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If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - - -Title: Round the Fire Stories - - -Author: Arthur Conan Doyle - - - -Release Date: February 4, 2017 [eBook #54109] -[Last updated: November 10, 2022] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROUND THE FIRE STORIES*** - - -E-text prepared by Richard Tonsing and the Online Distributed Proofreading -Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by -Internet Archive (https://archive.org) - - - -Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this - file which includes the original illustration. - See 54109-h.htm or 54109-h.zip: - (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/54109/54109-h/54109-h.htm) - or - (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/54109/54109-h.zip) - - - Images of the original pages are available through - Internet Archive. See - https://archive.org/details/roundfirestories00doylrich - - -Transcriber’s note: - - Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). - - Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=). - - - - - -[Illustration: - - “I BURST WITH A SHRIEK INTO MY OWN LIFE.” - - [_Page 12._] - - -ROUND THE FIRE STORIES - -by - -ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE - -Author of -“The White Company,” etc., etc. - -With a Frontispiece by A. Castaigne - - - - - - -London -Smith, Elder & Co., 15, Waterloo Place -1908 - -(All rights reserved) - -Printed by -William Clowes and Sons, Limited, -London and Beccles. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - PREFACE - - -[Illustration] - -In a previous volume, “The Green Flag,” I have assembled a number of my -stories which deal with warfare or with sport. In the present collection -those have been brought together which are concerned with the grotesque -and with the terrible—such tales as might well be read “round the fire” -upon a winter’s night. This would be my ideal atmosphere for such -stories, if an author might choose his time and place as an artist does -the light and hanging of his picture. However, if they have the good -fortune to give pleasure to any one, at any time or place, their author -will be very satisfied. - - ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE. - - WINDLESHAM, - CROWBOROUGH. - - - - - CONTENTS - - - PAGE - - I. THE LEATHER FUNNEL 1 - - II. THE BEETLE HUNTER 18 - - III. THE MAN WITH THE WATCHES 41 - - IV. THE POT OF CAVIARE 65 - - V. THE JAPANNED BOX 85 - - VI. THE BLACK DOCTOR 103 - - VII. PLAYING WITH FIRE 129 - - VIII. THE JEW’S BREASTPLATE 149 - - IX. THE LOST SPECIAL 177 - - X. THE CLUB-FOOTED GROCER 202 - - XI. THE SEALED ROOM 229 - - XII. THE BRAZILIAN CAT 248 - - XIII. THE USHER OF LEA HOUSE SCHOOL 276 - - XIV. THE BROWN HAND 299 - - XV. THE FIEND OF THE COOPERAGE 321 - - XVI. JELLAND’S VOYAGE 340 - - XVII. B. 24 351 - - - “I BURST WITH A SHRIEK INTO MY OWN LIFE.” _Frontispiece_. - (_From a drawing by A. Castaigne._) - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - ROUND THE FIRE STORIES - - -[Illustration] - - - - - THE LEATHER FUNNEL - - -My friend, Lionel Dacre, lived in the Avenue de Wagram, Paris. His house -was that small one, with the iron railings and grass plot in front of -it, on the left-hand side as you pass down from the Arc de Triomphe. I -fancy that it had been there long before the avenue was constructed, for -the grey tiles were stained with lichens, and the walls were mildewed -and discoloured with age. It looked a small house from the street, five -windows in front, if I remember right, but it deepened into a single -long chamber at the back. It was here that Dacre had that singular -library of occult literature, and the fantastic curiosities which served -as a hobby for himself, and an amusement for his friends. A wealthy man -of refined and eccentric tastes, he had spent much of his life and -fortune in gathering together what was said to be a unique private -collection of Talmudic, cabalistic, and magical works, many of them of -great rarity and value. His tastes leaned toward the marvellous and the -monstrous, and I have heard that his experiments in the direction of the -unknown have passed all the bounds of civilization and of decorum. To -his English friends he never alluded to such matters, and took the tone -of the student and _virtuoso_; but a Frenchman whose tastes were of the -same nature has assured me that the worst excesses of the black mass -have been perpetrated in that large and lofty hall, which is lined with -the shelves of his books, and the cases of his museum. - -Dacre’s appearance was enough to show that his deep interest in these -psychic matters was intellectual rather than spiritual. There was no -trace of asceticism upon his heavy face, but there was much mental force -in his huge dome-like skull, which curved upward from amongst his -thinning locks, like a snow-peak above its fringe of fir trees. His -knowledge was greater than his wisdom, and his powers were far superior -to his character. The small bright eyes, buried deeply in his fleshy -face, twinkled with intelligence and an unabated curiosity of life, but -they were the eyes of a sensualist and an egotist. Enough of the man, -for he is dead now, poor devil, dead at the very time that he had made -sure that he had at last discovered the elixir of life. It is not with -his complex character that I have to deal, but with the very strange and -inexplicable incident which had its rise in my visit to him in the early -spring of the year ’82. - -I had known Dacre in England, for my researches in the Assyrian Room of -the British Museum had been conducted at the time when he was -endeavouring to establish a mystic and esoteric meaning in the -Babylonian tablets, and this community of interests had brought us -together. Chance remarks had led to daily conversation, and that to -something verging upon friendship. I had promised him that on my next -visit to Paris I would call upon him. At the time when I was able to -fulfil my compact I was living in a cottage at Fontainebleau, and as the -evening trains were inconvenient, he asked me to spend the night in his -house. - -“I have only that one spare couch,” said he, pointing to a broad sofa in -his large salon; “I hope that you will manage to be comfortable there.” - -It was a singular bedroom, with its high walls of brown volumes, but -there could be no more agreeable furniture to a bookworm like myself, -and there is no scent so pleasant to my nostrils as that faint, subtle -reek which comes from an ancient book. I assured him that I could desire -no more charming chamber, and no more congenial surroundings. - -“If the fittings are neither convenient nor conventional, they are at -least costly,” said he, looking round at his shelves. “I have expended -nearly a quarter of a million of money upon these objects which surround -you. Books, weapons, gems, carvings, tapestries, images—there is hardly -a thing here which has not its history, and it is generally one worth -telling.” - -He was seated as he spoke at one side of the open fireplace, and I at -the other. His reading table was on his right, and the strong lamp above -it ringed it with a very vivid circle of golden light. A half-rolled -palimpsest lay in the centre, and around it were many quaint articles of -bric-à-brac. One of these was a large funnel, such as is used for -filling wine casks. It appeared to be made of black wood, and to be -rimmed with discoloured brass. - -“That is a curious thing,” I remarked. “What is the history of that?” - -“Ah!” said he, “it is the very question which I have had occasion to ask -myself. I would give a good deal to know. Take it in your hands and -examine it.” - -I did so, and found that what I had imagined to be wood was in reality -leather, though age had dried it into an extreme hardness. It was a -large funnel, and might hold a quart when full. The brass rim encircled -the wide end, but the narrow was also tipped with metal. - -“What do you make of it?” asked Dacre. - -“I should imagine that it belonged to some vintner or maltster in the -middle ages,” said I. “I have seen in England leathern drinking flagons -of the seventeenth century—‘black jacks’ as they were called—which were -of the same colour and hardness as this filler.” - -“I dare say the date would be about the same,” said Dacre, “and no -doubt, also, it was used for filling a vessel with liquid. If my -suspicions are correct, however, it was a queer vintner who used it, and -a very singular cask which was filled. Do you observe nothing strange at -the spout end of the funnel.” - -As I held it to the light I observed that at a spot some five inches -above the brass tip the narrow neck of the leather funnel was all -haggled and scored, as if some one had notched it round with a blunt -knife. Only at that point was there any roughening of the dead black -surface. - -“Some one has tried to cut off the neck.” - -“Would you call it a cut?” - -“It is torn and lacerated. It must have taken some strength to leave -these marks on such tough material, whatever the instrument may have -been. But what do you think of it? I can tell that you know more than -you say.” - -Dacre smiled, and his little eyes twinkled with knowledge. - -“Have you included the psychology of dreams among your learned studies?” -he asked. - -“I did not even know that there was such a psychology.” - -“My dear sir, that shelf above the gem case is filled with volumes, from -Albertus Magnus onward, which deal with no other subject. It is a -science in itself.” - -“A science of charlatans.” - -“The charlatan is always the pioneer. From the astrologer came the -astronomer, from the alchemist the chemist, from the mesmerist the -experimental psychologist. The quack of yesterday is the professor of -to-morrow. Even such subtle and elusive things as dreams will in time be -reduced to system and order. When that time comes the researches of our -friends in the book-shelf yonder will no longer be the amusement of the -mystic, but the foundations of a science.” - -“Supposing that is so, what has the science of dreams to do with a large -black brass-rimmed funnel?” - -“I will tell you. You know that I have an agent who is always on the -lookout for rarities and curiosities for my collection. Some days ago he -heard of a dealer upon one of the Quais who had acquired some old -rubbish found in a cupboard in an ancient house at the back of the Rue -Mathurin, in the Quartier Latin. The dining-room of this old house is -decorated with a coat of arms, chevrons, and bars rouge upon a field -argent, which prove, upon inquiry, to be the shield of Nicholas de la -Reynie, a high official of King Louis XIV. There can be no doubt that -the other articles in the cupboard date back to the early days of that -king. The inference is, therefore, that they were all the property of -this Nicholas de la Reynie, who was, as I understand, the gentleman -specially concerned with the maintenance and execution of the Draconic -laws of that epoch.” - -“What then?” - -“I would ask you now to take the funnel into your hands once more and to -examine the upper brass rim. Can you make out any lettering upon it?” - -There were certainly some scratches upon it, almost obliterated by time. -The general effect was of several letters, the last of which bore some -resemblance to a B. - -“You make it a B?” - -“Yes, I do.” - -“So do I. In fact, I have no doubt whatever that it is a B.” - -“But the nobleman you mentioned would have had R for his initial.” - -“Exactly! That’s the beauty of it. He owned this curious object, and yet -he had some one else’s initials upon it. Why did he do this?” - -“I can’t imagine; can you?” - -“Well, I might, perhaps, guess. Do you observe something drawn a little -further along the rim?” - -“I should say it was a crown.” - -“It is undoubtedly a crown; but if you examine it in a good light, you -will convince yourself that it is not an ordinary crown. It is a -heraldic crown—a badge of rank, and it consists of an alternation of -four pearls and strawberry leaves, the proper badge of a marquis. We may -infer, therefore, that the person whose initials end in B was entitled -to wear that coronet.” - -“Then this common leather filler belonged to a marquis?” - -Dacre gave a peculiar smile. - -“Or to some member of the family of a marquis,” said he. “So much we -have clearly gathered from this engraved rim.” - -“But what has all this to do with dreams?” I do not know whether it was -from a look upon Dacre’s face, or from some subtle suggestion in his -manner, but a feeling of repulsion, of unreasoning horror, came upon me -as I looked at the gnarled old lump of leather. - -“I have more than once received important information through my -dreams,” said my companion, in the didactic manner which he loved to -affect. “I make it a rule now when I am in doubt upon any material point -to place the article in question beside me as I sleep, and to hope for -some enlightenment. The process does not appear to me to be very -obscure, though it has not yet received the blessing of orthodox -science. According to my theory, any object which has been intimately -associated with any supreme paroxysm of human emotion, whether it be joy -or pain, will retain a certain atmosphere or association which it is -capable of communicating to a sensitive mind. By a sensitive mind I do -not mean an abnormal one, but such a trained and educated mind as you or -I possess.” - -“You mean, for example, that if I slept beside that old sword upon the -wall, I might dream of some bloody incident in which that very sword -took part?” - -“An excellent example, for, as a matter of fact, that sword was used in -that fashion by me, and I saw in my sleep the death of its owner, who -perished in a brisk skirmish, which I have been unable to identify, but -which occurred at the time of the wars of the Frondists. If you think of -it, some of our popular observances show that the fact has already been -recognized by our ancestors, although we, in our wisdom, have classed it -among superstitions.” - -“For example?” - -“Well, the placing of the bride’s cake beneath the pillow in order that -the sleeper may have pleasant dreams. That is one of several instances -which you will find set forth in a small _brochure_ which I am myself -writing upon the subject. But to come back to the point, I slept one -night with this funnel beside me, and I had a dream which certainly -throws a curious light upon its use and origin.” - -“What did you dream?” - -“I dreamed—” He paused, and an intent look of interest came over his -massive face. “By Jove, that’s well thought of,” said he. “This really -will be an exceedingly interesting experiment. You are yourself a -psychic subject—with nerves which respond readily to any impression.” - -“I have never tested myself in that direction.” - -“Then we shall test you to-night. Might I ask you as a very great -favour, when you occupy that couch to-night, to sleep with this old -funnel placed by the side of your pillow?” - -The request seemed to me a grotesque one; but I have myself, in my -complex nature, a hunger after all which is bizarre and fantastic. I had -not the faintest belief in Dacre’s theory, nor any hopes for success in -such an experiment; yet it amused me that the experiment should be made. -Dacre, with great gravity, drew a small stand to the head of my settee, -and placed the funnel upon it. Then, after a short conversation, he -wished me good-night and left me. - - * * * * * - -I sat for some little time smoking by the smouldering fire, and turning -over in my mind the curious incident which had occurred, and the strange -experience which might lie before me. Sceptical as I was, there was -something impressive in the assurance of Dacre’s manner, and my -extraordinary surroundings, the huge room with the strange and often -sinister objects which were hung round it, struck solemnity into my -soul. Finally I undressed, and, turning out the lamp, I lay down. After -long tossing I fell asleep. Let me try to describe as accurately as I -can the scene which came to me in my dreams. It stands out now in my -memory more clearly than anything which I have seen with my waking eyes. - -There was a room which bore the appearance of a vault. Four spandrels -from the corners ran up to join a sharp cup-shaped roof. The -architecture was rough, but very strong. It was evidently part of a -great building. - -Three men in black, with curious top-heavy black velvet hats, sat in a -line upon a red-carpeted dais. Their faces were very solemn and sad. On -the left stood two long-gowned men with portfolios in their hands, which -seemed to be stuffed with papers. Upon the right, looking toward me, was -a small woman with blonde hair and singular light-blue eyes—the eyes of -a child. She was past her first youth, but could not yet be called -middle-aged. Her figure was inclined to stoutness, and her bearing was -proud and confident. Her face was pale, but serene. It was a curious -face, comely and yet feline, with a subtle suggestion of cruelty about -the straight, strong little mouth and chubby jaw. She was draped in some -sort of loose white gown. Beside her stood a thin, eager priest, who -whispered in her ear, and continually raised a crucifix before her eyes. -She turned her head and looked fixedly past the crucifix at the three -men in black, who were, I felt, her judges. - -As I gazed the three men stood up and said something, but I could -distinguish no words, though I was aware that it was the central one who -was speaking. They then swept out of the room, followed by the two men -with the papers. At the same instant several rough-looking fellows in -stout jerkins came bustling in and removed first the red carpet, and -then the boards which formed the dais, so as to entirely clear the room. -When this screen was removed I saw some singular articles of furniture -behind it. One looked like a bed with wooden rollers at each end, and a -winch handle to regulate its length. Another was a wooden horse. There -were several other curious objects, and a number of swinging cords which -played over pulleys. It was not unlike a modern gymnasium. - -When the room had been cleared there appeared a new figure upon the -scene. This was a tall thin person clad in black, with a gaunt and -austere face. The aspect of the man made me shudder. His clothes were -all shining with grease and mottled with stains. He bore himself with a -slow and impressive dignity, as if he took command of all things from -the instant of his entrance. In spite of his rude appearance and sordid -dress, it was now _his_ business, _his_ room, his to command. He carried -a coil of light ropes over his left fore-arm. The lady looked him up and -down with a searching glance, but her expression was unchanged. It was -confident—even defiant. But it was very different with the priest. His -face was ghastly white, and I saw the moisture glisten and run on his -high, sloping forehead. He threw up his hands in prayer, and he stooped -continually to mutter frantic words in the lady’s ear. - -The man in black now advanced, and taking one of the cords from his left -arm, he bound the woman’s hands together. She held them meekly toward -him as he did so. Then he took her arm with a rough grip and led her -toward the wooden horse, which was little higher than her waist. On to -this she was lifted and laid, with her back upon it, and her face to the -ceiling, while the priest, quivering with horror, had rushed out of the -room. The woman’s lips were moving rapidly, and though I could hear -nothing, I knew that she was praying. Her feet hung down on either side -of the horse, and I saw that the rough varlets in attendance had -fastened cords to her ankles and secured the other ends to iron rings in -the stone floor. - -My heart sank within me as I saw these ominous preparations, and yet I -was held by the fascination of horror, and I could not take my eyes from -the strange spectacle. A man had entered the room with a bucket of water -in either hand. Another followed with a third bucket. They were laid -beside the wooden horse. The second man had a wooden dipper—a bowl with -a straight handle—in his other hand. This he gave to the man in black. -At the same moment one of the varlets approached with a dark object in -his hand, which even in my dream filled me with a vague feeling of -familiarity. It was a leathern filler. With horrible energy he thrust -it—but I could stand no more. My hair stood on end with horror. I -writhed, I struggled, I broke through the bonds of sleep, and I burst -with a shriek into my own life, and found myself lying shivering with -terror in the huge library, with the moonlight flooding through the -window and throwing strange silver and black traceries upon the opposite -wall. Oh, what a blessed relief to feel that I was back in the -nineteenth century—back out of that medieval vault into a world where -men had human hearts within their bosoms. I sat up on my couch, -trembling in every limb, my mind divided between thankfulness and -horror. To think that such things were ever done—that they _could_ be -done without God striking the villains dead. Was it all a fantasy, or -did it really stand for something which had happened in the black, cruel -days of the world’s history? I sank my throbbing head upon my shaking -hands. And then, suddenly, my heart seemed to stand still in my bosom, -and I could not even scream, so great was my terror. Something was -advancing toward me through the darkness of the room. - -It is a horror coming upon a horror which breaks a man’s spirit. I could -not reason, I could not pray; I could only sit like a frozen image, and -glare at the dark figure which was coming down the great room. And then -it moved out into the white lane of moonlight, and I breathed once more. -It was Dacre, and his face showed that he was as frightened as myself. - -“Was that you? For God’s sake what’s the matter?” he asked in a husky -voice. - -“Oh, Dacre, I am glad to see you! I have been down into hell. It was -dreadful.” - -“Then it was you who screamed?” - -“I dare say it was.” - -“It rang through the house. The servants are all terrified.” He struck a -match and lit the lamp. “I think we may get the fire to burn up again,” -he added, throwing some logs upon the embers. “Good God, my dear chap, -how white you are! You look as if you had seen a ghost.” - -“So I have—several ghosts.” - -“The leather funnel has acted, then?” - -“I wouldn’t sleep near the infernal thing again for all the money you -could offer me.” - -Dacre chuckled. - -“I expected that you would have a lively night of it,” said he. “You -took it out of me in return, for that scream of yours wasn’t a very -pleasant sound at two in the morning. I suppose from what you say that -you have seen the whole dreadful business.” - -“What dreadful business?” - -“The torture of the water—the ‘Extraordinary Question,’ as it was called -in the genial days of ‘Le Roi Soleil.’ Did you stand it out to the end?” - -“No, thank God, I awoke before it really began.” - -“Ah! it is just as well for you. I held out till the third bucket. Well, -it is an old story, and they are all in their graves now anyhow, so what -does it matter how they got there. I suppose that you have no idea what -it was that you have seen?” - -“The torture of some criminal. She must have been a terrible malefactor -indeed if her crimes are in proportion to her penalty.” - -“Well, we have that small consolation,” said Dacre, wrapping his -dressing-gown round him and crouching closer to the fire. “They _were_ -in proportion to her penalty. That is to say, if I am correct in the -lady’s identity.” - -“How could you possibly know her identity?” - -For answer Dacre took down an old vellum-covered volume from the shelf. - -“Just listen to this,” said he; “it is in the French of the seventeenth -century, but I will give a rough translation as I go. You will judge for -yourself whether I have solved the riddle or not. - - “The prisoner was brought before the Grand Chambers and Tournelles - of Parliament, sitting as a court of justice, charged with the - murder of Master Dreux d’Aubray, her father, and of her two - brothers, MM. d’Aubray, one being civil lieutenant, and the other - a counsellor of Parliament. In person it seemed hard to believe - that she had really done such wicked deeds, for she was of a mild - appearance, and of short stature, with a fair skin and blue eyes. - Yet the Court, having found her guilty, condemned her to the - ordinary and to the extraordinary question in order that she might - be forced to name her accomplices, after which she should be - carried in a cart to the Place de Grève, there to have her head - cut off, her body being afterwards burned and her ashes scattered - to the winds.” - -The date of this entry is July 16, 1676.” - -“It is interesting,” said I, “but not convincing. How do you prove the -two women to be the same?” - -“I am coming to that. The narrative goes on to tell of the woman’s -behaviour when questioned. ‘When the executioner approached her she -recognized him by the cords which he held in his hands, and she at once -held out her own hands to him, looking at him from head to foot without -uttering a word.’ How’s that?” - -“Yes, it was so.” - -“‘She gazed without wincing upon the wooden horse and rings which had -twisted so many limbs and caused so many shrieks of agony. When her eyes -fell upon the three pails of water, which were all ready for her, she -said with a smile, “All that water must have been brought here for the -purpose of drowning me, Monsieur. You have no idea, I trust, of making a -person of my small stature swallow it all.”’ Shall I read the details of -the torture?” - -“No, for Heaven’s sake, don’t.” - -“Here is a sentence which must surely show you that what is here -recorded is the very scene which you have gazed upon to-night: ‘The good -Abbé Pirot, unable to contemplate the agonies which were suffered by his -penitent, had hurried from the room.’ Does that convince you?” - -“It does entirely. There can be no question that it is indeed the same -event. But who, then, is this lady whose appearance was so attractive -and whose end was so horrible?” - -For answer Dacre came across to me, and placed the small lamp upon the -table which stood by my bed. Lifting up the ill-omened filler, he turned -the brass rim so that the light fell full upon it. Seen in this way the -engraving seemed clearer than on the night before. - -“We have already agreed that this is the badge of a marquis or of a -marquise,” said he. “We have also settled that the last letter is B.” - -“It is undoubtedly so.” - -“I now suggest to you that the other letters from left to right are, M, -M, a small d, A, a small d, and then the final B.” - -“Yes, I am sure that you are right. I can make out the two small d’s -quite plainly.” - -“What I have read to you to-night,” said Dacre, “is the official record -of the trial of Marie Madeleine d’Aubray, Marquise de Brinvilliers, one -of the most famous poisoners and murderers of all time.” - -I sat in silence, overwhelmed at the extraordinary nature of the -incident, and at the completeness of the proof with which Dacre had -exposed its real meaning. In a vague way I remembered some details of -the woman’s career, her unbridled debauchery, the coldblooded and -protracted torture of her sick father, the murder of her brothers for -motives of petty gain. I recollected also that the bravery of her end -had done something to atone for the horror of her life, and that all -Paris had sympathized with her last moments, and blessed her as a martyr -within a few days of the time when they had cursed her as a murderess. -One objection, and one only, occurred to my mind. - -“How came her initials and her badge of rank upon the filler? Surely -they did not carry their medieval homage to the nobility to the point of -decorating instruments of torture with their titles?” - -“I was puzzled with the same point,” said Dacre, “but it admits of a -simple explanation. The case excited extraordinary interest at the time, -and nothing could be more natural than that La Reynie, the head of the -police, should retain this filler as a grim souvenir. It was not often -that a marchioness of France underwent the extraordinary question. That -he should engrave her initials upon it for the information of others was -surely a very ordinary proceeding upon his part.” - -“And this?” I asked, pointing to the marks upon the leathern neck. - -“She was a cruel tigress,” said Dacre, as he turned away. “I think it is -evident that like other tigresses her teeth were both strong and sharp.” - - - - - THE BEETLE-HUNTER - - -A curious experience? said the Doctor. Yes, my friends, I have had one -very curious experience. I never expect to have another, for it is -against all doctrines of chances that two such events would befall any -one man in a single lifetime. You may believe me or not, but the thing -happened exactly as I tell it. - -I had just become a medical man, but I had not started in practice, and -I lived in rooms in Gower Street. The street has been renumbered since -then, but it was in the only house which has a bow-window, upon the -left-hand side as you go down from the Metropolitan Station. A widow -named Murchison kept the house at that time, and she had three medical -students and one engineer as lodgers. I occupied the top room, which was -the cheapest, but cheap as it was it was more than I could afford. My -small resources were dwindling away, and every week it became more -necessary that I should find something to do. Yet I was very unwilling -to go into general practice, for my tastes were all in the direction of -science, and especially of zoology, towards which I had always a strong -leaning. I had almost given the fight up and resigned myself to being a -medical drudge for life, when the turning-point of my struggles came in -a very extraordinary way. - -One morning I had picked up the _Standard_ and was glancing over its -contents. There was a complete absence of news, and I was about to toss -the paper down again, when my eyes were caught by an advertisement at -the head of the personal column. It was worded in this way:— - - Wanted for one or more days the services of a medical man. It - is essential that he should be a man of strong physique, of - steady nerves, and of a resolute nature. Must be an - entomologist—coleopterist preferred. Apply, in person, at 77B, - Brook Street. Application must be made before twelve o’clock - to-day. - -Now, I have already said that I was devoted to zoology. Of all branches -of zoology, the study of insects was the most attractive to me, and of -all insects beetles were the species with which I was most familiar. -Butterfly collectors are numerous, but beetles are far more varied, and -more accessible in these islands than are butterflies. It was this fact -which had attracted my attention to them, and I had myself made a -collection which numbered some hundred varieties. As to the other -requisites of the advertisement, I knew that my nerves could be depended -upon, and I had won the weight-throwing competition at the -inter-hospital sports. Clearly, I was the very man for the vacancy. -Within five minutes of my having read the advertisement I was in a cab -and on my way to Brook Street. - -As I drove, I kept turning the matter over in my head and trying to make -a guess as to what sort of employment it could be which needed such -curious qualifications. A strong physique, a resolute nature, a medical -training, and a knowledge of beetles—what connection could there be -between these various requisites? And then there was the disheartening -fact that the situation was not a permanent one, but terminable from day -to day, according to the terms of the advertisement. The more I pondered -over it the more unintelligible did it become; but at the end of my -meditations I always came back to the ground fact that, come what might, -I had nothing to lose, that I was completely at the end of my resources, -and that I was ready for any adventure, however desperate, which would -put a few honest sovereigns into my pocket. The man fears to fail who -has to pay for his failure, but there was no penalty which Fortune could -exact from me. I was like the gambler with empty pockets, who is still -allowed to try his luck with the others. - -No. 77B, Brook Street, was one of those dingy and yet imposing houses, -dun-coloured and flat-faced, with the intensely respectable and solid -air which marks the Georgian builder. As I alighted from the cab, a -young man came out of the door and walked swiftly down the street. In -passing me, I noticed that he cast an inquisitive and somewhat -malevolent glance at me, and I took the incident as a good omen, for his -appearance was that of a rejected candidate, and if he resented my -application it meant that the vacancy was not yet filled up. Full of -hope, I ascended the broad steps and rapped with the heavy knocker. - -A footman in powder and livery opened the door. Clearly I was in touch -with people of wealth and fashion. - -“Yes, sir?” said the footman. - -“I came in answer to——” - -“Quite so, sir,” said the footman. “Lord Linchmere will see you at once -in the library.” - -Lord Linchmere! I had vaguely heard the name, but could not for the -instant recall anything about him. Following the footman, I was shown -into a large, book-lined room in which there was seated behind a -writing-desk a small man with a pleasant, clean-shaven, mobile face, and -long hair shot with grey, brushed back from his forehead. He looked me -up and down with a very shrewd, penetrating glance, holding the card -which the footman had given him in his right hand. Then he smiled -pleasantly, and I felt that externally at any rate I possessed the -qualifications which he desired. - -“You have come in answer to my advertisement, Dr. Hamilton?” he asked. - -“Yes, sir.” - -“Do you fulfil the conditions which are there laid down?” - -“I believe that I do.” - -“You are a powerful man, or so I should judge from your appearance.” - -“I think that I am fairly strong.” - -“And resolute?” - -“I believe so.” - -“Have you ever known what it was to be exposed to imminent danger?” - -“No, I don’t know that I ever have.” - -“But you think you would be prompt and cool at such a time?” - -“I hope so.” - -“Well, I believe that you would. I have the more confidence in you -because you do not pretend to be certain as to what you would do in a -position that was new to you. My impression is that, so far as personal -qualities go, you are the very man of whom I am in search. That being -settled, we may pass on to the next point.” - -“Which is?” - -“To talk to me about beetles.” - -I looked across to see if he was joking, but, on the contrary, he was -leaning eagerly forward across his desk, and there was an expression of -something like anxiety in his eyes. - -“I am afraid that you do not know about beetles,” he cried. - -“On the contrary, sir, it is the one scientific subject about which I -feel that I really do know something.” - -“I am overjoyed to hear it. Please talk to me about beetles.” - -I talked. I do not profess to have said anything original upon the -subject, but I gave a short sketch of the characteristics of the beetle, -and ran over the more common species, with some allusions to the -specimens in my own little collection and to the article upon “Burying -Beetles” which I had contributed to the _Journal of Entomological -Science_. - -“What! not a collector?” cried Lord Linchmere. “You don’t mean that you -are yourself a collector?” His eyes danced with pleasure at the thought. - -“You are certainly the very man in London for my purpose. I thought that -among five millions of people there must be such a man, but the -difficulty is to lay one’s hands upon him. I have been extraordinarily -fortunate in finding you.” - -He rang a gong upon the table, and the footman entered. - -“Ask Lady Rossiter to have the goodness to step this way,” said his -lordship, and a few moments later the lady was ushered into the room. -She was a small, middle-aged woman, very like Lord Linchmere in -appearance, with the same quick, alert features and grey-black hair. The -expression of anxiety, however, which I had observed upon his face was -very much more marked upon hers. Some great grief seemed to have cast -its shadow over her features. As Lord Linchmere presented me she turned -her face full upon me, and I was shocked to observe a half-healed scar -extending for two inches over her right eyebrow. It was partly concealed -by plaster, but none the less I could see that it had been a serious -wound and not long inflicted. - -“Dr. Hamilton is the very man for our purpose, Evelyn,” said Lord -Linchmere. “He is actually a collector of beetles, and he has written -articles upon the subject.” - -“Really!” said Lady Rossiter. “Then you must have heard of my husband. -Every one who knows anything about beetles must have heard of Sir Thomas -Rossiter.” - -For the first time a thin little ray of light began to break into the -obscure business. Here, at last, was a connection between these people -and beetles. Sir Thomas Rossiter—he was the greatest authority upon the -subject in the world. He had made it his life-long study, and had -written a most exhaustive work upon it. I hastened to assure her that I -had read and appreciated it. - -“Have you met my husband?” she asked. - -“No, I have not.” - -“But you shall,” said Lord Linchmere, with decision. - -The lady was standing beside the desk, and she put her hand upon his -shoulder. It was obvious to me as I saw their faces together that they -were brother and sister. - -“Are you really prepared for this, Charles? It is noble of you, but you -fill me with fears.” Her voice quavered with apprehension, and he -appeared to me to be equally moved, though he was making strong efforts -to conceal his agitation. - -“Yes, yes, dear; it is all settled, it is all decided; in fact, there is -no other possible way, that I can see.” - -“There is one obvious way.” - -“No, no, Evelyn, I shall never abandon you—never. It will come -right—depend upon it; it will come right, and surely it looks like the -interference of Providence that so perfect an instrument should be put -into our hands.” - -My position was embarrassing, for I felt that for the instant they had -forgotten my presence. But Lord Linchmere came back suddenly to me and -to my engagement. - -“The business for which I want you, Dr. Hamilton, is that you should put -yourself absolutely at my disposal. I wish you to come for a short -journey with me, to remain always at my side, and to promise to do -without question whatever I may ask you, however unreasonable it may -appear to you to be.” - -“That is a good deal to ask,” said I. - -“Unfortunately I cannot put it more plainly, for I do not myself know -what turn matters may take. You may be sure, however, that you will not -be asked to do anything which your conscience does not approve; and I -promise you that, when all is over, you will be proud to have been -concerned in so good a work.” - -“If it ends happily,” said the lady. - -“Exactly; if it ends happily,” his lordship repeated. - -“And terms?” I asked. - -“Twenty pounds a day.” - -I was amazed at the sum, and must have showed my surprise upon my -features. - -“It is a rare combination of qualities, as must have struck you when you -first read the advertisement,” said Lord Linchmere; “such varied gifts -may well command a high return, and I do not conceal from you that your -duties might be arduous or even dangerous. Besides, it is possible that -one or two days may bring the matter to an end.” - -“Please God!” sighed his sister. - -“So now, Dr. Hamilton, may I rely upon your aid?” - -“Most undoubtedly,” said I. “You have only to tell me what my duties -are.” - -“Your first duty will be to return to your home. You will pack up -whatever you may need for a short visit to the country. We start -together from Paddington Station at 3.40 this afternoon.” - -“Do we go far?” - -“As far as Pangbourne. Meet me at the bookstall at 3.30. I shall have -the tickets. Good-bye, Dr. Hamilton! And, by the way, there are two -things which I should be very glad if you would bring with you, in case -you have them. One is your case for collecting beetles, and the other is -a stick, and the thicker and heavier the better.” - - * * * * * - -You may imagine that I had plenty to think of from the time that I left -Brook Street until I set out to meet Lord Linchmere at Paddington. The -whole fantastic business kept arranging and re-arranging itself in -kaleidoscopic forms inside my brain, until I had thought out a dozen -explanations, each of them more grotesquely improbable than the last. -And yet I felt that the truth must be something grotesquely improbable -also. At last I gave up all attempts at finding a solution, and -contented myself with exactly carrying out the instructions which I had -received. With a hand valise, specimen-case, and a loaded cane, I was -waiting at the Paddington bookstall when Lord Linchmere arrived. He was -an even smaller man than I had thought—frail and peaky, with a manner -which was more nervous than it had been in the morning. He wore a long, -thick travelling ulster, and I observed that he carried a heavy -blackthorn cudgel in his hand. - -“I have the tickets,” said he, leading the way up the platform. “This is -our train. I have engaged a carriage, for I am particularly anxious to -impress one or two things upon you while we travel down.” - -And yet all that he had to impress upon me might have been said in a -sentence, for it was that I was to remember that I was there as a -protection to himself, and that I was not on any consideration to leave -him for an instant. This he repeated again and again as our journey drew -to a close, with an insistence which showed that his nerves were -thoroughly shaken. - -“Yes,” he said at last, in answer to my looks rather than to my words, -“I _am_ nervous, Dr. Hamilton. I have always been a timid man, and my -timidity depends upon my frail physical health. But my soul is firm, and -I can bring myself up to face a danger which a less nervous man might -shrink from. What I am doing now is done from no compulsion, but -entirely from a sense of duty, and yet it is, beyond doubt, a desperate -risk. If things should go wrong, I will have some claims to the title of -martyr.” - -This eternal reading of riddles was too much for me. I felt that I must -put a term to it. - -“I think it would be very much better, sir, if you were to trust me -entirely,” said I. “It is impossible for me to act effectively, when I -do not know what are the objects which we have in view, or even where we -are going.” - -“Oh, as to where we are going, there need be no mystery about that,” -said he; “we are going to Delamere Court, the residence of Sir Thomas -Rossiter, with whose work you are so conversant. As to the exact object -of our visit, I do not know that at this stage of the proceedings -anything would be gained, Dr. Hamilton, by my taking you into my -complete confidence. I may tell you that we are acting—I say ‘we,’ -because my sister, Lady Rossiter, takes the same view as myself—with the -one object of preventing anything in the nature of a family scandal. -That being so, you can understand that I am loth to give any -explanations which are not absolutely necessary. It would be a different -matter, Dr. Hamilton, if I were asking your advice. As matters stand, it -is only your active help which I need, and I will indicate to you from -time to time how you can best give it.” - -There was nothing more to be said, and a poor man can put up with a good -deal for twenty pounds a day, but I felt none the less that Lord -Linchmere was acting rather scurvily towards me. He wished to convert me -into a passive tool, like the blackthorn in his hand. With his sensitive -disposition I could imagine, however, that scandal would be abhorrent to -him, and I realized that he would not take me into his confidence until -no other course was open to him. I must trust to my own eyes and ears to -solve the mystery, but I had every confidence that I should not trust to -them in vain. - -Delamere Court lies a good five miles from Pangbourne Station, and we -drove for that distance in an open fly. Lord Linchmere sat in deep -thought during the time, and he never opened his mouth until we were -close to our destination. When he did speak it was to give me a piece of -information which surprised me. - -“Perhaps you are not aware,” said he, “that I am a medical man like -yourself?” - -“No, sir, I did not know it.” - -“Yes, I qualified in my younger days, when there were several lives -between me and the peerage. I have not had occasion to practise, but I -have found it a useful education, all the same. I never regretted the -years which I devoted to medical study. These are the gates of Delamere -Court.” - -We had come to two high pillars crowned with heraldic monsters which -flanked the opening of a winding avenue. Over the laurel bushes and -rhododendrons I could see a long, many-gabled mansion, girdled with ivy, -and toned to the warm, cheery, mellow glow of old brick-work. My eyes -were still fixed in admiration upon this delightful house when my -companion plucked nervously at my sleeve. - -“Here’s Sir Thomas,” he whispered. “Please talk beetle all you can.” - -A tall, thin figure, curiously angular and bony, had emerged through a -gap in the hedge of laurels. In his hand he held a spud, and he wore -gauntleted gardener’s gloves. A broad-brimmed, grey hat cast his face -into shadow, but it struck me as exceedingly austere, with an -ill-nourished beard and harsh, irregular features. The fly pulled up and -Lord Linchmere sprang out. - -“My dear Thomas, how are you?” said he, heartily. - -But the heartiness was by no means reciprocal. The owner of the grounds -glared at me over his brother-in-law’s shoulder, and I caught broken -scraps of sentences—“well-known wishes ... hatred of strangers ... -unjustifiable intrusion ... perfectly inexcusable.” Then there was a -muttered explanation, and the two of them came over together to the side -of the fly. - -“Let me present you to Sir Thomas Rossiter, Dr. Hamilton,” said Lord -Linchmere. “You will find that you have a strong community of tastes.” - -I bowed. Sir Thomas stood very stiffly, looking at me severely from -under the broad brim of his hat. - -“Lord Linchmere tells me that you know something about beetles,” said -he. “What do you know about beetles?” - -“I know what I have learned from your work upon the coleoptera, Sir -Thomas,” I answered. - -“Give me the names of the better-known species of the British scarabæi,” -said he. - -I had not expected an examination, but fortunately I was ready for one. -My answers seemed to please him, for his stern features relaxed. - -“You appear to have read my book with some profit, sir,” said he. “It is -a rare thing for me to meet any one who takes an intelligent interest in -such matters. People can find time for such trivialities as sport or -society, and yet the beetles are overlooked. I can assure you that the -greater part of the idiots in this part of the country are unaware that -I have ever written a book at all—I, the first man who ever described -the true function of the elytra. I am glad to see you, sir, and I have -no doubt that I can show you some specimens which will interest you.” He -stepped into the fly and drove up with us to the house, expounding to me -as we went some recent researches which he had made into the anatomy of -the lady-bird. - -I have said that Sir Thomas Rossiter wore a large hat drawn down over -his brows. As he entered the hall he uncovered himself, and I was at -once aware of a singular characteristic which the hat had concealed. His -forehead, which was naturally high, and higher still on account of -receding hair, was in a continual state of movement. Some nervous -weakness kept the muscles in a constant spasm, which sometimes produced -a mere twitching and sometimes a curious rotary movement unlike anything -which I had ever seen before. It was strikingly visible as he turned -towards us after entering the study, and seemed the more singular from -the contrast with the hard, steady grey eyes which looked out from -underneath those palpitating brows. - -“I am sorry,” said he, “that Lady Rossiter is not here to help me to -welcome you. By the way, Charles, did Evelyn say anything about the date -of her return?” - -“She wished to stay in town for a few more days,” said Lord Linchmere. -“You know how ladies’ social duties accumulate if they have been for -some time in the country. My sister has many old friends in London at -present.” - -“Well, she is her own mistress, and I should not wish to alter her -plans, but I shall be glad when I see her again. It is very lonely here -without her company.” - -“I was afraid that you might find it so, and that was partly why I ran -down. My young friend, Dr. Hamilton, is so much interested in the -subject which you have made your own, that I thought you would not mind -his accompanying me.” - -“I lead a retired life, Dr. Hamilton, and my aversion to strangers grows -upon me,” said our host. “I have sometimes thought that my nerves are -not so good as they were. My travels in search of beetles in my younger -days took me into many malarious and unhealthy places. But a brother -coleopterist like yourself is always a welcome guest, and I shall be -delighted if you will look over my collection, which I think that I may -without exaggeration describe as the best in Europe.” - -And so no doubt it was. He had a huge oaken cabinet arranged in shallow -drawers, and here, neatly ticketed and classified, were beetles from -every corner of the earth, black, brown, blue, green, and mottled. Every -now and then as he swept his hand over the lines and lines of impaled -insects he would catch up some rare specimen, and, handling it with as -much delicacy and reverence as if it were a precious relic, he would -hold forth upon its peculiarities and the circumstances under which it -came into his possession. It was evidently an unusual thing for him to -meet with a sympathetic listener, and he talked and talked until the -spring evening had deepened into night, and the gong announced that it -was time to dress for dinner. All the time Lord Linchmere said nothing, -but he stood at his brother-in-law’s elbow, and I caught him continually -shooting curious little, questioning glances into his face. And his own -features expressed some strong emotion, apprehension, sympathy, -expectation: I seemed to read them all. I was sure that Lord Linchmere -was fearing something and awaiting something, but what that something -might be I could not imagine. - -The evening passed quietly but pleasantly, and I should have been -entirely at my ease if it had not been for that continual sense of -tension upon the part of Lord Linchmere. As to our host, I found that he -improved upon acquaintance. He spoke constantly with affection of his -absent wife, and also of his little son, who had recently been sent to -school. The house, he said, was not the same without them. If it were -not for his scientific studies, he did not know how he could get through -the days. After dinner we smoked for some time in the billiard-room, and -finally went early to bed. - -And then it was that, for the first time, the suspicion that Lord -Linchmere was a lunatic crossed my mind. He followed me into my bedroom, -when our host had retired. - -“Doctor,” said he, speaking in a low, hurried voice, “you must come with -me. You must spend the night in my bedroom.” - -“What do you mean?” - -“I prefer not to explain. But this is part of your duties. My room is -close by, and you can return to your own before the servant calls you in -the morning.” - -“But why?” I asked. - -“Because I am nervous of being alone,” said he. “That’s the reason, -since you must have a reason.” - -It seemed rank lunacy, but the argument of those twenty pounds would -overcome many objections. I followed him to his room. - -“Well,” said I, “there’s only room for one in