in +the current. His lips curved into a little smile +and he reached for his rod. In the clear water +he could see the origin of the ripples; a small +trout, unconscious of his presence, was waiting +in its hover for the next tit-bit to float downstream. +Presently it rose again.</p> + +<p>"The odds are ten to one in your favour," +said the man. "Let's see!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span></p> + +<p>He dropped on one knee and the cast leapt +out in feathery coils. Once, twice it swished; +the third time it alighted like thistledown on +the surface. There was a tiny splash, a laugh, +and the little greenheart rod flicked a trout +high over his head. It was the merest baby—half-an-ounce, +perhaps—and it fell from the hook +into the herbage some yards from the stream.</p> + +<p>"Little ass!" said Maynard. "That was +meant for your big brother."</p> + +<p>He recovered his cast and began to look for +his victim. Without avail he searched the +heather, and as the fateful seconds sped, at last +laid down his rod and dropped on hands and knees +to probe among the grass-stems.</p> + +<p>For a while he hunted in vain, then the sunlight +showed a golden sheen among some stones. +Maynard gave a grunt of relief, but as his hand +closed round it a tiny flutter passed through the +fingerling; it gave a final gasp and was still. +Knitting his brows in almost comical vexation, +he hastened to restore it to the stream, holding +it by the tail and striving to impart a life-like +wriggle to its limpness.</p> + +<p>"Buck up, old thing!" he murmured encouragingly. +"Oh, buck up! You're all right, +really you are!"</p> + +<p>But the "old thing" was all wrong. In +fact, it was dead.</p> + +<p>Standing in the wet shingle, Maynard regarded +the speckled atom as it lay in the palm of his +hand.</p> + +<p>"A matter of seconds, my son. One instant +in all eternity would have made just the difference +between life and death to you. And the high +gods denied it you!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span></p> + +<p>On the opposite side of the stream, set back +about thirty paces from the brink, stood a granite +boulder. It was as high as a man's chest, roughly +cubical in shape; but the weather and clinging +moss had rounded its edges, and in places segments +had crumbled away, giving foothold to clumps +of fern and starry moor-flowers. On three sides +the surrounding ground rose steeply, forming +an irregular horseshoe mound that opened to +the west. Perhaps it was the queer amphitheatrical +effect of this setting that connected +up some whimsical train of thought in Maynard's +brain.</p> + +<p>"It would seem as if the gods had claimed +you," he mused, still holding the corpse. "You +shall be a sacrifice—a burnt sacrifice to the God +of Waste Places."</p> + +<p>He laughed at the conceit, half-ashamed of +his own childishness, and crossing the stream +by some boulders, he brushed away the earth +and weed from the top of the great stone. Then +he retraced his steps and gathered a handful +of bleached twigs that the winter floods had left +stranded along the margin of the stream. These +he arranged methodically on the cleared space; +on the top of the tiny pyre he placed the troutlet.</p> + +<p>"There!" he said, and smiling gravely struck +a match. A faint column of smoke curled up +into the still air, and as he spoke the lower rim +of the setting sun met the edge of the moor. +The evening seemed suddenly to become incredibly +still, even the voice of the stream ceasing +to be a sound distinct. A wagtail bobbing in +the shallows fled into the waste. Overhead the +smoke trembled upwards, a faint stain against +a cloudless sky. The stillness seemed almost<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> +acute. It was as if the moor were waiting, and +holding its breath while it waited. Then the +twigs upon his altar crackled, and the pale flames +blazed up. The man stepped back with artistic +appreciation of the effect.</p> + +<p>"To be really impressive, there ought to be +more smoke," he continued.</p> + +<p>Round the base of the stone were clumps of +small flowers. They were crimson in colour and +had thick, fleshy leaves. Hastily, he snatched +a handful and piled it on the fire. The smoke +darkened and rose in a thick column; there was +a curious pungency in the air.</p> + +<p>Far off the church-bell in some unseen hamlet +struck the hour. The distant sound, coming +from the world of men and every-day affairs, +seemed to break the spell. An ousel fluttered +across the stream and dabbled in a puddle among +some stones. Rabbits began to show themselves +and frisk with lengthened shadows in the clear +spaces. Maynard looked at his watch, half-mindful +of a train to be caught somewhere miles +away, and then, held by the peace of running +water, stretched himself against the sloping +ground.</p> + +<p>The glowing world seemed peopled by tiny +folk, living out their timid, inscrutable lives +around him. A water-rat, passing bright-eyed +upon his lawful occasion, paused on the border +of the stream to consider the stranger, and was +lost to view. A stagnant pool among some reeds +caught the reflection of the sunset and changed +on the instant into raw gold.</p> + +<p>Maynard plucked a grass stem and chewed +it reflectively, staring out across the purple +moor and lazily watching the western sky turn<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> +from glory to glory. Over his head the smoke +of the sacrifice still curled and eddied upwards. +Then a sudden sound sent him on to one elbow—the +thud of an approaching horse's hoofs.</p> + +<p>"Moor ponies!" he muttered, and, rising, +stood expectant beside his smoking altar.</p> + +<p>Then he heard the sudden jingle of a bit, and +presently a horse and rider climbed into view +against the pure sky. A young girl, breeched, +booted and spurred like a boy, drew rein, and sat +looking down into the hollow.</p> + +<p>For a moment neither spoke; then Maynard +acknowledged her presence by raising his tweed +hat. She gave a little nod.</p> + +<p>"I thought it was somebody swaling—burning +the heather." She considered the embers on +the stone, and then her grey eyes travelled back +to the spare, tweed-clad figure beside it.</p> + +<p>He smiled in his slow way—a rather attractive +smile.</p> + +<p>"No. I've just concluded some pagan rites +in connection with a small trout!" He nodded +gravely at the stone. "That was a burnt sacrifice." +With whimsical seriousness he told her +of the trout's demise and high destiny.</p> + +<p>For a moment she looked doubtful; but the +inflection of breeding in his voice, the wholesome, +lean face and humorous eyes, reassured her. +A smile hovered about the corners of her mouth.</p> + +<p>"Oh, is that it? I wondered ..."</p> + +<p>She gathered the reins and turned her horse's +head.</p> + +<p>"Forgive me if I dragged you out of your way," +said Maynard, never swift to conventionality, +but touched by the tired shadows in her eyes. +The faint droop of her mouth, too, betrayed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> +intense fatigue. "You look fagged. I don't +want to be a nuisance or bore you, but I wish +you'd let me offer you a sandwich. I've some +milk here, too."</p> + +<p>The girl looked round the ragged moor, brooding +in the twilight, and half hesitated. Then +she forced a wan little smile.</p> + +<p>"I am tired, and hungry, too. Have you +enough for us both?"</p> + +<p>"Lots!" said Maynard. To himself he +added: "And what's more, my child, you'll +have a little fainting affair in a few minutes, if +you don't have a feed."</p> + +<p>"Come and rest for a minute," he continued +aloud.</p> + +<p>He spoke with pleasant, impersonal kindliness, +and as he turned to his satchel she slipped out of +the saddle and came towards him, leading her +horse.</p> + +<p>"Drink that," he said, holding out the cup +of his flask. She drank with a wry little face, +and coughed. "I put a little whisky in it," +he explained. "You needed it."</p> + +<p>She thanked him and sat down with the +bridle linked over her arm. The colour crept +back into her cheeks. Maynard produced a +packet of sandwiches and a pasty.</p> + +<p>"I've been mooning about the moor all the +afternoon and lost myself twice," she explained +between frank mouthfuls. "I'm hopelessly +late for dinner, and I've still got miles to go."</p> + +<p>"Do you know the way now?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes! It won't take me long. My +family are sensible, too, and don't fuss." She +looked at him, her long-lashed eyes a little +serious. "But you—how are you going to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> +get home? It's getting late to be out on the +moor afoot."</p> + +<p>Maynard laughed.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm all right, thanks!" He sniffed +the warm September night. "I think I shall +sleep here, as a matter of fact. I'm a gipsy +by instinct—</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<span class="i0">"'Give to me the life I love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let the lave go by me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Give the jolly Heaven above——'"<br /></span> +</div> + +<p>He broke off, arrested by her unsmiling eyes. +She was silent a moment.</p> + +<p>"People don't as a rule sleep out—about +here." The words came jerkily, as if she were +forcing a natural tone into her voice.</p> + +<p>"No?" He was accustomed to being questioned +on his unconventional mode of life, and +was prepared for the usual expostulations. +She looked abruptly towards him.</p> + +<p>"Are you superstitious?"</p> + +<p>He laughed and shook his head.</p> + +<p>"I don't think so. But what has that got +to do with it?"</p> + +<p>She hesitated, flushing a little.</p> + +<p>"There is a legend—people about here say +that the moor here is haunted. There is a +Thing that hunts people to death!"</p> + +<p>He laughed outright, wondering how old +she was. Seventeen or eighteen, perhaps. +She had said her people "didn't fuss." That +meant she was left to herself to pick up all +these old wives' tales.</p> + +<p>"Really! Has anyone been caught?"</p> + +<p>She nodded, unsmiling.</p> + +<p>"Yes; old George Toms. He was one of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> +Dad's tenants, a big purple-faced man, who +drank a lot and never took much exercise. +They found him in a ditch with his clothes all +torn and covered with mud. He had been run +to death; there was no wound on his body, +but his heart was broken." Her thoughts +recurred to the stone against which they leant, +and his quaint conceit. "You were rather +rash to go offering burnt sacrifices about here, +don't you think? Dad says that stone is the +remains of an old Phœnician altar, too."</p> + +<p>She was smiling now, but the seriousness +lingered in her eyes.</p> + +<p>"And I have probably invoked some terrible +heathen deity—Ashtoreth, or Pugm, or Baal! +How awful!" he added, with mock gravity.</p> + +<p>The girl rose to her feet.</p> + +<p>"You are laughing at me. The people about +here are superstitious, and I am a Celt, too. +I belong here."</p> + +<p>He jumped up with a quick protest.</p> + +<p>"No, I'm not laughing at you. Please don't +think that! But it's a little hard to believe +in active evil when all around is so beautiful." +He helped her to mount and walked to the +top of the mound at her stirrup. "Tell me, is +there any charm or incantation, in case——?" +His eyes were twinkling, but she shook her fair +head soberly.</p> + +<p>"They say iron—cold iron—is the only thing +it cannot cross. But I must go!" She held +out her hand with half-shy friendliness. "Thank +you for your niceness to me." Her eyes grew +suddenly wistful. "Really, though, I don't +think I should stay there if I were you. Please!"</p> + +<p>He only laughed, however, and she moved<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> +off, shaking her impatient horse into a canter. +Maynard stood looking after her till she was +swallowed by the dusk and surrounding moor. +Then, thoughtfully, he retraced his steps to the +hollow.