that bed.” - -“Only one shall occupy it,” said he. - -“And the other?” - -“Must remain, on watch.” - -“Why?” said I. “One would think you expected to be attacked.” - -“Perhaps I do.” - -“In that case, why not lock your door?” - -“Perhaps I _want_ to be attacked.” - -It looked more and more like lunacy. However, there was nothing for it -but to submit. I shrugged my shoulders and sat down in the arm-chair -beside the empty fireplace. - -“I am to remain on watch, then?” said I, ruefully. - -“We will divide the night. If you will watch until two, I will watch the -remainder.” - -“Very good.” - -“Call me at two o’clock, then.” - -“I will do so.” - -“Keep your ears open, and if you hear any sounds wake me -instantly—instantly, you hear?” - -“You can rely upon it.” I tried to look as solemn as he did. - -“And for God’s sake don’t go to sleep,” said he, and so, taking off only -his coat, he threw the coverlet over him and settled down for the night. - -It was a melancholy vigil, and made more so by my own sense of its -folly. Supposing that by any chance Lord Linchmere had cause to suspect -that he was subject to danger in the house of Sir Thomas Rossiter, why -on earth could he not lock his door and so protect himself? His own -answer that he might wish to be attacked was absurd. Why should he -possibly wish to be attacked? And who would wish to attack him? Clearly, -Lord Linchmere was suffering from some singular delusion, and the result -was that on an imbecile pretext I was to be deprived of my night’s rest. -Still, however absurd, I was determined to carry out his injunctions to -the letter as long as I was in his employment. I sat therefore beside -the empty fireplace, and listened to a sonorous chiming clock somewhere -down the passage, which gurgled and struck every quarter of an hour. It -was an endless vigil. Save for that single clock, an absolute silence -reigned throughout the great house. A small lamp stood on the table at -my elbow, throwing a circle of light round my chair, but leaving the -corners of the room draped in shadow. On the bed Lord Linchmere was -breathing peacefully. I envied him his quiet sleep, and again and again -my own eyelids drooped, but every time my sense of duty came to my help, -and I sat up, rubbing my eyes and pinching myself with a determination -to see my irrational watch to an end. - -And I did so. From down the passage came the chimes of two o’clock, and -I laid my hand upon the shoulder of the sleeper. Instantly he was -sitting up, with an expression of the keenest interest upon his face. - -“You have heard something?” - -“No, sir. It is two o’clock.” - -“Very good. I will watch. You can go to sleep.” I lay down under the -coverlet as he had done, and was soon unconscious. My last recollection -was of that circle of lamplight, and of the small, hunched-up figure and -strained, anxious face of Lord Linchmere in the centre of it. - -How long I slept I do not know; but I was suddenly aroused by a sharp -tug at my sleeve. The room was in darkness, but a hot smell of oil told -me that the lamp had only that instant been extinguished. - -“Quick! Quick!” said Lord Linchmere’s voice in my ear. - -I sprang out of bed, he still dragging at my arm. - -“Over here!” he whispered, and pulled me into a corner of the room. -“Hush! Listen!” - -In the silence of the night I could distinctly hear that someone was -coming down the corridor. It was a stealthy step, faint and -intermittent, as of a man who paused cautiously after every stride. -Sometimes for half a minute there was no sound, and then came the -shuffle and creak which told of a fresh advance. My companion was -trembling with excitement. His hand which still held my sleeve twitched -like a branch in the wind. - -“What is it?” I whispered. - -“It’s he!” - -“Sir Thomas?” - -“Yes.” - -“What does he want?” - -“Hush! Do nothing until I tell you.” - -I was conscious now that someone was trying the door. There was the -faintest little rattle from the handle, and then I dimly saw a thin slit -of subdued light. There was a lamp burning somewhere far down the -passage, and it just sufficed to make the outside visible from the -darkness of our room. The greyish slit grew broader and broader, very -gradually, very gently, and then outlined against it I saw the dark -figure of a man. He was squat and crouching, with the silhouette of a -bulky and misshapen dwarf. Slowly the door swung open with this ominous -shape framed in the centre of it. And then, in an instant the crouching -figure shot up, there was a tiger spring across the room, and thud, -thud, thud, came three tremendous blows from some heavy object upon the -bed. - -I was so paralyzed with amazement that I stood motionless and staring -until I was aroused by a yell for help from my companion. The open door -shed enough light for me to see the outline of things, and there was -little Lord Linchmere with his arms round the neck of his -brother-in-law, holding bravely on to him like a game bull-terrier with -its teeth into a gaunt deerhound. The tall, bony man dashed himself -about, writhing round and round to get a grip upon his assailant; but -the other, clutching on from behind, still kept his hold, though his -shrill, frightened cries showed how unequal he felt the contest to be. I -sprang to the rescue, and the two of us managed to throw Sir Thomas to -the ground, though he made his teeth meet in my shoulder. With all my -youth and weight and strength, it was a desperate struggle before we -could master his frenzied struggles; but at last we secured his arms -with the waist-cord of the dressing-gown which he was wearing. I was -holding his legs while Lord Linchmere was endeavouring to relight the -lamp, when there came the pattering of many feet in the passage, and the -butler and two footmen, who had been alarmed by the cries, rushed into -the room. With their aid we had no further difficulty in securing our -prisoner, who lay foaming and glaring upon the ground. One glance at his -face was enough to prove that he was a dangerous maniac, while the -short, heavy hammer which lay beside the bed showed how murderous had -been his intentions. - -“Do not use any violence!” said Lord Linchmere, as we raised the -struggling man to his feet. “He will have a period of stupor after this -excitement. I believe that it is coming on already.” As he spoke the -convulsions became less violent, and the madman’s head fell forward upon -his breast, as if he were overcome by sleep. We led him down the passage -and stretched him upon his own bed, where he lay unconscious, breathing -heavily. - -“Two of you will watch him,” said Lord Linchmere. “And now, Dr. -Hamilton, if you will return with me to my room, I will give you the -explanation which my horror of scandal has perhaps caused me to delay -too long. Come what may, you will never have cause to regret your share -in this night’s work. - -“The case may be made clear in a very few words,” he continued, when we -were alone. “My poor brother-in-law is one of the best fellows upon -earth, a loving husband and an estimable father, but he comes from a -stock which is deeply tainted with insanity. He has more than once had -homicidal outbreaks, which are the more painful because his inclination -is always to attack the very person to whom he is most attached. His son -was sent away to school to avoid this danger, and then came an attempt -upon my sister, his wife, from which she escaped with injuries that you -may have observed when you met her in London. You understand that he -knows nothing of the matter when he is in his sound senses, and would -ridicule the suggestion that he could under any circumstances injure -those whom he loves so dearly. It is often, as you know, a -characteristic of such maladies that it is absolutely impossible to -convince the man who suffers from them of their existence. - -“Our great object was, of course, to get him under restraint before he -could stain his hands with blood, but the matter was full of difficulty. -He is a recluse in his habits, and would not see any medical man. -Besides, it was necessary for our purpose that the medical man should -convince himself of his insanity; and he is sane as you or I, save on -these very rare occasions. But, fortunately, before he has these attacks -he always shows certain premonitory symptoms, which are providential -danger-signals, warning us to be upon our guard. The chief of these is -that nervous contortion of the forehead which you must have observed. -This is a phenomenon which always appears from three to four days before -his attacks of frenzy. The moment it showed itself his wife came into -town on some pretext, and took refuge in my house in Brook Street. - -“It remained for me to convince a medical man of Sir Thomas’s insanity, -without which it was impossible to put him where he could do no harm. -The first problem was how to get a medical man into his house. I -bethought me of his interest in beetles, and his love for any one who -shared his tastes. I advertised, therefore, and was fortunate enough to -find in you the very man I wanted. A stout companion was necessary, for -I knew that the lunacy could only be proved by a murderous assault, and -I had every reason to believe that that assault would be made upon -myself, since he had the warmest regard for me in his moments of sanity. -I think your intelligence will supply all the rest. I did not know that -the attack would come by night, but I thought it very probable, for the -crises of such cases usually do occur in the early hours of the morning. -I am a very nervous man myself, but I saw no other way in which I could -remove this terrible danger from my sister’s life. I need not ask you -whether you are willing to sign the lunacy papers.” - -“Undoubtedly. But _two_ signatures are necessary.” - -“You forget that I am myself a holder of a medical degree. I have the -papers on a side-table here, so if you will be good enough to sign them -now, we can have the patient removed in the morning.” - - * * * * * - -So that was my visit to Sir Thomas Rossiter, the famous beetle-hunter, -and that was also my first step upon the ladder of success, for Lady -Rossiter and Lord Linchmere have proved to be staunch friends, and they -have never forgotten my association with them in the time of their need. -Sir Thomas is out and said to be cured, but I still think that if I -spent another night at Delamere Court, I should be inclined to lock my -door upon the inside. - - - - - THE MAN WITH THE WATCHES - - -There are many who will still bear in mind the singular circumstances -which, under the heading of the Rugby Mystery, filled many columns of -the daily Press in the spring of the year 1892. Coming as it did at a -period of exceptional dulness, it attracted perhaps rather more -attention than it deserved, but it offered to the public that mixture of -the whimsical and the tragic which is most stimulating to the popular -imagination. Interest drooped, however, when, after weeks of fruitless -investigation, it was found that no final explanation of the facts was -forthcoming, and the tragedy seemed from that time to the present to -have finally taken its place in the dark catalogue of inexplicable and -unexpiated crimes. A recent communication (the authenticity of which -appears to be above question) has, however, thrown some new and clear -light upon the matter. Before laying it before the public it would be as -well, perhaps, that I should refresh their memories as to the singular -facts upon which this commentary is founded. These facts were briefly as -follows:— - -At five o’clock on the evening of the 18th of March in the year already -mentioned a train left Euston Station for Manchester. It was a rainy, -squally day, which grew wilder as it progressed, so it was by no means -the weather in which any one would travel who was not driven to do so by -necessity. The train, however, is a favourite one among Manchester -business men who are returning from town, for it does the journey in -four hours and twenty minutes, with only three stoppages upon the way. -In spite of the inclement evening it was, therefore, fairly well filled -upon the occasion of which I speak. The guard of the train was a tried -servant of the company—a man who had worked for twenty-two years without -blemish or complaint. His name was John Palmer. - -The station clock was upon the stroke of five, and the guard was about -to give the customary signal to the engine-driver when he observed two -belated passengers hurrying down the platform. The one was an -exceptionally tall man, dressed in a long black overcoat with Astrakhan -collar and cuffs. I have already said that the evening was an inclement -one, and the tall traveller had the high, warm collar turned up to -protect his throat against the bitter March wind. He appeared, as far as -the guard could judge by so hurried an inspection, to be a man between -fifty and sixty years of age, who had retained a good deal of the vigour -and activity of his youth. In one hand he carried a brown leather -Gladstone bag. His companion was a lady, tall and erect, walking with a -vigorous step which outpaced the gentleman beside her. She wore a long, -fawn-coloured dust-cloak, a black, close-fitting toque, and a dark veil -which concealed the greater part of her face. The two might very well -have passed as father and daughter. They walked swiftly down the line of -carriages, glancing in at the windows, until the guard, John Palmer, -overtook them. - -“Now, then, sir, look sharp, the train is going,” said he. - -“First-class,” the man answered. - -The guard turned the handle of the nearest door. In the carriage, which -he had opened, there sat a small man with a cigar in his mouth. His -appearance seems to have impressed itself upon the guard’s memory, for -he was prepared, afterwards, to describe or to identify him. He was a -man of thirty-four or thirty-five years of age, dressed in some grey -material, sharp-nosed, alert, with a ruddy, weather-beaten face, and a -small, closely cropped black beard. He glanced up as the door was -opened. The tall man paused with his foot upon the step. - -“This is a smoking compartment. The lady dislikes smoke,” said he, -looking round at the guard. - -“All right! Here you are, sir!” said John Palmer. He slammed the door of -the smoking carriage, opened that of the next one, which was empty, and -thrust the two travellers in. At the same moment he sounded his whistle -and the wheels of the train began to move. The man with the cigar was at -the window of his carriage, and said something to the guard as he rolled -past him, but the words were lost in the bustle of the departure. Palmer -stepped into the guard’s van, as it came up to him, and thought no more -of the incident. - -Twelve minutes after its departure the train reached Willesden Junction, -where it stopped for a very short interval. An examination of the -tickets has made it certain that no one either joined or left it at this -time, and no passenger was seen to alight upon the platform. At 5.14 the -journey to Manchester was resumed, and Rugby was reached at 6.50, the -express being five minutes late. - -At Rugby the attention of the station officials was drawn to the fact -that the door of one of the first-class carriages was open. An -examination of that compartment, and of its neighbour, disclosed a -remarkable state of affairs. - -The smoking carriage in which the short, red-faced man with the black -beard had been seen was now empty. Save for a half-smoked cigar, there -was no trace whatever of its recent occupant. The door of this carriage -was fastened. In the next compartment, to which attention had been -originally drawn, there was no sign either of the gentleman with the -Astrakhan collar or of the young lady who accompanied him. All three -passengers had disappeared. On the other hand, there was found upon the -floor of this carriage—the one in which the tall traveller and the lady -had been—a young man, fashionably dressed and of elegant appearance. He -lay with his knees drawn up, and his head resting against the further -door, an elbow upon either seat. A bullet had penetrated his heart and -his death must have been instantaneous. No one had seen such a man enter -the train, and no railway ticket was found in his pocket, neither were -there any markings upon his linen, nor papers nor personal property -which might help to identify him. Who he was, whence he had come, and -how he had met his end were each as great a mystery as what had occurred -to the three people who had started an hour and a half before from -Willesden in those two compartments. - -I have said that there was no personal property which might help to -identify him, but it is true that there was one peculiarity about this -unknown young man which was much commented upon at the time. In his -pockets were found no fewer than six valuable gold watches, three in the -various pockets of his waistcoat, one in his ticket-pocket, one in his -breast-pocket, and one small one set in a leather strap and fastened -round his left wrist. The obvious explanation that the man was a -pickpocket, and that this was his plunder, was discounted by the fact -that all six were of American make, and of a type which is rare in -England. Three of them bore the mark of the Rochester Watchmaking -Company; one was by Mason, of Elmira; one was unmarked; and the small -one, which was highly jewelled and ornamented, was from Tiffany, of New -York. The other contents of his pocket consisted of an ivory knife with -a corkscrew by Rodgers, of Sheffield; a small circular mirror, one inch -in diameter; a re-admission slip to the Lyceum theatre; a silver box -full of vesta matches, and a brown leather cigar-case containing two -cheroots—also two pounds fourteen shillings in money. It was clear, -then, that whatever motives may have led to his death, robbery was not -among them. As already mentioned, there were no markings upon the man’s -linen, which appeared to be new, and no tailor’s name upon his coat. In -appearance he was young, short, smooth-cheeked, and delicately featured. -One of his front teeth was conspicuously stopped with gold. - -On the discovery of the tragedy an examination was instantly made of the -tickets of all passengers, and the number of the passengers themselves -was counted. It was found that only three tickets were unaccounted for, -corresponding to the three travellers who were missing. The express was -then allowed to proceed, but a new guard was sent with it, and John -Palmer was detained as a witness at Rugby. The carriage which included -the two compartments in question was uncoupled and side-tracked. Then, -on the arrival of Inspector Vane, of Scotland Yard, and of Mr. -Henderson, a detective in the service of the railway company, an -exhaustive inquiry was made into all the circumstances. - -That crime had been committed was certain. The bullet, which appeared to -have come from a small pistol or revolver, had been fired from some -little distance, as there was no scorching of the clothes. No weapon was -found in the compartment (which finally disposed of the theory of -suicide), nor was there any sign of the brown leather bag which the -guard had seen in the hand of the tall gentleman. A lady’s parasol was -found upon the rack, but no other trace was to be seen of the travellers -in either of the sections. Apart from the crime, the question of how or -why three passengers (one of them a lady) could get out of the train, -and one other get in during the unbroken run between Willesden and -Rugby, was one which excited the utmost curiosity among the general -public, and gave rise to much speculation in the London Press. - -John Palmer, the guard, was able at the inquest to give some evidence -which threw a little light upon the matter. There was a spot between -Tring and Cheddington, according to his statement, where, on account of -some repairs to the line, the train had for a few minutes slowed down to -a pace not exceeding eight or ten miles an hour. At that place it might -be possible for a man, or even for an exceptionally active woman, to -have left the train without serious injury. It was true that a gang of -platelayers was there, and that they had seen nothing, but it was their -custom to stand in the middle between the metals, and the open carriage -door was upon the far side, so that it was conceivable that someone -might have alighted unseen, as the darkness would by that time be -drawing in. A steep embankment would instantly screen anyone who sprang -out from the observation of the navvies. - -The guard also deposed that there was a good deal of movement upon the -platform at Willesden Junction, and that though it was certain that no -one had either joined or left the train there, it was still quite -possible that some of the passengers might have changed unseen from one -compartment to another. It was by no means uncommon for a gentleman to -finish his cigar in a smoking carriage and then to change to a clearer -atmosphere. Supposing that the man with the black beard had done so at -Willesden (and the half-smoked cigar upon the floor seemed to favour the -supposition), he would naturally go into the nearest section, which -would bring him into the company of the two other actors in this drama. -Thus the first stage of the affair might be surmised without any great -breach of probability. But what the second stage had been, or how the -final one had been arrived at, neither the guard nor the experienced -detective officers could suggest. - - A careful examination of the line between Willesden and Rugby resulted -in one discovery which might or might not have a bearing upon the -tragedy. Near Tring, at the very place where the train slowed down, -there was found at the bottom of the embankment a small pocket -Testament, very shabby and worn. It was printed by the Bible Society of -London, and bore an inscription: “From John to Alice. Jan. 13th, 1856,” -upon the fly-leaf. Underneath was written: “James, July 4th, 1859,” and -beneath that again: “Edward. Nov. 1st, 1869,” all the entries being in -the same handwriting. This was the only clue, if it could be called a -clue, which the police obtained, and the coroner’s verdict of “Murder by -a person or persons unknown” was the unsatisfactory ending of a singular -case. Advertisement, rewards, and inquiries proved equally fruitless, -and nothing could be found which was solid enough to form the basis for -a profitable investigation. - - It would be a mistake, however, to suppose that no theories were -formed to account for the facts. On the contrary, the Press, both in -England and in America, teemed with suggestions and suppositions, most -of which were obviously absurd. The fact that the watches were of -American make, and some peculiarities in connection with the gold -stopping of his front tooth, appeared to indicate that the deceased was -a citizen of the United States, though his linen, clothes, and boots -were undoubtedly of British manufacture. It was surmised, by some, that -he was concealed under the seat, and that, being discovered, he was for -some reason, possibly because he had overheard their guilty secrets, put -to death by his fellow-passengers. When coupled with generalities as to -the ferocity and cunning of anarchical and other secret societies, this -theory sounded as plausible as any. - - The fact that he should be without a ticket would be consistent with -the idea of concealment, and it was well known that women played a -prominent part in the Nihilistic propaganda. On the other hand, it was -clear, from the guard’s statement, that the man must have been hidden -there _before_ the others arrived, and how unlikely the coincidence that -conspirators should stray exactly into the very compartment in which a -spy was already concealed! Besides, this explanation ignored the man in -the smoking carriage, and gave no reason at all for his simultaneous -disappearance. The police had little difficulty in showing that such a -theory would not cover the facts, but they were unprepared in the -absence of evidence to advance any alternative explanation. - - There was a letter in the _Daily Gazette_, over the signature of a -well-known criminal investigator, which gave rise to considerable -discussion at the time. He had formed a hypothesis which had at least -ingenuity to recommend it, and I cannot do better than append it in his -own words. - - “Whatever may be the truth,” said he, “it must depend upon some -bizarre and rare combination of events, so we need have no hesitation in -postulating such events in our explanation. In the absence of data we -must abandon the analytic or scientific method of investigation, and -must approach it in the synthetic fashion. In a word, instead of taking -known events and deducing from them what has occurred, we must build up -a fanciful explanation if it will only be consistent with known events. -We can then test this explanation by any fresh facts which may arise. If -they all fit into their places, the probability is that we are upon the -right track, and with each fresh fact this probability increases in a -geometrical progression until the evidence becomes final and convincing. - - “Now, there is one most remarkable and suggestive fact which has not -met with the attention which it deserves. There is a local train running -through Harrow and King’s Langley, which is timed in such a way that the -express must have overtaken it at or about the period when it eased down -its speed to eight miles an hour on account of the repairs of the line. -The two trains would at that time be travelling in the same direction at -a similar rate of speed and upon parallel lines. It is within everyone’s -experience how, under such circumstances, the occupant of each carriage -can see very plainly the passengers in the other carriages opposite to -him. The lamps of the express had been lit at Willesden, so that each -compartment was brightly illuminated, and most visible to an observer -from outside. - - “Now, the sequence of events as I reconstruct them would be after this -fashion. This young man with the abnormal number of watches was alone in -the carriage of the slow train. His ticket, with his papers and gloves -and other things, was, we will suppose, on the seat beside him. He was -probably an American, and also probably a man of weak intellect. The -excessive wearing of jewellery is an early symptom in some forms of -mania. - - “As he sat watching the carriages of the express which were (on -account of the state of the line) going at the same pace as himself, he -suddenly saw some people in it whom he knew. We will suppose for the -sake of our theory that these people were a woman whom he loved and a -man whom he hated—and who in return hated him. The young man was -excitable and impulsive. He opened the door of his carriage, stepped -from the footboard of the local train to the footboard of the express, -opened the other door, and made his way into the presence of these two -people. The feat (on the supposition that the trains were going at the -same pace) is by no means so perilous as it might appear. - - “Having now got our young man without his ticket into the carriage in -which the elder man and the young woman are travelling, it is not -difficult to imagine that a violent scene ensued. It is possible that -the pair were also Americans, which is the more probable as the man -carried a weapon—an unusual thing in England. If our supposition of -incipient mania is correct, the young man is likely to have assaulted -the other. As the upshot of the quarrel the elder man shot the intruder, -and then made his escape from the carriage, taking the young lady with -him. We will suppose that all this happened very rapidly, and that the -train was still going at so slow a pace that it was not difficult for -them to leave it. A woman might leave a train going at eight miles an -hour. As a matter of fact, we know that this woman _did_ do so. - - “And now we have to fit in the man in the smoking carriage. Presuming -that we have, up to this point, reconstructed the tragedy correctly, we -shall find nothing in this other man to cause us to reconsider our -conclusions. According to my theory, this man saw the young fellow cross -from one train to the other, saw him open the door, heard the -pistol-shot, saw the two fugitives spring out on to the line, realized -that murder had been done, and sprang out himself in pursuit. Why he has -never been heard of since—whether he met his own death in the pursuit, -or whether, as is more likely, he was made to realize that it was not a -case for his interference—is a detail which we have at present no means -of explaining. I acknowledge that there are some difficulties in the -way. At first sight, it might seem improbable that at such a moment a -murderer would burden himself in his flight with a brown leather bag. My -answer is that he was well aware that if the bag were found his identity -would be established. It was absolutely necessary for him to take it -with him. My theory stands or falls upon one point, and I call upon the -railway company to make strict inquiry as to whether a ticket was found -unclaimed in the local train through Harrow and King’s Langley upon the -18th of March. If such a ticket were found my case is proved. If not, my -theory may still be the correct one, for it is conceivable either that -he travelled without a ticket or that his ticket was lost.” - - To this elaborate and plausible hypothesis the answer of the police -and of the company was, first, that no such ticket was found; secondly, -that the slow train would never run parallel to the express; and, -thirdly, that the local train had been stationary in King’s Langley -Station when the express, going at fifty miles an hour, had flashed past -it. So perished the only satisfying explanation, and five years have -elapsed without supplying a new one. Now, at last, there comes a -statement which covers all the facts, and which must be regarded as -authentic. It took the shape of a letter dated from New York, and -addressed to the same criminal investigator whose theory I have quoted. -It is given here in extenso, with the exception of the two opening -paragraphs, which are personal in their nature:— - - “You’ll excuse me if I’m not very free with names. There’s less reason -now than there was five years ago when mother was still living. But for -all that, I had rather cover up our tracks all I can. But I owe you an -explanation, for if your idea of it was wrong, it was a mighty ingenious -one all the same. I’ll have to go back a little so as you may understand -all about it. - - “My people came from Bucks, England, and emigrated to the States in -the early fifties. They settled in Rochester, in the State of New York, -where my father ran a large dry goods store. There were only two sons: -myself, James, and my brother, Edward. I was ten years older than my -brother, and after my father died I sort of took the place of a father -to him, as an elder brother would. He was a bright, spirited boy, and -just one of the most beautiful creatures that ever lived. But there was -always a soft spot in him, and it was like mould in cheese, for it -spread and spread, and nothing that you could do would stop it. Mother -saw it just as clearly as I did, but she went on spoiling him all the -same, for he had such a way with him that you could refuse him nothing. -I did all I could to hold him in, and he hated me for my pains. - - “At last he fairly got his head, and nothing that we could do would -stop him. He got off into New York, and went rapidly from bad to worse. -At first he was only fast, and then he was criminal; and then, at the -end of a year or two, he was one of the most notorious young crooks in -the city. He had formed a friendship with Sparrow MacCoy, who was at the -head of his profession as a bunco-steerer, green goods-man, and general -rascal. They took to card-sharping, and frequented some of the best -hotels in New York. My brother was an excellent actor (he might have -made an honest name for himself if he had chosen), and he would take the -parts of a young Englishman of title, of a simple lad from the West, or -of a college undergraduate, whichever suited Sparrow MacCoy’s purpose. -And then one day he dressed himself as a girl, and he carried it off so -well, and made himself such a valuable decoy, that it was their -favourite game afterwards. They had made it right with Tammany and with -the police, so it seemed as if nothing could ever stop them, for those -were in the days before the Lexow Commission, and if you only had a -pull, you could do pretty nearly everything you wanted. - - “And nothing would have stopped them if they had only stuck to cards -and New York, but they must needs come up Rochester way, and forge a -name upon a check. It was my brother that did it, though everyone knew -that it was under the influence of Sparrow MacCoy. I bought up that -check, and a pretty sum it cost me. Then I went to my brother, laid it -before him on the table, and swore to him that I would prosecute if he -did not clear out of the country. At first he simply laughed. I could -not prosecute, he said, without breaking our mother’s heart, and he knew -that I would not do that. I made him understand, however, that our -mother’s heart was being broken in any case, and that I had set firm on -the point that I would rather see him in a Rochester gaol than in a New -York hotel. So at last he gave in, and he made me a solemn promise that -he would see Sparrow MacCoy no more, that he would go to Europe, and -that he would turn his hand to any honest trade that I helped him to -get. I took him down right away to an old family friend, Joe Willson, -who is an exporter of American watches and clocks, and I got him to give -Edward an agency in London, with a small salary and a 15 per cent. -commission on all business. His manner and appearance were so good that -he won the old man over at once, and within a week he was sent off to -London with a case full of samples. - - “It seemed to me that this business of the check had really given my -brother a fright, and that there was some chance of his settling down -into an honest line of life. My mother had spoken with him, and what she -said had touched him, for she had always been the best of mothers to -him, and he had been the great sorrow of her life. But I knew that this -man Sparrow MacCoy had a great influence over Edward, and my chance of -keeping the lad straight lay in breaking the connection between them. I -had a friend in the New York detective force, and through him I kept a -watch upon MacCoy. When within a fortnight of my brother’s sailing I -heard that MacCoy had taken a berth in the _Etruria_, I was as certain -as if he had told me that he was going over to England for the purpose -of coaxing Edward back again into the ways that he had left. In an -instant I had resolved to go also, and to put my influence against -MacCoy’s. I knew it was a losing fight, but I thought, and my mother -thought, that it was my duty. We passed the last night together in -prayer for my success, and she gave me her own Testament that my father -had given her on the day of their marriage in the Old Country, so that I -might always wear it next my heart. - - “I was a fellow-traveller, on the steamship, with Sparrow MacCoy, and -at least I had the satisfaction of spoiling his little game for the -voyage. The very first night I went into the smoking-room, and found him -at the head of a card table, with half-a-dozen young fellows who were -carrying their full purses and their empty skulls over to Europe. He was -settling down for his harvest, and a rich one it would have been. But I -soon changed all that. - - “‘Gentlemen,’ said I, ‘are you aware whom you are playing with?’ - - “‘What’s that to you? You mind your own business!’ said he, with an -oath. - - “‘Who is it, anyway?’ asked one of the dudes. - - “‘He’s Sparrow MacCoy, the most notorious cardsharper in the States.’ - - “Up he jumped with a bottle in his hand, but he remembered that he was -under the flag of the effete Old Country, where law and order run, and -Tammany has no pull. Gaol and the gallows wait for violence and murder, -and there’s no slipping out by the back door on board an ocean liner. - - “‘Prove your words, you——!’ said he. - - “‘I will!’ said I. ‘If you will turn up your right shirt-sleeve to the -shoulder, I will either prove my words or I will eat them.’ - - “He turned white and said not a word. You see, I knew something of his -ways, and I was aware that part of the mechanism which he and all such -sharpers use consists of an elastic down the arm with a clip just above -the wrist. It is by means of this clip that they withdraw from their -hands the cards which they do not want, while they substitute other -cards from another hiding-place. I reckoned on it being there, and it -was. He cursed me, slunk out of the saloon, and was hardly seen again -during the voyage. For once, at any rate, I got level with Mister -Sparrow MacCoy. - - “But he soon had his revenge upon me, for when it came to influencing -my brother he outweighed me every time. Edward had kept himself straight -in London for the first few weeks, and had done some business with his -American watches, until this villain came across his path once more. I -did my best, but the best was little enough. The next thing I heard -there had been a scandal at one of the Northumberland Avenue hotels: a -traveller had been fleeced of a large sum by two confederate -card-sharpers, and the matter was in the hands of Scotland Yard. The -first I learned of it was in the evening paper, and I was at once -certain that my brother and MacCoy were back at their old games. I -hurried at once to Edward’s lodgings. They told me that he and a tall -gentleman (whom I recognized as MacCoy) had gone off together, and that -he had left the lodgings and taken his things with him. The landlady had -heard them give several directions to the cabman, ending with Euston -Station, and she had accidentally overheard the tall gentleman saying -something about Manchester. She believed that that was their -destination. - -“A glance at the time-table showed me that the most likely train was at -five, though there was another at 4.35 which they might have caught. I -had only time to get the later one, but found no sign of them either at -the depôt or in the train. They must have gone on by the earlier one, so -I determined to follow them to Manchester and search for them in the -hotels there. One last appeal to my brother by all that he owed to my -mother might even now be the salvation of him. My nerves were -overstrung, and I lit a cigar to steady them. At that moment, just as -the train was moving off, the door of my compartment was flung open, and -there were MacCoy and my brother on the platform. - -“They were both disguised, and with good reason, for they knew that the -London police were after them. MacCoy had a great Astrakhan collar drawn -up, so that only his eyes and nose were showing. My brother was dressed -like a woman, with a black veil half down his face, but of course it did -not deceive me for an instant, nor would it have done so even if I had -not known that he had often used such a dress before. I started up, and -as I did so MacCoy recognized me. He said something, the conductor -slammed the door, and they were shown into the next compartment. I tried -to stop the train so as to follow them, but the wheels were already -moving, and it was too late. - -“When we stopped at Willesden, I instantly changed my carriage. It -appears that I was not seen to do so, which is not surprising, as the -station was crowded with people. MacCoy, of course, was expecting me, -and he had spent the time between Euston and Willesden in saying all he -could to harden my brother’s heart and set him against me. That is what -I fancy, for I had never found him so impossible to soften or to move. I -tried this way and I tried that; I pictured his future in an English -gaol; I described the sorrow of his mother when I came back with the -news; I said everything to touch his heart, but all to no purpose. He -sat there with a fixed sneer upon his handsome face, while every now and -then Sparrow MacCoy would throw in a taunt at me, or some word of -encouragement to hold my brother to his resolutions. - -“‘Why don’t you run a Sunday-school?’ he would say to me, and then, in -the same breath: ‘He thinks you have no will of your own. He thinks you -are just the baby brother and that he can lead you where he likes. He’s -only just finding out that you are a man as well as he.’ - -“It was those words of his which set me talking bitterly. We had left -Willesden, you understand, for all this took some time. My temper got -the better of me, and for the first time in my life I let my brother see -the rough side of me. Perhaps it would have been better had I done so -earlier and more often. - -“‘A man!’ said I. ‘Well, I’m glad to have your friend’s assurance of it, -for no one would suspect it to see you like a boarding-school missy. I -don’t suppose in all this country there is a more contemptible-looking -creature than you are as you sit there with that Dolly pinafore upon -you.’ He coloured up at that, for he was a vain man, and he winced from -ridicule. - -“‘It’s only a dust-cloak,’ said he, and he slipped it off. ‘One has to -throw the coppers off one’s scent, and I had no other way to do it.’ He -took his toque off with the veil attached, and he put both it and the -cloak into his brown bag. ‘Anyway, I don’t need to wear it until the -conductor comes round,’ said he. - -“‘Nor then, either,’ said I, and taking the bag I slung it with all my -force out of the window. ‘Now,’ said I, ‘you’ll never make a Mary Jane -of yourself while I can help it. If nothing but that disguise stands -between you and a gaol, then to gaol you shall go.’ - -“That was the way to manage him. I felt my advantage at once. His supple -nature was one which yielded to roughness far more readily than to -entreaty. He flushed with shame, and his eyes filled with tears. But -MacCoy saw my advantage also, and was determined that I should not -pursue it. - -“‘He’s my pard, and you shall not bully him,’ he cried. - -“‘He’s my brother, and you shall not ruin him,’ said I. ‘I believe a -spell of prison is the very best way of keeping you apart, and you shall -have it, or it will be no fault of mine.’ - -“‘Oh, you would squeal, would you?’ he cried, and in an instant he -whipped out his revolver. I sprang for his hand, but saw that I was too -late, and jumped aside. At the same instant he fired, and the bullet -which would have struck me passed through the heart of my unfortunate -brother. - -“He dropped without a groan upon the floor of the compartment, and -MacCoy and I, equally horrified, knelt at each side of him, trying to -bring back some signs of life. MacCoy still held the loaded revolver in -his hand, but his anger against me and my resentment towards him had -both for the moment been swallowed up in this sudden tragedy. It was he -who first realized the situation. The train was for some reason going -very slowly at the moment, and he saw his opportunity for escape. In an -instant he had the door open, but I was as quick as he, and jumping upon -him the two of us fell off the footboard and rolled in each other’s arms -down a steep embankment. At the bottom I struck my head against a stone, -and I remembered nothing more. When I came to myself I was lying among -some low bushes, not far from the railroad track, and somebody was -bathing my head with a wet handkerchief. It was Sparrow MacCoy. - -“‘I guess I couldn’t leave you,’ said he. ‘I didn’t want to have the -blood of two of you on my hands in one day. You loved your brother, I’ve -no doubt; but you didn’t love him a cent more than I loved him, though -you’ll say that I took a queer way to show it. Anyhow, it seems a mighty -empty world now that he is gone, and I don’t care a continental whether -you give me over to the hangman or not.’ - -“He had turned his ankle in the fall, and there we sat, he with his -useless foot, and I with my throbbing head, and we talked and talked -until gradually my bitterness began to soften and to turn into something -like sympathy. What was the use of revenging his death upon a man who -was as much stricken by that death as I was? And then, as my wits -gradually returned, I began to realize also that I could do nothing -against MacCoy which would not recoil upon my mother and myself. How -could we convict him without a full account of my brother’s career being -made public—the very thing which of all others we wished to avoid? It -was really as much our interest as his to cover the matter up, and from -being an avenger of crime I found myself changed to a conspirator -against Justice. The place in which we found ourselves was one of those -pheasant preserves which are so common in the Old Country, and as we -groped our way through it I found myself consulting the slayer of my -brother as to how far it would be possible to hush it up. - -“I soon realized from what he said that unless there were some papers of -which we knew nothing in my brother’s pockets, there was really no -possible means by which the police could identify him or learn how he -had got there. His ticket was in MacCoy’s pocket, and so was the ticket -for some baggage which they had left at the depôt. Like most Americans, -he had found it cheaper and easier to buy an outfit in London than to -bring one from New York, so that all his linen and clothes were new and -unmarked. The bag, containing the dust cloak, which I had thrown out of -the window, may have fallen among some bramble patch where it is still -concealed, or may have been carried off by some tramp, or may have come -into the possession of the police, who kept the incident to themselves. -Anyhow, I have seen nothing about it in the London papers. As to the -watches, they were a selection from those which had been intrusted to -him for business purposes. It may have been for the same business -purposes that he was taking them to Manchester, but—well, it’s too late -to enter into that. - -“I don’t blame the police for being at fault. I don’t see how it could -have been otherwise. There was just one little clew that they might have -followed up, but it was a small one. I mean that small circular mirror -which was found in my brother’s pocket. It isn’t a very common thing for -a young man to carry about with him, is it? But a gambler might have -told you what such a mirror may mean to a cardsharper. If you sit back a -little from the table, and lay the mirror, face upwards, upon your lap, -you can see, as you deal, every card that you give to your adversary. It -is not hard to say whether you see a man or raise him when you know his -cards as well as your own. It was as much a part of a sharper’s outfit -as the elastic clip upon Sparrow MacCoy’s arm. Taking that, in -connection with the recent frauds at the hotels, the police might have -got hold of one end of the string. - -“I don’t think there is much more for me to explain. We got to a village -called Amersham that night in the character of two gentlemen upon a -walking tour, and afterwards we made our way quietly to London, whence -MacCoy went on to Cairo and I returned to New York. My mother died six -months afterwards, and I am glad to say that to the day of her death she -never knew what happened. She was always under the delusion that Edward -was earning an honest living in London, and I never had the heart to -tell her the truth. He never wrote; but, then, he never did write at any -time, so that made no difference. His name was the last upon her lips. - -“There’s just one other thing that I have to ask you, sir, and I should -take it as a kind return for all this explanation, if you could do it -for me. You remember that Testament that was picked up. I always carried -it in my inside pocket, and it must have come out in my fall. I value it -very highly, for it was the family book with my birth and my brother’s -marked by my father in the beginning of it. I wish you would apply at -the proper place and have it sent to me. It can be of no possible value -to any one else. If you address it to X, Bassano’s Library, Broadway, -New York, it is sure to come to hand.” - - - - - THE POT OF CAVIARE - - -It was the fourth day of the siege. Ammunition and provisions were both -nearing an end. When the Boxer insurrection had suddenly flamed up, and -roared, like a fire in dry grass, across Northern China, the few -scattered Europeans in the outlying provinces had huddled together at -the nearest defensible post and had held on for dear life until rescue -came—or until it did not. In the latter case, the less said about their -fate the better. In the former, they came back into the world of men -with that upon their faces which told that they had looked very closely -upon such an end as would ever haunt their dreams. - -Ichau was only fifty miles from the coast, and there was a European -squadron in the Gulf of Liantong. Therefore the absurd little garrison, -consisting of native Christians and railway men, with a German officer -to command them and five civilian Europeans to support him, held on -bravely with the conviction that help must soon come sweeping down to -them from the low hills to eastward. The sea was visible from those -hills, and on the sea were their armed countrymen. Surely, then, they -could not feel deserted. With brave hearts they manned the loopholes in -the crumbling brick walls outlining the tiny European quarter, and they -fired away briskly, if ineffectively, at the rapidly advancing sangars -of the Boxers. It was certain that in another day or so they would be at -the end of their resources, but then it was equally certain that in -another day or so they must be relieved. It might be a little sooner or -it might be a little later, but there was no one who ever ventured to -hint that the relief would not arrive in time to pluck them out of the -fire. Up to Tuesday night there was no word of discouragement. - -It was true that on the Wednesday their robust faith in what was going -forward behind those eastern hills had weakened a little. The grey -slopes lay bare and unresponsive while the deadly sangars pushed ever -nearer, so near that the dreadful faces which shrieked imprecations at -them from time to time over the top could be seen in every hideous -feature. There was not so much of that now since young Ainslie, of the -Diplomatic service, with his neat little .303 sporting rifle, had -settled down in the squat church tower, and had devoted his days to -abating the nuisance. But a silent sangar is an even more impressive -thing than a clamorous one, and steadily, irresistibly, inevitably, the -lines of brick and rubble drew closer. Soon they would be so near that -one rush would assuredly carry the frantic swordsmen over the frail -entrenchment. It all seemed very black upon the Wednesday evening. -Colonel Dresler, the German ex-infantry soldier, went about with an -imperturbable face, but a heart of lead. Ralston, of the railway, was up -half the night writing farewell letters. Professor Mercer, the old -entomologist, was even more silent and grimly thoughtful than ever. -Ainslie had lost some of his flippancy. On the whole, the ladies—Miss -Sinclair, the nurse of the Scotch Mission, Mrs. Patterson, and her -pretty daughter Jessie, were the most composed of the party. Father -Pierre of the French Mission, was also unaffected, as was natural to one -who regarded martyrdom as a glorious crown. The Boxers yelling for his -blood beyond the walls disturbed him less than his forced association -with the sturdy Scotch Presbyterian presence of Mr. Patterson, with whom -for ten years he had wrangled over the souls of the natives. They passed -each other now in the corridors as dog passes cat, and each kept a -watchful eye upon the other lest even in the trenches he might filch -some sheep from the rival fold, whispering heresy in his ear. - -But the Wednesday night passed without a crisis, and on the Thursday all -was bright once more. It was Ainslie up in the clock tower who had first -heard the distant thud of a gun. Then Dresler heard it, and within half -an hour it was audible to all—that strong iron voice, calling to them -from afar and bidding them to be of good cheer, since help was coming. -It was clear that the landing party from the squadron was well on its -way. It would not arrive an hour too soon. The cartridges were nearly -finished. Their half-rations of food would soon dwindle to an even more -pitiful supply. But what need to worry about that now that relief was -assured? There would be no attack that day, as most of the Boxers could -be seen streaming off in the direction of the distant firing, and the -long lines of sangars were silent and deserted. They were all able, -therefore, to assemble at the lunch-table, a merry, talkative party, -full of that joy of living which sparkles most brightly under the -imminent shadow of death. - - “The pot of caviare!” cried Ainslie. “Come, Professor, out with the -pot of caviare!” - - “Potz-tausend! yes,” grunted old Dresler. “It is certainly time that -we had that famous pot.” - - The ladies joined in, and from all parts of the long, ill-furnished -table there came the demand for caviare. - - It was a strange time to ask for such a delicacy, but the reason is -soon told. Professor Mercer, the old Californian entomologist, had -received a jar of caviare in a hamper of goods from San Francisco, -arriving a day or two before the outbreak. In the general pooling and -distribution of provisions this one dainty and three bottles of Lachryma -Christi from the same hamper had been excepted and set aside. By common -consent they were to be reserved for the final joyous meal when the end -of their peril should be in sight. Even as they sat the thud-thud of the -relieving guns came to their ears—more luxurious music to their lunch -than the most sybaritic restaurant of London could have supplied. Before -evening the relief would certainly be there. Why, then, should their -stale bread not be glorified by the treasured caviare? - - But the Professor shook his gnarled old head and smiled his -inscrutable smile. - - “Better wait,” said he. - - “Wait! Why wait?” cried the company. - - “They have still far to come,” he answered. - -“They will be here for supper at the latest,” said Ralston, of the -railway—a keen, birdlike man, with bright eyes and long, projecting -nose. “They cannot be more than ten miles from us now. If they only did -two miles an hour it would make them due at seven.” - -“There is a battle on the way,” remarked the Colonel. “You will grant -two hours or three hours for the battle.” - -“Not half an hour,” cried Ainslie. “They will walk through them as if -they were not there. What can these rascals with their matchlocks and -swords do against modern weapons?” - -“It depends on who leads the column of relief,” said Dresler. “If they -are fortunate enough to have a German officer——” - -“An Englishman for my money!” cried Ralston. - -“The French commodore is said to be an excellent strategist,” remarked -Father Pierre. - -“I don’t see that it matters a toss,” cried the exuberant Ainslie. “Mr. -Mauser and Mr. Maxim are the two men who will see us through, and with -them on our side no leader can go wrong. I tell you they will just brush -them aside and walk through them. So now, Professor, come on with that -pot of caviare!” - - But the old scientist was unconvinced. - -“We shall reserve it for supper,” said he. - -“After all,” said Mr. Patterson, in his slow, precise Scottish -intonation, “it will be a courtesy to our guests—the officers of the -relief—if we have some palatable food to lay before them. I’m in -agreement with the Professor that we reserve the caviare for supper.” - -The argument appealed to their sense of hospitality. There was something -pleasantly chivalrous, too, in the idea of keeping their one little -delicacy to give a savour to the meal of their preservers. There was no -more talk of the caviare. - -“By the way, Professor,” said Mr. Patterson, “I’ve only heard to-day -that this is the second time that you have been besieged in this way. -I’m sure we should all be very interested to hear some details of your -previous experience.” - -The old man’s face set very grimly. - -“I was in Sung-tong, in South China, in ’eighty-nine,” said he. - -“It’s a very extraordinary coincidence that you should twice have been -in such a perilous situation,” said the missionary. “Tell us how you -were relieved at Sung-tong.” - -The shadow deepened upon the weary face. - -“We were not relieved,” said he. - -“What! the place fell?” - -“Yes, it fell.” - -“And you came through alive?” - -“I am a doctor as well as an entomologist. They had many wounded; they -spared me.” - -“And the rest?” - -“Assez! assez!” cried the little French priest, raising his hand in -protest. He had been twenty years in China. The professor had said -nothing, but there was something, some lurking horror, in his dull, grey -eyes which had turned the ladies pale. - -“I am sorry,” said the missionary. “I can see that it is a painful -subject. I should not have asked.” - -“No,” the Professor answered, slowly. “It is wiser not to ask. It is -better not to speak about such things at all. But surely those guns are -very much nearer?” - -There could be no doubt of it. After a silence the thud-thud had -recommenced with a lively ripple of rifle-fire playing all round that -deep bass master-note. It must be just at the farther side of the -nearest hill. They pushed back their chairs and ran out to the ramparts. -The silent-footed native servants came in and cleared the scanty remains -from the table. But after they had left, the old Professor sat on there, -his massive, grey-crowned head leaning upon his hands and the same -pensive look of horror in his eyes. Some ghosts may be laid for years, -but when they do rise it is not so easy to drive them back to their -slumbers. The guns had ceased outside, but he had not observed it, lost -as he was in the one supreme and terrible memory of his life. - -His thoughts were interrupted at last by the entrance of the Commandant. -There was a complacent smile upon his broad German face. - -“The Kaiser will be pleased,” said he, rubbing his hands. “Yes, -certainly it should mean a decoration. ‘Defence of Ichau against the -Boxers by Colonel Dresler, late Major of the 114th Hanoverian Infantry. -Splendid resistance of small garrison against overwhelming odds.’ It -will certainly appear in the Berlin papers.” - -“Then you think we are saved?” said the old man, with neither emotion -nor exultation in his voice. - -The Colonel smiled. - -“Why, Professor,” said he, “I have seen you more excited on the morning -when you brought back _Lepidus Mercerensis_ in your collecting-box.” - -“The fly was safe in my collecting-box first,” the entomologist -answered. “I have seen so many strange turns of Fate in my long life -that I do not grieve nor do I rejoice until I know that I have cause. -But tell me the news.” - -“Well,” said the Colonel, lighting his long pipe, and stretching his -gaitered legs in the bamboo chair, “I’ll stake my military reputation -that all is well. They are advancing swiftly, the firing has died down -to show that resistance is at an end, and within an hour we’ll see them -over the brow. Ainslie is to fire his gun three times from the church -tower as a signal, and then we shall make a little sally on our own -account.” - -“And you are waiting for this signal?” - -“Yes, we are waiting for Ainslie’s shots. I thought I would spend the -time with you, for I had something to ask you.” - -“What was it?” - -“Well, you remember your talk about the other siege—the siege of -Sung-tong. It interests me very much from a professional point of view. -Now that the ladies and civilians are gone you will have no objection to -discussing it.” - -“It is not a pleasant subject.” - -“No, I dare say not. Mein Gott! it was indeed a tragedy. But you have -seen how I have conducted the defence here. Was it wise? Was it good? -Was it worthy of the traditions of the German army?” - -“I think you could have done no more.” - -“Thank you. But this other place, was it as ably defended? To me a -comparison of this sort is very interesting. Could it have been saved?” - -“No; everything possible was done—save only one thing.” - -“Ah! there was one omission. What was it?” - -“No one—above all, no woman—should have been allowed to fall alive into -the hands of the Chinese.” - -The Colonel held out his broad red hand and enfolded the long, white, -nervous fingers of the Professor. - -“You are right—a thousand times right. But do not think that this has -escaped my thoughts. For myself I would die fighting, so would Ralston, -so would Ainslie. I have talked to them, and it is settled. But the -others, I have spoken with them, but what are you to do? There are the -priest, and the missionary, and the women.” - -“Would they wish to be taken alive?” - -“They would not promise to take steps to prevent it. They would not lay -hands on their own lives. Their consciences would not permit it. Of -course, it is all over now, and we need not speak of such dreadful -things. But what would you have done in my place?” - -“Kill them.” - -“Mein Gott! You would murder them?” - -“In mercy I would kill them. Man, I have been through it. I have seen -the death of the hot eggs; I have seen the death of the boiling kettle; -I have seen the women—my God! I wonder that I have ever slept sound -again.” His usually impassive face was working and quivering with the -agony of the remembrance. “I was strapped to a stake with thorns in my -eyelids to keep them open, and my grief at their torture was a less -thing than my self-reproach when I thought that I could with one tube of -tasteless tablets have snatched them at the last instant from the hands -of their tormentors. Murder! I am ready to stand at the Divine bar and -answer for a thousand murders such as that! Sin! Why, it is such an act -as might well cleanse the stain of real sin from the soul. But if, -knowing what I do, I should have failed this second time to do it, then, -by Heaven! there is no hell deep enough or hot enough to receive my -guilty craven spirit.” - -The Colonel rose, and again his hand clasped that of the Professor. - -“You speak sense,” said he. “You are a brave, strong man, who know your -own mind. Yes, by the Lord! you would have been my great help had things -gone the other way. I have often thought and wondered in the dark, early -hours of the morning, but I did not know how to do it. But we should -have heard Ainslie’s shots before now; I will go and see.” - -Again the old scientist sat alone with his thoughts. Finally, as neither -the guns of the relieving force nor yet the signal of their approach -sounded upon his ears, he rose, and was about to go himself upon the -ramparts to make inquiry when the door flew open, and Colonel Dresler -staggered into the room. His face was of a ghastly yellow-white, and his -chest heaved like that of a man exhausted with running. There was brandy -on the side-table, and he gulped down a glassful. Then he dropped -heavily into a chair. - -“Well,” said the Professor, coldly, “they are not coming?” - -“No, they cannot come.” - -There was silence for a minute or more, the two men staring blankly at -each other. - -“Do they all know?” - -“No one knows but me.” - -“How did you learn?” - -“I was at the wall near the postern gate—the little wooden gate that -opens on the rose garden. I saw something crawling among the bushes. -There was a knocking at the door. I opened it. It was a Christian -Tartar, badly cut about with swords. He had come from the battle. -Commodore Wyndham, the Englishman, had sent him. The relieving force had -been checked. They had shot away most of their ammunition. They had -entrenched themselves and sent back to the ships for more. Three days -must pass before they could come. That was all. Mein Gott! it was -enough.” - -The Professor bent his shaggy grey brows. - -“Where is the man?” he asked. - -“He is dead. He died of loss of blood. His body lies at the postern -gate.” - -“And no one saw him?” - -“Not to speak to.” - -“Oh! they did see him, then?” - -“Ainslie must have seen him from the church tower. He must know that I -have had tidings. He will want to know what they are. If I tell him they -must all know.” - -“How long can we hold out?” - -“An hour or two at the most.” - -“Is that absolutely certain?” - -“I pledge my credit as a soldier upon it.” - -“Then we must fall?” - -“Yes, we must fall.” - -“There is no hope for us?” - -“None.” - -The door flew open and young Ainslie rushed in. Behind him crowded -Ralston, Patterson, and a crowd of white men and of native Christians. - -“You’ve had news, Colonel?” - -Professor Mercer pushed to the front. - -“Colonel Dresler has just been telling me. It is all right. They have -halted, but will be here in the early morning. There is no longer any -danger.” - -A cheer broke from the group in the doorway. Everyone was laughing and -shaking hands. - -“But suppose they rush us before to-morrow morning?” cried Ralston, in a -petulant voice. “What infernal fools these fellows are not to push on! -Lazy devils, they should be court-martialled, every man of them.” - -“It’s all safe,” said Ainslie. “These fellows have had a bad knock. We -can see their wounded being carried by the hundred over the hill. They -must have lost heavily. They won’t attack before morning.” - -“No, no,” said the Colonel; “it is certain that they won’t attack before -morning. None the less, get back to your posts. We must give no point -away.” He left the room with the rest, but as he did so he looked back, -and his eyes for an instant met those of the old Professor. “I leave it -in your hands,” was the message which he flashed. A stern set smile was -his answer. - - * * * * * - -The afternoon wore away without the Boxers making their last attack. To -Colonel Dresler it was clear that the unwonted stillness meant only that -they were reassembling their forces from their fight with the relief -column, and were gathering themselves for the inevitable and final rush. -To all the others it appeared that the siege was indeed over, and that -the assailants had been crippled by the losses which they had already -sustained. It was a joyous and noisy party, therefore, which met at the -supper-table, when the three bottles of Lachryma Christi were uncorked -and the famous port of caviare was finally opened. It was a large jar, -and, though each had a tablespoonful of the delicacy, it was by no means -exhausted. Ralston, who was an epicure, had a double allowance. He -pecked away at it like a hungry bird. Ainslie, too, had a second -helping. The Professor took a large spoonful himself, and Colonel -Dresler, watching him narrowly, did the same. The ladies ate freely, -save only pretty Miss Patterson, who disliked the salty, pungent taste. -In spite of the hospitable entreaties of the Professor, her portion lay -hardly touched at the side of her plate. - -“You don’t like my little delicacy. It is a disappointment to me when I -had kept it for your pleasure,” said the old man. “I beg that you will -eat the caviare.” - -“I have never tasted it before. No doubt I should like it in time.” - -“Well, you must make a beginning. Why not start to educate your taste -now? Do, please!” - -Pretty Jessie Patterson’s bright face shone with her sunny, boyish -smile. - -“Why, how earnest you are!” she laughed. “I had no idea you were so -polite, Professor Mercer. Even if I do not eat it I am just as -grateful.” - -“You are foolish not to eat it,” said the Professor, with such intensity -that the smile died from her face and her eyes reflected the earnestness -of his own. “I tell you it is foolish not to eat caviare to-night.” - -“But why—why?” she asked. - -“Because you have it on your plate. Because it is sinful to waste it.” - -“There! there!” said stout Mrs. Patterson, leaning across. “Don’t -trouble her any more. I can see that she does not like it. But it shall -not be wasted.” She passed the blade of her knife under it, and scraped -it from Jessie’s plate on to her own. “Now it won’t be wasted. Your mind -will be at ease, Professor.” - -But it did not seem at ease. On the contrary, his face was agitated like -that of a man who encounters an unexpected and formidable obstacle. He -was lost in thought. - -The conversation buzzed cheerily. Everyone was full of his future plans. - -“No, no, there is no holiday for me,” said Father Pierre. “We priests -don’t get holidays. Now that the mission and school are formed I am to -leave it to Father Amiel, and to push westwards to found another.” - -“You are leaving?” said Mr. Patterson. “You don’t mean that you are -going away from Ichau?” - -Father Pierre shook his venerable head in waggish reproof. “You must not -look so pleased, Mr. Patterson.” - -“Well, well, our views are very different,” said the Presbyterian, “but -there is no personal feeling towards you, Father Pierre. At the same -time, how any reasonable educated man at this time of the world’s -history can teach these poor benighted heathen that——” - -A general buzz of remonstrance silenced the theology. - -“What will you do yourself, Mr. Patterson?” asked someone. - -“Well, I’ll take three months in Edinburgh to attend the annual meeting. -You’ll be glad to do some shopping in Princes Street, I’m thinking, -Mary. And you, Jessie, you’ll see some folk your own age. Then we can -come back in the fall, when your nerves have had a rest.” - -“Indeed, we shall all need it,” said Miss Sinclair, the mission nurse. -“You know, this long strain takes me in the strangest way. At the -present moment I can hear such a buzzing in my ears.” - -“Well, that’s funny, for it’s just the same with me,” cried Ainslie. “An -absurd up-and-down buzzing, as if a drunken bluebottle were trying -experiments on his register. As you say, it must be due to nervous -strain. For my part I am going back to Peking, and I hope I may get some -promotion over this affair. I can get good polo here, and that’s as fine -a change of thought as I know. How about you, Ralston?” - -“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve hardly had time to think. I want to have a real -good sunny, bright holiday and forget it all. It was funny to see all -the letters in my room. It looked so black on Wednesday night that I had -settled up my affairs and written to all my friends. I don’t quite know -how they were to be delivered, but I trusted to luck. I think I will -keep those papers as a souvenir. They will always remind me of how close -a shave we have had.” - -“Yes, I would keep them,” said Dresler. - -His voice was so deep and solemn that every eye was turned upon him. - -“What is it, Colonel? You seem in the blues to-night.” It was Ainslie -who spoke. - -“No, no; I am very contented.” - -“Well, so you should be when you see success in sight. I am sure we are -all indebted to you for your science and skill. I don’t think we could -have held the place without you. Ladies and gentlemen, I ask you to -drink the health of Colonel Dresler, of the Imperial German army. Er -soll leben—hoch!” - -They all stood up and raised their glasses to the soldier, with smiles -and bows. - -His pale face flushed with professional pride. - -“I have always kept my books with me. I have forgotten nothing,” said -he. “I do not think that more could be done. If things had gone wrong -with us and the place had fallen you would, I am sure, have freed me -from any blame or responsibility.” He looked wistfully round him. - -“I’m voicing the sentiments of this company, Colonel Dresler,” said the -Scotch minister, “when I say——but, Lord save us! what’s amiss with Mr. -Ralston?” - -He had dropped his face upon his folded arms and was placidly sleeping. - -“Don’t mind him,” said the Professor, hurriedly. “We are all in the -stage of reaction now. I have no doubt that we are all liable to -collapse. It is only to-night that we shall feel what we have gone -through.” - -“I’m sure I can fully sympathize with him,” said Mrs. Patterson. “I -don’t know when I have been more sleepy. I can hardly hold my own head -up.” She cuddled back in her chair and shut her eyes. - -“Well, I’ve never known Mary do that before,” cried her husband, -laughing heartily. “Gone to sleep over her supper! What ever will she -think when we tell her of it afterwards? But the air does seem hot and -heavy. I can certainly excuse any one who falls asleep to-night. I think -that I shall turn in early myself.” - -Ainslie was in a talkative, excited mood. He was on his feet once more -with his glass in his hand. - -“I think that we ought to have one drink all together, and then sing -‘Auld Lang Syne,’” said he, smiling round at the company. “For a week we -have all pulled in the same boat, and we’ve got to know each other as -people never do in the quiet days of peace. We’ve learned to appreciate -each other, and we’ve learned to appreciate each other’s nations. -There’s the Colonel here stands for Germany. And Father Pierre is for -France. Then there’s the Professor for America. Ralston and I are -Britishers. Then there’s the ladies, God bless ’em! They have been -angels of mercy and compassion all through the siege. I think we should -drink the health of the ladies. Wonderful thing—the quiet courage, the -patience, the—what shall I say?—the fortitude, the—the—by George, look -at the Colonel! He’s gone to sleep, too—most infernal sleepy weather.” -His glass crashed down upon the table, and he sank back, mumbling and -muttering, into his seat. Miss Sinclair, the pale mission nurse, had -dropped off also. She lay like a broken lily across the arm of her -chair. Mr. Patterson looked round him and sprang to his feet. He passed -his hand over his flushed forehead. - -“This isn’t natural, Jessie,” he cried. “Why are they all asleep? -There’s Father Pierre—he’s off too. Jessie, Jessie, your mother is cold. -Is it sleep? Is it death? Open the windows! Help! help! help!” He -staggered to his feet and rushed to the windows, but midway his head -spun round, his knees sank under him, and he pitched forward upon his -face. - -The young girl had also sprung to her feet. She looked round her with -horror-stricken eyes at her prostrate father and the silent ring of -figures. - -“Professor Mercer! What is it? What is it?” she cried. “Oh, my God, they -are dying! They are dead!” - -The old man had raised himself by a supreme effort of his will, though -the darkness was already gathering thickly round him. - -“My dear young lady,” he said, stuttering and stumbling over the words, -“we would have spared you this. It would have been painless to mind and -body. It was cyanide. I had it in the caviare. But you would not have -it.” - -“Great Heaven!” She shrank away from him with dilated eyes. “Oh, you -monster! You monster! You have poisoned them!” - -“No, no! I saved them. You don’t know the Chinese. They are horrible. In -another hour we should all have been in their hands. Take it now, -child.” Even as he spoke, a burst of firing broke out under the very -windows of the room. “Hark! There they are! Quick, dear, quick, you may -cheat them yet!” But his words fell upon deaf ears, for the girl had -sunk back senseless in her chair. The old man stood listening for an -instant to the firing outside. But what was that? Merciful Father, what -was that? Was he going mad? Was it the effect of the drug? Surely it was -a European cheer? Yes, there were sharp orders in English. There was the -shouting of sailors. He could no longer doubt it. By some miracle the -relief had come after all. He threw his long arms upwards in his -despair. “What _have_ I done? Oh, good Lord, what have I done?” he -cried. - - * * * * * - -It was Commodore Wyndham himself who was the first, after his desperate -and successful night attack, to burst into that terrible supper-room. -Round the table sat the white and silent company. Only in the young girl -who moaned and faintly stirred was any sign of life to be seen. And yet -there was one in the circle who had the energy for a last supreme duty. -The Commodore, standing stupefied at the door, saw a grey head slowly -lifted from the table, and the tall form of the Professor staggered for -an instant to its feet. - -“Take care of the caviare! For God’s sake, don’t touch the caviare!” he -croaked. - -Then he sank back once more and the circle of death was complete. - - - - - THE JAPANNED BOX - - -It _was_ a curious thing, said the private tutor; one of those grotesque -and whimsical incidents which occur to one as one goes through life. I -lost the best situation which I am ever likely to have through it. But I -am glad that I went to Thorpe Place, for I gained—well, as I tell you -the story you will learn what I gained. - -I don’t know whether you are familiar with that part of the Midlands -which is drained by the Avon. It is the most English part of England. -Shakespeare, the flower of the whole race, was born right in the middle -of it. It is a land of rolling pastures, rising in higher folds to the -westward, until they swell into the Malvern Hills. There are no towns, -but numerous villages, each with its grey Norman church. You have left -the brick of the southern and eastern counties behind you, and -everything is stone—stone for the walls, and lichened slabs of stone for -the roofs. It is all grim and solid and massive, as befits the heart of -a great nation. - -It was in the middle of this country, not very far from Evesham, that -Sir John Bollamore lived in the old ancestral home of Thorpe Place, and -thither it was that I came to teach his two little sons. Sir John was a -widower—his wife had died three years before—and he had been left with -these two lads aged eight and ten, and one dear little girl of seven. -Miss Witherton, who is now my wife, was governess to this little girl. I -was tutor to the two boys. Could there be a more obvious prelude to an -engagement? She governs me now, and I tutor two little boys of our own. -But, there—I have already revealed what it was which I gained in Thorpe -Place! - -It was a very, very old house, incredibly old—pre-Norman, some of it—and -the Bollamores claimed to have lived in that situation since long before -the Conquest. It struck a chill to my heart when first I came there, -those enormously thick grey walls, the rude crumbling stones, the smell -as from a sick animal which exhaled from the rotting plaster of the aged -building. But the modern wing was bright and the garden was well kept. -No house could be dismal which had a pretty girl inside it and such a -show of roses in front. - -Apart from a very complete staff of servants there were only four of us -in the household. These were Miss Witherton, who was at that time -four-and-twenty and as pretty—well, as pretty as Mrs. Colmore is -now—myself, Frank Colmore, aged thirty, Mrs. Stevens, the housekeeper, a -dry, silent woman, and Mr. Richards, a tall, military-looking man, who -acted as steward to the Bollamore estates. We four always had our meals -together, but Sir John had his usually alone in the library. Sometimes -he joined us at dinner, but on the whole we were just as glad when he -did not. - -For he was a very formidable person. Imagine a man six feet three inches -in height, majestically built, with a high-nosed, aristocratic face, -brindled hair, shaggy eyebrows, a small, pointed Mephistophelian beard, -and lines upon his brow and round his eyes as deep as if they had been -carved with a penknife. He had grey eyes, weary, hopeless-looking eyes, -proud and yet pathetic, eyes which claimed your pity and yet dared you -to show it. His back was rounded with study, but otherwise he was as -fine a looking man of his age—five-and-fifty perhaps—as any woman would -wish to look upon. - -But his presence was not a cheerful one. He was always courteous, always -refined, but singularly silent and retiring. I have never lived so long -with any man and known so little of him. If he were indoors he spent his -time either in his own small study in the Eastern Tower, or in the -library in the modern wing. So regular was his routine that one could -always say at any hour exactly where he would be. Twice in the day he -would visit his study, once after breakfast, and once about ten at -night. You might set your watch by the slam of the heavy door. For the -rest of the day he would be in his library—save that for an hour or two -in the afternoon he would take a walk or a ride, which was solitary like -the rest of his existence. He loved his children, and was keenly -interested in the progress of their studies, but they were a little awed -by the silent, shaggy-browed figure, and they avoided him as much as -they could. Indeed, we all did that. - -It was some time before I came to know anything about the circumstances -of Sir John Bollamore’s life, for Mrs. Stevens, the housekeeper, and Mr. -Richards, the land-steward, were too loyal to talk easily of their -employer’s affairs. As to the governess, she knew no more than I did, -and our common interest was one of the causes which drew us together. At -last, however, an incident occurred which led to a closer acquaintance -with Mr. Richards and a fuller knowledge of the life of the man whom I -served. - -The immediate cause of this was no less than the falling of Master -Percy, the youngest of my pupils, into the mill-race, with imminent -danger both to his life and to mine, since I had to risk myself in order -to save him. Dripping and exhausted—for I was far more spent than the -child—I was making for my room when Sir John, who had heard the hubbub, -opened the door of his little study and asked me what was the matter. I -told him of the accident, but assured him that his child was in no -danger, while he listened with a rugged, immobile face, which expressed -in its intense eyes and tightened lips all the emotion which he tried to -conceal. - -“One moment! Step in here! Let me have the details!” said he, turning -back through the open door. - -And so I found myself within that little sanctum, inside which, as I -afterwards learned, no other foot had for three years been set save that -of the old servant who cleaned it out. It was a round room, conforming -to the shape of the tower in which it was situated, with a low ceiling, -a single narrow, ivy-wreathed window, and the simplest of furniture. An -old carpet, a single chair, a deal table, and a small shelf of books -made up the whole contents. On the table stood a full-length photograph -of a woman—I took no particular notice of the features, but I remember -that a certain gracious gentleness was the prevailing impression. Beside -it were a large black japanned box and one or two bundles of letters or -papers fastened together with elastic bands. - -Our interview was a short one, for Sir John Bollamore perceived that I -was soaked, and that I should change without delay. The incident led, -however, to an instructive talk with Richards, the agent, who had never -penetrated into the chamber which chance had opened to me. That very -afternoon he came to me, all curiosity, and walked up and down the -garden path with me, while my two charges played tennis upon the lawn -beside us. - -“You hardly realize the exception which has been made in your favour,” -said he. “That room has been kept such a mystery, and Sir John’s visits -to it have been so regular and consistent, that an almost superstitious -feeling has arisen about it in the household. I assure you that if I -were to repeat to you the tales which are flying about, tales of -mysterious visitors there, and of voices overheard by the servants, you -might suspect that Sir John had relapsed into his old ways.” - -“Why do you say relapsed?” I asked. - -He looked at me in surprise. - -“Is it possible,” said he, “that Sir John Bollamore’s previous history -is unknown to you?” - -“Absolutely.” - -“You astound me. I thought that every man in England knew something of -his antecedents. I should not mention the matter if it were not that you -are now one of ourselves, and that the facts might come to your ears in -some harsher form if I were silent upon them. I always took it for -granted that you knew that you were in the service of ‘Devil’ -Bollamore.” - -“But why ‘Devil’?” I asked. - -“Ah, you are young and the world moves fast, but twenty years ago the -name of ‘Devil’ Bollamore was one of the best known in London. He was -the leader of the fastest set, bruiser, driver, gambler, drunkard—a -survival of the old type, and as bad as the worst of them.” - -I stared at him in amazement. - -“What!” I cried, “that quiet, studious, sad-faced man?” - -“The greatest rip and debauchee in England! All between ourselves, -Colmore. But you understand now what I mean when I say that a woman’s -voice in his room might even now give rise to suspicions.” - -“But what can have changed him so?” - -“Little Beryl Clare, when she took the risk of becoming his wife. That -was the turning point. He had got so far that his own fast set had -thrown him over. There is a world of difference, you know, between a man -who drinks and a drunkard. They all drink, but they taboo a drunkard. He -had become a slave to it—hopeless and helpless. Then she stepped in, saw -the possibilities of a fine man in the wreck, took her chance in -marrying him, though she might have had the pick of a dozen, and, by -devoting her life to it, brought him back to manhood and decency. You -have observed that no liquor is ever kept in the house. There never has -been any since her foot crossed its threshold. A drop of it would be -like blood to a tiger even now.” - -“Then her influence still holds him?” - -“That is the wonder of it. When she died three years ago, we all -expected and feared that he would fall back into his old ways. She -feared it herself, and the thought gave a terror to death, for she was -like a guardian angel to that man, and lived only for the one purpose. -By the way, did you see a black japanned box in his room?” - -“Yes.” - -“I fancy it contains her letters. If ever he has occasion to be away, if -only for a single night, he invariably takes his black japanned box with -him. Well, well, Colmore, perhaps I have told you rather more than I -should, but I shall expect you to reciprocate if anything of interest -should come to your knowledge.” I could see that the worthy man was -consumed with curiosity and just a little piqued that I, the new-comer, -should have been the first to penetrate into the untrodden chamber. But -the fact raised me in his esteem, and from that time onwards I found -myself upon more confidential terms with him. - -And now the silent and majestic figure of my employer became an object -of greater interest to me. I began to understand that strangely human -look in his eyes, those deep lines upon his careworn face. He was a man -who was fighting a ceaseless battle, holding at arm’s length, from -morning till night, a horrible adversary, who was for ever trying to -close with him—an adversary which would destroy him body and soul could -it but fix its claws once more upon him. As I watched the grim, -round-backed figure pacing the corridor or walking in the garden, this -imminent danger seemed to take bodily shape, and I could almost fancy -that I saw this most loathsome and dangerous of all the fiends crouching -closely in his very shadow, like a half-cowed beast which slinks beside -its keeper, ready at any unguarded moment to spring at his throat. And -the dead woman, the woman who had spent her life in warding off this -danger, took shape also to my imagination, and I saw her as a shadowy -but beautiful presence which intervened for ever with arms uplifted to -screen the man whom she loved. - -In some subtle way he divined the sympathy which I had for him, and he -showed in his own silent fashion that he appreciated it. He even invited -me once to share his afternoon walk, and although no word passed between -us on this occasion, it was a mark of confidence which he had never -shown to any one before. He asked me also to index his library (it was -one of the best private libraries in England), and I spent many hours in -the evening in his presence, if not in his society, he reading at his -desk and I sitting in a recess by the window reducing to order the chaos -which existed among his books. In spite of these close relations I was -never again asked to enter the chamber in the turret. - -And then came my revulsion of feeling. A single incident changed all my -sympathy to loathing, and made me realize that my employer still -remained all that he had ever been, with the additional vice of -hypocrisy. What happened was as follows. - -One evening Miss Witherton had gone down to Broadway, the neighbouring -village, to sing at a concert for some charity, and I, according to my -promise, had walked over to escort her back. The drive sweeps round -under the eastern turret, and I observed as I passed that the light was -lit in the circular room. It was a summer evening, and the window, which -was a little higher than our heads, was open. We were, as it happened, -engrossed in our own conversation at the moment, and we had paused upon -the lawn which skirts the old turret, when suddenly something broke in -upon our talk and turned our thoughts away from our own affairs. - -It was a voice—the voice undoubtedly of a woman. It was low—so low that -it was only in that still night air that we could have heard it, but, -hushed as it was, there was no mistaking its feminine timbre. It spoke -hurriedly, gaspingly for a few sentences, and then was silent—a piteous, -breathless, imploring sort of voice. Miss Witherton and I stood for an -instant staring at each other. Then we walked quickly in the direction -of the hall-door. - -“It came through the window,” I said. - -“We must not play the part of eavesdroppers,” she answered. “We must -forget that we have ever heard it.” - -There was an absence of surprise in her manner which suggested a new -idea to me. - -“You have heard it before,” I cried. - -“I could not help it. My own room is higher up on the same turret. It -has happened frequently.” - -“Who can the woman be?” - -“I have no idea. I had rather not discuss it.” - -Her voice was enough to show me what she thought. But granting that our -employer led a double and dubious life, who could she be, this -mysterious woman who kept him company in the old tower? I knew from my -own inspection how bleak and bare a room it was. She certainly did not -live there. But in that case where did she come from? It could not be -any one of the household. They were all under the vigilant eyes of Mrs. -Stevens. The visitor must come from without. But how? - -And then suddenly I remembered how ancient this building was, and how -probable that some mediæval passage existed in it. There is hardly an -old castle without one. The mysterious room was the basement of the -turret, so that if there were anything of the sort it would open through -the floor. There were numerous cottages in the immediate vicinity. The -other end of the secret passage might lie among some tangle of bramble -in the neighbouring copse. I said nothing to any one, but I felt that -the secret of my employer lay within my power. - -And the more convinced I was of this the more I marvelled at the manner -in which he concealed his true nature. Often as I watched his austere -figure, I asked myself if it were indeed possible that such a man should -be living this double life, and I tried to persuade myself that my -suspicions might after all prove to be ill-founded. But there was the -female voice, there was the secret nightly rendezvous in the turret -chamber—how could such facts admit of an innocent interpretation? I -conceived a horror of the man. I was filled with loathing at his deep, -consistent hypocrisy. - -Only once during all those months did I ever see him without that sad -but impassive mask which he usually presented towards his fellow-man. -For an instant I caught a glimpse of those volcanic fires which he had -damped down so long. The occasion was an unworthy one, for the object of -his wrath was none other than the aged charwoman whom I have already -mentioned as being the one person who was allowed within his mysterious -chamber. I was passing the corridor which led to the turret—for my own -room lay in that direction—when I heard a sudden, startled scream, and -merged in it the husky, growling note of a man who is inarticulate with -passion. It was the snarl of a furious wild beast. Then I heard his -voice thrilling with anger. “You would dare!” he cried. “You would dare -to disobey my directions!” An instant later the charwoman passed me, -flying down the passage, white faced and tremulous, while the terrible -voice thundered behind her. “Go to Mrs. Stevens for your money! Never -set foot in Thorpe Place again!” Consumed with curiosity, I could not -help following the woman, and found her round the corner leaning against -the wall and palpitating like a frightened rabbit. - -“What is the matter, Mrs. Brown?” I asked. - -“It’s master!” she gasped. “Oh ’ow ’e frightened me! If you had seen ’is -eyes, Mr. Colmore, sir. I thought ’e would ’ave been the death of me.” - -“But what had you done?” - -“Done, sir! Nothing. At least nothing to make so much of. Just laid my -’and on that black box of ’is—’adn’t even opened it, when in ’e came and -you ’eard the way ’e went on. I’ve lost my place, and glad I am of it, -for I would never trust myself within reach of ’im again.” - -So it was the japanned box which was the cause of this outburst—the box -from which he would never permit himself to be separated. What was the -connection, or was there any connection between this and the secret -visits of the lady whose voice I had overheard? Sir John Bollamore’s -wrath was enduring as well as fiery, for from that day Mrs. Brown, the -charwoman, vanished from our ken, and Thorpe Place knew her no more. - -And now I wish to tell you the singular chance which solved all these -strange questions and put my employer’s secret in my possession. The -story may leave you with some lingering doubt as to whether my curiosity -did not get the better of my honour, and whether I did not condescend to -play the spy. If you choose to think so I cannot help it, but can only -assure you that, improbable as it may appear, the matter came about -exactly as I describe it. - -The first stage in this _dénouement_ was that the small room on the -turret became uninhabitable. This occurred through the fall of the -worm-eaten oaken beam which supported the ceiling. Rotten with age, it -snapped in the middle one morning, and brought down a quantity of -plaster with it. Fortunately Sir John was not in the room at the time. -His precious box was rescued from amongst the _débris_ and brought into -the library, where, henceforward, it was locked within his bureau. Sir -John took no steps to repair the damage, and I never had an opportunity -of searching for that secret passage, the existence of which I had -surmised. As to the lady, I had thought that this would have brought her -visits to an end, had I not one evening heard Mr. Richards asking Mrs. -Stevens who the woman was whom he had overheard talking to Sir John in -the library. I could not catch her reply, but I saw from her manner that -it was not the first time that she had had to answer or avoid the same -question. - -“You’ve heard the voice, Colmore?” said the agent. - -I confessed that I had. - -“And what do _you_ think of it?” - -I shrugged my shoulders, and remarked that it was no business of mine. - -“Come, come, you are just as curious as any of us. Is it a woman or -not?” - -“It is certainly a woman.” - -“Which room did you hear it from?” - -“From the turret-room, before the ceiling fell.” - -“But I heard it from the library only last night. I passed the doors as -I was going to bed, and I heard something wailing and praying just as -plainly as I hear you. It may be a woman——” - -“Why, what else _could_ it be?” - -He looked at me hard. - -“There are more things in heaven and earth,” said he. “If it is a woman, -how does she get there?” - -“I don’t know.” - -“No, nor I. But if it is the other thing—but there, for a practical -business man at the end of the nineteenth century this is rather a -ridiculous line of conversation.” He turned away, but I saw that he felt -even more than he had said. To all the old ghost stories of Thorpe Place -a new one was being added before our very eyes. It may by this time have -taken its permanent place, for though an explanation came to me, it -never reached the others. - -And my explanation came in this way. I had suffered a sleepless night -from neuralgia, and about mid-day I had taken a heavy dose of chlorodyne -to alleviate the pain. At that time I was finishing the indexing of Sir -John Bollamore’s library, and it was my custom to work there from five -till seven. On this particular day I struggled against the double effect -of my bad night and the narcotic. I have already mentioned that there -was a recess in the library, and in this it was my habit to work. I -settled down steadily to my task, but my weariness overcame me and, -falling back upon the settee, I dropped into a heavy sleep. - -How long I slept I do not know, but it was quite dark when I awoke. -Confused by the chlorodyne which I had taken, I lay motionless in a -semi-conscious state. The great room with its high walls covered with -books loomed darkly all round me. A dim radiance from the moonlight came -through the farther window, and against this lighter background I saw -that Sir John Bollamore was sitting at his study table. His well-set -head and clearly cut profile were sharply outlined against the -glimmering square behind him. He bent as I watched him, and I heard the -sharp turning of a key and the rasping of metal upon metal. As if in a -dream I was vaguely conscious that this was the japanned box which stood -in front of him, and that he had drawn something out of it, something -squat and uncouth, which now lay before him upon the table. I never -realized—it never occurred to my bemuddled and torpid brain that I was -intruding upon his privacy, that he imagined himself to be alone in the -room. And then, just as it rushed upon my horrified perceptions, and I -had half risen to announce my presence, I heard a strange, crisp, -metallic clicking, and then the voice. - -Yes, it was a woman’s voice; there could not be a doubt of it. But a -voice so charged with entreaty and with yearning love, that it will ring -for ever in my ears. It came with a curious far-away tinkle, but every -word was clear, though faint—very faint, for they were the last words of -a dying woman. - -“I am not really gone, John,” said the thin, gasping voice. “I am here -at your very elbow, and shall be until we meet once more. I die happy to -think that morning and night you will hear my voice. Oh, John, be -strong, be strong, until we meet again.” - -I say that I had risen in order to announce my presence, but I could not -do so while the voice was sounding. I could only remain half lying, half -sitting, paralyzed, astounded, listening to those yearning distant -musical words. And he—he was so absorbed that even if I had spoken he -might not have heard me. But with the silence of the voice came my half -articulated apologies and explanations. He sprang across the room, -switched on the electric light, and in its white glare I saw him, his -eyes gleaming with anger, his face twisted with passion, as the hapless -charwoman may have seen him weeks before. - -“Mr. Colmore!” he cried. “You here! What is the meaning of this, sir?” - -With halting words I explained it all, my neuralgia, the narcotic, my -luckless sleep and singular awakening. As he listened the glow of anger -faded from his face, and the sad, impassive mask closed once more over -his features. - -“My secret is yours, Mr. Colmore,” said he. “I have only myself to blame -for relaxing my precautions. Half confidences are worse than no -confidences, and so you may know all since you know so much. The story -may go where you will when I have passed away, but until then I rely -upon your sense of honour that no human soul shall hear it from your -lips. I am proud still—God help me!