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>A cloud lay across the face of the moon when +Fear awoke Maynard. He rolled on to one +elbow and stared round the hollow, filled with +inexplicable dread. He was ordinarily a courageous +man, and had no nerves to speak of; +yet, as his eyes followed the line of the ridge +against the sky, he experienced terror, the +elementary, nauseating terror of childhood, +when the skin tingles, and the heart beats at +a suffocating gallop. It was very dark, but +momentarily his eyes grew accustomed to it. +He was conscious of a queer, pungent smell, +horribly animal and corrupt.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the utter silence broke. He heard +a rattle of stones, the splash of water about +him, realised that it was the brook beneath +his feet, and that he, Maynard, was running +for his life.</p> + +<p>Neither then nor later did Reason assert +herself. He ran without question or amazement. +His brain—the part where human +reasoning holds normal sway—was dominated +by the purely primitive instinct of flight. And +in that sudden rout of courage and self-respect +one conscious thought alone remained. Whatever +it was that was even then at his heels, he +must not see it. At all costs it must be behind +him, and, resisting the sudden terrified impulse +to look over his shoulder, he unbuttoned his tweed +jacket and disengaged himself from it as he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> +ran. The faint haze that had gathered round +the full moon dispersed, and he saw the moor +stretching before him, grey and still, glistening +with dew.</p> + +<p>He was of frugal and temperate habits, a +wiry man at the height of his physical powers, +with lean flanks and a deep chest.</p> + +<p>At Oxford they had said he was built to run +for his life. He was running for it now, and he +knew it.</p> + +<p>The ground sloped upwards after a while, +and he tore up the incline, breathing deep and +hard; down into a shallow valley, leaping gorse +bushes, crashing through whortle and meadowsweet, +stumbling over peat-cuttings and the +workings of forgotten tin-mines. An idiotic popular +tune raced through his brain. He found +himself trying to frame the words, but they +broke into incoherent prayers, still to the same +grotesque tune.</p> + +<p>Then, as he breasted the flank of a boulder-strewn +tor, he seemed to hear snuffling breathing +behind him, and, redoubling his efforts, stepped +into a rabbit hole. He was up and running +again in the twinkling of an eye, limping from +a twisted ankle as he ran.</p> + +<p>He sprinted over the crest of the hill and +thought he heard the sound almost abreast of +him, away to the right. In the dry bed of a +watercourse some stones were dislodged and +fell with a rattle in the stillness of the night; +he bore away to the left. A moment later +there was Something nearly at his left elbow, +and he smelt again the nameless, fœtid reek. +He doubled, and the ghastly truth flashed +upon him. The Thing was playing with him!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> +He was being hunted for sport—the sport of a +horror unthinkable. The sweat ran down into +his eyes.</p> + +<p>He lost all count of time; his wrist watch +was smashed on his wrist. He ran through a +reeling eternity, sobbing for breath, stumbling, +tripping, fighting a leaden weariness; and ever +the same unreasoning terror urged him on. +The moon and ragged skyline swam about him; +the blood drummed deafeningly in his ears, +and his eyeballs felt as if they would burst +from their sockets. He had nearly bitten his +swollen tongue in two falling over an unseen +peat-cutting, and blood-flecked foam gathered +on his lips.</p> + +<p>God, how he ran! But he was no longer +among bog and heather. He was running—shambling +now—along a road. The loping pursuit +of that nameless, shapeless Something sounded +like an echo in his head.</p> + +<p>He was nearing a village, but saw nothing +save a red mist that swam before him like a +fog. The road underfoot seemed to rise and +fall in wavelike undulations. Still he ran, +with sobbing gasps and limbs that swerved +under his weight; at his elbow hung death +unnamable, and the fear of it urged him on +while every instinct of his exhausted body called +out to him to fling up his hands and end it.</p> + +<p>Out of the mist ahead rose the rough outline of +a building by the roadside; it was the village +smithy, half workshop, half dwelling. The +road here skirted a patch of grass, and the +moonlight, glistening on the dew, showed the +dark circular scars of the turf where, for a +generation, the smith's peat fires had heated<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> +the great iron hoops that tyred the wheels of +the wains. One of these was even then lying +on the ground with the turves placed in readiness +for firing in the morning, and in the throbbing +darkness of Maynard's consciousness a voice +seemed to speak faintly—the voice of a girl:</p> + +<p>"<i>There's a Thing that hunts people to death. +But iron—cold iron—it cannot cross.</i>"</p> + +<p>The sweat of death was already on his brow +as he reeled sideways, plunging blindly across +the uneven tufts of grass. His feet caught in +some obstruction and he pitched forward into +the sanctuary of the huge iron tyre—a spasm +of cramp twisting his limbs up under him.</p> + +<p>As he fell a great blackness rose around him, +and with it the bewildered clamour of awakened +dogs.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Dr. Stanmore came down the flagged path +from the smith's cottage, pulling on his gloves. +A big car was passing slowly up the village +street, and as it came abreast the smithy the +doctor raised his hat.</p> + +<p>The car stopped, and the driver, a fair-haired +girl, leant sideways from her seat.</p> + +<p>"Good-morning, Dr. Stanmore! What's the +matter here? Nothing wrong with any of +Matthew's children, is there?"</p> + +<p>The Doctor shook his head gravely.</p> + +<p>"No, Lady Dorothy; they're all at school. +This is no one belonging to the family—a stranger +who was taken mysteriously ill last night just +outside the forge, and they brought him in. +It's a most queer case, and very difficult to +diagnose—that is to say, to give a diagnosis in +keeping with one's professional—er—conscience."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span></p> + +<p>The girl switched off the engine, and took +her hand from the brake-lever. Something in +the doctor's manner arrested her interest.