—or, at least, I am proud enough to -resent that pity which this story would draw upon me. I have smiled at -envy, and disregarded hatred, but pity is more than I can tolerate. - -“You have heard the source from which the voice comes—that voice which -has, as I understand, excited so much curiosity in my household. I am -aware of the rumours to which it has given rise. These speculations, -whether scandalous or superstitious, are such as I can disregard and -forgive. What I should never forgive would be a disloyal spying and -eavesdropping in order to satisfy an illicit curiosity. But of that, Mr. -Colmore, I acquit you. - -“When I was a young man, sir, many years younger than you are now, I was -launched upon town without a friend or adviser, and with a purse which -brought only too many false friends and false advisers to my side. I -drank deeply of the wine of life—if there is a man living who has drank -more deeply he is not a man whom I envy. My purse suffered, my character -suffered, my constitution suffered, stimulants became a necessity to me, -I was a creature from whom my memory recoils. And it was at that time, -the time of my blackest degradation, that God sent into my life the -gentlest, sweetest spirit that ever descended as a ministering angel -from above. She loved me, broken as I was, loved me, and spent her life -in making a man once more of that which had degraded itself to the level -of the beasts. - -“But a fell disease struck her, and she withered away before my eyes. In -the hour of her agony it was never of herself, of her own sufferings and -her own death that she thought. It was all of me. The one pang which her -fate brought to her was the fear that when her influence was removed I -should revert to that which I had been. It was in vain that I made oath -to her that no drop of wine would ever cross my lips. She knew only too -well the hold that the devil had upon me—she who had striven so to -loosen it—and it haunted her night and day the thought that my soul -might again be within his grip. - -“It was from some friend’s gossip of the sick room that she heard of -this invention—this phonograph—and with the quick insight of a loving -woman she saw how she might use it for her ends. She sent me to London -to procure the best which money could buy. With her dying breath she -gasped into it the words which have held me straight ever since. Lonely -and broken, what else have I in all the world to uphold me? But it is -enough. Please God, I shall face her without shame when He is pleased to -reunite us! That is my secret, Mr. Colmore, and whilst I live I leave it -in your keeping.” - - - - - THE BLACK DOCTOR - - -Bishop’s Crossing is a small village lying ten miles in a south-westerly -direction from Liverpool. Here in the early seventies there settled a -doctor named Aloysius Lana. Nothing was known locally either of his -antecedents or of the reasons which had prompted him to come to this -Lancashire hamlet. Two facts only were certain about him: the one that -he had gained his medical qualification with some distinction at -Glasgow; the other that he came undoubtedly of a tropical race, and was -so dark that he might almost have had a strain of the Indian in his -composition. His predominant features were, however, European, and he -possessed a stately courtesy and carriage which suggested a Spanish -extraction. A swarthy skin, raven-black hair, and dark, sparkling eyes -under a pair of heavily-tufted brows made a strange contrast to the -flaxen or chestnut rustics of England, and the new-comer was soon known -as “The Black Doctor of Bishop’s Crossing.” At first it was a term of -ridicule and reproach; as the years went on it became a title of honour -which was familiar to the whole country-side, and extended far beyond -the narrow confines of the village. - -For the new-comer proved himself to be a capable surgeon and an -accomplished physician. The practice of that district had been in the -hands of Edward Rowe, the son of Sir William Rowe, the Liverpool -consultant, but he had not inherited the talents of his father, and Dr. -Lana, with his advantages of presence and of manner, soon beat him out -of the field. Dr. Lana’s social success was as rapid as his -professional. A remarkable surgical cure in the case of the Hon. James -Lowry, the second son of Lord Belton, was the means of introducing him -to county society, where he became a favourite through the charm of his -conversation and the elegance of his manners. An absence of antecedents -and of relatives is sometimes an aid rather than an impediment to social -advancement, and the distinguished individuality of the handsome doctor -was its own recommendation. - -His patients had one fault—and one fault only—to find with him. He -appeared to be a confirmed bachelor. This was the more remarkable since -the house which he occupied was a large one, and it was known that his -success in practice had enabled him to save considerable sums. At first -the local match-makers were continually coupling his name with one or -other of the eligible ladies, but as years passed and Dr. Lana remained -unmarried, it came to be generally understood that for some reason he -must remain a bachelor. Some even went so far as to assert that he was -already married, and that it was in order to escape the consequence of -an early misalliance that he had buried himself at Bishop’s Crossing. -And then, just as the match-makers had finally given him up in despair, -his engagement was suddenly announced to Miss Frances Morton, of Leigh -Hall. - -Miss Morton was a young lady who was well known upon the country-side, -her father, James Haldane Morton, having been the Squire of Bishop’s -Crossing. Both her parents were, however, dead, and she lived with her -only brother, Arthur Morton, who had inherited the family estate. In -person Miss Morton was tall and stately, and she was famous for her -quick, impetuous nature and for her strength of character. She met Dr. -Lana at a garden-party, and a friendship, which quickly ripened into -love, sprang up between them. Nothing could exceed their devotion to -each other. There was some discrepancy in age, he being thirty-seven, -and she twenty-four; but, save in that one respect, there was no -possible objection to be found with the match. The engagement was in -February, and it was arranged that the marriage should take place in -August. - -Upon the 3rd of June Dr. Lana received a letter from abroad. In a small -village the postmaster is also in a position to be the gossip-master, -and Mr. Bankley, of Bishop’s Crossing, had many of the secrets of his -neighbours in his possession. Of this particular letter he remarked only -that it was in a curious envelope, that it was in a man’s handwriting, -that the postscript was Buenos Ayres, and the stamp of the Argentine -Republic. It was the first letter which he had ever known Dr. Lana to -have from abroad, and this was the reason why his attention was -particularly called to it before he handed it to the local postman. It -was delivered by the evening delivery of that date. - -Next morning—that is, upon the 4th of June—Dr. Lana called upon Miss -Morton, and a long interview followed, from which he was observed to -return in a state of great agitation. Miss Morton remained in her room -all that day, and her maid found her several times in tears. In the -course of a week it was an open secret to the whole village that the -engagement was at an end, that Dr. Lana had behaved shamefully to the -young lady, and that Arthur Morton, her brother, was talking of -horse-whipping him. In what particular respect the doctor had behaved -badly was unknown—some surmised one thing and some another; but it was -observed, and taken as the obvious sign of a guilty conscience, that he -would go for miles round rather than pass the windows of Leigh Hall, and -that he gave up attending morning service upon Sundays where he might -have met the young lady. There was an advertisement also in the _Lancet_ -as to the sale of a practice which mentioned no names, but which was -thought by some to refer to Bishop’s Crossing, and to mean that Dr. Lana -was thinking of abandoning the scene of his success. Such was the -position of affairs when, upon the evening of Monday, June 21st, there -came a fresh development which changed what had been a mere village -scandal into a tragedy which arrested the attention of the whole nation. -Some detail is necessary to cause the facts of that evening to present -their full significance. - -The sole occupants of the doctor’s house were his housekeeper, an -elderly and most respectable woman, named Martha Woods, and a young -servant—Mary Pilling. The coachman and the surgery-boy slept out. It was -the custom of the doctor to sit at night in his study, which was next -the surgery in the wing of the house which was farthest from the -servants’ quarters. This side of the house had a door of its own for the -convenience of patients, so that it was possible for the doctor to admit -and receive a visitor there without the knowledge of any one. As a -matter of fact, when patients came late it was quite usual for him to -let them in and out by the surgery entrance, for the maid and the -housekeeper were in the habit of retiring early. - -On this particular night Martha Woods went into the doctor’s study at -half-past nine, and found him writing at his desk. She bade him -good-night, sent the maid to bed, and then occupied herself until a -quarter to eleven in household matters. It was striking eleven upon the -hall clock when she went to her own room. She had been there about a -quarter of an hour or twenty minutes when she heard a cry or call, which -appeared to come from within the house. She waited some time, but it was -not repeated. Much alarmed, for the sound was loud and urgent, she put -on a dressing-gown, and ran at the top of her speed to the doctor’s -study. - -“Who’s there?” cried a voice, as she tapped at the door. - -“I am here, sir—Mrs. Woods.” - -“I beg that you will leave me in peace. Go back to your room this -instant!” cried the voice, which was, to the best of her belief, that of -her master. The tone was so harsh and so unlike her master’s usual -manner, that she was surprised and hurt. - -“I thought I heard you calling, sir,” she explained, but no answer was -given to her. Mrs. Woods looked at the clock as she returned to her -room, and it was then half-past eleven. - -At some period between eleven and twelve (she could not be positive as -to the exact hour) a patient called upon the doctor and was unable to -get any reply from him. This late visitor was Mrs. Madding, the wife of -the village grocer who was dangerously ill of typhoid fever. Dr. Lana -had asked her to look in the last thing and let him know how her husband -was progressing. She observed that the light was burning in the study, -but having knocked several times at the surgery door without response, -she concluded that the doctor had been called out, and so returned home. - -There is a short, winding drive with a lamp at the end of it leading -down from the house to the road. As Mrs. Madding emerged from the gate a -man was coming along the footpath. Thinking that it might be Dr. Lana -returning from some professional visit, she waited for him, and was -surprised to see that it was Mr. Arthur Morton, the young squire. In the -light of the lamp she observed that his manner was excited, and that he -carried in his hand a heavy hunting-crop. He was turning in at the gate -when she addressed him. - -“The doctor is not in, sir,” said she. - -“How do you know that?” he asked, harshly. - -“I have been to the surgery door, sir.” - -“I see a light,” said the young squire, looking up the drive. “That is -in his study, is it not?” - -“Yes, sir; but I am sure that he is out.” - -“Well, he must come in again,” said young Morton, and passed through the -gate while Mrs. Madding went upon her homeward way. - -At three o’clock that morning her husband suffered a sharp relapse, and -she was so alarmed by his symptoms that she determined to call the -doctor without delay. As she passed through the gate she was surprised -to see some one lurking among the laurel bushes. It was certainly a man, -and to the best of her belief Mr. Arthur Morton. Preoccupied with her -own troubles, she gave no particular attention to the incident, but -hurried on upon her errand. - -When she reached the house she perceived to her surprise that the light -was still burning in the study. She therefore tapped at the surgery -door. There was no answer. She repeated the knocking several times -without effect. It appeared to her to be unlikely that the doctor would -either go to bed or go out leaving so brilliant a light behind him, and -it struck Mrs. Madding that it was possible that he might have dropped -asleep in his chair. She tapped at the study window, therefore, but -without result. Then, finding that there was an opening between the -curtain and the woodwork, she looked through. - -The small room was brilliantly lighted from a large lamp on the central -table, which was littered with the doctor’s books and instruments. No -one was visible, nor did she see anything unusual, except that in the -further shadow thrown by the table a dingy white glove was lying upon -the carpet. And then suddenly, as her eyes became more accustomed to the -light, a boot emerged from the other end of the shadow, and she -realized, with a thrill of horror, that what she had taken to be a glove -was the hand of a man, who was prostrate upon the floor. Understanding -that something terrible had occurred, she rang at the front door, roused -Mrs. Woods, the housekeeper, and the two women made their way into the -study, having first dispatched the maidservant to the police-station. - -At the side of the table, away from the window, Dr. Lana was discovered -stretched upon his back and quite dead. It was evident that he had been -subjected to violence, for one of his eyes was blackened, and there were -marks of bruises about his face and neck. A slight thickening and -swelling of his features appeared to suggest that the cause of his death -had been strangulation. He was dressed in his usual professional -clothes, but wore cloth slippers, the soles of which were perfectly -clean. The carpet was marked all over, especially on the side of the -door, with traces of dirty boots, which were presumably left by the -murderer. It was evident that some one had entered by the surgery door, -had killed the doctor, and had then made his escape unseen. That the -assailant was a man was certain, from the size of the footprints and -from the nature of the injuries. But beyond that point the police found -it very difficult to go. - -There were no signs of robbery, and the doctor’s gold watch was safe in -his pocket. He kept a heavy cash-box in the room, and this was -discovered to be locked but empty. Mrs. Woods had an impression that a -large sum was usually kept there, but the doctor had paid a heavy corn -bill in cash only that very day, and it was conjectured that it was to -this and not to a robber that the emptiness of the box was due. One -thing in the room was missing—but that one thing was suggestive. The -portrait of Miss Morton, which had always stood upon the side-table, had -been taken from its frame, and carried off. Mrs. Woods had observed it -there when she waited upon her employer that evening, and now it was -gone. On the other hand, there was picked up from the floor a green -eye-patch, which the housekeeper could not remember to have seen before. -Such a patch might, however, be in the possession of a doctor, and there -was nothing to indicate that it was in any way connected with the crime. - -Suspicion could only turn in one direction, and Arthur Morton, the young -squire, was immediately arrested. The evidence against him was -circumstantial, but damning. He was devoted to his sister, and it was -shown that since the rupture between her and Dr. Lana he had been heard -again and again to express himself in the most vindictive terms towards -her former lover. He had, as stated, been seen somewhere about eleven -o’clock entering the doctor’s drive with a hunting-crop in his hand. He -had then, according to the theory of the police, broken in upon the -doctor, whose exclamation of fear or of anger had been loud enough to -attract the attention of Mrs. Woods. When Mrs. Woods descended, Dr. Lana -had made up his mind to talk it over with his visitor, and had, -therefore, sent his housekeeper back to her room. This conversation had -lasted a long time, had become more and more fiery, and had ended by a -personal struggle, in which the doctor lost his life. The fact, revealed -by a _post-mortem_, that his heart was much diseased—an ailment quite -unsuspected during his life—would make it possible that death might in -his case ensue from injuries which would not be fatal to a healthy man. -Arthur Morton had then removed his sister’s photograph, and had made his -way homeward, stepping aside into the laurel bushes to avoid Mrs. -Madding at the gate. This was the theory of the prosecution, and the -case which they presented was a formidable one. - -On the other hand, there were some strong points for the defence. Morton -was high-spirited and impetuous, like his sister, but he was respected -and liked by everyone, and his frank and honest nature seemed to be -incapable of such a crime. His own explanation was that he was anxious -to have a conversation with Dr. Lana about some urgent family matters -(from first to last he refused even to mention the name of his sister). -He did not attempt to deny that this conversation would probably have -been of an unpleasant nature. He had heard from a patient that the -doctor was out, and he therefore waited until about three in the morning -for his return, but as he had seen nothing of him up to that hour, he -had given it up and had returned home. As to his death, he knew no more -about it than the constable who arrested him. He had formerly been an -intimate friend of the deceased man; but circumstances, which he would -prefer not to mention, had brought about a change in his sentiments. - -There were several facts which supported his innocence. It was certain -that Dr. Lana was alive and in his study at half-past eleven o’clock. -Mrs. Woods was prepared to swear that it was at that hour that she had -heard his voice. The friends of the prisoner contended that it was -probable that at that time Dr. Lana was not alone. The sound which had -originally attracted the attention of the housekeeper, and her master’s -unusual impatience that she should leave him in peace, seemed to point -to that. If this were so, then it appeared to be probable that he had -met his end between the moment when the housekeeper heard his voice and -the time when Mrs. Madding made her first call and found it impossible -to attract his attention. But if this were the time of his death, then -it was certain that Mr. Arthur Morton could not be guilty, as it was -_after_ this that she had met the young squire at the gate. - -If this hypothesis were correct, and someone was with Dr. Lana before -Mrs. Madding met Mr. Arthur Morton, then who was this someone, and what -motives had he for wishing evil to the doctor? It was universally -admitted that if the friends of the accused could throw light upon this, -they would have gone a long way towards establishing his innocence. But -in the meanwhile it was open to the public to say—as they did say—that -there was no proof that any one had been there at all except the young -squire; while, on the other hand, there was ample proof that his motives -in going were of a sinister kind. When Mrs. Madding called, the doctor -might have retired to his room, or he might, as she thought at the time, -have gone out and returned afterwards to find Mr. Arthur Morton waiting -for him. Some of the supporters of the accused laid stress upon the fact -that the photograph of his sister Frances, which had been removed from -the doctor’s room, had not been found in her brother’s possession. This -argument, however, did not count for much, as he had ample time before -his arrest to burn it or to destroy it. As to the only positive evidence -in the case—the muddy footmarks upon the floor—they were so blurred by -the softness of the carpet that it was impossible to make any -trustworthy deduction from them. The most that could be said was that -their appearance was not inconsistent with the theory that they were -made by the accused, and it was further shown that his boots were very -muddy upon that night. There had been a heavy shower in the afternoon, -and all boots were probably in the same condition. - -Such is a bald statement of the singular and romantic series of events -which centred public attention upon this Lancashire tragedy. The unknown -origin of the doctor, his curious and distinguished personality, the -position of the man who was accused of the murder, and the love affair -which had preceded the crime, all combined to make the affair one of -those dramas which absorb the whole interest of a nation. Throughout the -three kingdoms men discussed the case of the Black Doctor of Bishop’s -Crossing, and many were the theories put forward to explain the facts; -but it may safely be said that among them all there was not one which -prepared the minds of the public for the extraordinary sequel, which -caused so much excitement upon the first day of the trial, and came to a -climax upon the second. The long files of the _Lancaster Weekly_ with -their report of the case lie before me as I write, but I must content -myself with a synopsis of the case up to the point when, upon the -evening of the first day, the evidence of Miss Frances Morton threw a -singular light upon the case. - -Mr. Porlock Carr, the counsel for the prosecution, had marshalled his -facts with his usual skill, and as the day wore on, it became more and -more evident how difficult was the task which Mr. Humphrey, who had been -retained for the defence, had before him. Several witnesses were put up -to swear to the intemperate expressions which the young squire had been -heard to utter about the doctor, and the fiery manner in which he -resented the alleged ill-treatment of his sister. Mrs. Madding repeated -her evidence as to the visit which had been paid late at night by the -prisoner to the deceased, and it was shown by another witness that the -prisoner was aware that the doctor was in the habit of sitting up alone -in this isolated wing of the house, and that he had chosen this very -late hour to call because he knew that his victim would then be at his -mercy. A servant at the squire’s house was compelled to admit that he -had heard his master return about three that morning, which corroborated -Mrs. Madding’s statement that she had seen him among the laurel bushes -near the gate upon the occasion of her second visit. The muddy boots and -an alleged similarity in the footprints were duly dwelt upon, and it was -felt when the case for the prosecution had been presented that, however -circumstantial it might be, it was none the less so complete and so -convincing, that the fate of the prisoner was sealed, unless something -quite unexpected should be disclosed by the defence. It was three -o’clock when the prosecution closed. At half-past four, when the Court -rose, a new and unlooked for development had occurred. I extract the -incident, or part of it, from the journal which I have already -mentioned, omitting the preliminary observations of the counsel. - -Considerable sensation was caused in the crowded court when the first -witness called for the defence proved to be Miss Frances Morton, the -sister of the prisoner. Our readers will remember that the young lady -had been engaged to Dr. Lana, and that it was his anger over the sudden -termination of this engagement which was thought to have driven her -brother to the perpetration of this crime. Miss Morton had not, however, -been directly implicated in the case in any way, either at the inquest -or at the police-court proceedings, and her appearance as the leading -witness for the defence came as a surprise upon the public. - -Miss Frances Morton, who was a tall and handsome brunette, gave her -evidence in a low but clear voice, though it was evident throughout that -she was suffering from extreme emotion. She alluded to her engagement to -the doctor, touched briefly upon its termination, which was due, she -said, to personal matters connected with his family, and surprised the -Court by asserting that she had always considered her brother’s -resentment to be unreasonable and intemperate. In answer to a direct -question from her counsel, she replied that she did not feel that she -had any grievance whatever against Dr. Lana, and that in her opinion he -had acted in a perfectly honourable manner. Her brother, on an -insufficient knowledge of the facts, had taken another view, and she was -compelled to acknowledge that, in spite of her entreaties, he had -uttered threats of personal violence against the doctor, and had, upon -the evening of the tragedy, announced his intention of “having it out -with him.” She had done her best to bring him to a more reasonable frame -of mind, but he was very headstrong where his emotions or prejudices -were concerned. - -Up to this point the young lady’s evidence had appeared to make against -the prisoner rather than in his favour. The questions of her counsel, -however, soon put a very different light upon the matter, and disclosed -an unexpected line of defence. - -Mr. Humphrey: Do you believe your brother to be guilty of this crime? - -The Judge: I cannot permit that question, Mr. Humphrey. We are here to -decide upon questions of fact—not of belief. - -Mr. Humphrey: Do you know that your brother is not guilty of the death -of Doctor Lana? - -Miss Morton: Yes. - -Mr. Humphrey: How do you know it? - -Miss Morton: Because Dr. Lana is not dead. - -There followed a prolonged sensation in court, which interrupted the -cross-examination of the witness. - -Mr. Humphrey: And how do you know, Miss Morton, that Dr. Lana is not -dead? - -Miss Morton: Because I have received a letter from him since the date of -his supposed death. - -Mr. Humphrey: Have you this letter? - -Miss Morton: Yes, but I should prefer not to show it. - -Mr. Humphrey: Have you the envelope? - -Miss Morton: Yes, it is here. - -Mr. Humphrey: What is the post-mark? - -Miss Morton: Liverpool. - -Mr. Humphrey: And the date? - -Miss Morton: June the 22nd. - -Mr. Humphrey: That being the day after his alleged death. Are you -prepared to swear to this handwriting, Miss Morton? - -Miss Morton: Certainly. - -Mr. Humphrey: I am prepared to call six other witnesses, my lord, to -testify that this letter is in the writing of Doctor Lana. - -The Judge: Then you must call them to-morrow. - -Mr. Porlock Carr (counsel for the prosecution): In the meantime, my -lord, we claim possession of this document, so that we may obtain expert -evidence as to how far it is an imitation of the handwriting of the -gentleman whom we still confidently assert to be deceased. I need not -point out that the theory so unexpectedly sprung upon us may prove to be -a very obvious device adopted by the friends of the prisoner in order to -divert this inquiry. I would draw attention to the fact that the young -lady must, according to her own account, have possessed this letter -during the proceedings at the inquest and at the police-court. She -desires us to believe that she permitted these to proceed, although she -held in her pocket evidence which would at any moment have brought them -to an end. - -Mr. Humphrey: Can you explain this, Miss Morton? - -Miss Morton: Dr. Lana desired his secret to be preserved. - -Mr. Porlock Carr: Then why have you made this public? - -Miss Morton: To save my brother. - -A murmur of sympathy broke out in court, which was instantly suppressed -by the Judge. - -The Judge: Admitting this line of defence, it lies with you, Mr. -Humphrey, to throw a light upon who this man is whose body has been -recognised by so many friends and patients of Dr. Lana as being that of -the doctor himself. - -A Juryman: Has any one up to now expressed any doubt about the matter? - -Mr. Porlock Carr: Not to my knowledge. - -Mr. Humphrey: We hope to make the matter clear. - -The Judge: Then the Court adjourns until to-morrow. - - * * * * * - -This new development of the case excited the utmost interest among the -general public. Press comment was prevented by the fact that the trial -was still undecided, but the question was everywhere argued as to how -far there could be truth in Miss Morton’s declaration, and how far it -might be a daring ruse for the purpose of saving her brother. The -obvious dilemma in which the missing doctor stood was that if by any -extraordinary chance he was not dead, then he must be held responsible -for the death of this unknown man, who resembled him so exactly, and who -was found in his study. This letter which Miss Morton refused to produce -was possibly a confession of guilt, and she might find herself in the -terrible position of only being able to save her brother from the -gallows by the sacrifice of her former lover. The court next morning was -crammed to overflowing, and a murmur of excitement passed over it when -Mr. Humphrey was observed to enter in a state of emotion, which even his -trained nerves could not conceal, and to confer with the opposing -counsel. A few hurried words—words which left a look of amazement upon -Mr. Porlock Carr’s face—passed between them, and then the counsel for -the defence, addressing the judge, announced that, with the consent of -the prosecution, the young lady who had given evidence upon the sitting -before would not be recalled. - - * * * * * - -The Judge: But you appear, Mr. Humphrey, to have left matters in a very -unsatisfactory state. - -Mr. Humphrey: Perhaps, my lord, my next witness may help to clear them -up. - -The Judge: Then call your next witness. - -Mr. Humphrey: I call Dr. Aloysius Lana. - -The learned counsel has made many telling remarks in his day, but he has -certainly never produced such a sensation with so short a sentence. The -Court was simply stunned with amazement as the very man whose fate had -been the subject of so much contention appeared bodily before them in -the witness-box. Those among the spectators who had known him at -Bishop’s Crossing saw him now, gaunt and thin, with deep lines of care -upon his face. But in spite of his melancholy bearing and despondent -expression, there were few who could say that they had ever seen a man -of more distinguished presence. Bowing to the judge, he asked if he -might be allowed to make a statement, and having been duly informed that -whatever he said might be used against him, he bowed once more, and -proceeded:— - -“My wish,” said he, “is to hold nothing back, but to tell with perfect -frankness all that occurred upon the night of the 21st of June. Had I -known that the innocent had suffered, and that so much trouble had been -brought upon those whom I love best in the world, I should have come -forward long ago; but there were reasons which prevented these things -from coming to my ears. It was my desire that an unhappy man should -vanish from the world which had known him, but I had not foreseen that -others would be affected by my actions. Let me to the best of my ability -repair the evil which I have done. - -“To any one who is acquainted with the history of the Argentine Republic -the name of Lana is well known. My father, who came of the best blood of -old Spain, filled all the highest offices of the State, and would have -been President but for his death in the riots of San Juan. A brilliant -career might have been open to my twin brother Ernest and myself had it -not been for financial losses which made it necessary that we should -earn our own living. I apologize, sir, if these details appear to be -irrelevant, but they are a necessary introduction to that which is to -follow. - -“I had, as I have said, a twin brother named Ernest, whose resemblance -to me was so great that even when we were together people could see no -difference between us. Down to the smallest detail we were exactly the -same. As we grew older this likeness became less marked because our -expression was not the same, but with our features in repose the points -of difference were very slight. - -“It does not become me to say too much of one who is dead, the more so -as he is my only brother, but I leave his character to those who knew -him best. I will only say—for I _have_ to say it—that in my early -manhood I conceived a horror of him, and that I had good reason for the -aversion which filled me. My own reputation suffered from his actions, -for our close resemblance caused me to be credited with many of them. -Eventually, in a peculiarly disgraceful business, he contrived to throw -the whole odium upon me in such a way that I was forced to leave the -Argentine for ever, and to seek a career in Europe. The freedom from his -hated presence more than compensated me for the loss of my native land. -I had enough money to defray my medical studies at Glasgow, and I -finally settled in practice at Bishop’s Crossing, in the firm conviction -that in that remote Lancashire hamlet I should never hear of him again. - -“For years my hopes were fulfilled, and then at last he discovered me. -Some Liverpool man who visited Buenos Ayres put him upon my track. He -had lost all his money, and he thought that he would come over and share -mine. Knowing my horror of him, he rightly thought that I would be -willing to buy him off. I received a letter from him saying that he was -coming. It was at a crisis in my own affairs, and his arrival might -conceivably bring trouble, and even disgrace, upon some whom I was -especially bound to shield from anything of the kind. I took steps to -insure that any evil which might come should fall on me only, and -that”—here he turned and looked at the prisoner—“was the cause of -conduct upon my part which has been too harshly judged. My only motive -was to screen those who were dear to me from any possible connection -with scandal or disgrace. That scandal and disgrace would come with my -brother was only to say that what had been would be again. - -“My brother arrived himself one night not very long after my receipt of -the letter. I was sitting in my study after the servants had gone to -bed, when I heard a footstep upon the gravel outside, and an instant -later I saw his face looking in at me through the window. He was a -clean-shaven man like myself, and the resemblance between us was still -so great that, for an instant, I thought it was my own reflection in the -glass. He had a dark patch over his eye, but our features were -absolutely the same. Then he smiled in a sardonic way which had been a -trick of his from his boyhood, and I knew that he was the same brother -who had driven me from my native land, and brought disgrace upon what -had been an honourable name. I went to the door and I admitted him. That -would be about ten o’clock that night. - -“When he came into the glare of the lamp, I saw at once that he had -fallen upon very evil days. He had walked from Liverpool, and he was -tired and ill. I was quite shocked by the expression upon his face. My -medical knowledge told me that there was some serious internal malady. -He had been drinking also, and his face was bruised as the result of a -scuffle which he had had with some sailors. It was to cover his injured -eye that he wore this patch, which he removed when he entered the room. -He was himself dressed in a pea-jacket and flannel shirt, and his feet -were bursting through his boots. But his poverty had only made him more -savagely vindictive towards me. His hatred rose to the height of a -mania. I had been rolling in money in England, according to his account, -while he had been starving in South America. I cannot describe to you -the threats which he uttered or the insults which he poured upon me. My -impression is, that hardships and debauchery had unhinged his reason. He -paced about the room like a wild beast, demanding drink, demanding -money, and all in the foulest language. I am a hot-tempered man, but I -thank God that I am able to say that I remained master of myself, and -that I never raised a hand against him. My coolness only irritated him -the more. He raved, he cursed, he shook his fists in my face, and then -suddenly a horrible spasm passed over his features, he clapped his hand -to his side, and with a loud cry he fell in a heap at my feet. I raised -him up and stretched him upon the sofa, but no answer came to my -exclamations, and the hand which I held in mine was cold and clammy. His -diseased heart had broken down. His own violence had killed him. - -“For a long time I sat as if I were in some dreadful dream, staring at -the body of my brother. I was aroused by the knocking of Mrs. Woods, who -had been disturbed by that dying cry. I sent her away to bed. Shortly -afterwards a patient tapped at the surgery door, but as I took no -notice, he or she went off again. Slowly and gradually as I sat there a -plan was forming itself in my head in the curious automatic way in which -plans do form. When I rose from my chair my future movements were -finally decided upon without my having been conscious of any process of -thought. It was an instinct which irresistibly inclined me towards one -course. - -“Ever since that change in my affairs to which I have alluded, Bishop’s -Crossing had become hateful to me. My plans of life had been ruined, and -I had met with hasty judgments and unkind treatment where I had expected -sympathy. It is true that any danger of scandal from my brother had -passed away with his life; but still, I was sore about the past, and -felt that things could never be as they had been. It may be that I was -unduly sensitive, and that I had not made sufficient allowance for -others, but my feelings were as I describe. Any chance of getting away -from Bishop’s Crossing and of everyone in it would be most welcome to -me. And here was such a chance as I could never have dared to hope for, -a chance which would enable me to make a clean break with the past. - -“There was this dead man lying upon the sofa, so like me that save for -some little thickness and coarseness of the features there was no -difference at all. No one had seen him come and no one would miss him. -We were both clean shaven, and his hair was about the same length as my -own. If I changed clothes with him, then Dr. Aloysius Lana would be -found lying dead in his study, and there would be an end of an -unfortunate fellow, and of a blighted career. There was plenty of ready -money in the room, and this I could carry away with me to help me to -start once more in some other land. In my brother’s clothes I could walk -by night unobserved as far as Liverpool, and in that great seaport I -would soon find some means of leaving the country. After my lost hopes, -the humblest existence where I was unknown was far preferable, in my -estimation, to a practice, however successful, in Bishop’s Crossing, -where at any moment I might come face to face with those whom I should -wish, if it were possible, to forget. I determined to effect the change. - -“And I did so. I will not go into particulars, for the recollection is -as painful as the experience; but in an hour my brother lay, dressed -down to the smallest detail in my clothes, while I slunk out by the -surgery door, and taking the back path which led across some fields, I -started off to make the best of my way to Liverpool, where I arrived the -same night. My bag of money and a certain portrait were all I carried -out of the house, and I left behind me in my hurry the shade which my -brother had been wearing over his eye. Everything else of his I took -with me. - -“I give you my word, sir, that never for one instant did the idea occur -to me that people might think that I had been murdered, nor did I -imagine that any one might be caused serious danger through this -stratagem by which I endeavoured to gain a fresh start in the world. On -the contrary, it was the thought of relieving others from the burden of -my presence which was always uppermost in my mind. A sailing vessel was -leaving Liverpool that very day for Corunna, and in this I took my -passage, thinking that the voyage would give me time to recover my -balance, and to consider the future. But before I left my resolution -softened. I bethought me that there was one person in the world to whom -I would not cause an hour of sadness. She would mourn me in her heart, -however harsh and unsympathetic her relatives might be. She understood -and appreciated the motives upon which I had acted, and if the rest of -her family condemned me, she, at least, would not forget. And so I sent -her a note under the seal of secrecy to save her from a baseless grief. -If under the pressure of events she broke that seal, she has my entire -sympathy and forgiveness. - -“It was only last night that I returned to England, and during all this -time I have heard nothing of the sensation which my supposed death had -caused, nor of the accusation that Mr. Arthur Morton had been concerned -in it. It was in a late evening paper that I read an account of the -proceedings of yesterday, and I have come this morning as fast as an -express train could bring me to testify to the truth.” - -Such was the remarkable statement of Dr. Aloysius Lana which brought the -trial to a sudden termination. A subsequent investigation corroborated -it to the extent of finding out the vessel in which his brother Ernest -Lana had come over from South America. The ship’s doctor was able to -testify that he had complained of a weak heart during the voyage, and -that his symptoms were consistent with such a death as was described. - -As to Dr. Aloysius Lana, he returned to the village from which he had -made so dramatic a disappearance, and a complete reconciliation was -effected between him and the young squire, the latter having -acknowledged that he had entirely misunderstood the other’s motives in -withdrawing from his engagement. That another reconciliation followed -may be judged from a notice extracted from a prominent column in the -_Morning Post_:— - - A marriage was solemnized upon September 19th, by the Rev. Stephen - Johnson, at the parish church of Bishop’s Crossing, between - Aloysius Xavier Lana, son of Don Alfredo Lana, formerly Foreign - Minister of the Argentine Republic, and Frances Morton, only - daughter of the late James Morton, J.P., of Leigh Hall, Bishop’s - Crossing, Lancashire. - - - - - PLAYING WITH FIRE - - -I cannot pretend to say what occurred on the 14th of April last at No. -17, Badderly Gardens. Put down in black and white, my surmise might seem -too crude, too grotesque, for serious consideration. And yet that -something did occur, and that it was of a nature which will leave its -mark upon every one of us for the rest of our lives, is as certain as -the unanimous testimony of five witnesses can make it. I will not enter -into any argument or speculation. I will only give a plain statement, -which will be submitted to John Moir, Harvey Deacon, and Mrs. Delamere, -and withheld from publication unless they are prepared to corroborate -every detail. I cannot obtain the sanction of Paul Le Duc, for he -appears to have left the country. - -It was John Moir (the well-known senior partner of Moir, Moir, and -Sanderson) who had originally turned our attention to occult subjects. -He had, like many very hard and practical men of business, a mystic side -to his nature, which had led him to the examination, and eventually to -the acceptance, of those elusive phenomena which are grouped together -with much that is foolish, and much that is fraudulent, under the common -heading of spiritualism. His researches, which had begun with an open -mind, ended unhappily in dogma, and he became as positive and fanatical -as any other bigot. He represented in our little group the body of men -who have turned these singular phenomena into a new religion. - -Mrs. Delamere, our medium, was his sister, the wife of Delamere, the -rising sculptor. Our experience had shown us that to work on these -subjects without a medium was as futile as for an astronomer to make -observations without a telescope. On the other hand, the introduction of -a paid medium was hateful to all of us. Was it not obvious that he or -she would feel bound to return some result for money received, and that -the temptation to fraud would be an overpowering one? No phenomena could -be relied upon which were produced at a guinea an hour. But, -fortunately, Moir had discovered that his sister was mediumistic—in -other words, that she was a battery of that animal magnetic force which -is the only form of energy which is subtle enough to be acted upon from -the spiritual plane as well as from our own material one. Of course, -when I say this, I do not mean to beg the question; but I am simply -indicating the theories upon which we were ourselves, rightly or -wrongly, explaining what we saw. The lady came, not altogether with the -approval of her husband, and though she never gave indications of any -very great psychic force, we were able, at least, to obtain those usual -phenomena of message-tilting which are at the same time so puerile and -so inexplicable. Every Sunday evening we met in Harvey Deacon’s studio -at Badderly Gardens, the next house to the corner of Merton Park Road. - -Harvey Deacon’s imaginative work in art would prepare any one to find -that he was an ardent lover of everything which was _outré_ and -sensational. A certain picturesqueness in the study of the occult had -been the quality which had originally attracted him to it, but his -attention was speedily arrested by some of those phenomena to which I -have referred, and he was coming rapidly to the conclusion that what he -had looked upon as an amusing romance and an after-dinner entertainment -was really a very formidable reality. He is a man with a remarkably -clear and logical brain—a true descendant of his ancestor, the -well-known Scotch professor—and he represented in our small circle the -critical element, the man who has no prejudices, is prepared to follow -facts as far as he can see them, and refuses to theorize in advance of -his data. His caution annoyed Moir as much as the latter’s robust faith -amused Deacon, but each in his own way was equally keen upon the matter. - -And I? What am I to say that I represented? I was not the devotee. I was -not the scientific critic. Perhaps the best that I can claim for myself -is that I was the dilettante man about town, anxious to be in the swim -of every fresh movement, thankful for any new sensation which would take -me out of myself and open up fresh possibilities of existence. I am not -an enthusiast myself, but I like the company of those who are. Moir’s -talk, which made me feel as if we had a private pass-key through the -door of death, filled me with a vague contentment. The soothing -atmosphere of the séance with the darkened lights was delightful to me. -In a word, the thing amused me, and so I was there. - -It was, as I have said, upon the 14th of April last that the very -singular event which I am about to put upon record took place. I was the -first of the men to arrive at the studio, but Mrs. Delamere was already -there, having had afternoon tea with Mrs. Harvey Deacon. The two ladies -and Deacon himself were standing in front of an unfinished picture of -his upon the easel. I am not an expert in art, and I have never -professed to understand what Harvey Deacon meant by his pictures; but I -could see in this instance that it was all very clever and imaginative, -fairies and animals and allegorical figures of all sorts. The ladies -were loud in their praises, and indeed the colour effect was a -remarkable one. - -“What do you think of it, Markham?” he asked. - -“Well, it’s above me,” said I. “These beasts—what are they?” - -“Mythical monsters, imaginary creatures, heraldic emblems—a sort of -weird, bizarre procession of them.” - -“With a white horse in front!” - -“It’s not a horse,” said he, rather testily—which was surprising, for he -was a very good-humoured fellow as a rule, and hardly ever took himself -seriously. - -“What is it, then?” - -“Can’t you see the horn in front? It’s a unicorn. I told you they were -heraldic beasts. Can’t you recognize one?” - -“Very sorry, Deacon,” said I, for he really seemed to be annoyed. - -He laughed at his own irritation. - -“Excuse me, Markham!” said he; “the fact is that I have had an awful job -over the beast. All day I have been painting him in and painting him -out, and trying to imagine what a real live, ramping unicorn would look -like. At last I got him, as I hoped; so when you failed to recognize it, -it took me on the raw.” - -“Why, of course it’s a unicorn,” said I, for he was evidently depressed -at my obtuseness. “I can see the horn quite plainly, but I never saw a -unicorn except beside the Royal Arms, and so I never thought of the -creature. And these others are griffins and cockatrices, and dragons of -sorts?” - -“Yes, I had no difficulty with them. It was the unicorn which bothered -me. However, there’s an end of it until to-morrow.” He turned the -picture round upon the easel, and we all chatted about other subjects. - -Moir was late that evening, and when he did arrive he brought with him, -rather to our surprise, a small, stout Frenchman, whom he introduced as -Monsieur Paul Le Duc. I say to our surprise, for we held a theory that -any intrusion into our spiritual circle deranged the conditions, and -introduced an element of suspicion. We knew that we could trust each -other, but all our results were vitiated by the presence of an outsider. -However, Moir soon reconciled us to the innovation. Monsieur Paul Le Duc -was a famous student of occultism, a seer, a medium, and a mystic. He -was travelling in England with a letter of introduction to Moir from the -President of the Parisian brothers of the Rosy Cross. What more natural -than that he should bring him to our little séance, or that we should -feel honoured by his presence? - -He was, as I have said, a small, stout man, undistinguished in -appearance, with a broad, smooth, clean-shaven face, remarkable only for -a pair of large, brown, velvety eyes, staring vaguely out in front of -him. He was well dressed, with the manners of a gentleman, and his -curious little turns of English speech set the ladies smiling. Mrs. -Deacon had a prejudice against our researches and left the room, upon -which we lowered the lights, as was our custom, and drew up our chairs -to the square mahogany table which stood in the centre of the studio. -The light was subdued, but sufficient to allow us to see each other -quite plainly. I remember that I could even observe the curious, podgy -little square-topped hands which the Frenchman laid upon the table. - -“What a fun!” said he. “It is many years since I have sat in this -fashion, and it is to me amusing. Madame is medium. Does madame make the -trance?” - -“Well, hardly that,” said Mrs. Delamere. “But I am always conscious of -extreme sleepiness.” - -“It is the first stage. Then you encourage it, and there comes the -trance. When the trance comes, then out jumps your little spirit and in -jumps another little spirit, and so you have direct talking or writing. -You leave your machine to be worked by another. _Hein?_ But what have -unicorns to do with it?” - -Harvey Deacon started in his chair. The Frenchman was moving his head -slowly round and staring into the shadows which draped the walls. - -“What a fun!” said he. “Always unicorns. Who has been thinking so hard -upon a subject so bizarre?” - -“This is wonderful!” cried Deacon. “I have been trying to paint one all -day. But how could you know it?” - -“You have been thinking of them in this room.” - -“Certainly.” - -“But thoughts are things, my friend. When you imagine a thing you make a -thing. You did not know it, _hein_? But I can see your unicorns because -it is not only with my eye that I can see.” - -“Do you mean to say that I create a thing which has never existed by -merely thinking of it?” - -“But certainly. It is the fact which lies under all other facts. That is -why an evil thought is also a danger.” - -“They are, I suppose, upon the astral plane?” said Moir. - -“Ah, well, these are but words, my friends. They are -there—somewhere—everywhere—I cannot tell myself. I see them. I could not -touch them.” - -“You could not make _us_ see them.” - -“It is to materialize them. Hold! It is an experiment. But the power is -wanting. Let us see what power we have, and then arrange what we shall -do. May I place you as I should wish?” - -“You evidently know a great deal more about it than we do,” said Harvey -Deacon; “I wish that you would take complete control.” - -“It may be that the conditions are not good. But we will try what we can -do. Madame will sit where she is, I next, and this gentleman beside me. -Meester Moir will sit next to madame, because it is well to have blacks -and blondes in turn. So! And now with your permission I will turn the -lights all out.” - -“What is the advantage of the dark?” I asked. - -“Because the force with which we deal is a vibration of ether and so -also is light. We have the wires all for ourselves now—_hein_? You will -not be frightened in the darkness, madame? What a fun is such a séance!” - -At first the darkness appeared to be absolutely pitchy, but in a few -minutes our eyes became so far accustomed to it that we could just make -out each other’s presence—very dimly and vaguely, it is true. I could -see nothing else in the room—only the black loom of the motionless -figures. We were all taking the matter much more seriously than we had -ever done before. - -“You will place your hands in front. It is hopeless that we touch, since -we are so few round so large a table. You will compose yourself, madame, -and if sleep should come to you you will not fight against it. And now -we sit in silence and we expect——_hein_?” - -So we sat in silence and expected, staring out into the blackness in -front of us. A clock ticked in the passage. A dog barked intermittently -far away. Once or twice a cab rattled past in the street, and the gleam -of its lamps through the chink in the curtains was a cheerful break in -that gloomy vigil. I felt those physical symptoms with which previous -séances had made me familiar—the coldness of the feet, the tingling in -the hands, the glow of the palms, the feeling of a cold wind upon the -back. Strange little shooting pains came in my forearms, especially as -it seemed to me in my left one, which was nearest to our visitor—due no -doubt to disturbance of the vascular system, but worthy of some -attention all the same. At the same time I was conscious of a strained -feeling of expectancy which was almost painful. From the rigid, absolute -silence of my companions I gathered that their nerves were as tense as -my own. - -And then suddenly a sound came out of the darkness—a low, sibilant -sound, the quick, thin breathing of a woman. Quicker and thinner yet it -came, as between clenched teeth, to end in a loud gasp with a dull -rustle of cloth. - -“What’s that? Is all right?” someone asked in the darkness. - -“Yes, all is right,” said the Frenchman. “It is madame. She is in her -trance. Now, gentlemen, if you will wait quiet you will see something, I -think, which will interest you much.” - -Still the ticking in the hall. Still the breathing, deeper and fuller -now, from the medium. Still the occasional flash, more welcome than -ever, of the passing lights of the hansoms. What a gap we were bridging, -the half-raised veil of the eternal on the one side and the cabs of -London on the other. The table was throbbing with a mighty pulse. It -swayed steadily, rhythmically, with an easy swooping, scooping motion -under our fingers. Sharp little raps and cracks came from its substance, -file-firing, volley-firing, the sounds of a fagot burning briskly on a -frosty night. - -“There is much power,” said the Frenchman. “See it on the table!” - -I had thought it was some delusion of my own, but all could see it now. -There was a greenish-yellow phosphorescent light—or I should say a -luminous vapour rather than a light—which lay over the surface of the -table. It rolled and wreathed and undulated in dim glimmering folds, -turning and swirling like clouds of smoke. I could see the white, -square-ended hands of the French medium in this baleful light. - -“What a fun!” he cried. “It is splendid!” - -“Shall we call the alphabet?” asked Moir. - -“But no—for we can do much better,” said our visitor. “It is but a -clumsy thing to tilt the table for every letter of the alphabet, and -with such a medium as madame we should do better than that.” - -“Yes, you will do better,” said a voice. - -“Who was that? Who spoke? Was that you, Markham?” - -“No, I did not speak.” - -“It was madame who spoke.” - -“But it was not her voice.” - -“Is that you, Mrs. Delamere?” - -“It is not the medium, but it is the power which uses the organs of the -medium,” said the strange, deep voice. - -“Where is Mrs. Delamere? It will not hurt her, I trust.” - -“The medium is happy in another plane of existence. She has taken my -place, as I have taken hers.” - -“Who are you?” - -“It cannot matter to you who I am. I am one who has lived as you are -living, and who has died as you will die.” - -We heard the creak and grate of a cab pulling up next door. There was an -argument about the fare, and the cabman grumbled hoarsely down the -street. The green-yellow cloud still swirled faintly over the table, -dull elsewhere, but glowing into a dim luminosity in the direction of -the medium. It seemed to be piling itself up in front of her. A sense of -fear and cold struck into my heart. It seemed to me that lightly and -flippantly we had approached the most real and august of sacraments, -that communion with the dead of which the fathers of the Church had -spoken. - -“Don’t you think we are going too far? Should we not break up this -séance?” I cried. - -But the others were all earnest to see the end of it. They laughed at my -scruples. - -“All the powers are made for use,” said Harvey Deacon. “If we _can_ do -this, we _should_ do this. Every new departure of knowledge has been -called unlawful in its inception. It is right and proper that we should -inquire into the nature of death.” - -“It is right and proper,” said the voice. - -“There, what more could you ask?” cried Moir, who was much excited. “Let -us have a test. Will you give us a test that you are really there?” - -“What test do you demand?” - -“Well, now—I have some coins in my pocket. Will you tell me how many?” - -“We come back in the hope of teaching and of elevating, and not to guess -childish riddles.” - -“Ha, ha, Meester Moir, you catch it that time,” cried the Frenchman. -“But surely this is very good sense what the Control is saying.” - -“It is a religion, not a game,” said the cold, hard voice. - -“Exactly—the very view I take of it,” cried Moir. “I am sure I am very -sorry if I have asked a foolish question. You will not tell me who you -are?” - -“What does it matter?” - -“Have you been a spirit long?” - -“Yes.” - -“How long?” - -“We cannot reckon time as you do. Our conditions are different.” - -“Are you happy?” - -“Yes.” - -“You would not wish to come back to life?” - -“No—certainly not.” - -“Are you busy?” - -“We could not be happy if we were not busy.” - -“What do you do?” - -“I have said that the conditions are entirely different.” - -“Can you give us no idea of your work?” - -“We labour for our own improvement and for the advancement of others.” - -“Do you like coming here to-night?” - -“I am glad to come if I can do any good by coming.” - -“Then to do good is your object?” - -“It is the object of all life on every plane.” - -“You see, Markham, that should answer your scruples.” - -It did, for my doubts had passed and only interest remained. - -“Have you pain in your life?” I asked. - -“No; pain is a thing of the body.” - -“Have you mental pain?” - -“Yes; one may always be sad or anxious.” - -“Do you meet the friends whom you have known on earth?” - -“Some of them.” - -“Why only some of them?” - -“Only those who are sympathetic.” - -“Do husbands meet wives?” - -“Those who have truly loved.” - -“And the others?” - -“They are nothing to each other.” - -“There must be a spiritual connection?” - -“Of course.” - -“Is what we are doing right?” - -“If done in the right spirit.” - -“What is the wrong spirit?” - -“Curiosity and levity.” - -“May harm come of that?” - -“Very serious harm.” - -“What sort of harm?” - -“You may call up forces over which you have no control.” - -“Evil forces?” - -“Undeveloped forces.” - -“You say they are dangerous. Dangerous to body or mind?” - -“Sometimes to both.” - -There was a pause, and the blackness seemed to grow blacker still, while -the yellow-green fog swirled and smoked upon the table. - -“Any questions you would like to ask, Moir?” said Harvey Deacon. - -“Only this—do you pray in your world?” - -“One should pray in every world.” - -“Why?” - -“Because it is the acknowledgment of forces outside ourselves.” - -“What religion do you hold over there?” - -“We differ exactly as you do.” - -“You have no certain knowledge?” - -“We have only faith.” - -“These questions of religion,” said the Frenchman, “they are of interest -to you serious English people, but they are not so much fun. It seems to -me that with this power here we might be able to have some great -experience—_hein_? Something of which we could talk.” - -“But nothing could be more interesting than this,” said Moir. - -“Well, if you think so, that is very well,” the Frenchman answered, -peevishly. “For my part, it seems to me that I have heard all this -before, and that to-night I should weesh to try some experiment with all -this force which is given to us. But if you have other questions, then -ask them, and when you are finish we can try something more.” - -But the spell was broken. We asked and asked, but the medium sat silent -in her chair. Only her deep, regular breathing showed that she was -there. The mist still swirled upon the table. - -“You have disturbed the harmony. She will not answer.” - -“But we have learned already all that she can tell—_hein_? For my part I -wish to see something that I have never seen before.” - -“What then?” - -“You will let me try?” - -“What would you do?” - -“I have said to you that thoughts are things. Now I wish to _prove_ it -to you, and to show you that which is only a thought. Yes, yes, I can do -it and you will see. Now I ask you only to sit still and say nothing, -and keep ever your hands quiet upon the table.” - -The room was blacker and more silent than ever. The same feeling of -apprehension which had lain heavily upon me at the beginning of the -séance was back at my heart once more. The roots of my hair were -tingling. - -“It is working! It is working!” cried the Frenchman, and there was a -crack in his voice as he spoke which told me that he also was strung to -his tightest. - -The luminous fog drifted slowly off the table, and wavered and flickered -across the room. There in the farther and darkest corner it gathered and -glowed, hardening down into a shining core—a strange, shifty, luminous, -and yet non-illuminating patch of radiance, bright itself, but throwing -no rays into the darkness. It had changed from a greenish-yellow to a -dusky sullen red. Then round this centre there coiled a dark, smoky -substance, thickening, hardening, growing denser and blacker. And then -the light went out, smothered in that which had grown round it. - -“It has gone.” - -“Hush—there’s something in the room.” - -We heard it in the corner where the light had been, something which -breathed deeply and fidgeted in the darkness. - -“What is it? Le Duc, what have you done?” - -“It is all right. No harm will come.” The Frenchman’s voice was treble -with agitation. - -“Good heavens, Moir, there’s a large animal in the room. Here it is, -close by my chair! Go away! Go away!” - -It was Harvey Deacon’s voice, and then came the sound of a blow upon -some hard object. And then ... And then ... how can I tell you what -happened then? - -Some huge thing hurtled against us in the darkness, rearing, stamping, -smashing, springing, snorting. The table was splintered. We were -scattered in every direction. It clattered and scrambled amongst us, -rushing with horrible energy from one corner of the room to another. We -were all screaming with fear, grovelling upon our hands and knees to get -away from it. Something trod upon my left hand, and I felt the bones -splinter under the weight. - -“A light! A light!” someone yelled. - -“Moir, you have matches, matches!” - -“No, I have none. Deacon, where are the matches? For God’s sake, the -matches!” - -“I can’t find them. Here, you Frenchman, stop it!” - -“It is beyond me. Oh, _mon Dieu_, I cannot stop it. The door! Where is -the door?” - -My hand, by good luck, lit upon the handle as I groped about in the -darkness. The hard-breathing, snorting, rushing creature tore past me -and butted with a fearful crash against the oaken partition. The instant -that it had passed I turned the handle, and next moment we were all -outside and the door shut behind us. From within came a horrible -crashing and rending and stamping. - -“What is it? In Heaven’s name, what is it?” - -“A horse. I saw it when the door opened. But Mrs. Delamere——?” - -“We must fetch her out. Come on, Markham; the longer we wait the less we -shall like it.” - -He flung open the door and we rushed in. She was there on the ground -amidst the splinters of her chair. We seized her and dragged her swiftly -out, and as we gained the door I looked over my shoulder into the -darkness. There were two strange eyes glowing at us, a rattle of hoofs, -and I had just time to slam the door when there came a crash upon it -which split it from top to bottom. - -“It’s coming through! It’s coming!” - -“Run, run for your lives!” cried the Frenchman. - -Another crash, and something shot through the riven door. It was a long -white spike, gleaming in the lamplight. For a moment it shone before us, -and then with a snap it disappeared again. - -“Quick! Quick! This way!” Harvey Deacon shouted. “Carry her in! Here! -Quick!” - -We had taken refuge in the dining-room, and shut the heavy oak door. We -laid the senseless woman upon the sofa, and as we did so, Moir, the hard -man of business, drooped and fainted across the hearthrug. Harvey Deacon -was as white as a corpse, jerking and twitching like an epileptic. With -a crash we heard the studio door fly to pieces, and the snorting and -stamping were in the passage, up and down, up and down, shaking the -house with their fury. The Frenchman had sunk his face on his hands, and -sobbed like a frightened child. - -“What shall we do?” I shook him roughly by the shoulder. “Is a gun any -use?” - -“No, no. The power will pass. Then it will end.” - -“You might have killed us all—you unspeakable fool—with your infernal -experiments.” - -“I did not know. How could I tell that it would be frightened? It is mad -with terror. It was his fault. He struck it.” - -Harvey Deacon sprang up. “Good heavens!” he cried. - -A terrible scream sounded through the house. - -“It’s my wife! Here, I’m going out. If it’s the Evil One himself I am -going out!” - -He had thrown open the door and rushed out into the passage. At the end -of it, at the foot of the stairs, Mrs. Deacon was lying senseless, -struck down by the sight which she had seen. But there was nothing else. - -With eyes of horror we looked about us, but all was perfectly quiet and -still. I approached the black square of the studio door, expecting with -every slow step that some atrocious shape would hurl itself out of it. -But nothing came, and all was silent inside the room. Peeping and -peering, our hearts in our mouths, we came to the very threshold, and -stared into the darkness. There was still no sound, but in one direction -there was also no darkness. A luminous, glowing cloud, with an -incandescent centre, hovered in the corner of the room. Slowly it dimmed -and faded, growing thinner and fainter, until at last the same dense, -velvety blackness filled the whole studio. And with the last flickering -gleam of that baleful light the Frenchman broke into a shout of joy. - -“What a fun!” he cried. “No one is hurt, and only the door broken, and -the ladies frightened. But, my friends, we have done what has never been -done before.” - -“And as far as I can help it,” said Harvey Deacon, “it will certainly -never be done again.” - -And that was what befell on the 14th of April last at No. 17, Badderly -Gardens. I began by saying that it would seem too grotesque to dogmatize -as to what it was which actually did occur; but I give my impressions, -_our_ impressions (since they are corroborated by Harvey Deacon and John -Moir), for what they are worth. You may, if it pleases you, imagine that -we were the victims of an elaborate and extraordinary hoax. Or you may -think with us that we underwent a very real and a very terrible -experience. Or perhaps you may know more than we do of such occult -matters, and can inform us of some similar occurrence. In this latter -case a letter to William Markham, 146M, The Albany, would help to throw -a light upon that which is very dark to us. - - - - - THE JEW’S BREASTPLATE - - -My particular friend Ward Mortimer was one of the best men of his day at -everything connected with Oriental archæology. He had written largely -upon the subject, he had lived two years in a tomb at Thebes, while he -excavated in the Valley of the Kings, and finally he had created a -considerable sensation by his exhumation of the alleged mummy of -Cleopatra in the inner room of the Temple of Horus, at Philæ. With such -a record at the age of thirty-one, it was felt that a considerable -career lay before him, and no one was surprised when he was elected to -the curatorship of the Belmore Street Museum, which carries with it the -lectureship at the Oriental College, and an income which has sunk with -the fall in land, but which still remains at that ideal sum which is -large enough to encourage an investigator, but not so large as to -enervate him. - -There was only one reason which made Ward Mortimer’s position a little -difficult at the Belmore Street Museum, and that was the extreme -eminence of the man whom he had to succeed. Professor Andreas was a -profound scholar and a man of European reputation. His lectures were -frequented by students from every part of the world, and his admirable -management of the collection intrusted to his care was a commonplace in -all learned societies. There was, therefore, considerable surprise when, -at the age of fifty-five, he suddenly resigned his position and retired -from those duties which had been both his livelihood and his pleasure. -He and his daughter left the comfortable suite of rooms which had formed -his official residence in connection with the museum, and my friend, -Mortimer, who was a bachelor, took up his quarters there. - -On hearing of Mortimer’s appointment Professor Andreas had written him a -very kindly and flattering congratulatory letter. I was actually present -at their first meeting, and I went with Mortimer round the museum when -the Professor showed us the admirable collection which he had cherished -so long. The Professor’s beautiful daughter and a young man, Captain -Wilson, who was, as I understood, soon to be her husband, accompanied us -in our inspection. There were fifteen rooms, but the Babylonian, the -Syrian, and the central hall, which contained the Jewish and Egyptian -collection, were the finest of all. Professor Andreas was a quiet, dry, -elderly man, with a clean-shaven face and an impassive manner, but his -dark eyes sparkled and his features quickened into enthusiastic life as -he pointed out to us the rarity and the beauty of some of his specimens. -His hand lingered so fondly over them, that one could read his pride in -them and the grief in his heart now that they were passing from his care -into that of another. - -He had shown us in turn his mummies, his papyri, his rare scarabs, his -inscriptions, his Jewish relics, and his duplication of the famous -seven-branched candlestick of the Temple, which was brought to Rome by -Titus, and which is supposed by some to be lying at this instant in the -bed of the Tiber. Then he approached a case which stood in the very -centre of the hall, and he looked down through the glass with reverence -in his attitude and manner. - -“This is no novelty to an expert like yourself, Mr. Mortimer,” said he; -“but I daresay that your friend, Mr. Jackson, will be interested to see -it.” - -Leaning over the case I saw an object, some five inches square, which -consisted of twelve precious stones in a framework of gold, with golden -hooks at two of the corners. The stones were all varying in sort and -colour, but they were of the same size. Their shapes, arrangement, and -gradation of tint made me think of a box of water-colour paints. Each -stone had some hieroglyphic scratched upon its surface. - -“You have heard, Mr. Jackson, of the urim and thummim?” - -I had heard the term, but my idea of its meaning was exceedingly vague. - -“The urim and thummim was a name given to the jewelled plate which lay -upon the breast of the high priest of the Jews. They had a very special -feeling of reverence for it—something of the feeling which an ancient -Roman might have for the Sibylline books in the Capitol. There are, as -you see, twelve magnificent stones, inscribed with mystical characters. -Counting from the left-hand top corner, the stones are carnelian, -peridot, emerald, ruby, lapis lazuli, onyx, sapphire, agate, amethyst, -topaz, beryl, and jasper.” - -I was amazed at the variety and beauty of the stones. - -“Has the breastplate any particular history?” I asked. - -“It is of great age and of immense value,” said Professor Andreas. -“Without being able to make an absolute assertion, we have many reasons -to think that it is possible that it may be the original urim and -thummim of Solomon’s Temple. There is certainly nothing so fine in any -collection in Europe. My friend, Captain Wilson here, is a practical -authority upon precious stones, and he would tell you how pure these -are.” - -Captain Wilson, a man with a dark, hard, incisive face, was standing -beside his _fiancée_ at the other side of the case. - -“Yes,” said he, curtly, “I have never seen finer stones.” - -“And the gold-work is also worthy of attention. The ancients excelled in -——”—he was apparently about to indicate the setting of the stones, when -Captain Wilson interrupted him. - -“You will see a finer example of their gold-work in this candlestick,” -said he, turning to another table, and we all joined him in his -admiration of its embossed stem and delicately ornamented branches. -Altogether it was an interesting and a novel experience to have objects -of such rarity explained by so great an expert; and when, finally, -Professor Andreas finished our inspection by formally handing over the -precious collection to the care of my friend, I could not help pitying -him and envying his successor whose life was to pass in so pleasant a -duty. Within a week, Ward Mortimer was duly installed in his new set of -rooms, and had become the autocrat of the Belmore Street Museum. - -About a fortnight afterwards my friend gave a small dinner to -half-a-dozen bachelor friends to celebrate his promotion. When his -guests were departing he pulled my sleeve and signalled to me that he -wished me to remain. - -“You have only a few hundred yards to go,” said he—I was living in -chambers in the Albany. “You may as well stay and have a quiet cigar -with me. I very much want your advice.” - -I relapsed into an arm-chair and lit one of his excellent Matronas. When -he had returned from seeing the last of his guests out, he drew a letter -from his dress-jacket and sat down opposite to me. - -“This is an anonymous letter which I received this morning,” said he. “I -want to read it to you and to have your advice.” - -“You are very welcome to it for what it is worth.” - -“This is how the note runs: ‘Sir,—I should strongly advise you to keep a -very careful watch over the many valuable things which are committed to -your charge. I do not think that the present system of a single watchman -is sufficient. Be upon your guard, or an irreparable misfortune may -occur.’” - -“Is that all?” - -“Yes, that is all.” - -“Well,” said I, “it is at least obvious that it was written by one of -the limited number of people who are aware that you have only one -watchman at night.” - -Ward Mortimer handed me the note, with a curious smile. “Have you an eye -for handwriting?” said he. “Now, look at this!” He put another letter in -front of me. “Look at the _c_ in ‘congratulate’ and the _c_ in -‘committed.’ Look at the capital _I_. Look at the trick of putting in a -dash instead of a stop!” - -“They are undoubtedly from the same hand—with some attempt at disguise -in the case of this first one.” - -“The second,” said Ward Mortimer, “is the letter of congratulation which -was written to me by Professor Andreas upon my obtaining my -appointment.” - -I stared at him in amazement. Then I turned over the letter in my hand, -and there, sure enough, was “Martin Andreas” signed upon the other side. -There could be no doubt, in the mind of any one who had the slightest -knowledge of the science of graphology, that the Professor had written -an anonymous letter, warning his successor against thieves. It was -inexplicable, but it was certain. - -“Why should he do it?” I asked. - -“Precisely what I should wish to ask you. If he had any such misgivings, -why could he not come and tell me direct?” - -“Will you speak to him about it?” - -“There again I am in doubt. He might choose to deny that he wrote it.” - -“At any rate,” said I, “this warning is meant in a friendly spirit, and -I should certainly act upon it. Are the present precautions enough to -insure you against robbery?” - -“I should have thought so. The public are only admitted from ten till -five, and there is a guardian to every two rooms. He stands at the door -between them, and so commands them both.” - -“But at night?” - -“When the public are gone, we at once put up the great iron shutters, -which are absolutely burglar-proof. The watchman is a capable fellow. He -sits in the lodge, but he walks round every three hours. We keep one -electric light burning in each room all night.” - -“It is difficult to suggest anything more—short of keeping your day -watchers all night.” - -“We could not afford that.” - -“At least, I should communicate with the police, and have a special -constable put on outside in Belmore Street,” said I. “As to the letter, -if the writer wishes to be anonymous, I think he has a right to remain -so. We must trust to the future to show some reason for the curious -course which he has adopted.” - -So we dismissed the subject, but all that night after my return to my -chambers I was puzzling my brain as to what possible motive Professor -Andreas could have for writing an anonymous warning letter to his -successor—for that the writing was his was as certain to me as if I had -seen him actually doing it. He foresaw some danger to the collection. -Was it because he foresaw it that he abandoned his charge of it? But if -so, why should he hesitate to warn Mortimer in his own name? I puzzled -and puzzled until at last I fell into a troubled sleep, which carried me -beyond my usual hour of rising. - -I was aroused in a singular and effective method, for about nine o’clock -my friend Mortimer rushed into my room with an expression of -consternation upon his face. He was usually one of the most tidy men of -my acquaintance, but now his collar was undone at one end, his tie was -flying, and his hat at the back of his head. I read his whole story in -his frantic eyes. - -“The museum has been robbed!” I cried, springing up in bed. - -“I fear so! Those jewels! The jewels of the urim and thummim!” he -gasped, for he was out of breath with running. “I’m going on to the -police-station. Come to the museum as soon as you can, Jackson! -Good-bye!” He rushed distractedly out of the room, and I heard him -clatter down the stairs. - -I was not long in following his directions, but I found when I arrived -that he had already returned with a police inspector, and another -elderly gentleman, who proved to be Mr. Purvis, one of the partners of -Morson and Company, the well-known diamond merchants. As an expert in -stones he was always prepared to advise the police. They were grouped -round the case in which the breastplate of the Jewish priest had been -exposed. The plate had been taken out and laid upon the glass top of the -case, and the three heads were bent over it. - -“It is obvious that it has been tampered with,” said Mortimer. “It -caught my eye the moment that I passed through the room this morning. I -examined it yesterday evening, so that it is certain that this has -happened during the night.” - -It was, as he had said, obvious that some one had been at work upon it. -The settings of the uppermost row of four stones—the carnelian, peridot, -emerald, and ruby-were rough and jagged as if some one had scraped all -round them. The stones were in their places, but the beautiful gold-work -which we had admired only a few days before had been very clumsily -pulled about. - -“It looks to me,” said the police inspector, “as if some one had been -trying to take out the stones.” - -“My fear is,” said Mortimer, “that he not only tried, but succeeded. I -believe these four stones to be skilful imitations which have been put -in the place of the originals.” - -The same suspicion had evidently been in the mind of the expert, for he -had been carefully examining the four stones with the aid of a lens. He -now submitted them to several tests, and finally turned cheerfully to -Mortimer. - -“I congratulate you, sir,” said he, heartily. “I will pledge my -reputation that all four of these stones are genuine, and of a most -unusual degree of purity.” - -The colour began to come back to my poor friend’s frightened face, and -he drew a long breath of relief. - -“Thank God!” he cried. “Then what in the world did the thief want?” - -“Probably he meant to take the stones, but was interrupted.” - -“In that case one would expect him to take them out one at a time, but -the setting of each of these has been loosened, and yet the stones are -all here.” - -“It is certainly most extraordinary,” said the inspector. “I never -remember a case like it. Let us see the watchman.” - -The commissionaire was called—a soldierly, honest-faced man, who seemed -as concerned as Ward Mortimer at the incident. - -“No, sir, I never heard a sound,” he answered, in reply to the questions -of the inspector. “I made my rounds four times, as usual, but I saw -nothing suspicious. I’ve been in my position ten years, but nothing of -the kind has ever occurred before.” - -“No thief could have come through the windows?” - -“Impossible, sir.” - -“Or passed you at the door?” - -“No, sir; I never left my post except when I walked my rounds.” - -“What other openings are there in the museum?” - -“There is the door into Mr. Ward Mortimer’s private rooms.” - -“That is locked at night,” my friend explained, “and in order to reach -it any one from the street would have to open the outside door as well.” - -“Your servants?” - -“Their quarters are entirely separate.” - -“Well, well,” said the inspector, “this is certainly very obscure. -However, there has been no harm done, according to Mr. Purvis.” - -“I will swear that those stones are genuine.” - -“So that the case appears to be merely one of malicious damage. But none -the less, I should be very glad to go carefully round the premises, and -to see if we can find any trace to show us who your visitor may have -been.” - -His investigation, which lasted all the morning was careful and -intelligent, but it led in the end to nothing. He pointed out to us that -there were two possible entrances to the museum which we had not -considered. The one was from the cellars by a trap-door opening in the -passage. The other through a skylight from the lumber-room, overlooking -that very chamber to which the intruder had penetrated. As neither the -cellar nor the lumber-room could be entered unless the thief was already -within the locked doors, the matter was not of any practical importance, -and the dust of cellar and attic assured us that no one had used either -one or the other. Finally, we ended as we began, without the slightest -clue as to how, why, or by whom the setting of these four jewels had -been tampered with. - -There remained one course for Mortimer to take, and he took it. Leaving -the police to continue their fruitless researches, he asked me to -accompany him that afternoon in a visit to Professor Andreas. He took -with him the two letters, and it was his intention to openly tax his -predecessor with having written the anonymous warning, and to ask him to -explain the fact that he should have anticipated so exactly that which -had actually occurred. The Professor was living in a small villa in -Upper Norwood, but we were informed by the servant that he was away from -home. Seeing our disappointment, she asked us if we should like to see -Miss Andreas, and showed us into the modest drawing-room. - -I have mentioned incidentally that the Professor’s daughter was a very -beautiful girl. She was a blonde, tall and graceful, with a skin of that -delicate tint which the French call “mat,” the colour of old ivory or of -the lighter petals of the sulphur rose. I was shocked, however, as she -entered the room to see how much she had changed in the last fortnight. -Her young face was haggard and her bright eyes heavy with trouble. - -“Father has gone to Scotland,” she said. “He seems to be tired, and has -had a good deal to worry him. He only left us yesterday.” - -“You look a little tired yourself, Miss Andreas,” said my friend. - -“I have been so anxious about father.” - -“Can you give me his Scotch address?” - -“Yes, he is with his brother, the Rev. David Andreas, 1, Arran Villas, -Ardrossan.” - -Ward Mortimer made a note of the address, and we left without saying -anything as to the object of our visit. We found ourselves in Belmore -Street in the evening in exactly the same position in which we had been -in the morning. Our only clue was the Professor’s letter, and my friend -had made up his mind to start for Ardrossan next day, and to get to the -bottom of the anonymous letter, when a new development came to alter our -plans. - -Very early on the following morning I was aroused from my sleep by a tap -upon my bedroom door. It was a messenger with a note from Mortimer. - -“Do come round,” it said; “the matter is becoming more and more -extraordinary.” - -When I obeyed his summons I found him pacing excitedly up and down the -central room, while the old soldier who guarded the premises stood with -military stiffness in a corner. - -“My dear Jackson,” he cried, “I am so delighted that you have come, for -this is a most inexplicable business.” - -“What has happened, then?” - -He waved his hand towards the case which contained the breastplate. - -“Look at it,” said he. - -I did so, and could not restrain a cry of surprise. The setting of the -middle row of precious stones had been profaned in the same manner as -the upper ones. Of the twelve jewels, eight had been now tampered with -in this singular fashion. The setting of the lower four was neat and -smooth. The others jagged and irregular. - -“Have the stones been altered?” I asked. - -“No, I am certain that these upper four are the same which the expert -pronounced to be genuine, for I observed yesterday that little -discoloration on the edge of the emerald. Since they have not extracted -the upper stones, there is no reason to think the lower have been -transposed. You say that you heard nothing, Simpson?” - -“No, sir,” the commissionaire answered. “But when I made my round after -daylight I had a special look at these stones, and I saw at once that -some one had been meddling with them. Then I called you, sir, and told -you. I was backwards and forwards all the night, and I never saw a soul -or heard a sound.” - -“Come up and have some breakfast with me,” said Mortimer, and he took me -into his own chambers.—“Now, what _do_ you think of this, Jackson?” he -asked. - -“It is the most objectless, futile, idiotic business that ever I heard -of. It can only be the work of a monomaniac.” - -“Can you put forward any theory?” - -A curious idea came into my head. “This object is a Jewish relic of -great antiquity and sanctity,” said I. “How about the anti-Semitic -movement? Could one conceive that a fanatic of that way of thinking -might desecrate——” - -“No, no, no!” cried Mortimer. “That will never do! Such a man might push -his lunacy to the length of destroying a Jewish relic, but why on earth -should he nibble round every stone so carefully that he can only do four -stones in a night? We must have a better solution than that, and we must -find it for ourselves, for I do not think that our inspector is likely -to help us. First of all, what do you think of Simpson, the porter?” - -“Have you any reason to suspect him?” - -“Only that he is the one person on the premises.” - -“But why should he indulge in such wanton destruction? Nothing has been -taken away. He has no motive.” - -“Mania?” - -“No, I will swear to his sanity.” - -“Have you any other theory?” - -“Well, yourself, for example. You are not a somnambulist, by any -chance?” - -“Nothing of the sort, I assure you.” - -“Then I give it up.” - -“But I don’t—and I have a plan by which we will make it all clear.” - -“To visit Professor Andreas?” - -“No, we shall find our solution nearer than Scotland, I will tell you -what we shall do. You know that skylight which overlooks the central -hall? We will leave the electric lights in the hall, and we will keep -watch in the lumber-room, you and I, and solve the mystery for -ourselves. If our mysterious visitor is doing four stones at a time, he -has four still to do, and there is every reason to think that he will -return to-night and complete the job.” - -“Excellent!” I cried. - -“We will keep our own secret, and say nothing either to the police or to -Simpson. Will you join me?” - -“With the utmost pleasure,” said I; and so it was agreed. - -It was ten o’clock that night when I returned to the Belmore Street -Museum. Mortimer was, as I could see, in a state of suppressed nervous -excitement, but it was still too early to begin our vigil, so we -remained for an hour or so in his chambers, discussing all the -possibilities of the singular business which we had met to solve. At -last the roaring stream of hansom cabs and the rush of hurrying feet -became lower and more intermittent as the pleasure-seekers passed on -their way to their stations or their homes. It was nearly twelve when -Mortimer led the way to the lumber-room which overlooked the central -hall of the museum. - -He had visited it during the day, and had spread some sacking so that we -could lie at our ease, and look straight down into the museum. The -skylight was of unfrosted glass, but was so covered with dust that it -would be impossible for any one looking up from below to detect that he -was overlooked. We cleared a small piece at each corner, which gave us a -complete view of the room beneath us. In the cold white light of the -electric lamps everything stood out hard and clear, and I could see the -smallest detail of the contents of the various cases. - -Such a vigil is an excellent lesson, since one has no choice but to look -hard at those objects which we usually pass with such half-hearted -interest. Through my little peep-hole I employed the hours in studying -every specimen, from the huge mummy-case which leaned against the wall -to those very jewels which had brought us there, gleaming and sparkling -in their glass case immediately beneath us. There was much precious -gold-work and many valuable stones scattered through the numerous cases, -but those wonderful twelve which made up the urim and thummim glowed and -burned with a radiance which far eclipsed the others. I studied in turn -the tomb-pictures of Sicara, the friezes from Karnak, the statues of -Memphis, and the inscriptions of Thebes, but my eyes would always come -back to that wonderful Jewish relic, and my mind to the singular mystery -which surrounded it. I was lost in the thought of it when my companion -suddenly drew his breath sharply in, and seized my arm in a convulsive -grip. At the same instant I saw what it was which had excited him. - -I have said that against the wall—on the right-hand side of the doorway -(the right-hand side as we looked at it, but the left as one -entered)—there stood a large mummy-case. To our unutterable amazement it -was slowly opening. Gradually, gradually the lid was swinging back, and -the black slit which marked the opening was becoming wider and wider. So -gently and carefully was it done that the movement was almost -imperceptible. Then, as we breathlessly watched it, a white thin hand -appeared at the opening, pushing back the painted lid, then another -hand, and finally a face—a face which was familiar to us both, that of -Professor Andreas. Stealthily he slunk out of the mummy-case, like a fox -stealing from its burrow, his head turning incessantly to left and to -right, stepping, then pausing, then stepping again, the very image of -craft and of caution. Once some sound in the street struck him -motionless, and he stood listening, with his ear turned, ready to dart -back to the shelter behind him. Then he crept onwards again upon tiptoe, -very, very softly and slowly, until he had reached the case in the -centre of the room. There he took a bunch of keys from his pocket, -unlocked the case, took out the Jewish breastplate, and, laying it upon -the glass in front of him, began to work upon it with some sort of -small, glistening tool. He was so directly underneath us that his bent -head covered his work, but we could guess from the movement of his hand -that he was engaged in finishing the strange disfigurement which he had -begun. - -I could realize from the heavy breathing of my companion, and the -twitchings of the hand which still clutched my wrist, the furious -indignation which filled his heart as he saw this vandalism in the -quarter of all others where he could least have expected it. He, the -very man who a fortnight before had reverently bent over this unique -relic, and who had impressed its antiquity and its sanctity upon us, was -now engaged in this outrageous profanation. It was impossible, -unthinkable—and yet there, in the white glare of the electric light -beneath us, was that dark figure with the bent, grey head, and the -twitching elbow. What inhuman hypocrisy, what hateful depth of malice -against his successor must underlie these sinister nocturnal labours. It -was painful to think of and dreadful to watch. Even I, who had none of -the acute feelings of a virtuoso, could not bear to look on and see this -deliberate mutilation of so ancient a relic. It was a relief to me when -my companion tugged at my sleeve as a signal that I was to follow him as -he softly crept out of the room. It was not until we were within his own -quarters that he opened his lips, and then I saw by his agitated face -how deep was his consternation. - -“The abominable Goth!” he cried. “Could you have believed it?” - -“It is amazing.” - -“He is a villain or a lunatic—one or the other. We shall very soon see -which. Come with me, Jackson, and we shall get to the bottom of this -black business.” - -A door opened out of the passage which was the private entrance from his -rooms into the museum. This he opened softly with his key, having first -kicked off his shoes, an example which I followed. We crept together -through room after room, until the large hall lay before us, with that -dark figure still stooping and working at the central case. With an -advance as cautious as his own we closed in upon him, but softly as we -went we could not take him entirely unawares. We were still a dozen -yards from him when he looked round with a start, and uttering a husky -cry of terror, ran frantically down the museum. - -“Simpson! Simpson!” roared Mortimer, and far away down the vista of -electric lighted doors we saw the stiff figure of the old soldier -suddenly appear. Professor Andreas saw him also, and stopped running, -with a gesture of despair. At the same instant we each laid a hand upon -his shoulder. - -“Yes, yes, gentlemen,” he panted, “I will come with you. To your room, -Mr. Ward Mortimer, if you please! I feel that I owe you an explanation.” - -My companion’s indignation was so great that I could see that he dared -not trust himself to reply. We walked on each side of the old Professor, -the astonished commissionaire bringing up the rear. When we reached the -violated case, Mortimer stopped and examined the breastplate. Already -one of the stones of the lower row had had its setting turned back in -the same manner as the others. My friend held it up and glanced -furiously at his prisoner. - -“How could you!” he cried. “How could you!” - -“It is horrible—horrible!” said the Professor. “I don’t wonder at your -feelings. Take me to your room.” - -“But this shall not be left exposed!” cried Mortimer. He picked the -breastplate up and carried it tenderly in his hand, while I walked -beside the Professor, like a policeman with a malefactor. We passed into -Mortimer’s chambers, leaving the amazed old soldier to understand -matters as best he could. The Professor sat down in Mortimer’s -arm-chair, and turned so ghastly a colour that for the instant, all our -resentment was changed to concern. A stiff glass of brandy brought the -life back to him once more. - -“There, I am better now!” said he. “These last few days have been too -much for me. I am convinced that I could not stand it any longer. It is -a nightmare—a horrible nightmare—that I should be arrested as a burglar -in what has been for so long my own museum. And yet I cannot blame you. -You could not have done otherwise. My hope always was that I should get -it all over before I was detected. This would have been my last night’s -work.” - -“How did you get in?” asked Mortimer. - -“By taking a very great liberty with your private door. But the object -justified it. The object justified everything. You will not be angry -when you know everything—at least, you will not be angry with me. I had -a key to your side door and also to the museum door. I did not give them -up when I left. And so you see it was not difficult for me to let myself -into the museum. I used to come in early before the crowd had cleared -from the street. Then I hid myself in the mummy-case, and took refuge -there whenever Simpson came round. I could always hear him coming. I -used to leave in the same way as I came.” - -“You ran a risk.” - -“I had to.” - -“But why? What on earth was your object—_you_ to do a thing like that?” -Mortimer pointed reproachfully at the plate which lay before him on the -table. - -“I could devise no other means. I thought and thought, but there was no -alternative except a hideous public scandal, and a private sorrow which -would have clouded our lives. I acted for the best, incredible as it may -seem to you, and I only ask your attention to enable me to prove it.” - -“I will hear what you have to say before I take any further steps,” said -Mortimer, grimly. - -“I am determined to hold back nothing, and to take you both completely -into my confidence. I will leave it to your own generosity how far you -will use the facts with which I supply you.” - -“We have the essential facts already.” - -“And yet you understand nothing. Let me go back to what passed a few -weeks ago, and I will make it all clear to you. Believe me that what I -say is the absolute and exact truth. - -“You have met the person who calls himself Captain Wilson. I say ‘calls -himself’ because I have reason now to believe that it is not his correct -name. It would take me too long if I were to describe all the means by -which he obtained an introduction to me and ingratiated himself into my -friendship and the affection of my daughter. He brought letters from -foreign colleagues which compelled me to show him some attention. And -then, by his own attainments, which are considerable, he succeeded in -making himself a very welcome visitor at my rooms. When I learned that -my daughter’s affections had been gained by him, I may have thought it -premature, but I certainly was not surprised, for he had a charm of -manner and of conversation which would have made him conspicuous in any -society. - -“He was much interested in Oriental antiquities, and his knowledge of -the subject justified his interest. Often when he spent the evening with -us he would ask permission to go down into the museum and have an -opportunity of privately inspecting the various specimens. You can -imagine that I, as an enthusiast, was in sympathy with such a request, -and that I felt no surprise at the constancy of his visits. After his -actual engagement to Elise, there was hardly an evening which he did not -pass with us, and an hour or two were generally devoted to the museum. -He had the free run of the place, and when I have been away for the -evening I had no objection to his doing whatever he wished here. This -state of things was only terminated by the fact of my resignation of my -official duties and my retirement to Norwood, where I hoped to have the -leisure to write a considerable work which I had planned. - -“It was immediately after this—within a week or so—that I first realized -the true nature and character of the man whom I had so imprudently -introduced into my family. The discovery came to me through letters from -my friends abroad, which showed me that his introductions to me had been -forgeries. Aghast at the revelation, I asked myself what motive this man -could originally have had in practising this elaborate deception upon -me. I was too poor a man for any fortune-hunter to have marked me down. -Why, then, had he come? I remembered that some of the most precious gems -in Europe had been under my charge, and I remembered also the ingenious -excuses by which this man had made himself familiar with the cases in -which they were kept. He was a rascal who was planning some gigantic -robbery. How could I, without striking my own daughter, who was -infatuated about him, prevent him from carrying out any plan which he -might have formed? My device was a clumsy one, and yet I could think of -nothing more effective. If I had written a letter under my own name, you -would naturally have turned to me for details which I did not wish to -give. I resorted to an anonymous letter, begging you to be upon your -guard. - -“I may tell you that my change from Belmore Street to Norwood had not -affected the visits of this man, who had, I believe, a real and -overpowering affection for my daughter. As to her, I could not have -believed that any woman could be so completely under the influence of a -man as she was. His stronger nature seemed to entirely dominate her. I -had not realized how far this was the case, or the extent of the -confidence which existed between them, until that very evening when his -true character for the first time was made clear to me. I had given -orders that when he called he should be shown into my study instead of -to the drawing-room. There I told him bluntly that I knew all about him, -that I had taken steps to defeat his designs, and that neither I nor my -daughter desired ever to see him again. I added that I thanked God that -I had found him out before he had time to harm those precious objects -which it had been the work of my lifetime to protect. - -“He was certainly a man of iron nerve. He took my remarks without a sign -either of surprise or of defiance, but listened gravely and attentively -until I had finished. Then he walked across the room without a word and -struck the bell. - -“‘Ask Miss Andreas to be so kind as to step this way,’ said he to the -servant. - -“My daughter entered, and the man closed the door behind her. Then he -took her hand in his. - -“‘Elise,’ said he, ‘your father has just discovered that I am a villain. -He knows now what you knew before.’ - -“She stood in silence, listening. - -“‘He says that we are to part for ever,’ said he. - -“She did not withdraw her hand. - -“‘Will you be true to me, or will you remove the last good influence -which is ever likely to come into my life?’ - -“‘John,’ she cried, passionately, ‘I will never abandon you! Never, -never, not if the whole world were against you.’ - -“In vain I argued and pleaded with her. It was absolutely useless. Her -whole life was bound up in this man before me. My daughter, gentlemen, -is all that I have left to love, and it filled me with agony when I saw -how powerless I was to save her from her ruin. My helplessness seemed to -touch this man who was the cause of my trouble. - -“‘It may not be as bad as you think, sir,’ said he, in his quiet, -inflexible way. ‘I love Elise with a love which is strong enough to -rescue even one who has such a record as I have. It was but yesterday -that I promised her that never again in my whole life would I do a thing -of which she should be ashamed. I have made up my mind to it, and never -yet did I make up my mind to a thing which I did not do.’ - -“He spoke with an air which carried conviction with it. As he concluded -he put his hand into his pocket and he drew out a small cardboard box. - -“‘I am about to give you a proof of my determination,’ said he. ‘This, -Elise, shall be the first-fruits of your redeeming influence over me. -You are right, sir, in thinking that I had designs upon the jewels in -your possession. Such ventures have had a charm for me, which depended -as much upon the risk run as upon the value of the prize. Those famous -and antique stones of the Jewish priest were a challenge to my daring -and my ingenuity. I determined to get them.’ - -“‘I guessed as much.’ - -“‘There was only one thing that you did not guess.’ - -“‘And what is that?’ - -“‘That I got them. They are in this box.’ - -“He opened the box, and tilted out the contents upon the corner of my -desk. My hair rose and my flesh grew cold as I looked. There were twelve -magnificent square stones engraved with mystical characters. There could -be no doubt that they were the jewels of the urim and thummim. - -“‘Good God!’ I cried. ‘How have you escaped discovery?’ - -“‘By the substitution of twelve others, made especially to my order, in -which the originals are so carefully imitated that I defy the eye to -detect the difference.’ - -“‘Then the present stones are false?’ I cried. - -“‘They have been for some weeks.’ - -“We all stood in silence, my daughter white with emotion, but still -holding this man by the hand. - -“‘You see what I am capable of, Elise,’ said he. - -“‘I see that you are capable of repentance and restitution,’ she -answered. - -“‘Yes, thanks to your influence! I leave the stones in your hands, sir. -Do what you like about it. But remember that whatever you do against me, -is done against the future husband of your only daughter. You will hear -from me soon again, Elise. It is the last time that I will ever cause -pain to your tender heart,’ and with these words he left both the room -and the house. - -“My position was a dreadful one. Here I was with these precious relics -in my possession, and how could I return them without a scandal and an -exposure? I knew the depth of my daughter’s nature too well to suppose -that I would ever be able to detach her from this man now that she had -entirely given him her heart. I was not even sure how far it was right -to detach her if she had such an ameliorating influence over him. How -could I expose him without injuring her—and how far was I justified in -exposing him when he had voluntarily put himself into my power? I -thought and thought, until at last I formed a resolution which may seem -to you to be a foolish one, and yet, if I had to do it again, I believe -it would be the best course open to me. - -“My idea was to return the stones without any one being the wiser. With -my keys I could get into the museum at any time, and I was confident -that I could avoid Simpson, whose hours and methods were familiar to me. -I determined to take no one into my confidence—not even my daughter—whom -I told that I was about to visit my brother in Scotland. I wanted a free -hand for a few nights, without inquiry as to my comings and goings. To -this end I took a room in Harding Street that very night, with an -intimation that I was a Pressman, and that I should keep very late -hours. - -“That night I made my way into the museum, and I replaced four of the -stones. It was hard work, and took me all night When Simpson came round -I always heard his footsteps, and concealed myself in the mummy-case. I -had some knowledge of gold-work, but was far less skilful than the thief -had been. He had replaced the setting so exactly that I defy any one to -see the difference. My work was rude and clumsy. However, I hoped that -the plate might not be carefully examined, or the roughness of the -setting observed, until my task was done. Next night I replaced four -more stones. And to-night I should have finished my task had it not been -for the unfortunate circumstance which has caused me to reveal so much -which I should have wished to keep concealed. I appeal to you, -gentlemen, to your sense of honour and of compassion, whether what I -have told you should go any farther or not. My own happiness, my -daughter’s future, the hopes of this man’s regeneration, all depend upon -your decision.” - -“Which is,” said my friend, “that all is well that ends well, and that -the whole matter ends here and at once. To-morrow the loose settings -shall be tightened by an expert goldsmith, and so passes the greatest -danger to which, since the destruction of the Temple, the urim and -thummim have been exposed. Here is my hand, Professor Andreas, and I can -only hope that under such difficult circumstances I should have carried -myself as unselfishly and as well.” - -Just one footnote to this narrative. Within a month Elise Andreas was -married to a man whose name, had I the indiscretion to mention it, would -appeal to my readers as one who is now widely and deservedly honoured. -But if the truth were known, that honour is due not to him but to the -gentle girl who plucked him back when he had gone so far down that dark -road along which few return. - - - - - THE LOST SPECIAL - - -The confession of Herbert de Lernac, now lying under sentence of death -at Marseilles, has thrown a light upon one of the most inexplicable -crimes of the century—an incident which is, I believe, absolutely -unprecedented in the criminal annals of any country. Although there is a -reluctance to discuss the matter in official circles, and little -information has been given to the Press, there are still indications -that the statement of this arch-criminal is corroborated by the facts, -and that we have at last found a solution for a most astounding -business. As the matter is eight years old, and as its importance was -somewhat obscured by a political crisis which was engaging the public -attention at the time, it may be as well to state the facts as far as we -have been able to ascertain them. They are collated from the Liverpool -papers of that date, from the proceedings at the inquest upon John -Slater, the engine-driver, and from the records of the London and West -Coast Railway Company, which have been courteously put at my disposal. -Briefly, they are as follows. - -On the 3rd of June, 1890, a gentleman, who gave his name as Monsieur -Louis Caratal, desired an interview with Mr. James Bland, the -superintendent of the London and West Coast Central Station in -Liverpool. He was a small man, middle-aged and dark, with a stoop which -was so marked that it suggested some deformity of the spine. He was -accompanied by a friend, a man of imposing physique, whose deferential -manner and constant attention showed that his position was one of -dependence. This friend or companion, whose name did not transpire, was -certainly a foreigner, and probably, from his swarthy complexion, either -a Spaniard or a South American. One peculiarity was observed in him. He -carried in his left hand a small black leather dispatch-box, and it was -noticed by a sharp-eyed clerk in the Central office that this box was -fastened to his wrist by a strap. No importance was attached to the fact -at the time, but subsequent events endowed it with some significance. -Monsieur Caratal was shown up to Mr. Bland’s office, while his companion -remained outside. - -Monsieur Caratal’s business was quickly dispatched. He had arrived that -afternoon from Central America. Affairs of the utmost importance -demanded that he should be in Paris without the loss of an unnecessary -hour. He had missed the London express. A special must be provided. -Money was of no importance. Time was everything. If the company would -speed him on his way, they might make their own terms. - -Mr. Bland struck the electric bell, summoned Mr. Potter Hood, the -traffic manager, and had the matter arranged in five minutes. The train -would start in three-quarters of an hour. It would take that time to -insure that the line should be clear. The powerful engine called -Rochdale (No. 247 on the company’s register) was attached to two -carriages, with a guard’s van behind. The first carriage was solely for -the purpose of decreasing the inconvenience arising from the -oscillation. The second was divided, as usual, into four compartments, a -first-class, a first-class smoking, a second-class, and a second-class -smoking. The first compartment, which was nearest to the engine, was the -one allotted to the travellers. The other three were empty. The guard of -the special train was James McPherson, who had been some years in the -service of the company. The stoker, William Smith, was a new hand. - -Monsieur Caratal, upon leaving the superintendent’s office, rejoined his -companion, and both of them manifested extreme impatience to be off. -Having paid the money asked, which amounted to fifty pounds five -shillings, at the usual special rate of five shillings a mile, they -demanded to be shown the carriage, and at once took their seats in it, -although they were assured that the better part of an hour must elapse -before the line could be cleared. In the meantime a singular coincidence -had occurred in the office which Monsieur Caratal had just quitted. - -A request for a special is not a very uncommon circumstance in a rich -commercial centre, but that two should be required upon the same -afternoon was most unusual. It so happened, however, that Mr. Bland had -hardly dismissed the first traveller before a second entered with a -similar request. This was a Mr. Horace Moore, a gentlemanly man of -military appearance, who alleged that the sudden serious illness of his -wife in London made it absolutely imperative that he should not lose an -instant in starting upon the journey. His distress and anxiety were so -evident that Mr. Bland did all that was possible to meet his wishes. A -second special was out of the question, as the ordinary local service -was already somewhat deranged by the first. There was the alternative, -however, that Mr. Moore should share the expense of Monsieur Caratal’s -train, and should travel in the other empty first-class compartment, if -Monsieur Caratal objected to having him in the one which he occupied. It -was difficult to see any objection to such an arrangement, and yet -Monsieur Caratal, upon the suggestion being made to him by Mr. Potter -Hood, absolutely refused to consider it for an instant. The train was -his, he said, and he would insist upon the exclusive use of it. All -argument failed to overcome his ungracious objections, and finally the -plan had to be abandoned. Mr. Horace Moore left the station in great -distress, after learning that his only course was to take the ordinary -slow train which leaves Liverpool at six o’clock. At four thirty-one -exactly by the station clock the special train, containing the crippled -Monsieur Caratal and his gigantic companion, steamed out of the -Liverpool station. The line was at that time clear, and there should -have been no stoppage before Manchester. - -The trains of the London and West Coast Railway run over the lines of -another company as far as this town, which should have been reached by -the special rather before six o’clock. At a quarter after six -considerable surprise and some consternation were caused amongst the -officials at Liverpool by the receipt of a telegram from Manchester to -say that it had not yet arrived. An inquiry directed to St. Helens, -which is a third of the way between the two cities, elicited the -following reply:— - -“To James Bland, Superintendent, Central L. & W. C., Liverpool.—Special -passed here at 4.52, well up to time.—Dowser, St. Helens.” - -This telegram was received at 6.40. At 6.50 a second message was -received from Manchester:— - -“No sign of special as advised by you.” - -And then ten minutes later a third, more bewildering:— - -“Presume some mistake as to proposed running of special. Local train -from St. Helens timed to follow it has just arrived and has seen nothing -of it. Kindly wire advices.—Manchester.” - -The matter was assuming a most amazing aspect, although in some respects -the last telegram was a relief to the authorities at Liverpool. If an -accident had occurred to the special, it seemed hardly possible that the -local train could have passed down the same line without observing it. -And yet, what was the alternative? Where could the train be? Had it -possibly been side-tracked for some reason in order to allow the slower -train to go past? Such an explanation was possible if some small repair -had to be effected. A telegram was dispatched to each of the stations -between St. Helens and Manchester, and the superintendent and traffic -manager waited in the utmost suspense at the instrument for the series -of replies which would enable them to say for certain what had become of -the missing train. The answers came back in the order of questions, -which was the order of the stations beginning at the St. Helens end:— - -“Special passed here five o’clock.—Collins Green.” - -“Special passed here six past five.—Earlestown.” - -“Special passed here 5.10.—Newton.” - -“Special passed here 5.20.—Kenyon Junction.” - -“No special train has passed here.—Barton Moss.” - -The two officials stared at each other in amazement. - -“This is unique in my thirty years of experience,” said Mr. Bland. - -“Absolutely unprecedented and inexplicable, sir. The special has gone -wrong between Kenyon Junction and Barton Moss.” - -“And yet there is no siding, so far as my memory serves me, between the -two stations. The special must have run off the metals.” - -“But how could the four-fifty parliamentary pass over the same line -without observing it?” - -“There’s no alternative, Mr. Hood. It _must_ be so. Possibly the local -train may have observed something which may throw some light upon the -matter. We will wire to Manchester for more information, and to Kenyon -Junction with instructions that the line be examined instantly as far as -Barton Moss.” - -The answer from Manchester came within a few minutes. - -“No news of missing special. Driver and guard of slow train positive no -accident between Kenyon Junction and Barton Moss. Line quite clear, and -no sign of anything unusual.—Manchester.” - -“That driver and guard will have to go,” said Mr. Bland, grimly. “There -has been a wreck and they have missed it. The special has obviously run -off the metals without disturbing the line—how it could have done so -passes my comprehension—but so it must be, and we shall have a wire from -Kenyon or Barton Moss presently to say that they have found her at the -bottom of an embankment.” - -But Mr. Bland’s prophecy was not destined to be fulfilled. Half an hour -passed, and then there arrived the following message from the -station-master of Kenyon Junction:— - -“There are no traces of the missing special. It is quite certain that -she passed here, and that she did not arrive at Barton Moss. We have -detached engine from goods train, and I have myself ridden down the -line, but all is clear, and there is no sign of any accident.” - -Mr. Bland tore his hair in his perplexity. - -“This is rank lunacy, Hood!” he cried. “Does a train vanish into thin -air in England in broad daylight? The thing is preposterous. An engine, -a tender, two carriages, a van, five human beings—and all lost on a -straight line of railway! Unless we get something positive within the -next hour I’ll take Inspector Collins, and go down myself.” - -And then at last something positive did occur. It took the shape of -another telegram from Kenyon Junction. - -“Regret to report that the dead body of John Slater, driver of the -special train, has just been found among the gorse bushes at a point two -and a quarter miles from the Junction. Had fallen from his engine, -pitched down the embankment, and rolled among bushes. Injuries to his -head, from the fall, appear to be cause of death. Ground has now been -carefully examined, and there is no trace of the missing train.” - -The country was, as has already been stated, in the throes of a -political crisis, and the attention of the public was further distracted -by the important and sensational developments in Paris, where a huge -scandal threatened to destroy the Government and to wreck the -reputations of many of the leading men in France. The papers were full -of these events, and the singular disappearance of the special train -attracted less attention than would have been the case in more peaceful -times. The grotesque nature of the event helped to detract from its -importance, for the papers were disinclined to believe the facts as -reported to them. More than one of the London journals treated the -matter as an ingenious hoax, until the coroner’s inquest upon the -unfortunate driver (an inquest which elicited nothing of importance) -convinced them of the tragedy of the incident. - -Mr. Bland, accompanied by Inspector Collins, the senior detective -officer in the service of the company, went down to Kenyon Junction the -same evening, and their research lasted throughout the following day, -but was attended with purely negative results. Not only was no trace -found of the missing train, but no conjecture could be put forward which -could possibly explain the facts. At the same time, Inspector Collins’s -official report (which lies before me as I write) served to show that -the possibilities were more numerous than might have been expected. - -“In the stretch of railway between these two points,” said he, “the -country is dotted with ironworks and collieries. Of these, some are -being worked and some have been abandoned. There are no fewer than -twelve which have small gauge lines which run trolly-cars down to the -main line. These can, of course, be disregarded. Besides these, however, -there are seven which have or have had, proper lines running down and -connecting with points to the main line, so as to convey their produce -from the mouth of the mine to the great centres of distribution. In -every case these lines are only a few miles in length. Out of the seven, -four belong to collieries which are worked out, or at least to shafts -which are no longer used. These are the Redgauntlet, Hero, Slough of -Despond, and Heartsease mines, the latter having ten years ago been one -of the principal mines in Lancashire. These four side lines may be -eliminated from our inquiry, for, to prevent possible accidents, the -rails nearest to the main line have been taken up, and there is no -longer any connection. There remain three other side lines leading— - - (_a_) To the Carnstock Iron Works; - - (_b_) To the Big Ben Colliery; - - (_c_) To the Perseverance Colliery. - -“Of these the Big Ben line is not more than a quarter of a mile long, -and ends at a dead wall of coal waiting removal from the mouth of the -mine. Nothing had been seen or heard there of any special. The Carnstock -Iron Works line was blocked all day upon the 3rd of June by sixteen -truckloads of hematite. It is a single line, and nothing could have -passed. As to the Perseverance line, it is a large double line, which -does a considerable traffic, for the output of the mine is very large. -On the 3rd of June this traffic proceeded as usual; hundreds of men, -including a gang of railway platelayers, were working along the two -miles and a quarter which constitute the total length of the line, and -it is inconceivable that an unexpected train could have come down there -without attracting universal attention. It may be remarked in conclusion -that this branch line is nearer to St. Helens than the point at which -the engine-driver was discovered, so that we have every reason to -believe that the train was past that point before misfortune overtook -her. - -“As to John Slater, there is no clue to be gathered from his appearance -or injuries. We can only say that, so far as we can see, he met his end -by falling off his engine, though why he fell, or what became of the -engine after his fall, is a question upon which I do not feel qualified -to offer an opinion.” In conclusion, the inspector offered his -resignation to the Board, being much nettled by an accusation of -incompetence in the London papers. - -A month elapsed, during which both the police and the company prosecuted -their inquiries without the slightest success. A reward was offered and -a pardon promised in case of crime, but they were both unclaimed. Every -day the public opened their papers with the conviction that so grotesque -a mystery would at last be solved, but week after week passed by, and a -solution remained as far off as ever. In broad daylight, upon a June -afternoon in the most thickly inhabited portion of England, a train with -its occupants had disappeared as completely as if some master of subtle -chemistry had volatilized it into gas. Indeed, among the various -conjectures which were put forward in the public Press there were some -which seriously asserted that supernatural, or, at least, preternatural, -agencies had been at work, and that the deformed Monsieur Caratal was -probably a person who was better known under a less polite name. Others -fixed upon his swarthy companion as being the author of the mischief, -but what it was exactly which he had done could never be clearly -formulated in words. - -Amongst the many suggestions put forward by various newspapers or -private individuals, there were one or two which were feasible enough to -attract the attention of the public. One which appeared in the _Times_, -over the signature of an amateur reasoner of some celebrity at that -date, attempted to deal with the matter in a critical and -semi-scientific manner. An extract must suffice, although the curious -can see the whole letter in the issue of the 3rd of July. - -“It is one of the elementary principles of practical reasoning,” he -remarked, “that when the impossible has been eliminated the residuum, -_however improbable_, must contain the truth. It is certain that the -train left Kenyon Junction. It is certain that it did not reach Barton -Moss. It is in the highest degree unlikely, but still possible, that it -may have taken one of the seven available side lines. It is obviously -impossible for a train to run where there are no rails, and, therefore, -we may reduce our improbables to the three open lines, namely, the -Carnstock Iron Works, the Big Ben, and the Perseverance. Is there a -secret society of colliers, an English _camorra_, which is capable of -destroying both train and passengers? It is improbable, but it is not -impossible. I confess that I am unable to suggest any other solution. I -should certainly advise the company to direct all their energies towards -the observation of those three lines, and of the workmen at the end of -them. A careful supervision of the pawnbrokers’ shops of the district -might possibly bring some suggestive facts to light.” - -The suggestion coming from a recognized authority upon such matters -created considerable interest, and a fierce opposition from those who -considered such a statement to be a preposterous libel upon an honest -and deserving set of men. The only answer to this criticism was a -challenge to the objectors to lay any more feasible explanation before -the public. In reply to this two others were forthcoming (_Times_, July -7th and 9th). The first suggested that the train might have run off the -metals and be lying submerged in the Lancashire and Staffordshire Canal, -which runs parallel to the railway for some hundreds of yards. This -suggestion was thrown out of court by the published depth of the canal, -which was entirely insufficient to conceal so large an object. The -second correspondent wrote calling attention to the bag which appeared -to be the sole luggage which the travellers had brought with them, and -suggesting that some novel explosive of immense and pulverizing power -might have been concealed in it. The obvious absurdity, however, of -supposing that the whole train might be blown to dust while the metals -remained uninjured reduced any such explanation to a farce. The -investigation had drifted into this hopeless position when a new and -most unexpected incident occurred. - -This was nothing less than the receipt by Mrs. McPherson of a letter -from her husband, James McPherson, who had been the guard of the missing -train. The letter, which was dated July 5th, 1890, was posted from New -York, and came to hand upon July 14th. Some doubts were expressed as to -its genuine character, but Mrs. McPherson was positive as to the -writing, and the fact that it contained a remittance of a hundred -dollars in five-dollar notes was enough in itself to discount the idea -of a hoax. No address was given in the letter, which ran in this way:— - - “MY DEAR WIFE,— - - “I have been thinking a great deal, and I find it very hard to - give you up. The same with Lizzie. I try to fight against it, but - it will always come back to me. I send you some money which will - change into twenty English pounds. This should be enough to bring - both Lizzie and you across the Atlantic, and you will find the - Hamburg boats which stop at Southampton very good boats, and - cheaper than Liverpool. If you could come here and stop at the - Johnston House I would try and send you word how to meet, but - things are very difficult with me at present, and I am not very - happy, finding it hard to give you both up. So no more at present, - from your loving husband, - - “JAMES MCPHERSON.” - -For a time it was confidently anticipated that this letter would lead to -the clearing up of the whole matter, the more so as it was ascertained -that a passenger who bore a close resemblance to the missing guard had -travelled from Southampton under the name of Summers in the Hamburg and -New York liner _Vistula_, which started upon the 7th of June. Mrs. -McPherson and her sister Lizzie Dolton went across to New York as -directed, and stayed for three weeks at the Johnston House, without -hearing anything from the missing man. It is probable that some -injudicious comments in the Press may have warned him that the police -were using them as a bait. However this may be, it is certain that he -neither wrote nor came, and the women were eventually compelled to -return to Liverpool. - -And so the matter stood, and has continued to stand up to the present -year of 1898. Incredible as it may seem, nothing has transpired during -these eight years which has shed the least light upon the extraordinary -disappearance of the special train which contained Monsieur Caratal and -his companion. Careful inquiries into the antecedents of the two -travellers have only established the fact that Monsieur Caratal was well -known as a financier and political agent in Central America, and that -during his voyage to Europe he had betrayed extraordinary anxiety to -reach Paris. His companion, whose name was entered upon the passenger -lists as Eduardo Gomez, was a man whose record was a violent one, and -whose reputation was that of a bravo and a bully. There was evidence to -show, however, that he was honestly devoted to the interests of Monsieur -Caratal, and that the latter, being a man of puny physique, employed the -other as a guard and protector. It may be added that no information came -from Paris as to what the objects of Monsieur Caratal’s hurried journey -may have been. This comprises all the facts of the case up to the -publication in the Marseilles papers of the recent confession of Herbert -de Lernac, now under sentence of death for the murder of a merchant -named Bonvalot. This statement may be literally translated as follows:— - -“It is not out of mere pride or boasting that I give this information, -for, if that were my object, I could tell a dozen actions of mine which -are quite as splendid; but I do it in order that certain gentlemen in -Paris may understand that I, who am able here to tell about the fate of -Monsieur Caratal, can also tell in whose interest and at whose request -the deed was done, unless the reprieve which I am awaiting comes to me -very quickly. Take warning, messieurs, before it is too late! You know -Herbert de Lernac, and you are aware that his deeds are as ready as his -words. Hasten then, or you are lost! - -“At present I shall mention no names—if you only heard the names, what -would you not think!—but I shall merely tell you how cleverly I did it. -I was true to my employers then, and no doubt they will be true to me -now. I hope so, and until I am convinced that they have betrayed me, -these names, which would convulse Europe, shall not be divulged. But on -that day ... well, I say no more! - -“In a word, then, there was a famous trial in Paris, in the year 1890, -in connection with a monstrous scandal in politics and finance. How -monstrous that scandal was can never be known save by such confidential -agents as myself. The honour and careers of many of the chief men in -France were at stake. You have seen a group of nine-pins standing, all -so rigid, and prim, and unbending. Then there comes the ball from far -away and pop, pop, pop—there are your nine-pins on the floor. Well, -imagine some of the greatest men in France as these nine-pins, and then -this Monsieur Caratal was the ball which could be seen coming from far -away. If he arrived, then it was pop, pop, pop for all of them. It was -determined that he should not arrive. - -“I do not accuse them all of being conscious of what was to happen. -There were, as I have said, great financial as well as political -interests at stake, and a syndicate was formed to manage the business. -Some subscribed to the syndicate who hardly understood what were its -objects. But others understood very well, and they can rely upon it that -I have not forgotten their names. They had ample warning that Monsieur -Caratal was coming long before he left South America, and they knew that -the evidence which he held would certainly mean ruin to all of them. The -syndicate had the command of an unlimited amount of money—absolutely -unlimited, you understand. They looked round for an agent who was -capable of wielding this gigantic power. The man chosen must be -inventive, resolute, adaptive—a man in a million. They chose Herbert de -Lernac, and I admit that they were right. - -“My duties were to choose my subordinates, to use freely the power which -money gives, and to make certain that Monsieur Caratal should never -arrive in Paris. With characteristic energy I set about my commission -within an hour of receiving my instructions, and the steps which I took -were the very best for the purpose which could possibly be devised. - -“A man whom I could trust was dispatched instantly to South America to -travel home with Monsieur Caratal. Had he arrived in time the ship would -never have reached Liverpool; but, alas! it had already started before -my agent could reach it. I fitted out a small armed brig to intercept -it, but again I was unfortunate. Like all great organizers I was, -however, prepared for failure, and had a series of alternatives -prepared, one or the other of which must succeed. You must not underrate -the difficulties of my undertaking, or imagine that a mere commonplace -assassination would meet the case. We must destroy not only Monsieur -Caratal, but Monsieur Caratal’s documents, and Monsieur Caratal’s -companions also, if we had reason to believe that he had communicated -his secrets to them. And you must remember that they were on the alert, -and keenly suspicious of any such attempt. It was a task which was in -every way worthy of me, for I am always most masterful where another -would be appalled. - -“I was all ready for Monsieur Caratal’s reception in Liverpool, and I -was the more eager because I had reason to believe that he had made -arrangements by which he would have a considerable guard from the moment -that he arrived in London. Anything which was to be done must be done -between the moment of his setting foot upon the Liverpool quay and that -of his arrival at the London and West Coast terminus in London. We -prepared six plans, each more elaborate than the last; which plan would -be used would depend upon his own movements. Do what he would, we were -ready for him. If he had stayed in Liverpool, we were ready. If he took -an ordinary train, an express, or a special, all was ready. Everything -had been foreseen and provided for. - -“You may imagine that I could not do all this myself. What could I know -of the English railway lines? But money can procure willing agents all -the world over, and I soon had one of the acutest brains in England to -assist me. I will mention no names, but it would be unjust to claim all -the credit for myself. My English ally was worthy of such an alliance. -He knew the London and West Coast line thoroughly, and he had the -command of a band of workers who were trustworthy and intelligent. The -idea was his, and my own judgment was only required in the details. We -bought over several officials, amongst whom the most important was James -McPherson, whom we had ascertained to be the guard most likely to be -employed upon a special train. Smith, the stoker, was also in our -employ. John Slater, the engine-driver, had been approached, but had -been found to be obstinate and dangerous, so we desisted. We had no -certainty that Monsieur Caratal would take a special, but we thought it -very probable, for it was of the utmost importance to him that he should -reach Paris without delay. It was for this contingency, therefore, that -we made special preparations—preparations which were complete down to -the last detail long before his steamer had sighted the shores of -England. You will be amused to learn that there was one of my agents in -the pilot-boat which brought that steamer to its moorings. - -“The moment that Caratal arrived in Liverpool we knew that he suspected -danger and was on his guard. He had brought with him as an escort a -dangerous fellow, named Gomez, a man who carried weapons, and was -prepared to use them. This fellow carried Caratal’s confidential papers -for him, and was ready to protect either them or his master. The -probability was that Caratal had taken him into his counsels, and that -to remove Caratal without removing Gomez would be a mere waste of -energy. It was necessary that they should be involved in a common fate, -and our plans to that end were much facilitated by their request for a -special train. On that special train you will understand that two out of -the three servants of the company were really in our employ, at a price -which would make them independent for a lifetime. I do not go so far as -to say that the English are more honest than any other nation, but I -have found them more expensive to buy. - -“I have already spoken of my English agent—who is a man with a -considerable future before him, unless some complaint of the throat -carries him off before his time. He had charge of all arrangements at -Liverpool, whilst I was stationed at the inn at Kenyon, where I awaited -a cipher signal to act. When the special was arranged for, my agent -instantly telegraphed to me and warned me how soon I should have -everything ready. He himself under the name of Horace Moore applied -immediately for a special also, in the hope that he would be sent down -with Monsieur Caratal, which might under certain circumstances have been -helpful to us. If, for example, our great _coup_ had failed, it would -then have become the duty of my agent to have shot them both and -destroyed their papers. Caratal was on his guard, however, and refused -to admit any other traveller. My agent then left the station, returned -by another entrance, entered the guard’s van on the side farthest from -the platform, and travelled down with McPherson the guard. - -“In the meantime you will be interested to know what my movements were. -Everything had been prepared for days before, and only the finishing -touches were needed. The side line which we had chosen had once joined -the main line, but it had been disconnected. We had only to replace a -few rails to connect it once more. These rails had been laid down as far -as could be done without danger of attracting attention, and now it was -merely a case of completing a juncture with the line, and arranging the -points as they had been before. The sleepers had never been removed, and -the rails, fish-plates, and rivets were all ready, for we had taken them -from a siding on the abandoned portion of the line. With my small but -competent band of workers, we had everything ready long before the -special arrived. When it did arrive, it ran off upon the small side line -so easily that the jolting of the points appears to have been entirely -unnoticed by the two travellers. - -“Our plan had been that Smith the stoker should chloroform John Slater -the driver, so that he should vanish with the others. In this respect, -and in this respect only, our plans miscarried—I except the criminal -folly of McPherson in writing home to his wife. Our stoker did his -business so clumsily that Slater in his struggles fell off the engine, -and though fortune was with us so far that he broke his neck in the -fall, still he remained as a blot upon that which would otherwise have -been one of those complete masterpieces which are only to be -contemplated in silent admiration. The criminal expert will find in John -Slater the one flaw in all our admirable combinations. A man who has had -as many triumphs as I can afford to be frank, and I therefore lay my -finger upon John Slater, and I proclaim him to be a flaw. - -“But now I have got our special train upon the small line two -kilomètres, or rather more than one mile, in length, which leads, or -rather used to lead, to the abandoned Heartsease mine, once one of the -largest coal mines in England. You will ask how it is that no one saw -the train upon this unused line. I answer that along its entire length -it runs through a deep cutting, and that, unless some one had been on -the edge of that cutting, he could not have seen it. There _was_ some -one on the edge of that cutting. I was there. And now I will tell you -what I saw. - -“My assistant had remained at the points in order that he might -superintend the switching off of the train. He had four armed men with -him, so that if the train ran off the line—we thought it probable, -because the points were very rusty—we might still have resources to fall -back upon. Having once seen it safely on the side line, he handed over -the responsibility to me. I was waiting at a point which overlooks the -mouth of the mine, and I was also armed, as were my two companions. Come -what might, you see, I was always ready. - -“The moment that the train was fairly on the side line, Smith, the -stoker, slowed-down the engine, and then, having turned it on to the -fullest speed again, he and McPherson, with my English lieutenant, -sprang off before it was too late. It may be that it was this -slowing-down which first attracted the attention of the travellers, but -the train was running at full speed again before their heads appeared at -the open window. It makes me smile to think how bewildered they must -have been. Picture to yourself your own feelings if, on looking out of -your luxurious carriage, you suddenly perceived that the lines upon -which you ran were rusted and corroded, red and yellow with disuse and -decay! What a catch must have come in their breath as in a second it -flashed upon them that it was not Manchester but Death which was waiting -for them at the end of that sinister line. But the train was running -with frantic speed, rolling and rocking over the rotten line, while the -wheels made a frightful screaming sound upon the rusted surface. I was -close to them, and could see their faces. Caratal was praying, I -think—there was something like a rosary dangling out of his hand. The -other roared like a bull who smells the blood of the slaughter-house. He -saw us standing on the bank, and he beckoned to us like a madman. Then -he tore at his wrist and threw his dispatch-box out of the window in our -direction. Of course, his meaning was obvious. Here was the evidence, -and they would promise to be silent if their lives were spared. It would -have been very agreeable if we could have done so, but business is -business. Besides, the train was now as much beyond our control as -theirs. - -“He ceased howling when the train rattled round the curve and they saw -the black mouth of the mine yawning before them. We had removed the -boards which had covered it, and we had cleared the square entrance. The -rails had formerly run very close to the shaft for the convenience of -loading the coal, and we had only to add two or three lengths of rail in -order to lead to the very brink of the shaft. In fact, as the lengths -would not quite fit, our line projected about three feet over the edge. -We saw the two heads at the window: Caratal below, Gomez above; but they -had both been struck silent by what they saw. And yet they could not -withdraw their heads. The sight seemed to have paralyzed them. - -“I had wondered how the train running at a great speed would take the -pit into which I had guided it, and I was much interested in watching -it. One of my colleagues thought that it would actually jump it, and -indeed it was not very far from doing so. Fortunately, however, it fell -short, and the buffers of the engine struck the other lip of the shaft -with a tremendous crash. The funnel flew off into the air. The tender, -carriages, and van were all smashed up into one jumble, which, with the -remains of the engine, choked for a minute or so the mouth of the pit. -Then something gave way in the middle, and the whole mass of green iron, -smoking coals, brass fittings, wheels, woodwork, and cushions all -crumbled together and crashed down into the mine. We heard the rattle, -rattle, rattle, as the _débris_ struck against the walls, and then quite -a long time afterwards there came a deep roar as the remains of the -train struck the bottom. The boiler may have burst, for a sharp crash -came after the roar, and then a dense cloud of steam and smoke swirled -up out of the black depths, falling in a spray as thick as rain all -round us. Then the vapour shredded off into thin wisps, which floated -away in the summer sunshine, and all was quiet again in the Heartsease -mine. - -“And now, having carried out our plans so successfully, it only remained -to leave no trace behind us. Our little band of workers at the other end -had already ripped up the rails and disconnected the side line, -replacing everything as it had been before. We were equally busy at the -mine. The funnel and other fragments were thrown in, the shaft was -planked over as it used to be, and the lines which led to it were torn -up and taken away. Then, without flurry, but without delay, we all made -our way out of the country, most of us to Paris, my English colleague to -Manchester, and McPherson to Southampton, whence he emigrated to -America. Let the English papers of that date tell how thoroughly we had -done our work, and how completely we had thrown the cleverest of their -detectives off our track. - -“You will remember that Gomez threw his bag of papers out of the window, -and I need not say that I secured that bag and brought them to my -employers. It may interest my employers now, however, to learn that out -of that bag I took one or two little papers as a souvenir of the -occasion. I have no wish to publish these papers; but, still, it is -every man for himself in this world, and what else can I do if my -friends will not come to my aid when I want them? Messieurs, you may -believe that Herbert de Lernac is quite as formidable when he is against -you as when he is with you, and that he is not a man to go to the -guillotine until he has seen that every one of you is _en route_ for New -Caledonia. For your own sake, if not for mine, make haste, Monsieur -de ——, and General ——, and Baron —— (you can fill up the blanks for -yourselves as you read this). I promise you that in the next edition -there will be no blanks to fill. - -“P.S.—As I look over my statement there is only one omission which I can -see. It concerns the unfortunate man McPherson, who was foolish enough -to write to his wife and to make an appointment with her in New York. It -can be imagined that when interests like ours were at stake, we could -not leave them to the chance of whether a man in that class of life -would or would not give away his secrets to a woman. Having once broken -his oath by writing to his wife, we could not trust him any more. We -took steps therefore to insure that he should not see his wife. I have -sometimes thought that it would be a kindness to write to her and to -assure her that there is no impediment to her marrying again.” - - - - - THE CLUB-FOOTED GROCER - - -My uncle, Mr. Stephen Maple, had been at the same time the most -successful and the least respectable of our family, so that we hardly -knew whether to take credit for his wealth or to feel ashamed of his -position. He had, as a matter of fact, established a large grocery in -Stepney which did a curious mixed business, not always, as we had heard, -of a very savoury character, with the riverside and seafaring people. He -was ship’s chandler, provision merchant, and, if rumour spoke truly, -some other things as well. Such a trade, however lucrative, had its -drawbacks, as was evident when, after twenty years of prosperity, he was -savagely assaulted by one of his customers and left for dead, with three -smashed ribs and a broken leg, which mended so badly that it remained -for ever three inches shorter than the other. This incident seemed, not -unnaturally, to disgust him with his surroundings, for, after the trial, -in which his assailant was condemned to fifteen years’ penal servitude, -he retired from his business and settled in a lonely part of the North -of England, whence, until that morning, we had never once heard of -him—not even at the death of my father, who was his only brother. - -My mother read his letter aloud to me: “If your son is with you, Ellen, -and if he is as stout a lad as he promised for when last I heard from -you, then send him up to me by the first train after this comes to hand. -He will find that to serve me will pay him better than the engineering, -and if I pass away (though, thank God, there is no reason to complain as -to my health) you will see that I have not forgotten my brother’s son. -Congleton is the station, and then a drive of four miles to Greta House, -where I am now living. I will send a trap to meet the seven o’clock -train, for it is the only one which stops here. Mind that you send him, -Ellen, for I have very strong reasons for wishing him to be with me. Let -bygones be bygones if there has been anything between us in the past. If -you should fail me now you will live to regret it.” - -We were seated at either side of the breakfast table, looking blankly at -each other and wondering what this might mean, when there came a ring at -the bell, and the maid walked in with a telegram. It was from Uncle -Stephen. - -“On no account let John get out at Congleton,” said the message. “He -will find trap waiting seven o’clock evening train Stedding Bridge, one -station further down line. Let him drive not me, but Garth Farm -House—six miles. There will receive instructions. Do not fail; only you -to look to.” - -“That is true enough,” said my mother. “As far as I know, your uncle has -not a friend in the world, nor has he ever deserved one. He has always -been a hard man in his dealings, and he held back his money from your -father at a time when a few pounds would have saved him from ruin. Why -should I send my only son to serve him now?” - -But my own inclinations were all for the adventure. - -“If I have him for a friend, he can help me in my profession,” I argued, -taking my mother upon her weakest side. - -“I have never known him to help any one yet,” said she, bitterly. “And -why all this mystery about getting out at a distant station and driving -to the wrong address? He has got himself into some trouble and he wishes -us to get him out of it. When he has used us he will throw us aside as -he has done before. Your father might have been living now if he had -only helped him.” - -But at last my arguments prevailed, for, as I pointed out, we had much -to gain and little to lose, and why should we, the poorest members of a -family, go out of our way to offend the rich one? My bag was packed and -my cab at the door, when there came a second telegram. - -“Good shooting. Let John bring gun. Remember Stedding Bridge, not -Congleton.” And so, with a gun-case added to my luggage and some -surprise at my uncle’s insistence, I started off upon my adventure. - -The journey lies over the main Northern Railway as far as the station of -Carnfield, where one changes for the little branch line which winds over -the fells. In all England there is no harsher or more impressive -scenery. For two hours I passed through desolate rolling plains, rising -at places into low, stone-littered hills, with long, straight outcrops -of jagged rock showing upon their surface. Here and there little -grey-roofed, grey-walled cottages huddled into villages, but for many -miles at a time no house was visible nor any sign of life save the -scattered sheep which wandered over the mountain sides. It was a -depressing country, and my heart grew heavier and heavier as I neared my -journey’s end, until at last the train pulled up at the little village -of Stedding Bridge, where my uncle had told me to alight. A single -ramshackle trap, with a country lout to drive it, was waiting at the -station. - -“Is this Mr. Stephen Maple’s?” I asked. - -The fellow looked at me with eyes which were full of suspicion. “What is -your name?” he asked, speaking a dialect which I will not attempt to -reproduce. - -“John Maple.” - -“Anything to prove it?” - -I half raised my hand, for my temper is none of the best, and then I -reflected that the fellow was probably only carrying out the directions -of my uncle. For answer I pointed to my name printed upon my gun-case. - -“Yes, yes, that is right. It’s John Maple, sure enough!” said he, slowly -spelling it out. “Get in, maister, for we have a bit of a drive before -us.” - -The road, white and shining, like all the roads in that limestone -country, ran in long sweeps over the fells, with low walls of loose -stone upon either side of it. The huge moors, mottled with sheep and -with boulders, rolled away in gradually ascending curves to the misty -sky-line. In one place a fall of the land gave a glimpse of a grey angle -of distant sea. Bleak and sad and stern were all my surroundings, and I -felt, under their influence, that this curious mission of mine was a -more serious thing than it had appeared when viewed from London. This -sudden call for help from an uncle whom I had never seen, and of whom I -had heard little that was good, the urgency of it, his reference to my -physical powers, the excuse by which he had ensured that I should bring -a weapon, all hung together and pointed to some vague but sinister -meaning. Things which appeared to be impossible in Kensington became -very probable upon these wild and isolated hillsides. At last, oppressed -with my own dark thoughts, I turned to my companion with the intention -of asking some questions about my uncle, but the expression upon his -face drove the idea from my head. - -He was not looking at his old, unclipped chestnut horse, nor at the road -along which he was driving, but his face was turned in my direction, and -he was staring past me with an expression of curiosity and, as I -thought, of apprehension. He raised the whip to lash the horse, and then -dropped it again, as if convinced that it was useless. At the same time, -following the direction of his gaze, I saw what it was which had excited -him. - -A man was running across the moor. He ran clumsily, stumbling and -slipping among the stones; but the road curved, and it was easy for him -to cut us off. As we came up to the spot for which he had been making, -he scrambled over the stone wall and stood waiting, with the evening sun -shining on his brown, clean-shaven face. He was a burly fellow, and in -bad condition, for he stood with his hand on his ribs, panting and -blowing after his short run. As we drove up I saw the glint of earrings -in his ears. - -“Say, mate, where are you bound for?” he asked, in a rough but -good-humoured fashion. - -“Farmer Purcell’s, at the Garth Farm,” said the driver. - -“Sorry to stop you,” cried the other, standing aside; “I thought as I -would hail you as you passed, for if so be as you had been going my way -I should have made bold to ask you for a passage.” - -His excuse was an absurd one, since it was evident that our little trap -was as full as it could be, but my driver did not seem disposed to -argue. He drove on without a word, and, looking back, I could see the -stranger sitting by the roadside and cramming tobacco into his pipe. - -“A sailor,” said I. - -“Yes, maister. We’re not more than a few miles from Morecambe Bay,” the -driver remarked. - -“You seemed frightened of him,” I observed. - -“Did I?” said he, drily; and then, after a long pause, “Maybe I was.” As -to his reasons for fear, I could get nothing from him, and though I -asked him many questions he was so stupid, or else so clever, that I -could learn nothing from his replies. I observed, however, that from -time to time he swept the moors with a troubled eye, but their huge -brown expanse was unbroken by any moving figure. At last in a sort of -cleft in the hills in front of us I saw a long, low-lying farm building, -the centre of all those scattered flocks. - -“Garth Farm,” said my driver. “There is Farmer Purcell himself,” he -added, as a man strolled out of the porch and stood waiting for our -arrival. He advanced as I descended from the trap, a hard, weather-worn -fellow with light blue eyes, and hair and beard like sun-bleached grass. -In his expression I read the same surly ill-will which I had already -observed in my driver. Their malevolence could not be directed towards a -complete stranger like myself, and so I began to suspect that my uncle -was no more popular on the north-country fells than he had been in -Stepney Highway. - -“You’re to stay here until nightfall. That’s Mr. Stephen Maple’s wish,” -said he, curtly. “You can have some tea and bacon if you like. It’s the -best we can give you.” - -I was very hungry, and accepted the hospitality in spite of the churlish -tone in which it was offered. The farmer’s wife and his two daughters -came into the sitting-room during the meal, and I was aware of a certain -curiosity with which they regarded me. It may have been that a young man -was a rarity in this wilderness, or it may be that my attempts at -conversation won their goodwill, but they all