</p> + +<p>"What is the matter with him?" she queried. +"What diagnosis have you made, professional +or otherwise?"</p> + +<p>"Shock, Lady Dorothy; severe exhaustion +and shock, heart strained, superficial lesions, +bruises, scratches, and so forth. Mentally he +is in a great state of excitement and terror, +lapsing into delirium at times—that is really +the most serious feature. In fact, unless I can +calm him I am afraid we may have some brain +trouble on top of the other thing. It's most +mysterious!"</p> + +<p>The girl nodded gravely, holding her underlip +between her white teeth.</p> + +<p>"What does he look like—in appearance, +I mean? Is he young?"</p> + +<p>The shadow of a smile crossed the doctor's +eyes.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Lady Dorothy—quite young, and very +good-looking. He is a man of remarkable +athletic build. He is calmer now, and I have +left Matthew's wife with him while I slip out +to see a couple of other patients."</p> + +<p>Lady Dorothy rose from her seat and stepped +down out of the car.</p> + +<p>"I think I know your patient," she said. +"In fact, I had taken the car to look for him, +to ask him to lunch with us. Do you think +I might see him for a minute? If it is the person +I think it is I may be able to help you diagnose +his illness."</p> + +<p>Together they walked up the path and entered +the cottage. The doctor led the way<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> +upstairs and opened a door. A woman sitting +by the bed rose and dropped a curtsey.</p> + +<p>Lady Dorothy smiled a greeting to her and +crossed over to the bed. There, his face grey +and drawn with exhaustion, with shadows +round his closed eyes, lay Maynard; one hand +lying on the counterpane opened and closed +convulsively, his lips moved. The physician +eyed the girl interrogatively.</p> + +<p>"Do you know him?" he asked.</p> + +<p>She nodded, and put her firm, cool hand +over the twitching fingers.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said. "And I warned him. +Tell me, is he very ill?"</p> + +<p>"He requires rest, careful nursing, absolute +quiet——"</p> + +<p>"All that he can have at the Manor," said +the girl softly. She met the doctor's eyes and +looked away, a faint colour tingeing her cheeks. +"Will you go and telephone to father? I +will take him back in the car now if he is well +enough to be moved."</p> + +<p>"Yes, he is well enough to be moved," said +the doctor. "It is very kind of you, Lady +Dorothy, and I will go and telephone at once. +Will you stay with him for a little while?"</p> + +<p>He left the room, and they heard his feet go +down the narrow stairs. The cottage door opened +and closed.</p> + +<p>The two women, the old and the young, peasant +and peer's daughter, looked at each other, and +there was in their glance that complete understanding +which can only exist between women.</p> + +<p>"Do 'ee mind old Jarge Toms, my lady?"</p> + +<p>Lady Dorothy nodded.</p> + +<p>"I know, I know! And I warned him!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> +They won't believe, these men! They think +because they are so big and strong that there +is nothing that can hurt them."</p> + +<p>"'Twas th' iron that saved un, my lady. +'Twas inside one of John's new tyres as was +lyin' on the ground that us found un. Dogs +barkin' wakened us up. But it'd ha' had un, +else——" A sound downstairs sent her flying +to the door. "'Tis the kettle, my lady. John's +dinner spilin', an' I forgettin'."</p> + +<p>She hurried out of the room and closed the +door.</p> + +<p>The sound of their voices seemed to have +roused the occupant of the bed. His eyelids +fluttered and opened; his eyes rested full on the +girl's face. For a moment there was no consciousness +in their gaze; then a whimsical ghost +of a smile crept about his mouth.</p> + +<p>"Go on," he said in a weak voice. "Say it!"</p> + +<p>"Say what?" asked Lady Dorothy. She +was suddenly aware that her hand was still on +his, but the twitching fingers had closed about +hers in a calm, firm grasp.</p> + +<p>"Say 'I told you so'!"</p> + +<p>She shook her head with a little smile.</p> + +<p>"I told you that cold iron——"</p> + +<p>"Cold iron saved me." He told her of the +iron hoop on the ground outside the forge. "You +saved me last night."</p> + +<p>She disengaged her hand gently.</p> + +<p>"I saved you last night—since you say so. +But in future——"</p> + +<p>Someone was coming up the stairs. Maynard +met her eyes with a long look.</p> + +<p>"I have no fear," he said. "I have found +something better than cold iron."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span></p> + +<p>The door opened and the doctor came in. +He glanced at Maynard's face and touched his +pulse.</p> + +<p>"The case is yours, Lady Dorothy!" he said +with a little bow.</p> + +<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span></p> +<h2>IX<br /> +THE TRAGEDY AT THE "LOUP NOIR"</h2> + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> Boy at the corner of the table flicked the +ash of his cigar into the fire.</p> + +<p>"Spiritualism is all rot!" he declared.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," the Host reflected thoughtfully. +"One hears queer stories sometimes."</p> + +<p>"Which reminds me——" started the Bore.</p> + +<p>But before he could proceed any further the +little French Judge ruthlessly cut him short.</p> + +<p>"Bah!" Contempt and geniality were mingled +in his tone. "Who are we, poor ignorant worms, +that we should dare to say 'is' or 'is not'? +Your Shakespeare, he was right! 'There are +more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than +are dreamt of in your philosophy!'"</p> + +<p>The faces of the four Englishmen instantly +assumed that peculiarly stolid expression always +called forth by the mention of Shakespeare.</p> + +<p>"But Spiritualism——" started the Host.</p> + +<p>Again the little French Judge broke in:</p> + +<p>"I who you speak, I myself know of an experience, +of the most remarkable, to this day unexplained +save by Spiritualism, Occultism, what +you will! You shall hear! The case is one I conducted +professionally some two years ago, though, +of course, the events which I now tell in their +proper sequence, came out only in the trial. I +string them together for you, yes?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Bore, who fiercely resented any stories +except his own, gave vent to a discontented +grunt; the other three prepared to listen carefully. +From the drawing-room, whither the +ladies had retired after dinner, sounded the far-away +strains of a piano. The little French +Judge held out his glass for a crème de menthe; +his eyes were sparkling with suppressed excitement; +he gazed deep into the shining green +liquid as if seeing therein a moving panorama +of pictures, then he began:</p> + +<p>On a dusky autumn evening, a young man, +tall, olive-skinned, tramps along the road leading +from Paris to Longchamps. He is walking +with a quick, even swing. Now and again a +hidden anxiety darkens his face.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he branches off to the left; the path +here is steep and muddy. He stops in front of +a blurred circle of yellow light; by this can one +faintly perceive the outlines of a building. Above +the narrow doorway hangs a creaking sign which +announces to all it may concern that this is the +"Loup Noir," much sought after for its nearness +to the racecourse and for its excellent <i>ménage</i>.</p> + +<p>"<i>Voilà!</i>" mutters our friend.</p> + +<p>On entering, he is met by the burly innkeeper, +a shrewd enough fellow, who has seen something +of life before settling down in Longchamps. +The young man glances past him as if seeking +some other face, then recollecting himself demands +shelter for the night.</p> + +<p>"I greatly fear——" began the innkeeper, +then pauses, struck by an idea. "Holà, Gaston! +Have monsieur and madame from number fourteen +yet departed?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, monsieur; already early this morning;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> +you were at the market, so Mademoiselle settled +the bill."</p> + +<p>"Mademoiselle Jehane?" the stranger looks +up sharply.</p> + +<p>"My niece, monsieur; you have perhaps heard +of her, for I see by your easel you are an artist. +She is supposed to be of a rare beauty; I think it +myself." Jean Potin keeps up a running flow +of talk as he conducts his visitor down the long +bare passages, past blistered yellow doors.</p> + +<p>"It is a double room I must give you, vacated, +as you heard, but this very morning. They +were going to stay longer, Monsieur and Madame +Guillaumet, but of a sudden she changed her +mind. Oh, she was of a temper!" Potin +raises expressive eyes heavenwards. "It is ever +so when May weds with December."</p> + +<p>"He was much older than his wife, then?" +queries the artist, politely feigning an interest +he is far from feeling.</p> + +<p>"<i>Mais non, parbleu!</i> It was she who was the +older—by some fifteen years; and not a beauty. +But rich—he knew what he was about, giving +his smooth cheek for her smooth louis!"</p> + +<p>Left alone, Lou Arnaud proceeds to unpack +his knapsack; he lingers over it as long as possible; +the task awaiting him below is no pleasant one. +Finally he descends. The small smoky <i>salle +à manger</i> is full of people. There is much talk +and laughter going on; the clatter of knives +and forks. At the desk near the door, a young +girl is busy with the accounts. Her very pale +gold hair, parted and drawn loosely back over +the ears, casts a faint shadow on her pure, white +skin. Arnaud, as he chooses a seat, looks at +her critically.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Bah, she is insignificant!" he thinks. +"What can have possessed Claude?"</p> + +<p>Suddenly she raises her eyes. They meet his +in a long, steady gaze. Then once again the lids +are lowered.</p> + +<p>The artist sets down his glass with a hand +that shakes. He is not imaginative, as a rule, +but when one sees the soul of a mocking devil +look out, dark and compelling, from the face +of a Madonna, one is disconcerted.</p> + +<p>He wonders no more what had possessed Claude. +On his way to the door a few moments later, he +pauses at her desk.</p> + +<p>"Monsieur wishes to order breakfast for to-morrow +morning?"</p> + +<p>"Monsieur wishes to speak with you."</p> + +<p>She smiles demurely. Many have wished to +speak with her. Arnaud divines her thoughts.</p> + +<p>"My name is Lou Arnaud!" he adds +meaningly.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" she ponders on this for an instant; +then: "It is a warm night; if you will seat +yourself at one of the little tables in the courtyard +at the back of the house, I will try to join +you, when these pigs have finished feeding." +She indicates with contempt the noisily eating +crowd.</p> + +<p>They sit long at that table, for the man has +much to tell of his young brother Claude; of the +ruin she has made of his life; of the little green +devils that lurk in a glass of absinthe, and clutch +their victim, and drag him down deeper, ever +deeper, into the great, green abyss.</p> + +<p>But she only laughs, this Jehane of the wanton +eyes.</p> + +<p>"But what do you want from me? I have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span> +no need of this Claude. He wearies me—now!"</p> + +<p>Arnaud springs to his feet, catching her roughly +by the wrist. He loves his young brother much. +His voice is raised, attracting the notice of two +or three groups who take coffee at the iron tables.</p> + +<p>"You had need of him once. You never left +him in peace till you had sucked him of all that +makes life good. If I could——"</p> + +<p>Jean Potin appears in the doorway.</p> + +<p>"Jehane, what are you doing out here? You +know I do not permit it that you speak with the +visitors. Pardon her, monsieur, she is but a +child."</p> + +<p>"A child?" The artist's brow is black as +thunder. "She has wrecked a life, this child +you speak of!"</p> + +<p>He strides past the amazed innkeeper, up +the narrow flight of stairs, and down the passage +to his room.</p> + +<p>Sitting on the edge of the huge curtained +four-poster bed, he ponders on the events of +the evening.