three showed a kindliness -in their manner. It was getting dark, so I remarked that it was time for -me to be pushing on to Greta House. - -“You’ve made up your mind to go, then?” said the older woman. - -“Certainly. I have come all the way from London.” - -“There’s no one hindering you from going back there.” - -“But I have come to see Mr. Maple, my uncle.” - -“Oh, well, no one can stop you if you want to go on,” said the woman, -and became silent as her husband entered the room. - -With every fresh incident I felt that I was moving in an atmosphere of -mystery and peril, and yet it was all so intangible and so vague that I -could not guess where my danger lay. I should have asked the farmer’s -wife point-blank, but her surly husband seemed to divine the sympathy -which she felt for me, and never again left us together. “It’s time you -were going, mister,” said he at last, as his wife lit the lamp upon the -table. - -“Is the trap ready?” - -“You’ll need no trap. You’ll walk,” said he. - -“How shall I know the way?” - -“William will go with you.” - -William was the youth who had driven me up from the station. He was -waiting at the door, and he shouldered my gun-case and bag. I stayed -behind to thank the farmer for his hospitality, but he would have none -of it. “I ask no thanks from Mr. Stephen Maple nor any friend of his,” -said he, bluntly. “I am paid for what I do. If I was not paid I would -not do it. Go your way, young man, and say no more.” He turned rudely on -his heel and re-entered his house, slamming the door behind him. - -It was quite dark outside, with heavy black clouds drifting slowly -across the sky. Once clear of the farm inclosure and out on the moor I -should have been hopelessly lost if it had not been for my guide, who -walked in front of me along narrow sheep-tracks which were quite -invisible to me. Every now and then, without seeing anything, we heard -the clumsy scuffling of the creatures in the darkness. At first my guide -walked swiftly and carelessly, but gradually his pace slowed down, until -at last he was going very slowly and stealthily, like one who walks -light-footed amid imminent menace. This vague, inexplicable sense of -danger in the midst of the loneliness of that vast moor was more -daunting than any evident peril could be, and I had begun to press him -as to what it was that he feared, when suddenly he stopped and dragged -me down among some gorse bushes which lined the path. His tug at my coat -was so strenuous and imperative that I realized that the danger was a -pressing one, and in an instant I was squatting down beside him as still -as the bushes which shadowed us. It was so dark there that I could not -even see the lad beside me. - -It was a warm night, and a hot wind puffed in our faces. Suddenly in -this wind there came something homely and familiar—the smell of burning -tobacco. And then a face, illuminated by the glowing bowl of a pipe, -came floating towards us. The man was all in shadow, but just that one -dim halo of light with the face which filled it, brighter below and -shading away into darkness above, stood out against the universal -blackness. A thin, hungry face, thickly freckled with yellow over the -cheek bones, blue, watery eyes, an ill-nourished, light-coloured -moustache, a peaked yachting cap—that was all that I saw. He passed us, -looking vacantly in front of him, and we heard the steps dying away -along the path. - -“Who was it?” I asked, as we rose to our feet. - -“I don’t know.” - -The fellow’s continual profession of ignorance made me angry. - -“Why should you hide yourself, then?” I asked, sharply. - -“Because Maister Maple told me. He said that I were to meet no one. If I -met any one I should get no pay.” - -“You met that sailor on the road?” - -“Yes, and I think he was one of them.” - -“One of whom?” - -“One of the folk that have come on the fells. They are watchin’ Greta -House, and Maister Maple is afeard of them. That’s why he wanted us to -keep clear of them, and that’s why I’ve been a-trying to dodge ’em.” - -Here was something definite at last. Some body of men were threatening -my uncle. The sailor was one of them. The man with the peaked -cap—probably a sailor also—was another. I bethought me of Stepney -Highway and of the murderous assault made upon my uncle there. Things -were fitting themselves into a connected shape in my mind when a light -twinkled over the fell, and my guide informed me that it was Greta. The -place lay in a dip among the moors, so that one was very near it before -one saw it. A short walk brought us up to the door. - -I could see little of the building save that the lamp which shone -through a small latticed window showed me dimly that it was both long -and lofty. The low door under an overhanging lintel was loosely fitted, -and light was bursting out on each side of it. The inmates of this -lonely house appeared to be keenly on their guard, for they had heard -our footsteps, and we were challenged before we reached the door. - -“Who is there?” cried a deep-booming voice, and urgently, “Who is it, I -say?” - -“It’s me, Maister Maple. I have brought the gentleman.” - -There was a sharp click, and a small wooden shutter flew open in the -door. The gleam of a lantern shone upon us for a few seconds. Then the -shutter closed again; with a great rasping of locks and clattering of -bars, the door was opened, and I saw my uncle standing framed in that -vivid yellow square cut out of the darkness. - -He was a small, thick man, with a great rounded, bald head and one thin -border of gingery curls. It was a fine head, the head of a thinker, but -his large white face was heavy and commonplace, with a broad, -loose-lipped mouth and two hanging dewlaps on either side of it. His -eyes were small and restless, and his light-coloured lashes were -continually moving. My mother had said once that they reminded her of -the legs of a woodlouse, and I saw at the first glance what she meant. I -heard also that in Stepney he had learned the language of his customers, -and I blushed for our kinship as I listened to his villainous accent. -“So, nephew,” said he, holding out his hand. “Come in, come in, man, -quick, and don’t leave the door open. Your mother said you were grown a -big lad, and, my word, she ’as a right to say so. ’Ere’s a ’alf-crown -for you, William, and you can go back again. Put the things down. ’Ere, -Enoch, take Mr. John’s things, and see that ’is supper is on the table.” - -As my uncle, after fastening the door, turned to show me into the -sitting-room, I became aware of his most striking peculiarity. The -injuries which he had received some years ago had, as I have already -remarked, left one leg several inches shorter than the other. To atone -for this he wore one of those enormous wooden soles to his boots which -are prescribed by surgeons in such cases. He walked without a limp, but -his tread on the stone flooring made a curious clack-click, clack-click, -as the wood and the leather alternated. Whenever he moved it was to the -rhythm of this singular castanet. - -The great kitchen, with its huge fireplace and carved settle corners, -showed that this dwelling was an old-time farmhouse. On one side of the -room a line of boxes stood all corded and packed. The furniture was -scant and plain, but on a trestle-table in the centre some supper, cold -meat, bread, and a jug of beer was laid for me. An elderly manservant, -as manifest a Cockney as his master, waited upon me, while my uncle, -sitting in a corner, asked me many questions as to my mother and myself. -When my meal was finished he ordered his man Enoch to unpack my gun. I -observed that two other guns, old rusted weapons, were leaning against -the wall beside the window. - -“It’s the window I’m afraid of,” said my uncle, in the deep, reverberant -voice which contrasted oddly with his plump little figure. “The door’s -safe against anything short of dynamite, but the window’s a terror. Hi! -hi!” he yelled, “don’t walk across the light! You can duck when you pass -the lattice.” - -“For fear of being seen?” I asked. - -“For fear of bein’ shot, my lad. That’s the trouble. Now, come an’ sit -beside me on the trestle ’ere, and I’ll tell you all about it, for I can -see that you are the right sort and can be trusted.” - -His flattery was clumsy and halting, and it was evident that he was very -eager to conciliate me. I sat down beside him, and he drew a folded -paper from his pocket. It was a _Western Morning News_, and the date was -ten days before. The passage over which he pressed a long, black nail -was concerned with the release from Dartmoor of a convict named Elias, -whose term of sentence had been remitted on account of his defence of a -warder who had been attacked in the quarries. The whole account was only -a few lines long. - -“Who is he, then?” I asked. - -My uncle cocked his distorted foot into the air. “That’s ’is mark!” said -he. “’E was doin’ time for that. Now ’e’s out an’ after me again.” - -“But why should he be after you?” - -“Because ’e wants to kill me. Because ’e’ll never rest, the worrying -devil, until ’e ’as ’ad ’is revenge on me. It’s this way, nephew! I’ve -no secrets from you. ’e thinks I’ve wronged ’im. For argument’s sake -we’ll suppose I ’ave wronged ’im. And now ’im and ’is friends are after -me.” - -“Who are his friends?” - -My uncle’s boom sank suddenly to a frightened whisper. “Sailors!” said -he. “I knew they would come when I saw that ’ere paper, and two days ago -I looked through that window and three of them was standin’ lookin’ at -the ’ouse. It was after that that I wrote to your mother. They’ve marked -me down, and they’re waitin’ for ’im.” - -“But why not send for the police?” - -My uncle’s eyes avoided mine. - -“Police are no use,” said he. “It’s you that can help me.” - -“What can I do?” - -“I’ll tell you. I’m going to move. That’s what all these boxes are for. -Everything will soon be packed and ready. I ’ave friends at Leeds, and I -shall be safer there. Not safe, mind you, but safer. I start to-morrow -evening, and if you will stand by me until then I will make it worth -your while. There’s only Enoch and me to do everything, but we shall -’ave it all ready, I promise you, by to-morrow evening. The cart will be -round then, and you and me and Enoch and the boy William can guard the -things as far as Congleton station. Did you see anything of them on the -fells?” - -“Yes,” said I; “a sailor stopped us on the way.” - -“Ah, I knew they were watching us. That was why I asked you to get out -at the wrong station and to drive to Purcell’s instead of comin’ ’ere. -We are blockaded—that’s the word.” - -“And there was another,” said I, “a man with a pipe.” - -“What was ’e like?” - -“Thin face, freckles, a peaked——” - -My uncle gave a hoarse scream. - -“That’s ’im! that’s ’im! ’e’s come! God be merciful to me, a sinner!” He -went click-clacking about the room with his great foot like one -distracted. There was something piteous and baby-like in that big bald -head, and for the first time I felt a gush of pity for him. - -“Come, uncle,” said I, “you are living in a civilized land. There is a -law that will bring these gentry to order. Let me drive over to the -county police-station to-morrow morning and I’ll soon set things right.” - -But he shook his head at me. - -“E’s cunning and ’e’s cruel,” said he. “I can’t draw a breath without -thinking of him, cos ’e buckled up three of my ribs. ’e’ll kill me this -time, sure. There’s only one chance. We must leave what we ’ave not -packed, and we must be off first thing to-morrow mornin’. Great God, -what’s that!” - -A tremendous knock upon the door had reverberated through the house and -then another and another. An iron fist seemed to be beating upon it. My -uncle collapsed into his chair. I seized a gun and ran to the door. - -“Who’s there?” I shouted. - -There was no answer. - -I opened the shutter and looked out. - -No one was there. - -And then suddenly I saw that a long slip of paper was protruding through -the slit of the door. I held it to the light. In rude but vigorous -handwriting the message ran:— - -“Put them out on the doorstep and save your skin.” - -“What do they want?” I asked, as I read him the message. - -“What they’ll never ’ave! No, by the Lord, never!” he cried, with a fine -burst of spirit. “’Ere, Enoch! Enoch!” - -The old fellow came running to the call. - -“Enoch, I’ve been a good master to you all my life, and it’s your turn -now. Will you take a risk for me?” - -I thought better of my uncle when I saw how readily the man consented. -Whomever else he had wronged, this one at least seemed to love him. - -“Put your cloak on and your ‘at, Enoch, and out with you by the back -door. You know the way across the moor to the Purcells’. Tell them that -I must ’ave the cart first thing in the mornin’, and that Purcell must -come with the shepherd as well. We must get clear of this or we are -done. First thing in the mornin’, Enoch, and ten pound for the job. Keep -the black cloak on and move slow, and they will never see you. We’ll -keep the ’ouse till you come back.” - -It was a job for a brave man to venture out into the vague and invisible -dangers of the fell, but the old servant took it as the most ordinary of -messages. Picking his long, black cloak and his soft hat from the hook -behind the door, he was ready on the instant. We extinguished the small -lamp in the back passage, softly unbarred the back door, slipped him -out, and barred it up again. Looking through the small hall window, I -saw his black garments merge instantly into the night. - -“It is but a few hours before the light comes, nephew,” said my uncle, -after he had tried all the bolts and bars. “You shall never regret this -night’s work. If we come through safely it will be the making of you. -Stand by me till mornin’, and I stand by you while there’s breath in my -body. The cart will be ’ere by five. What isn’t ready we can afford to -leave be’ind. We’ve only to load up and make for the early train at -Congleton.” - -“Will they let us pass?” - -“In broad daylight they dare not stop us. There will be six of us, if -they all come, and three guns. We can fight our way through. Where can -they get guns, common, wandering seamen? A pistol or two at the most. If -we can keep them out for a few hours we are safe. Enoch must be ’alfway -to Purcell’s by now.” - -“But what do these sailors want?” I repeated. “You say yourself that you -wronged them.” - -A look of mulish obstinacy came over his large, white face. - -“Don’t ask questions, nephew, and just do what I ask you,” said he. -“Enoch won’t come back. ’e’ll just bide there and come with the cart. -’Ark, what is that?” - -A distant cry rang from out of the darkness, and then another one, short -and sharp like the wail of the curlew. - -“It’s Enoch!” said my uncle, gripping my arm. “They’re killin’ poor old -Enoch.” - -The cry came again, much nearer, and I heard the sound of hurrying steps -and a shrill call for help. - -“They are after ’im!” cried my uncle, rushing to the front door. He -picked up the lantern and flashed it through the little shutter. Up the -yellow funnel of light a man was running frantically, his head bowed and -a black cloak fluttering behind him. The moor seemed to be alive with -dim pursuers. - -“The bolt! The bolt!” gasped my uncle. He pushed it back whilst I turned -the key, and we swung the door open to admit the fugitive. He dashed in -and turned at once with a long yell of triumph. “Come on, lads! Tumble -up, all hands, tumble up! Smartly there, all of you!” - -It was so quickly and neatly done that we were taken by storm before we -knew that we were attacked. The passage was full of rushing sailors. I -slipped out of the clutch of one and ran for my gun, but it was only to -crash down on to the stone floor an instant later with two of them -holding on to me. They were so deft and quick that my hands were lashed -together even while I struggled, and I was dragged into the settle -corner, unhurt but very sore in spirit at the cunning with which our -defences had been forced and the ease with which we had been overcome. -They had not even troubled to bind my uncle, but he had been pushed into -his chair, and the guns had been taken away. He sat with a very white -face, his homely figure and absurd row of curls looking curiously out of -place among the wild figures who surrounded him. - -There were six of them, all evidently sailors. One I recognized as the -man with the earrings whom I had already met upon the road that evening. -They were all fine, weather-bronzed bewhiskered fellows. In the midst of -them, leaning against the table, was the freckled man who had passed me -on the moor. The great black cloak which poor Enoch had taken out with -him was still hanging from his shoulders. He was of a very different -type from the others—crafty, cruel, dangerous, with sly, thoughtful eyes -which gloated over my uncle. They suddenly turned themselves upon me and -I never knew how one’s skin can creep at a man’s glance before. - -“Who are you?” he asked. “Speak out, or we’ll find a way to make you.” - -“I am Mr. Stephen Maple’s nephew, come to visit him.” - -“You are, are you? Well, I wish you joy of your uncle and of your visit -too. Quick’s the word, lads, for we must be aboard before morning. What -shall we do with the old ’un?” - -“Trice him up Yankee fashion and give him six dozen,” said one of the -seamen. - -“D’you hear, you cursed Cockney thief? We’ll beat the life out of you if -you don’t give back what you’ve stolen. Where are they? I know you never -parted with them.” - -My uncle pursed up his lips and shook his head, with a face in which his -fear and his obstinacy contended. - -“Won’t tell, won’t you? We’ll see about that! Get him ready, Jim!” - -One of the seamen seized my uncle, and pulled his coat and shirt over -his shoulders. He sat lumped in his chair, his body all creased into -white rolls which shivered with cold and with terror. - -“Up with him to those hooks.” - -There were rows of them along the walls where the smoked meat used to be -hung. The seamen tied my uncle by the wrists to two of these. Then one -of them undid his leather belt. - -“The buckle end, Jim,” said the captain. “Give him the buckle.” - -“You cowards,” I cried; “to beat an old man!” - -“We’ll beat a young one next,” said he, with a malevolent glance at my -corner. “Now, Jim, cut a wad out of him!” - -“Give him one more chance!” cried one of the seamen. - -“Aye, aye,” growled one or two others. “Give the swab a chance!” - -“If you turn soft, you may give them up for ever,” said the captain. -“One thing or the other! You must lash it out of him; or you may give up -what you took such pains to win and what would make you gentlemen for -life—every man of you. There’s nothing else for it. Which shall it be?” - -“Let him have it,” they cried, savagely. - -“Then stand clear!” The buckle of the man’s belt whined savagely as he -whirled it over his shoulder. - -But my uncle cried out before the blow fell. - -“I can’t stand it!” he cried. “Let me down!” - -“Where are they, then?” - -“I’ll show you if you’ll let me down.” - -They cast off the handkerchiefs and he pulled his coat over his fat, -round shoulders. The seamen stood round him, the most intense curiosity -and excitement upon their swarthy faces. - -“No gammon!” cried the man with the freckles. “We’ll kill you joint by -joint if you try to fool us. Now then! Where are they?” - -“In my bedroom.” - -“Where is that?” - -“The room above.” - -“Whereabouts?” - -“In the corner of the oak ark by the bed.” - -The seamen all rushed to the stair, but the captain called them back. - -“We don’t leave this cunning old fox behind us. Ha, your face drops at -that, does it? By the Lord, I believe you are trying to slip your -anchor. Here, lads, make him fast and take him along!” - -With a confused trampling of feet they rushed up the stairs, dragging my -uncle in the midst of them. For an instant I was alone. My hands were -tied but not my feet. If I could find my way across the moor I might -rouse the police and intercept these rascals before they could reach the -sea. For a moment I hesitated as to whether I should leave my uncle -alone in such a plight. But I should be of more service to him—or, at -the worst, to his property—if I went than if I stayed. I rushed to the -hall door, and as I reached it I heard a yell above my head, a -shattering, splintering noise, and then amid a chorus of shouts a huge -weight fell with a horrible thud at my very feet. Never while I live -will that squelching thud pass out of my ears. And there, just in front -of me, in the lane of light cast by the open door, lay my unhappy uncle, -his bald head twisted on to one shoulder, like the wrung neck of a -chicken. It needed but a glance to see that his spine was broken and -that he was dead. - -The gang of seamen had rushed downstairs so quickly that they were -clustered at the door and crowding all round me almost as soon as I had -realized what had occurred. - -“It’s no doing of ours, mate,” said one of them to me. “He hove himself -through the window, and that’s the truth. Don’t you put it down to us.” - -“He thought he could get to windward of us if once he was out in the -dark, you see,” said another. “But he came head foremost and broke his -bloomin’ neck.” - -“And a blessed good job too!” cried the chief, with a savage oath. “I’d -have done it for him if he hadn’t took the lead. Don’t make any mistake, -my lads, this is murder, and we’re all in it, together. There’s only one -way out of it, and that is to hang together, unless, as the saying goes, -you mean to hang apart. There’s only one witness——” - -He looked at me with his malicious little eyes, and I saw that he had -something that gleamed—either a knife or a revolver—in the breast of his -pea-jacket. Two of the men slipped between us. - -“Stow that, Captain Elias,” said one of them. “If this old man met his -end it is through no fault of ours. The worst we ever meant him was to -take some of the skin off his back. But as to this young fellow, we have -no quarrel with him——” - -“You fool, you may have no quarrel with him, but he has his quarrel with -you. He’ll swear your life away if you don’t silence his tongue. It’s -his life or ours, and don’t you make any mistake.” - -“Aye, aye, the skipper has the longest head of any of us. Better do what -he tells you,” cried another. - -But my champion, who was the fellow with the earrings, covered me with -his own broad chest and swore roundly that no one should lay a finger on -me. The others were equally divided, and my fate might have been the -cause of a quarrel between them when suddenly the captain gave a cry of -delight and amazement which was taken up by the whole gang. I followed -their eyes and outstretched fingers, and this was what I saw. - -My uncle was lying with his legs outstretched, and the club foot was -that which was furthest from us. All round this foot a dozen brilliant -objects were twinkling and flashing in the yellow light which streamed -from the open door. The captain caught up the lantern and held it to the -place. The huge sole of his boot had been shattered in the fall, and it -was clear now that it had been a hollow box in which he stowed his -valuables, for the path was all sprinkled with precious stones. Three -which I saw were of an unusual size, and as many as forty, I should -think, of fair value. The seamen had cast themselves down and were -greedily gathering them up, when my friend with the earrings plucked me -by the sleeve. - -“Here’s your chance, mate,” he whispered. “Off you go before worse comes -of it.” - -It was a timely hint, and it did not take me long to act upon it. A few -cautious steps and I had passed unobserved beyond the circle of light. -Then I set off running, falling and rising and falling again, for no one -who has not tried it can tell how hard it is to run over uneven ground -with hands which are fastened together. I ran and ran, until for want of -breath I could no longer put one foot before the other. But I need not -have hurried so, for when I had gone a long way I stopped at last to -breathe, and, looking back, I could still see the gleam of the lantern -far away, and the outline of the seamen who squatted round it. Then at -last this single point of light went suddenly out, and the whole great -moor was left in the thickest darkness. - -So deftly was I tied, that it took me a long half-hour and a broken -tooth before I got my hands free. My idea was to make my way across to -the Purcells’ farm, but north was the same as south under that pitchy -sky, and for hours I wandered among the rustling, scuttling sheep -without any certainty as to where I was going. When at last there came a -glimmer in the east, and the undulating fells, grey with the morning -mist, rolled once more to the horizon, I recognized that I was close by -Purcell’s farm, and there a little in front of me I was startled to see -another man walking in the same direction. At first I approached him -warily, but before I overtook him I knew by the bent back and tottering -step that it was Enoch, the old servant, and right glad I was to see -that he was living. He had been knocked down, beaten, and his cloak and -hat taken away by these ruffians, and all night he had wandered in the -darkness, like myself, in search of help. He burst into tears when I -told him of his master’s death, and sat hiccoughing with the hard, dry -sobs of an old man among the stones upon the moor. - -“It’s the men of the _Black Mogul_,” he said. “Yes, yes, I knew that -they would be the end of ’im.” - -“Who are they?” I asked. - -“Well, well, you are one of ’is own folk,” said he. “’E ’as passed away; -yes, yes, it is all over and done. I can tell you about it, no man -better, but mum’s the word with old Enoch unless master wants ’im to -speak. But his own nephew who came to ’elp ’im in the hour of need—yes, -yes, Mister John, you ought to know. - -“It was like this, sir. Your uncle ’ad ’is grocer’s business at Stepney, -but ’e ’ad another business also. ’e would buy as well as sell, and when -’e bought ’e never asked no questions where the stuff came from. Why -should ’e? It wasn’t no business of ’is, was it? If folk brought him a -stone or a silver plate, what was it to ’im where they got it? That’s -good sense, and it ought to be good law, as I ’old. Any’ow, it was good -enough for us at Stepney. - -“Well, there was a steamer came from South Africa what foundered at sea. -At least, they say so, and Lloyd’s paid the money. She ’ad some very -fine diamonds invoiced as being aboard of ’er. Soon after there came the -brig _Black Mogul_ into the port o’ London, with ’er papers all right as -‘avin’ cleared from Port Elizabeth with a cargo of ‘ides. The captain, -which ’is name was Elias, ’e came to see the master, and what d’you -think that ’e ’ad to sell? Why, sir, as I’m a livin’ sinner ’e ’ad a -packet of diamonds for all the world just the same as what was lost out -o’ that there African steamer. ’ow did ’e get them? I don’t know. Master -didn’t know. ’e didn’t seek to know either. The captain ’e was anxious -for reasons of ’is own to get them safe, so ’e gave them to master, same -as you might put a thing in a bank. But master ’e’d ’ad time to get fond -of them, and ’e wasn’t over satisfied as to where the _Black Mogul_ ’ad -been tradin’, or where her captain ’ad got the stones, so when ’e come -back for them the master ’e said as ’e thought they were best in ’is own -’ands. Mind I don’t ’old with it myself, but that was what master said -to Captain Elias in the little back parlour at Stepney. That was ’ow ’e -got ’is leg broke and three of his ribs. - -“So the captain got jugged for that, and the master, when ’e was able to -get about, thought that ’e would ’ave peace for fifteen years, and ’e -came away from London because ’e was afraid of the sailor men; but, at -the end of five years, the captain was out and after ’im, with as many -of ’is crew as ’e could gather. Send for the perlice, you says! Well, -there are two sides to that, and the master ’e wasn’t much more fond of -the perlice than Elias was. But they fair ’emmed master in, as you ’ave -seen for yourself, and they bested ’im at last, and the loneliness that -’e thought would be ’is safety ’as proved ’is ruin. Well, well, ’e was -’ard to many, but a good master to me, and it’s long before I come on -such another.” - -One word in conclusion. A strange cutter, which had been hanging about -the coast, was seen to beat down the Irish Sea that morning, and it is -conjectured that Elias and his men were on board of it. At any rate, -nothing has been heard of them since. It was shown at the inquest that -my uncle had lived in a sordid fashion for years, and he left little -behind him. The mere knowledge that he possessed this treasure, which he -carried about with him in so extraordinary a fashion, had appeared to be -the joy of his life, and he had never, as far as we could learn, tried -to realize any of his diamonds. So his disreputable name when living was -not atoned for by any posthumous benevolence, and the family, equally -scandalized by his life and by his death, have finally buried all memory -of the club-footed grocer of Stepney. - - - - - THE SEALED ROOM - - -A solicitor of an active habit and athletic tastes who is compelled by -his hopes of business to remain within the four walls of his office from -ten till five must take what exercise he can in the evenings. Hence it -was that I was in the habit of indulging in very long nocturnal -excursions, in which I sought the heights of Hampstead and Highgate in -order to cleanse my system from the impure air of Abchurch Lane. It was -in the course of one of these aimless rambles that I first met Felix -Stanniford, and so led up to what has been the most extraordinary -adventure of my lifetime. - -One evening—it was in April or early May of the year 1894—I made my way -to the extreme northern fringe of London, and was walking down one of -those fine avenues of high brick villas which the huge city is for ever -pushing farther and farther out into the country. It was a fine, clear -spring night, the moon was shining out of an unclouded sky, and I, -having already left many miles behind me, was inclined to walk slowly -and look about me. In this contemplative mood, my attention was arrested -by one of the houses which I was passing. - -It was a very large building, standing in its own grounds, a little back -from the road. It was modern in appearance, and yet it was far less so -than its neighbours, all of which were crudely and painfully new. Their -symmetrical line was broken by the gap caused by the laurel-studded -lawn, with the great, dark, gloomy house looming at the back of it. -Evidently it had been the country retreat of some wealthy merchant, -built perhaps when the nearest street was a mile off, and now gradually -overtaken and surrounded by the red brick tentacles of the London -octopus. The next stage, I reflected, would be its digestion and -absorption, so that the cheap builder might rear a dozen -eighty-pound-a-year villas upon the garden frontage. And then, as all -this passed vaguely through my mind, an incident occurred which brought -my thoughts into quite another channel. - -A four-wheeled cab, that opprobrium of London, was coming jolting and -creaking in one direction, while in the other there was a yellow glare -from the lamp of a cyclist. They were the only moving objects in the -whole long, moonlit road, and yet they crashed into each other with that -malignant accuracy which brings two ocean liners together in the broad -waste of the Atlantic. It was the cyclist’s fault. He tried to cross in -front of the cab, miscalculated his distance, and was knocked sprawling -by the horse’s shoulder. He rose, snarling; the cabman swore back at -him, and then, realizing that his number had not yet been taken, lashed -his horse and lumbered off. The cyclist caught at the handles of his -prostrate machine, and then suddenly sat down with a groan. “Oh, Lord!” -he said. - -I ran across the road to his side. “Any harm done?” I asked. - -“It’s my ankle,” said he. “Only a twist, I think; but it’s pretty -painful. Just give me your hand, will you?” - -He lay in the yellow circle of the cycle lamp, and I noted as I helped -him to his feet that he was a gentlemanly young fellow, with a slight -dark moustache and large, brown eyes, sensitive and nervous in -appearance, with indications of weak health upon his sunken cheeks. Work -or worry had left its traces upon his thin, yellow face. He stood up -when I pulled his hand, but he held one foot in the air, and he groaned -as he moved it. - -“I can’t put it to the ground,” said he. - -“Where do you live?” - -“Here!” he nodded his head towards the big, dark house in the garden. “I -was cutting across to the gate when that confounded cab ran into me. -Could you help me so far?” - -It was easily done. I put his cycle inside the gate, and then I -supported him down the drive, and up the steps to the hall door. There -was not a light anywhere, and the place was as black and silent as if no -one had ever lived in it. - -“That will do. Thank you very much,” said he, fumbling with his key in -the lock. - -“No, you must allow me to see you safe.” - -He made some feeble, petulant protest, and then realized that he could -really do nothing without me. The door had opened into a pitch-dark -hall. He lurched forward, with my hand still on his arm. - -“This door to the right,” said he, feeling about in the darkness. - -I opened the door, and at the same moment he managed to strike a light. -There was a lamp upon the table, and we lit it between us. “Now, I’m all -right. You can leave me now! Good-bye!” said he, and with the words he -sat down in the arm-chair and fainted dead away. - -It was a queer position for me. The fellow looked so ghastly, that -really I was not sure that he was not dead. Presently his lips quivered -and his breast heaved, but his eyes were two white slits and his colour -was horrible. The responsibility was more than I could stand. I pulled -at the bell-rope, and heard the bell ringing furiously far away. But no -one came in response. The bell tinkled away into silence, which no -murmur or movement came to break. I waited, and rang again, with the -same result. There must be some one about. This young gentleman could -not live all alone in that huge house. His people ought to know of his -condition. If they would not answer the bell, I must hunt them out -myself. I seized the lamp and rushed from the room. - -What I saw outside amazed me. The hall was empty. The stairs were bare, -and yellow with dust. There were three doors opening into spacious -rooms, and each was uncarpeted and undraped, save for the grey webs -which drooped from the cornice, and rosettes of lichen which had formed -upon the walls. My feet reverberated in those empty and silent chambers. -Then I wandered on down the passage, with the idea that the kitchens, at -least, might be tenanted. Some caretaker might lurk in some secluded -room. No, they were all equally desolate. Despairing of finding any -help, I ran down another corridor, and came on something which surprised -me more than ever. - -The passage ended in a large, brown door, and the door had a seal of red -wax the size of a five-shilling piece over the keyhole. This seal gave -me the impression of having been there for a long time, for it was dusty -and discoloured. I was still staring at it, and wondering what that door -might conceal, when I heard a voice calling behind me, and, running -back, found my young man sitting up in his chair and very much -astonished at finding himself in darkness. - -“Why on earth did you take the lamp away?” he asked. - -“I was looking for assistance.” - -“You might look for some time,” said he. “I am alone in the house.” - -“Awkward if you get an illness.” - -“It was foolish of me to faint. I inherit a weak heart from my mother, -and pain or emotion has that effect upon me. It will carry me off some -day, as it did her. You’re not a doctor, are you?” - -“No, a lawyer. Frank Alder is my name.” - -“Mine is Felix Stanniford. Funny that I should meet a lawyer, for my -friend, Mr. Perceval, was saying that we should need one soon.” - -“Very happy, I am sure.” - -“Well, that will depend upon him, you know. Did you say that you had run -with that lamp all over the ground floor?” - -“Yes.” - -“_All_ over it?” he asked, with emphasis, and he looked at me very hard. - -“I think so. I kept on hoping that I should find someone.” - -“Did you enter _all_ the rooms?” he asked, with the same intent gaze. - -“Well, all that I could enter.” - -“Oh, then you _did_ notice it!” said he, and he shrugged his shoulders -with the air of a man who makes the best of a bad job. - -“Notice what?” - -“Why, the door with the seal on it.” - -“Yes, I did.” - -“Weren’t you curious to know what was in it?” - -“Well, it did strike me as unusual.” - -“Do you think you could go on living alone in this house, year after -year, just longing all the time to know what is at the other side of -that door, and yet not looking?” - -“Do you mean to say,” I cried, “that you don’t know yourself?” - -“No more than you do.” - -“Then why don’t you look?” - -“I mustn’t,” said he. - -He spoke in a constrained way, and I saw that I had blundered on to some -delicate ground. I don’t know that I am more inquisitive than my -neighbours, but there certainly was something in the situation which -appealed very strongly to my curiosity. However, my last excuse for -remaining in the house was gone now that my companion had recovered his -senses. I rose to go. - -“Are you in a hurry?” he asked. - -“No; I have nothing to do.” - -“Well, I should be very glad if you would stay with me a little. The -fact is that I live a very retired and secluded life here. I don’t -suppose there is a man in London who leads such a life as I do. It is -quite unusual for me to have any one to talk with.” - -I looked round at the little room, scantily furnished, with a sofa-bed -at one side. Then I thought of the great, bare house, and the sinister -door with the discoloured red seal upon it. There was something queer -and grotesque in the situation, which made me long to know a little -more. Perhaps I should, if I waited. I told him that I should be very -happy. - -“You will find the spirits and a siphon upon the side table. You must -forgive me if I cannot act as host, but I can’t get across the room. -Those are cigars in the tray there. I’ll take one myself, I think. And -so you are a solicitor, Mr. Alder?” - -“Yes.” - -“And I am nothing. I am that most helpless of living creatures, the son -of a millionaire. I was brought up with the expectation of great wealth; -and here I am, a poor man, without any profession at all. And then, on -the top of it all, I am left with this great mansion on my hands, which -I cannot possibly keep up. Isn’t it an absurd situation? For me to use -this as my dwelling is like a coster drawing his barrow with a -thoroughbred. A donkey would be more useful to him, and a cottage to -me.” - -“But why not sell the house?” I asked. - -“I mustn’t.” - -“Let it, then?” - -“No, I mustn’t do that either.” - -I looked puzzled, and my companion smiled. - -“I’ll tell you how it is, if it won’t bore you,” said he. - -“On the contrary, I should be exceedingly interested.” - -“I think, after your kind attention to me, I cannot do less than relieve -any curiosity that you may feel. You must know that my father was -Stanislaus Stanniford, the banker.” - -Stanniford, the banker! I remembered the name at once. His flight from -the country some seven years before had been one of the scandals and -sensations of the time. - -“I see that you remember,” said my companion. “My poor father left the -country to avoid numerous friends, whose savings he had invested in an -unsuccessful speculation. He was a nervous, sensitive man, and the -responsibility quite upset his reason. He had committed no legal -offence. It was purely a matter of sentiment. He would not even face his -own family, and he died among strangers without ever letting us know -where he was.” - -“He died!” said I. - -“We could not prove his death, but we know that it must be so, because -the speculations came right again, and so there was no reason why he -should not look any man in the face. He would have returned if he were -alive. But he must have died in the last two years.” - -“Why in the last two years?” - -“Because we heard from him two years ago.” - -“Did he not tell you then where he was living?” - -“The letter came from Paris, but no address was given. It was when my -poor mother died. He wrote to me then, with some instructions and some -advice, and I have never heard from him since.” - -“Had you heard before?” - -“Oh, yes, we had heard before, and that’s where our mystery of the -sealed door, upon which you stumbled to-night, has its origin. Pass me -that desk, if you please. Here I have my father’s letters, and you are -the first man except Mr. Perceval who has seen them.” - -“Who is Mr. Perceval, may I ask?” - -“He was my father’s confidential clerk, and he has continued to be the -friend and adviser of my mother and then of myself. I don’t know what we -should have done without Perceval. He saw the letters, but no one else. -This is the first one, which came on the very day when my father fled, -seven years ago. Read it to yourself.” - -This is the letter which I read:— - - “MY EVER DEAREST WIFE,— - - “Since Sir William told me how weak your heart is, and how harmful - any shock might be, I have never talked about my business affairs - to you. The time has come when at all risks I can no longer - refrain from telling you that things have been going badly with - me. This will cause me to leave you for a little time, but it is - with the absolute assurance that we shall see each other very - soon. On this you can thoroughly rely. Our parting is only for a - very short time, my own darling, so don’t let it fret you, and - above all don’t let it impair your health, for that is what I want - above all things to avoid. - - “Now, I have a request to make, and I implore you by all that - binds us together to fulfil it exactly as I tell you. There are - some things which I do not wish to be seen by any one in my dark - room—the room which I use for photographic purposes at the end of - the garden passage. To prevent any painful thoughts, I may assure - you once for all, dear, that it is nothing of which I need be - ashamed. But still I do not wish you or Felix to enter that room. - It is locked, and I implore you when you receive this to at once - place a seal over the lock, and leave it so. Do not sell or let - the house, for in either case my secret will be discovered. As - long as you or Felix are in the house, I know that you will comply - with my wishes. When Felix is twenty-one he may enter the room—not - before. - - “And now, good-bye, my own best of wives. During our short - separation you can consult Mr. Perceval on any matters which may - arise. He has my complete confidence. I hate to leave Felix and - you—even for a time—but there is really no choice. - - “Ever and always your loving husband, - - STANISLAUS STANNIFORD. - - “June 4th, 1887.” - -“These are very private family matters for me to inflict upon you,” said -my companion, apologetically. “You must look upon it as done in your -professional capacity. I have wanted to speak about it for years.” - -“I am honoured by your confidence,” I answered, “and exceedingly -interested by the facts.” - -“My father was a man who was noted for his almost morbid love of truth. -He was always pedantically accurate. When he said, therefore, that he -hoped to see my mother very soon, and when he said that he had nothing -to be ashamed of in that dark room, you may rely upon it that he meant -it.” - -“Then what can it be?” I ejaculated. - -“Neither my mother nor I could imagine. We carried out his wishes to the -letter, and placed the seal upon the door; there it has been ever since. -My mother lived for five years after my father’s disappearance, although -at the time all the doctors said that she could not survive long. Her -heart was terribly diseased. During the first few months she had two -letters from my father. Both had the Paris post-mark, but no address. -They were short and to the same effect: that they would soon be -reunited, and that she should not fret. Then there was a silence, which -lasted until her death; and then came a letter to me of so private a -nature that I cannot show it to you, begging me never to think evil of -him, giving me much good advice, and saying that the sealing of the room -was of less importance now than during the lifetime of my mother, but -that the opening might still cause pain to others, and that, therefore, -he thought it best that it should be postponed until my twenty-first -year, for the lapse of time would make things easier. In the meantime, -he committed the care of the room to me; so now you can understand how -it is that, although I am a very poor man, I can neither let nor sell -this great house.” - -“You could mortgage it.” - -“My father had already done so.” - -“It is a most singular state of affairs.” - -“My mother and I were gradually compelled to sell the furniture and to -dismiss the servants, until now, as you see, I am living unattended in a -single room. But I have only two more months.” - -“What do you mean?” - -“Why, that in two months I come of age. The first thing that I do will -be to open that door; the second, to get rid of the house.” - -“Why should your father have continued to stay away when these -investments had recovered themselves?” - -“He must be dead.” - -“You say that he had not committed any legal offence when he fled the -country?” - -“None.” - -“Why should he not take your mother with him?” - -“I do not know.” - -“Why should he conceal his address?” - -“I do not know.” - -“Why should he allow your mother to die and be buried without coming -back?” - -“I do not know.” - -“My dear sir,” said I, “if I may speak with the frankness of a -professional adviser, I should say that it is very clear that your -father had the strongest reasons for keeping out of the country, and -that, if nothing has been proved against him, he at least thought that -something might be, and refused to put himself within the power of the -law. Surely that must be obvious, for in what other possible way can the -facts be explained?” - -My companion did not take my suggestion in good part. - -“You had not the advantage of knowing my father, Mr. Alder,” he said, -coldly. “I was only a boy when he left us, but I shall always look upon -him as my ideal man. His only fault was that he was too sensitive and -too unselfish. That any one should lose money through him would cut him -to the heart. His sense of honour was most acute, and any theory of his -disappearance which conflicts with that is a mistaken one.” - -It pleased me to hear the lad speak out so roundly, and yet I knew that -the facts were against him, and that he was incapable of taking an -unprejudiced view of the situation. - -“I only speak as an outsider,” said I. “And now I must leave you, for I -have a long walk before me. Your story has interested me so much that I -should be glad if you could let me know the sequel.” - -“Leave me your card,” said he; and so, having bade him “good-night,” I -left him. - -I heard nothing more of the matter for some time, and had almost feared -that it would prove to be one of those fleeting experiences which drift -away from our direct observation and end only in a hope or a suspicion. -One afternoon, however, a card bearing the name of Mr. J. H. Perceval -was brought up to my office in Abchurch Lane, and its bearer, a small -dry, bright-eyed fellow of fifty, was ushered in by the clerk. - -“I believe, sir,” said he, “that my name has been mentioned to you by my -young friend, Mr. Felix Stanniford?” - -“Of course,” I answered, “I remember.” - -“He spoke to you, I understand, about the circumstances in connection -with the disappearance of my former employer, Mr. Stanislaus Stanniford, -and the existence of a sealed room in his former residence.” - -“He did.” - -“And you expressed an interest in the matter.” - -“It interested me extremely.” - -“You are aware that we hold Mr. Stanniford’s permission to open the door -on the twenty-first birthday of his son?” - -“I remember.” - -“The twenty-first birthday is to-day.” - -“Have you opened it?” I asked, eagerly. - -“Not yet, sir,” said he, gravely. “I have reason to believe that it -would be well to have witnesses present when that door is opened. You -are a lawyer, and you are acquainted with the facts. Will you be present -on the occasion?” - -“Most certainly.” - -“You are employed during the day, and so am I. Shall we meet at nine -o’clock at the house?” - -“I will come with pleasure.” - -“Then you will find us waiting for you. Good-bye, for the present.” He -bowed solemnly, and took his leave. - -I kept my appointment that evening, with a brain which was weary with -fruitless attempts to think out some plausible explanation of the -mystery which we were about to solve. Mr. Perceval and my young -acquaintance were waiting for me in the little room. I was not surprised -to see the young man looking pale and nervous, but I was rather -astonished to find the dry little City man in a state of intense, though -partially suppressed, excitement. His cheeks were flushed, his hands -twitching, and he could not stand still for an instant. - -Stanniford greeted me warmly, and thanked me many times for having come. -“And now, Perceval,” said he to his companion, “I suppose there is no -obstacle to our putting the thing through without delay? I shall be glad -to get it over.” - -The banker’s clerk took up the lamp and led the way. But he paused in -the passage outside the door, and his hand was shaking, so that the -light flickered up and down the high, bare walls. - -“Mr. Stanniford,” said he, in a cracking voice, “I hope you will prepare -yourself in case any shock should be awaiting you when that seal is -removed and the door is opened.” - -“What could there be, Perceval? You are trying to frighten me.” - -“No, Mr. Stanniford; but I should wish you to be ready ... to be braced -up ... not to allow yourself....” He had to lick his dry lips between -every jerky sentence, and I suddenly realized, as clearly as if he had -told me, that he knew what was behind that closed door, and that it -_was_ something terrible. “Here are the keys, Mr. Stanniford, but -remember my warning!” - -He had a bunch of assorted keys in his hand, and the young man snatched -them from him. Then he thrust a knife under the discoloured red seal and -jerked it off. The lamp was rattling and shaking in Perceval’s hands, so -I took it from him and held it near the key hole, while Stanniford tried -key after key. At last one turned in the lock, the door flew open, he -took one step into the room, and then, with a horrible cry, the young -man fell senseless at our feet. - -If I had not given heed to the clerk’s warning, and braced myself for a -shock, I should certainly have dropped the lamp. The room, windowless -and bare, was fitted up as a photographic laboratory, with a tap and -sink at the side of it. A shelf of bottles and measures stood at one -side, and a peculiar, heavy smell, partly chemical, partly animal, -filled the air. A single table and chair were in front of us, and at -this, with his back turned towards us, a man was seated in the act of -writing. His outline and attitude were as natural as life; but as the -light fell upon him, it made my hair rise to see that the nape of his -neck was black and wrinkled, and no thicker than my wrist. Dust lay upon -him—thick, yellow dust—upon his hair, his shoulders, his shrivelled, -lemon-coloured hands. His head had fallen forward upon his breast. His -pen still rested upon a discoloured sheet of paper. - -“My poor master! My poor, poor master!” cried the clerk, and the tears -were running down his cheeks. - -“What!” I cried, “Mr. Stanislaus Stanniford!” - -“Here he has sat for seven years. Oh, why would he do it? I begged him, -I implored him, I