</p> + +<p>But his thoughts are not all of Claude. That +girl—that girl with her pale face and her pale +hair, and eyes the grey of a storm cloud before +it breaks, she haunts him! Her soft murmuring +voice has stolen into his brain; he hears +it in the drip, drip of the rain on the sill outside.</p> + +<p>Soon heavy feet are heard trooping up the +stairs; doors are heard to bang; cheery voices +wish each other good-night. Then gradually +the sounds die away. They keep early hours +at the "Loup Noir"; it is not yet ten o'clock.</p> + +<p>Still Arnaud remains sitting on the edge of +the bed; the dark plush canopy overhead repels +him, he does not feel inclined for sleep. Jehane!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> +what a picture she would make! He <i>must</i> +paint her!</p> + +<p>Obsessed by this idea, he unpacks a roll of +canvas, spreads it on the tripod easel, and prepares +crayons and charcoal; he will start the picture +as soon as it is day. He will paint her as Circe, +mocking at her grovelling herd of swine!</p> + +<p>He creeps into bed and falls asleep.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Softly the rain patters against the window-pane.</p> + +<p>A distant clock booms out eleven strokes.</p> + +<p>Lou Arnaud raises his head. Then noiselessly +he slides out of bed on the chill wooden boarding. +As in a trance he crosses the room, seizes charcoal, +and feverishly works at the blank canvas on +the easel.</p> + +<p>For twenty minutes his hand never falters, +then the charcoal drops from his nerveless fingers! +Groping his way with half-closed eyes back to +the bed, he falls again into a heavy, dreamless +slumber.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>The early morning sun chases away the raindrops +of the night before. Signs of activity +are abroad in the inn; the swish of brooms; +the noisy clatter of pails. A warm aroma of +coffee floats up the stairs and under the door of +number fourteen, awaking Arnaud to pleasant +thoughts of breakfast. He is partly dressed +before his eye lights on the canvas he had prepared.</p> + +<p>"<i>Nom de Dieu!</i>"</p> + +<p>He falls back against the wall, staring stupefied +at the picture before him. It is the picture +of a girl, crouching in a kneeling position, all<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> +the agony of death showing clearly in her upturned +eyes. At her throat, cruelly, relentlessly +doing their murderous work, are a pair of hands—ugly, +podgy hands, but with what power +behind them!</p> + +<p>The face is the face of Jehane—a distorted, +terrified Jehane! Arnaud recoils, covering his +eyes with his hands. Who could have drawn +this unspeakable thing? He looks again closely; +the style is his own! There is no mistaking +those bold, black lines, that peculiar way of +indicating muscle beneath the tightly stretched +skin—it <i>is</i> his own work! Anywhere would +he have known it!</p> + +<p>A knock at the door! Jean Potin enters, +radiating cheerfulness.</p> + +<p>"Breakfast in your room, monsieur? We +are busy this morning; I share in the work. +Permit me to move the table and the easel—<i>Sacré-bleu!</i>"</p> + +<p>Suddenly his rosy lips grow stern. "This +is Jehane. Did she sit for you—and when? +You only came last night. What devil's work +is this?"</p> + +<p>"That is what I would like to find out; I +know no more about it than you yourself. When +I awoke this morning the picture was there!"</p> + +<p>"Did you draw it?" suspiciously.</p> + +<p>"Yes. At least, no! Yes, I suppose I did. +But I——"</p> + +<p>Potin clenches his fist: "I will have the truth +from the girl herself! There is something +here I do not like!" Roughly he pushes past +the artist and mounts to Jehane's room.</p> + +<p>She is not there, neither is she at her desk. +Nor yet down in the village. They search<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> +everywhere; there is a hue and cry; people rush +to and fro.</p> + +<p>Then suddenly a shout; and a silence, a +dreadful silence.</p> + +<p>Something is carried slowly into the "Loup +Noir." Something that was found huddled up +in the shadow of the wall that borders the courtyard. +Something with ugly purple patches on +the white throat.</p> + +<p>It is Jehane, and she is dead; strangled by +a pair of hands that came from behind.</p> + +<p>The story of the picture is rapidly passed +from mouth to mouth. People look strangely +at Lou Arnaud; they remember his loud, strained +voice and threatening gestures on the preceding +night.</p> + +<p>Finally he is arrested on the charge of murder.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>I was the judge, gentlemen, on the occasion +of the Arnaud trial.</p> + +<p>The prisoner is questioned about the picture. +He knows nothing; can tell nothing of how it +came there. His fellow-artists testify to its +being his work. From them also leaks out the +tale of his brother Claude, of the latter's infatuation +and ruin. No need now to explain +the quarrel in the courtyard. The accused has +good reason to hate the dead girl.</p> + +<p>The Avocat for the defence does his best. +The picture is produced in court; it creates a +sensation.</p> + +<p>If only Lou Arnaud could complete it—could +sketch in the owner of those merciless +hands. He is handed the charcoal; again and +again he tries—in vain.</p> + +<p>The hands are not his own; but that is a small<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> +point in his favour. Why should he have incriminated +himself by drawing his own hands? +But again, why should he have drawn the picture +at all?</p> + +<p>There is nobody else on whom falls a shadow +of suspicion. I sum up impartially. The jury +convict on circumstantial evidence, and I sentence +the prisoner to death.</p> + +<p>A short time must elapse between the sentence +and carrying it into force. The Avocat for +the defence obtains for the prisoner a slight +concession; he may have picture and charcoal +in his cell. Perhaps he can yet free himself +from the web which has inmeshed him!</p> + +<p>Arnaud tries to blot out thought by sketching +in and erasing again fanciful figures twisted +into a peculiar position; he cannot adjust the +pose of the unknown murderer. So in despair +he gives it up.</p> + +<p>One morning, three days before the execution, +the innkeeper comes to visit him and finds +him lying face downwards on the narrow pallet. +Despite his own grief, he is sorry for the young +man; nor is he convinced in his shrewd bourgeois +mind of the latter's guilt.</p> + +<p>"You <i>must</i> draw in the second figure," he +repeats again and again. "It is your last, +your only chance! Think of the faces you +saw at the 'Loup Noir.' Do none of them +recall anything to you? You quarrelled with +Jehane in the garden about your brother. Then +you went to your room. Oh, what did you +think in your room?"</p> + +<p>"I thought of your niece," responds Arnaud +wildly. "How very beautiful she was, and what +a model she would make. Then I prepared<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> +a blank canvas for the morning, and went +to bed. When I woke up the picture was there."</p> + +<p>"And you remember nothing more—nothing +at all?" insists Jean Potin. "You fell asleep +at once? You heard no sound?"</p> + +<p>Against the barred window of the cell the rain +patters softly. A distant clock booms out +eleven strokes.</p> + +<p>Something in the artist's brain seems to snap. +He raises his head. He slides from the bed. +As in a trance he crosses the cell, seizes a piece +of charcoal, and feverishly works at the picture +on the easel!</p> + +<p>Not daring to speak, Jean Potin watches +him. The figure behind the hands grows and +grows beneath Arnaud's fingers.</p> + +<p>A woman's figure!</p> + +<p>Then the face: a coarse, malignant face, +distorted by evil passions.</p> + +<p>"Ah!"</p> + +<p>It is a cry of recognition from the breathless +innkeeper. It breaks the spell. The charcoal +drops, and the prisoner, passing his hand across +his eyes, gazes bewildered at his own work.</p> + +<p>"Who? What?"</p> + +<p>"But I know her! It is the woman in whose +room you slept! She was staying at the 'Loup +Noir' the very night before you arrived, and +she left that morning. She and her husband, +Monsieur Guillaumet. But it is incredible if +<i>she</i> should have——"</p> + +<p>I will be short with you, gentlemen. Madame +Guillaumet was traced to her flat in Paris. +Arnaud's Avocat confronted her with the +now completed picture. She was confounded—babbled +like a mad woman—confessed!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span></p> + +<p>A reprieve for further inquiry was granted +by the State. Finally Arnaud was cleared, and +allowed to go free.</p> + +<p>The motive for the murder? A woman's +jealousy. Monsieur and Madame Guillaumet +had been married only ten months. Her age +was forty-nine; his twenty-seven. Every second +of their married life was to her weighted with +intolerable suspicions; how soon would this +young husband, so dear to her, forsake her for +another, now that his debts were paid? It +preyed upon her mind, distorting it, unbalancing +it; each glance, each movement of his she +exaggerated into an intrigue.</p> + +<p>On their way to Paris they stayed a few days +at the "Loup Noir"; Charles Guillaumet was +interested in racing. Also, he became interested +in a certain Mdlle. Jehane. Madame, quick +to see, insisted on an instant departure.</p> + +<p>The evening of the day of their departure +she missed her husband, and found he had taken +the car. Where should he have gone? Back +to the inn, of course, only half-an-hour's run +from Paris. She hired another car and followed +him, driving it herself. It was not a pleasant +journey. The first car she discovered forsaken, +about half-a-mile distant from the inn. Her +own car she left beside it, and trudged the +remaining distance on foot.</p> + +<p>The rest was easy.</p> + +<p>Finding no sign of Guillaumet in front of the +house, she stole round to the back. There she +found a door in the wall of the courtyard—a +door that led into the lane. That door was +slightly ajar. She slipped in and crouched down +in the shadow.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span></p> + +<p>Yes, there they were, her husband and Jehane; +the latter was laughing, luring him on—and she +was young; oh, so young!</p> + +<p>The woman watched, fascinated.</p> + +<p>Charles bade Jehane good-bye, promising to +come again. He kissed her tenderly, passed +through the gate; his steps were heard muffled +along the lane.</p> + +<p>Jehane blew him a kiss, and then fastened the +little door.</p> + +<p>A distant clock boomed out eleven strokes, +and a pair of hands stole round the girl's throat, +burying themselves deep, deep in the white flesh.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>"And the husband, was he an accessory after +the fact?" inquired the Boy.</p> + +<p>"Possibly he guessed at the deed, yes; but, +being a weakling, said nothing for fear of implicating +himself. It wasn't proved."</p> + +<p>The Host moved uneasily in his chair.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean to tell me that the mystery +of the picture has never been cleared up?" +he asked. "Could Arnaud have actually seen +the murder from his window, and fixed it on +the canvas?"</p> + +<p>The little French Judge shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Did I not tell you that his window faced +front?" he replied. "No, that point has not +yet been explained. It is beyond us!"</p> + +<p>He made a sweeping gesture, knocking over +his liqueur glass; it fell with a crash on the parquet +floor.</p> + +<p>The Bore woke with a start.</p> + +<p>"And did they marry?" he queried.</p> + +<p>"Who should marry?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That artist-chap and the girl—what was her +name?—Jehane."</p> + +<p>"Monsieur," quoth the little French Judge +very gently and ironically, "I grieve to state +that was impossible, Jehane being dead."</p> + +<p>The Boy at the corner of the table stood up +and threw the stump of his cigar into the fire.</p> + +<p>"I think Spiritualism is all rot!" he declared.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="center"><small>MILLER, SON, & COMPY., LIMITED,<br /> +PRINTERS,<br /> +FAKENHAM AND LONDON.</small></p> + +<hr /> +<p class="p3"><b><span class="p4">SOME NOTABLE SIXPENNY BOOKS</span></b></p> + +<p class="center"><b>To be had of all Booksellers, or post free (Inland) 8d. each; four<br /> +volumes for 2s. 5d., or six for 3s. 6d. from THE PUBLISHER,<br /> +17, Henrietta Street, London, W.C.</b></p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p class="p2">THE MYSTERIES OF MODERN LONDON.</p> + +<p class="p3"><big>By GEORGE R. SIMS,</big></p> +<p class="p3"><i>Author of "The Devil in London," &c.</i></p> + +<div class="bk1"><p>"Full of fascinating interest and romance. Those who are interested in +the curious will find here much that is piquant and stimulating."—<i>Daily +News.</i></p> + +<p>"Is as fascinating as its title and its author's name would lead one to +expect."—<i>T.P.'s Weekly.</i></p></div> + +<p class="p2">SEVENTY YEARS A SHOWMAN</p> + +<p class="p3"><span class="smcap"><big>My Adventures in Camp and Caravan the World Over.</big></span></p> +<p class="p3"><big>By "LORD" GEORGE SANGER.</big></p> +<p class="p3"><i>Illustrated.</i></p> + +<div class="bk1"><p>In this volume the famous Showman relates many exciting experiences +of his early days on the road, and recalls the trials and triumphs of a +career more interesting than many a work of fiction.</p></div> + +<p class="p2">QUEENS OF FRAILTY</p> + +<p class="p3"><big>By C. L. <span class="smcap">McCLUER</span> STEVENS,</big></p> +<p class="p3">Author of "The Secret History of the Mormons."<br /> +Illustrated picture wrapper.</p> + +<div class="bk1"><p>This volume contains biographies of the following famous women: Nell +Gwyn, the Marchioness of Brinvilliers, the wicked Countess of Shrewsbury, +the Duchess of Kendal (the Maypole Duchess), Hannah Lightfoot, +Elizabeth Chudleigh (the bigamous Duchess), Jeanne de Valois, Lady +Hamilton, Jeanne du Barry, Mary Ann Clarke, the Lady with the Camelias, +Lola Montez, Cora Pearl, Adah Menken.</p></div> + +<p class="p2">THE SECRET HISTORY OF THE MORMONS</p> + +<p class="p3">A TRUE NARRATIVE OF THE MOST EXTRAORDINARY<br /> +RELIGIOUS IMPOSTURE OF MODERN TIMES.</p> +<p class="p3"><big>By C. L. <span class="smcap">McCLUER</span> STEVENS.</big></p> + +<p class="p2">FIFTY YEARS A FIGHTER</p> + +<p class="p3"><big><span class="smcap">The Life Story of JEM MACE.</span></big></p> +<p class="p3">(<i>Formerly Champion of the World.</i>)</p> +<p class="p3"><big>TOLD BY HIMSELF.</big><br /> +<i>Illustrated.</i></p> + +<div class="bk1"><p>A record of the last of the old prizefighters, who fought to a finish many +battles in the old prize ring. A list of the notorious champions Mace met +and vanquished would fill many pages, but he has here set on record the +romance of as wonderful a life as was ever lived.</p></div> + +<p class="p2">CONFESSIONS OF A POACHER</p> + +<p class="p3"><big>By J. CONNELL.</big></p> +<p class="p3"><i>With Illustrations by S. T. DADD.</i></p> + +<div class="bk1"><p><i>Field</i>: "The book is very remarkable, instructive in its disclosures of +the dubious ways of poachers, and an intending reader cannot but be interested +and amused."</p></div> + +<hr /> +<p class="p3"><i><span class="p4">BOOKS TO MAKE US MERRY</span></i></p> + +<p class="center"><b>PRICE 1/- each net. (Postage, 3d. extra.)</b></p> + +<p class="center"><i><small>In stiff pictorial paper boards.</small></i></p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p class="p3"><b><big><big>THE AMUSEMENT SERIES.</big></big></b></p> + +<div class="bk2"><p><b><big>After-Dinner Sleights.</big></b> By <span class="smcap">Lang Neil</span>. With many Photographs, +showing tricks in actual operation.</p> + +<p><b><big>Card Tricks without Sleight of Hand or Apparatus.</big></b> +By <span class="smcap">L. Widdop</span>. Illustrated.</p> + +<p><b><big>Conjuring with Coins.</big></b> Including Tricks by <span class="smcap">Nelson Downs</span> +and other Eminent Performers. Fully Illustrated with Photographs +and Diagrams.</p> + +<p><b><big>Fun on the Billiard Table.</big></b> A Collection of 75 Amusing +Tricks. By <span class="smcap">Stancliffe</span>. With Photographs.</p> + +<p><b><big>Hand Shadows.</big></b> The Complete Art of Shadowgraphy. By +<span class="smcap">Louis Nikola</span>. Fully Illustrated.</p> + +<p><b><big>Indoor Games for Children and Young People.</big></b> Edited +by <span class="smcap">E. M. Baker</span>. Illustrated.</p> + +<p><b><big>Modern Card Manipulation.</big></b> By <span class="smcap">C. Lang Neil</span>. Enlarged +Edition. With many Photographs, showing Tricks in +operation.</p> + +<p><b><big>The New Book of Puzzles.</big></b> Up-to-date and original. By +<span class="smcap">A. Cyril Pearson</span>. With upwards of 100 Illustrations.</p> + +<p><b><big>The Pearson Puzzle Book.</big></b> A Collection of over 100 of the +Best Puzzles. Edited by <span class="smcap">J. K. Benson</span>.</p> + +<p><b><big>Pearson's Book of Fun, Mirth and Mystery.</big></b> Edited +by Mr. X.</p> + +<p><b><big>Pearson's Humorous Reciter and Reader.</big></b></p> + +<p><b><big>Plays for Amateur Actors.</big></b> Containing Nine Original +Plays. Six for Adults, two for Children, and one for Scouts.</p> + +<p><b><big>Plays and Displays for Scout Entertainments.</big></b> This +volume contains six long plays, also several shorter plays, and +recitations.</p> + +<p><b><big>Practice Strokes at Billiards.</big></b> For Tables of all Sizes. +From the Match Play of John Roberts and other leading +players.</p> + +<p><b><big>Recitations for Children.</big></b> Selected by <span class="smcap">Jean Belfrage</span>. +With Three Original Plays for Children.</p> + +<p><b><big>Simple Conjuring Tricks that Anybody Can Perform.</big></b> +By <span class="smcap">Will Goldston</span>.</p> + +<p><b><big>Tricks for Everyone.</big></b> By <span class="smcap">David Devant</span>. Illustrated with +134 Photographs.</p></div> + +<div class="trn"><b>Transcriber's Note:</b> +Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note. +Dialect spellings have been retained.</div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Uncanny Tales, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UNCANNY TALES *** + +***** This file should be named 26606-h.htm or 26606-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/6/6/0/26606/ + +Produced by David Clarke, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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