went on my knees to him, but he would have his way. -You see the key on the table. He had locked the door upon the inside. -And he has written something. We must take it.” - -“Yes, yes, take it, and for God’s sake, let us get out of this,” I -cried; “the air is poisonous. Come, Stanniford, come!” Taking an arm -each, we half led and half carried the terrified man back to his own -room. - -“It was my father!” he cried, as he recovered his consciousness. “He is -sitting there dead in his chair. You knew it, Perceval! This was what -you meant when you warned me.” - -“Yes, I knew it, Mr. Stanniford. I have acted for the best all along, -but my position has been a terribly difficult one. For seven years I -have known that your father was dead in that room.” - -“You knew it, and never told us!” - -“Don’t be harsh with me, Mr. Stanniford, sir! Make allowance for a man -who has had a hard part to play.” - -“My head is swimming round. I cannot grasp it!” He staggered up, and -helped himself from the brandy bottle. “These letters to my mother and -to myself—were they forgeries?” - -“No, sir; your father wrote them and addressed them, and left them in my -keeping to be posted. I have followed his instructions to the very -letter in all things. He was my master, and I have obeyed him.” - -The brandy had steadied the young man’s shaken nerves. “Tell me about -it. I can stand it now,” said he. - -“Well, Mr. Stanniford, you know that at one time there came a period of -great trouble upon your father, and he thought that many poor people -were about to lose their savings through his fault. He was a man who was -so tender-hearted that he could not bear the thought. It worried him and -tormented him, until he determined to end his life. Oh, Mr. Stanniford, -if you knew how I have prayed him and wrestled with him over it, you -would never blame me! And he in turn prayed me as no man has ever prayed -me before. He had made up his mind, and he would do it in any case, he -said; but it rested with me whether his death should be happy and easy -or whether it should be most miserable. I read in his eyes that he meant -what he said. And at last I yielded to his prayers, and I consented to -do his will. - -“What was troubling him was this. He had been told by the first doctor -in London that his wife’s heart would fail at the slightest shock. He -had a horror of accelerating her end, and yet his own existence had -become unendurable to him. How could he end himself without injuring -her? - -“You know now the course that he took. He wrote the letter which she -received. There was nothing in it which was not literally true. When he -spoke of seeing her again so soon, he was referring to her own -approaching death, which he had been assured could not be delayed more -than a very few months. So convinced was he of this, that he only left -two letters to be forwarded at intervals after his death. She lived five -years, and I had no letters to send. - -“He left another letter with me to be sent to you, sir, upon the -occasion of the death of your mother. I posted all these in Paris to -sustain the idea of his being abroad. It was his wish that I should say -nothing, and I have said nothing. I have been a faithful servant. Seven -years after his death, he thought no doubt that the shock to the -feelings of his surviving friends would be lessened. He was always -considerate for others.” - -There was silence for some time. It was broken by young Stanniford. - -“I cannot blame you, Perceval. You have spared my mother a shock, which -would certainly have broken her heart. What is that paper?” - -“It is what your father was writing, sir. Shall I read it to you?” - -“Do so.” - -“‘I have taken the poison, and I feel it working in my veins. It is -strange, but not painful. When these words are read I shall, if my -wishes have been faithfully carried out, have been dead many years. -Surely no one who has lost money through me will still bear me -animosity. And you, Felix, you will forgive me this family scandal. May -God find rest for a sorely wearied spirit!’” - -“Amen!” we cried, all three. - - - - - THE BRAZILIAN CAT - - -It is hard luck on a young fellow to have expensive tastes, great -expectations, aristocratic connections, but no actual money in his -pocket, and no profession by which he may earn any. The fact was that my -father, a good, sanguine, easy-going man, had such confidence in the -wealth and benevolence of his bachelor elder brother, Lord Southerton, -that he took it for granted that I, his only son, would never be called -upon to earn a living for myself. He imagined that if there were not a -vacancy for me on the great Southerton Estates, at least there would be -found some post in that diplomatic service which still remains the -special preserve of our privileged classes. He died too early to realize -how false his calculations had been. Neither my uncle nor the State took -the slightest notice of me, or showed any interest in my career. An -occasional brace of pheasants, or basket of hares, was all that ever -reached me to remind me that I was heir to Otwell House and one of the -richest estates in the country. In the meantime, I found myself a -bachelor and man about town, living in a suite of apartments in -Grosvenor Mansions, with no occupation save that of pigeon-shooting and -polo-playing at Hurlingham. Month by month I realized that it was more -and more difficult to get the brokers to renew my bills, or to cash any -further post-obits upon an unentailed property. Ruin lay right across my -path, and every day I saw it clearer, nearer, and more absolutely -unavoidable. - -What made me feel my own poverty the more was that, apart from the great -wealth of Lord Southerton, all my other relations were fairly -well-to-do. The nearest of these was Everard King, my father’s nephew -and my own first cousin, who had spent an adventurous life in Brazil, -and had now returned to this country to settle down on his fortune. We -never knew how he made his money, but he appeared to have plenty of it, -for he bought the estate of Greylands, near Clipton-on-the-Marsh, in -Suffolk. For the first year of his residence in England he took no more -notice of me than my miserly uncle; but at last one summer morning, to -my very great relief and joy, I received a letter asking me to come down -that very day and spend a short visit at Greylands Court. I was -expecting a rather long visit to Bankruptcy Court at the time, and this -interruption seemed almost providential. If I could only get on terms -with this unknown relative of mine, I might pull through yet. For the -family credit he could not let me go entirely to the wall. I ordered my -valet to pack my valise, and I set off the same evening for -Clipton-on-the-Marsh. - -After changing at Ipswich, a little local train deposited me at a small, -deserted station lying amidst a rolling grassy country, with a sluggish -and winding river curving in and out amidst the valleys, between high, -silted banks, which showed that we were within reach of the tide. No -carriage was awaiting me (I found afterwards that my telegram had been -delayed), so I hired a dog-cart at the local inn. The driver, an -excellent fellow, was full of my relative’s praises, and I learned from -him that Mr. Everard King was already a name to conjure with in that -part of the country. He had entertained the school-children, he had -thrown his grounds open to visitors, he had subscribed to charities—in -short, his benevolence had been so universal that my driver could only -account for it on the supposition that he had Parliamentary ambitions. - -My attention was drawn away from my driver’s panegyric by the appearance -of a very beautiful bird which settled on a telegraph-post beside the -road. At first I thought that it was a jay, but it was larger, with a -brighter plumage. The driver accounted for its presence at once by -saying that it belonged to the very man whom we were about to visit. It -seems that the acclimatization of foreign creatures was one of his -hobbies, and that he had brought with him from Brazil a number of birds -and beasts which he was endeavouring to rear in England. When once we -had passed the gates of Greylands Park we had ample evidence of this -taste of his. Some small spotted deer, a curious wild pig known, I -believe, as a peccary, a gorgeously feathered oriole, some sort of -armadillo, and a singular lumbering intoed beast like a very fat badger, -were among the creatures which I observed as we drove along the winding -avenue. - -Mr. Everard King, my unknown cousin, was standing in person upon the -steps of his house, for he had seen us in the distance, and guessed that -it was I. His appearance was very homely and benevolent, short and -stout, forty-five years old perhaps, with a round, good-humoured face, -burned brown with the tropical sun, and shot with a thousand wrinkles. -He wore white linen clothes, in true planter style, with a cigar between -his lips, and a large Panama hat upon the back of his head. It was such -a figure as one associates with a verandahed bungalow, and it looked -curiously out of place in front of this broad, stone English mansion, -with its solid wings and its Palladio pillars before the doorway. - -“My dear!” he cried, glancing over his shoulder; “my dear, here is our -guest! Welcome, welcome to Greylands! I am delighted to make your -acquaintance, Cousin Marshall, and I take it as a great compliment that -you should honour this sleepy little country place with your presence.” - -Nothing could be more hearty than his manner, and he set me at my ease -in an instant. But it needed all his cordiality to atone for the -frigidity and even rudeness of his wife, a tall, haggard woman, who came -forward at his summons. She was, I believe, of Brazilian extraction, -though she spoke excellent English, and I excused her manners on the -score of her ignorance of our customs. She did not attempt to conceal, -however, either then or afterwards, that I was no very welcome visitor -at Greylands Court. Her actual words were, as a rule, courteous, but she -was the possessor of a pair of particularly expressive dark eyes, and I -read in them very clearly from the first that she heartily wished me -back in London once more. - -However, my debts were too pressing and my designs upon my wealthy -relative were too vital for me to allow them to be upset by the -ill-temper of his wife, so I disregarded her coldness and reciprocated -the extreme cordiality of his welcome. No pains had been spared by him -to make me comfortable. My room was a charming one. He implored me to -tell him anything which could add to my happiness. It was on the tip of -my tongue to inform him that a blank cheque would materially help -towards that end, but I felt that it might be premature in the present -state of our acquaintance. The dinner was excellent, and as we sat -together afterwards over his Havanas and coffee, which latter he told me -was specially prepared upon his own plantation, it seemed to me that all -my driver’s eulogies were justified, and that I had never met a more -large-hearted and hospitable man. - -But, in spite of his cheery good nature, he was a man with a strong will -and a fiery temper of his own. Of this I had an example upon the -following morning. The curious aversion which Mrs. Everard King had -conceived towards me was so strong, that her manner at breakfast was -almost offensive. But her meaning became unmistakable when her husband -had quitted the room. - -“The best train in the day is at twelve fifteen,” said she. - -“But I was not thinking of going to-day,” I answered, frankly—perhaps -even defiantly, for I was determined not to be driven out by this woman. - -“Oh, if it rests with you——” said she, and stopped, with a most insolent -expression in her eyes. - -“I am sure,” I answered “that Mr. Everard King would tell me if I were -outstaying my welcome.” - -“What’s this? What’s this?” said a voice, and there he was in the room. -He had overheard my last words, and a glance at our faces had told him -the rest. In an instant his chubby, cheery face set into an expression -of absolute ferocity. - -“Might I trouble you to walk outside, Marshall,” said he. (I may mention -that my own name is Marshall King.) - -He closed the door behind me, and then, for an instant, I heard him -talking in a low voice of concentrated passion to his wife. This gross -breach of hospitality had evidently hit upon his tenderest point. I am -no eavesdropper, so I walked out on to the lawn. Presently I heard a -hurried step behind me, and there was the lady, her face pale with -excitement, and her eyes red with tears. - -“My husband has asked me to apologize to you, Mr. Marshall King,” said -she, standing with downcast eyes before me. - -“Please do not say another word, Mrs. King.” - -Her dark eyes suddenly blazed out at me. - -“You fool!” she hissed, with frantic vehemence, and turning on her heel -swept back to the house. - -The insult was so outrageous, so insufferable, that I could only stand -staring after her in bewilderment. I was still there when my host joined -me. He was his cheery, chubby self once more. - -“I hope that my wife has apologized for her foolish remarks,” said he. - -“Oh, yes—yes, certainly!” - -He put his hand through my arm and walked with me up and down the lawn. - -“You must not take it seriously,” said he. “It would grieve me -inexpressibly if you curtailed your visit by one hour. The fact is—there -is no reason why there should be any concealment between relatives—that -my poor dear wife is incredibly jealous. She hates that any one—male or -female—should for an instant come between us. Her ideal is a desert -island and an eternal _tête-à-tête_. That gives you the clue to her -actions, which are, I confess, upon this particular point, not very far -removed from mania. Tell me that you will think no more of it.” - -“No, no; certainly not.” - -“Then light this cigar and come round with me and see my little -menagerie.” - -The whole afternoon was occupied by this inspection, which included all -the birds, beasts, and even reptiles which he had imported. Some were -free, some in cages, a few actually in the house. He spoke with -enthusiasm of his successes and his failures, his births and his deaths, -and he would cry out in his delight, like a schoolboy, when, as we -walked, some gaudy bird would flutter up from the grass, or some curious -beast slink into the cover. Finally he led me down a corridor which -extended from one wing of the house. At the end of this there was a -heavy door with a sliding shutter in it, and beside it there projected -from the wall an iron handle attached to a wheel and a drum. A line of -stout bars extended across the passage. - -“I am about to show you the jewel of my collection,” said he. “There is -only one other specimen in Europe, now that the Rotterdam cub is dead. -It is a Brazilian cat.” - -“But how does that differ from any other cat?” - -“You will soon see that,” said he, laughing. “Will you kindly draw that -shutter and look through?” - -I did so, and found that I was gazing into a large, empty room, with -stone flags, and small, barred windows upon the farther wall. - -In the centre of this room, lying in the middle of a golden patch of -sunlight, there was stretched a huge creature, as large as a tiger, but -as black and sleek as ebony. It was simply a very enormous and very -well-kept black cat, and it cuddled up and basked in that yellow pool of -light exactly as a cat would do. It was so graceful, so sinewy, and so -gently and smoothly diabolical, that I could not take my eyes from the -opening. - -“Isn’t he splendid?” said my host, enthusiastically. - -“Glorious! I never saw such a noble creature.” - -“Some people call it a black puma, but really it is not a puma at all. -That fellow is nearly eleven feet from tail to tip. Four years ago he -was a little ball of black fluff, with two yellow eyes staring out of -it. He was sold me as a new-born cub up in the wild country at the -head-waters of the Rio Negro. They speared his mother to death after she -had killed a dozen of them.” - -“They are ferocious, then?” - -“The most absolutely treacherous and blood-thirsty creatures upon earth. -You talk about a Brazilian cat to an up-country Indian, and see him get -the jumps. They prefer humans to game. This fellow has never tasted -living blood yet, but when he does he will be a terror. At present he -won’t stand any one but me in his den. Even Baldwin, the groom, dare not -go near him. As to me, I am his mother and father in one.” - -As he spoke he suddenly, to my astonishment, opened the door and slipped -in, closing it instantly behind him. At the sound of his voice the huge, -lithe creature rose, yawned, and rubbed its round, black head -affectionately against his side, while he patted and fondled it. - -“Now, Tommy, into your cage!” said he. - -The monstrous cat walked over to one side of the room and coiled itself -up under a grating. Everard King came out, and taking the iron handle -which I have mentioned, he began to turn it. As he did so the line of -bars in the corridor began to pass through a slot in the wall and closed -up the front of this grating, so as to make an effective cage. When it -was in position he opened the door once more and invited me into the -room, which was heavy with the pungent, musty smell peculiar to the -great carnivora. - -“That’s how we work it,” said he. “We give him the run of the room for -exercise, and then at night we put him in his cage. You can let him out -by turning the handle from the passage, or you can, as you have seen, -coop him up in the same way. No, no, you should not do that!” - -I had put my hand between the bars to pat the glossy, heaving flank. He -pulled it back, with a serious face. - -“I assure you that he is not safe. Don’t imagine that because I can take -liberties with him any one else can. He is very exclusive in his -friends—aren’t you, Tommy? Ah, he hears his lunch coming to him! Don’t -you, boy?” - -A step sounded in the stone-flagged passage, and the creature had sprung -to his feet, and was pacing up and down the narrow cage, his yellow eyes -gleaming, and his scarlet tongue rippling and quivering over the white -line of his jagged teeth. A groom entered with a coarse joint upon a -tray, and thrust it through the bars to him. He pounced lightly upon it, -carried it off to the corner, and there, holding it between his paws, -tore and wrenched at it, raising his bloody muzzle every now and then to -look at us. It was a malignant and yet fascinating sight. - -“You can’t wonder that I am fond of him, can you?” said my host, as we -left the room, “especially when you consider that I have had the rearing -of him. It was no joke bringing him over from the centre of South -America; but here he is safe and sound—and, as I have said, far the most -perfect specimen in Europe. The people at the Zoo are dying to have him, -but I really can’t part with him. How, I think that I have inflicted my -hobby upon you long enough, so we cannot do better than follow Tommy’s -example, and go to our lunch.” - -My South American relative was so engrossed by his grounds and their -curious occupants, that I hardly gave him credit at first for having any -interests outside them. That he had some, and pressing ones, was soon -borne in upon me by the number of telegrams which he received. They -arrived at all hours, and were always opened by him with the utmost -eagerness and anxiety upon his face. Sometimes I imagined that it must -be the turf, and sometimes the Stock Exchange, but certainly he had some -very urgent business going forwards which was not transacted upon the -Downs of Suffolk. During the six days of my visit he had never fewer -than three or four telegrams a day, and sometimes as many as seven or -eight. - -I had occupied these six days so well, that by the end of them I had -succeeded in getting upon the most cordial terms with my cousin. Every -night we had sat up late in the billiard-room, he telling me the most -extraordinary stories of his adventures in America—stories so desperate -and reckless, that I could hardly associate them with the brown little, -chubby man before me. In return, I ventured upon some of my own -reminiscences of London life, which interested him so much, that he -vowed he would come up to Grosvenor Mansions and stay with me. He was -anxious to see the faster side of city life, and certainly, though I say -it, he could not have chosen a more competent guide. It was not until -the last day of my visit that I ventured to approach that which was on -my mind. I told him frankly about my pecuniary difficulties and my -impending ruin, and I asked his advice—though I hoped for something more -solid. He listened attentively, puffing hard at his cigar. - -“But surely,” said he, “you are the heir of our relative, Lord -Southerton?” - -“I have every reason to believe so, but he would never make me any -allowance.” - -“No, no, I have heard of his miserly ways. My poor Marshall, your -position has been a very hard one. By the way, have you heard any news -of Lord Southerton’s health lately?” - -“He has always been in a critical condition ever since my childhood.” - -“Exactly—a creaking hinge, if ever there was one. Your inheritance may -be a long way off. Dear me, how awkwardly situated you are!” - -“I had some hopes, sir, that you, knowing all the facts, might be -inclined to advance——” - -“Don’t say another word, my dear boy,” he cried, with the utmost -cordiality; “we shall talk it over to-night, and I give you my word that -whatever is in my power shall be done.” - -I was not sorry that my visit was drawing to a close, for it is -unpleasant to feel that there is one person in the house who eagerly -desires your departure. Mrs. King’s sallow face and forbidding eyes had -become more and more hateful to me. She was no longer actively rude—her -fear of her husband prevented her—but she pushed her insane jealousy to -the extent of ignoring me, never addressing me, and in every way making -my stay at Greylands as uncomfortable as she could. So offensive was her -manner during that last day, that I should certainly have left had it -not been for that interview with my host in the evening which would, I -hoped, retrieve my broken fortunes. - -It was very late when it occurred, for my relative, who had been -receiving even more telegrams than usual during the day, went off to his -study after dinner, and only emerged when the household had retired to -bed. I heard him go round locking the doors, as his custom was of a -night, and finally he joined me in the billiard-room. His stout figure -was wrapped in a dressing-gown, and he wore a pair of red Turkish -slippers without any heels. Settling down into an arm-chair, he brewed -himself a glass of grog, in which I could not help noticing that the -whisky considerably predominated over the water. - -“My word!” said he, “what a night!” - -It was, indeed. The wind was howling and screaming round the house, and -the latticed windows rattled and shook as if they were coming in. The -glow of the yellow lamps and the flavour of our cigars seemed the -brighter and more fragrant for the contrast. - -“Now, my boy,” said my host, “we have the house and the night to -ourselves. Let me have an idea of how your affairs stand, and I will see -what can be done to set them in order. I wish to hear every detail.” - -Thus encouraged, I entered into a long exposition, in which all my -tradesmen and creditors, from my landlord to my valet, figured in turn. -I had notes in my pocket-book, and I marshalled my facts, and gave, I -flatter myself, a very business-like statement of my own -un-business-like ways and lamentable position. I was depressed, however, -to notice that my companion’s eyes were vacant and his attention -elsewhere. When he did occasionally throw out a remark, it was so -entirely perfunctory and pointless, that I was sure he had not in the -least followed my remarks. Every now and then he roused himself and put -on some show of interest, asking me to repeat or to explain more fully, -but it was always to sink once more into the same brown study. At last -he rose and threw the end of his cigar into the grate. - -“I’ll tell you what, my boy,” said he. “I never had a head for figures, -so you will excuse me. You must jot it all down upon paper, and let me -have a note of the amount. I’ll understand it when I see it in black and -white.” - -The proposal was encouraging. I promised to do so. - -“And now it’s time we were in bed. By Jove, there’s one o’clock striking -in the hall.” - -The tinging of the chiming clock broke through the deep roar of the -gale. The wind was sweeping past with the rush of a great river. - -“I must see my cat before I go to bed,” said my host. “A high wind -excites him. Will you come?” - -“Certainly,” said I. - -“Then tread softly and don’t speak, for every one is asleep.” - -We passed quietly down the lamp-lit Persian-rugged hall, and through the -door at the farther end. All was dark in the stone corridor, but a -stable lantern hung on a hook, and my host took it down and lit it. -There was no grating visible in the passage, so I knew that the beast -was in its cage. - -“Come in!” said my relative, and opened the door. - -A deep growling as we entered showed that the storm had really excited -the creature. In the flickering light of the lantern, we saw it, a huge -black mass, coiled in the corner of its den and throwing a squat, -uncouth shadow upon the whitewashed wall. Its tail switched angrily -among the straw. - -“Poor Tommy is not in the best of tempers,” said Everard King, holding -up the lantern and looking in at him. “What a black devil he looks, -doesn’t he? I must give him a little supper to put him in a better -humour. Would you mind holding the lantern for a moment?” - -I took it from his hand and he stepped to the door. - -“His larder is just outside here,” said he. “You will excuse me for an -instant, won’t you?” He passed out, and the door shut with a sharp -metallic click behind him. - -That hard crisp sound made my heart stand still. A sudden wave of terror -passed over me. A vague perception of some monstrous treachery turned me -cold. I sprang to the door, but there was no handle upon the inner side. - -“Here!” I cried. “Let me out!” - -“All right! Don’t make a row!” said my host from the passage. “You’ve -got the light all right.” - -“Yes, but I don’t care about being locked in alone like this.” - -“Don’t you?” I heard his hearty, chuckling laugh. “You won’t be alone -long.” - -“Let me out, sir!” I repeated angrily. “I tell you I don’t allow -practical jokes of this sort.” - -“Practical is the word,” said he, with another hateful chuckle. And then -suddenly I heard, amidst the roar of the storm, the creak and whine of -the winch-handle turning, and the rattle of the grating as it passed -through the slot. Great God, he was letting loose the Brazilian cat! - -In the light of the lantern I saw the bars sliding slowly before me. -Already there was an opening a foot wide at the farther end. With a -scream I seized the last bar with my hands and pulled with the strength -of a madman. I _was_ a madman with rage and horror. For a minute or more -I held the thing motionless. I knew that he was straining with all his -force upon the handle, and that the leverage was sure to overcome me. I -gave inch by inch, my feet sliding along the stones, and all the time I -begged and prayed this inhuman monster to save me from this horrible -death. I conjured him by his kinship. I reminded him that I was his -guest; I begged to know what harm I had ever done him. His only answers -were the tugs and jerks upon the handle, each of which, in spite of all -my struggles, pulled another bar through the opening. Clinging and -clutching, I was dragged across the whole front of the cage, until at -last, with aching wrists and lacerated fingers, I gave up the hopeless -struggle. The grating clanged back as I released it, and an instant -later I heard the shuffle of the Turkish slippers in the passage, and -the slam of the distant door. Then everything was silent. - -The creature had never moved during this time. He lay still in the -corner, and his tail had ceased switching. This apparition of a man -adhering to his bars and dragged screaming across him had apparently -filled him with amazement. I saw his great eyes staring steadily at me. -I had dropped the lantern when I seized the bars, but it still burned -upon the floor, and I made a movement to grasp it, with some idea that -its light might protect me. But the instant I moved, the beast gave a -deep and menacing growl. I stopped and stood still, quivering with fear -in every limb. The cat (if one may call so fearful a creature by so -homely a name) was not more than ten feet from me. The eyes glimmered -like two discs of phosphorus in the darkness. They appalled and yet -fascinated me. I could not take my own eyes from them. Nature plays -strange tricks with us at such moments of intensity, and those -glimmering lights waxed and waned with a steady rise and fall. Sometimes -they seemed to be tiny points of extreme brilliancy—little electric -sparks in the black obscurity—then they would widen and widen until all -that corner of the room was filled with their shifting and sinister -light. And then suddenly they went out altogether. - -The beast had closed its eyes. I do not know whether there may be any -truth in the old idea of the dominance of the human gaze, or whether the -huge cat was simply drowsy, but the fact remains that, far from showing -any symptom of attacking me, it simply rested its sleek, black head upon -its huge forepaws and seemed to sleep. I stood, fearing to move lest I -should rouse it into malignant life once more. But at least I was able -to think clearly now that the baleful eyes were off me. Here I was shut -up for the night with the ferocious beast. My own instincts, to say -nothing of the words of the plausible villain who laid this trap for me, -warned me that the animal was as savage as its master. How could I stave -it off until morning? The door was hopeless, and so were the narrow, -barred windows. There was no shelter anywhere in the bare, stone-flagged -room. To cry for assistance was absurd. I knew that this den was an -outhouse, and that the corridor which connected it with the house was at -least a hundred feet long. Besides, with that gale thundering outside, -my cries were not likely to be heard. I had only my own courage and my -own wits to trust to. - -And then, with a fresh wave of horror, my eyes fell upon the lantern. -The candle had burned low, and was already beginning to gutter. In ten -minutes it would be out. I had only ten minutes then in which to do -something, for I felt that if I were once left in the dark with that -fearful beast I should be incapable of action. The very thought of it -paralyzed me. I cast my despairing eyes round this chamber of death, and -they rested upon one spot which seemed to promise I will not say safety, -but less immediate and imminent danger than the open floor. - -I have said that the cage had a top as well as a front, and this top was -left standing when the front was wound through the slot in the wall. It -consisted of bars at a few inches’ interval, with stout wire netting -between, and it rested upon a strong stanchion at each end. It stood now -as a great barred canopy over the crouching figure in the corner. The -space between this iron shelf and the roof may have been from two to -three feet. If I could only get up there, squeezed in between bars and -ceiling, I should have only one vulnerable side. I should be safe from -below, from behind, and from each side. Only on the open face of it -could I be attacked. There, it is true, I had no protection whatever; -but, at least, I should be out of the brute’s path when he began to pace -about his den. He would have to come out of his way to reach me. It was -now or never, for if once the light were out it would be impossible. -With a gulp in my throat I sprang up, seized the iron edge of the top, -and swung myself panting on to it. I writhed in face downwards, and -found myself looking straight into the terrible eyes and yawning jaws of -the cat. Its fetid breath came up into my face like the steam from some -foul pot. - -It appeared, however, to be rather curious than angry. With a sleek -ripple of its long, black back it rose, stretched itself, and then -rearing itself on its hind legs, with one fore paw against the wall, it -raised the other, and drew its claws across the wire meshes beneath me. -One sharp, white hook tore through my trousers—for I may mention that I -was still in evening dress—and dug a furrow in my knee. It was not meant -as an attack, but rather as an experiment, for upon my giving a sharp -cry of pain he dropped down again, and springing lightly into the room, -he began walking swiftly round it, looking up every now and again in my -direction. For my part I shuffled backwards until I lay with my back -against the wall, screwing myself into the smallest space possible. The -farther I got the more difficult it was for him to attack me. - -He seemed more excited now that he had begun to move about, and he ran -swiftly and noiselessly round and round the den, passing continually -underneath the iron couch upon which I lay. It was wonderful to see so -great a bulk passing like a shadow, with hardly the softest thudding of -velvety pads. The candle was burning low—so low that I could hardly see -the creature. And then, with a last flare and splutter it went out -altogether. I was alone with the cat in the dark! - -It helps one to face a danger when one knows that one has done all that -possibly can be done. There is nothing for it then but to quietly await -the result. In this case, there was no chance of safety anywhere except -the precise spot where I was. I stretched myself out, therefore, and lay -silently, almost breathlessly, hoping that the beast might forget my -presence if I did nothing to remind him. I reckoned that it must already -be two o’clock. At four it would be full dawn. I had not more than two -hours to wait for daylight. - -Outside, the storm was still raging, and the rain lashed continually -against the little windows. Inside, the poisonous and fetid air was -overpowering. I could neither hear nor see the cat. I tried to think -about other things—but only one had power enough to draw my mind from my -terrible position. That was the contemplation of my cousin’s villainy, -his unparalleled hypocrisy, his malignant hatred of me. Beneath that -cheerful face there lurked the spirit of a mediæval assassin. And as I -thought of it I saw more clearly how cunningly the thing had been -arranged. He had apparently gone to bed with the others. No doubt he had -his witnesses to prove it. Then, unknown to them, he had slipped down, -had lured me into this den and abandoned me. His story would be so -simple. He had left me to finish my cigar in the billiard-room. I had -gone down on my own account to have a last look at the cat. I had -entered the room without observing that the cage was opened, and I had -been caught. How could such a crime be brought home to him? Suspicion, -perhaps—but proof, never! - -How slowly those dreadful two hours went by! Once I heard a low, rasping -sound, which I took to be the creature licking its own fur. Several -times those greenish eyes gleamed at me through the darkness, but never -in a fixed stare, and my hopes grew stronger that my presence had been -forgotten or ignored. At last the least faint glimmer of light came -through the windows—I first dimly saw them as two grey squares upon the -black wall, then grey turned to white, and I could see my terrible -companion once more. And he, alas, could see me! - -It was evident to me at once that he was in a much more dangerous and -aggressive mood than when I had seen him last. The cold of the morning -had irritated him, and he was hungry as well. With a continual growl he -paced swiftly up and down the side of the room which was farthest from -my refuge, his whiskers bristling angrily, and his tail switching and -lashing. As he turned at the corners his savage eyes always looked -upwards at me with a dreadful menace. I knew then that he meant to kill -me. Yet I found myself even at that moment admiring the sinuous grace of -the devilish thing, its long, undulating, rippling movements, the gloss -of its beautiful flanks, the vivid, palpitating scarlet of the -glistening tongue which hung from the jet-black muzzle. And all the time -that deep, threatening growl was rising and rising in an unbroken -crescendo. I knew that the crisis was at hand. - -It was a miserable hour to meet such a death—so cold, so comfortless, -shivering in my light dress clothes upon this gridiron of torment upon -which I was stretched. I tried to brace myself to it, to raise my soul -above it, and at the same time, with the lucidity which comes to a -perfectly desperate man, I cast round for some possible means of escape. -One thing was clear to me. If that front of the cage was only back in -its position once more, I could find a sure refuge behind it. Could I -possibly pull it back? I hardly dared to move for fear of bringing the -creature upon me. Slowly, very slowly, I put my hand forward until it -grasped the edge of the front, the final bar which protruded through the -wall. To my surprise it came quite easily to my jerk. Of course the -difficulty of drawing it out arose from the fact that I was clinging to -it. I pulled again, and three inches of it came through. It ran -apparently on wheels. I pulled again ... and then the cat sprang! - -It was so quick, so sudden, that I never saw it happen. I simply heard -the savage snarl, and in an instant afterwards the blazing yellow eyes, -the flattened black head with its red tongue and flashing teeth, were -within reach of me. The impact of the creature shook the bars upon which -I lay, until I thought (as far as I could think of anything at such a -moment) that they were coming down. The cat swayed there for an instant, -the head and front paws quite close to me, the hind paws clawing to find -a grip upon the edge of the grating. I heard the claws rasping as they -clung to the wire netting, and the breath of the beast made me sick. But -its bound had been miscalculated. It could not retain its position. -Slowly, grinning with rage and scratching madly at the bars, it swung -backwards and dropped heavily upon the floor. With a growl it instantly -faced round to me and crouched for another spring. - -I knew that the next few moments would decide my fate. The creature had -learned by experience. It would not miscalculate again. I must act -promptly, fearlessly, if I were to have a chance for life. In an instant -I had formed my plan. Pulling off my dress-coat, I threw it down over -the head of the beast. At the same moment I dropped over the edge, -seized the end of the front grating, and pulled it frantically out of -the wall. - -It came more easily than I could have expected. I rushed across the -room, bearing it with me; but, as I rushed, the accident of my position -put me upon the outer side. Had it been the other way, I might have come -off scathless. As it was, there was a moment’s pause as I stopped it and -tried to pass in through the opening which I had left. That moment was -enough to give time to the creature to toss off the coat with which I -had blinded him and to spring upon me. I hurled myself through the gap -and pulled the rails to behind me, but he seized my leg before I could -entirely withdraw it. One stroke of that huge paw tore off my calf as a -shaving of wood curls off before a plane. The next moment, bleeding and -fainting, I was lying among the foul straw with a line of friendly bars -between me and the creature which ramped so frantically against them. - -Too wounded to move, and too faint to be conscious of fear, I could only -lie, more dead than alive, and watch it. It pressed its broad, black -chest against the bars and angled for me with its crooked paws as I have -seen a kitten do before a mouse-trap. It ripped my clothes, but, stretch -as it would, it could not quite reach me. I have heard of the curious -numbing effect produced by wounds from the great carnivora, and now I -was destined to experience it, for I had lost all sense of personality, -and was as interested in the cat’s failure or success as if it were some -game which I was watching. And then gradually my mind drifted away into -strange, vague dreams, always with that black face and red tongue coming -back into them, and so I lost myself in the nirvana of delirium, the -blessed relief of those who are too sorely tried. - -Tracing the course of events afterwards, I conclude that I must have -been insensible for about two hours. What roused me to consciousness -once more was that sharp metallic click which had been the precursor of -my terrible experience. It was the shooting back of the spring lock. -Then, before my senses were clear enough to entirely apprehend what they -saw, I was aware of the round, benevolent face of my cousin peering in -through the opened door. What he saw evidently amazed him. There was the -cat crouching on the floor. I was stretched upon my back in my -shirtsleeves within the cage, my trousers torn to ribbons and a great -pool of blood all round me. I can see his amazed face now, with the -morning sunlight upon it. He peered at me, and peered again. Then he -closed the door behind him, and advanced to the cage to see if I were -really dead. - -I cannot undertake to say what happened. I was not in a fit state to -witness or to chronicle such events. I can only say that I was suddenly -conscious that his face was away from me—that he was looking towards the -animal. - -“Good old Tommy!” he cried. “Good old Tommy!” - -Then he came near the bars, with his back still towards me. - -“Down, you stupid beast!” he roared. “Down, sir! Don’t you know your -master?” - -Suddenly even in my bemuddled brain a remembrance came of those words of -his when he had said that the taste of blood would turn the cat into a -fiend. My blood had done it, but he was to pay the price. - -“Get away!” he screamed. “Get away, you devil! Baldwin! Baldwin! Oh, my -God!” - -And then I heard him fall, and rise, and fall again, with a sound like -the ripping of sacking. His screams grew fainter until they were lost in -the worrying snarl. And then, after I thought that he was dead, I saw, -as in a nightmare, a blinded, tattered, blood-soaked figure running -wildly round the room—and that was the last glimpse which I had of him -before I fainted once again. - - * * * * * - -I was many months in my recovery—in fact, I cannot say that I have ever -recovered, for to the end of my days I shall carry a stick as a sign of -my night with the Brazilian cat. Baldwin, the groom, and the other -servants could not tell what had occurred when, drawn by the death cries -of their master, they found me behind the bars, and his remains—or what -they afterwards discovered to be his remains—in the clutch of the -creature which he had reared. They stalled him off with hot irons, and -afterwards shot him through the loophole of the door before they could -finally extricate me. I was carried to my bedroom, and there, under the -roof of my would-be murderer, I remained between life and death for -several weeks. They had sent for a surgeon from Clipton and a nurse from -London, and in a month I was able to be carried to the station, and so -conveyed back once more to Grosvenor Mansions. - -I have one remembrance of that illness, which might have been part of -the ever-changing panorama conjured up by a delirious brain were it not -so definitely fixed in my memory. One night, when the nurse was absent, -the door of my chamber opened, and a tall woman in blackest mourning -slipped into the room. She came across to me, and as she bent her sallow -face I saw by the faint gleam of the night-light that it was the -Brazilian woman whom my cousin had married. She stared intently into my -face, and her expression was more kindly than I had ever seen it. - -“Are you conscious?” she asked. - -I feebly nodded—for I was still very weak. - -“Well, then, I only wished to say to you that you have yourself to -blame. Did I not do all I could for you? From the beginning I tried to -drive you from the house. By every means, short of betraying my husband, -I tried to save you from him. I knew that he had a reason for bringing -you here. I knew that he would never let you get away again. No one knew -him as I knew him, who had suffered from him so often. I did not dare to -tell you all this. He would have killed me. But I did my best for you. -As things have turned out, you have been the best friend that I have -ever had. You have set me free, and I fancied that nothing but death -would do that. I am sorry if you are hurt, but I cannot reproach myself. -I told you that you were a fool—and a fool you have been.” She crept out -of the room, the bitter, singular woman, and I was never destined to see -her again. With what remained from her husband’s property she went back -to her native land, and I have heard that she afterwards took the veil -at Pernambuco. - -It was not until I had been back in London for some time that the -doctors pronounced me to be well enough to do business. It was not a -very welcome permission to me, for I feared that it would be the signal -for an inrush of creditors; but it was Summers, my lawyer, who first -took advantage of it. - -“I am very glad to see that your lordship is so much better,” said he. -“I have been waiting a long time to offer my congratulations.” - -“What do you mean, Summers? This is no time for joking.” - -“I mean what I say,” he answered. “You have been Lord Southerton for the -last six weeks, but we feared that it would retard your recovery if you -were to learn it.” - -Lord Southerton! One of the richest peers in England! I could not -believe my ears. And then suddenly I thought of the time which had -elapsed, and how it coincided with my injuries. - -“Then Lord Southerton must have died about the same time that I was -hurt?” - -“His death occurred upon that very day.” Summers looked hard at me as I -spoke, and I am convinced—for he was a very shrewd fellow—that he had -guessed the true state of the case. He paused for a moment as if -awaiting a confidence from me, but I could not see what was to be gained -by exposing such a family scandal. - -“Yes, a very curious coincidence,” he continued, with the same knowing -look. “Of course, you are aware that your cousin Everard King was the -next heir to the estates. Now, if it had been you instead of him who had -been torn to pieces by this tiger, or whatever it was, then of course he -would have been Lord Southerton at the present moment.” - -“No doubt,” said I. - -“And he took such an interest in it,” said Summers. “I happen to know -that the late Lord Southerton’s valet was in his pay, and that he used -to have telegrams from him every few hours to tell him how he was -getting on. That would be about the time when you were down there. Was -it not strange that he should wish to be so well informed, since he knew -that he was not the direct heir?” - -“Very strange,” said I. “And now, Summers, if you will bring me my bills -and a new cheque-book, we will begin to get things into order.” - - - - - THE USHER OF LEA HOUSE SCHOOL - - -Mr. Lumsden, the senior partner of Lumsden and Westmacott, the -well-known scholastic and clerical agents, was a small, dapper man, with -a sharp, abrupt manner, a critical eye, and an incisive way of speaking. - -“Your name, sir?” said he, sitting pen in hand with his long, red-lined -folio in front of him. - -“Harold Weld.” - -“Oxford or Cambridge?” - -“Cambridge.” - -“Honours?” - -“No, sir.” - -“Athlete?” - -“Nothing remarkable, I am afraid.” - -“Not a Blue?” - -“Oh, no.” - -Mr. Lumsden shook his head despondently and shrugged his shoulders in a -way which sent my hopes down to zero. “There is a very keen competition -for masterships, Mr. Weld,” said he. “The vacancies are few and the -applicants innumerable. A first-class athlete, oar, or cricketer, or a -man who has passed very high in his examinations, can usually find a -vacancy—I might say always in the case of the cricketer. But the average -man—if you will excuse the description, Mr. Weld—has a very great -difficulty, almost an insurmountable difficulty. We have already more -than a hundred such names upon our lists, and if you think it worth -while our adding yours, I daresay that in the course of some years we -may possibly be able to find you some opening which——” - -He paused on account of a knock at the door. It was a clerk with a note. -Mr. Lumsden broke the seal and read it. - -“Why, Mr. Weld,” said he, “this is really rather an interesting -coincidence. I understand you to say that Latin and English are your -subjects, and that you would prefer for a time to accept a place in an -elementary establishment, where you would have time for private study?” - -“Quite so.” - -“This note contains a request from an old client of ours, Dr. Phelps -McCarthy, of Willow Lea House Academy, West Hampstead, that I should at -once send him a young man who should be qualified to teach Latin and -English to a small class of boys under fourteen years of age. His -vacancy appears to be the very one which you are looking for. The terms -are not munificent—sixty pounds, board, lodging, and washing—but the -work is not onerous, and you would have the evenings to yourself.” - -“That would do,” I cried, with all the eagerness of the man who sees -work at last after weary months of seeking. - -“I don’t know that it is quite fair to these gentlemen whose names have -been so long upon our list,” said Mr. Lumsden, glancing down at his open -ledger. “But the coincidence is so striking that I feel we must really -give you the refusal of it.” - -“Then I accept it, sir, and I am much obliged to you.” - -“There is one small provision in Dr. McCarthy’s letter. He stipulates -that the applicant must be a man with an imperturbably good temper.” - -“I am the very man,” said I, with conviction. - -“Well,” said Mr. Lumsden, with some hesitation, “I hope that your temper -is really as good as you say, for I rather fancy that you may need it.” - -“I presume that every elementary schoolmaster does.” - -“Yes, sir, but it is only fair to you to warn you that there may be some -especially trying circumstances in this particular situation. Dr. Phelps -McCarthy does not make such a condition without some very good and -pressing reason.” - -There was a certain solemnity in his speech which struck a chill in the -delight with which I had welcomed this providential vacancy. - -“May I ask the nature of these circumstances?” I asked. - -“We endeavour to hold the balance equally between our clients, and to be -perfectly frank with all of them. If I knew of objections to you I -should certainly communicate them to Dr. McCarthy, and so I have no -hesitation in doing as much for you. I find,” he continued, glancing -over the pages of his ledger, “that within the last twelve months we -have supplied no fewer than seven Latin masters to Willow Lea House -Academy, four of them having left so abruptly as to forfeit their -month’s salary, and none of them having stayed more than eight weeks.” - -“And the other masters? Have they stayed?” - -“There is only one other residential master, and he appears to be -unchanged. You can understand, Mr. Weld,” continued the agent, closing -both the ledger and the interview, “that such rapid changes are not -desirable from a master’s point of view, whatever may be said for them -by an agent working on commission. I have no idea why these gentlemen -have resigned their situations so early. I can only give you the facts, -and advise you to see Dr. McCarthy at once and to form your own -conclusions.” - -Great is the power of the man who has nothing to lose, and it was -therefore with perfect serenity, but with a good deal of curiosity, that -I rang early that afternoon the heavy wrought-iron bell of the Willow -Lea House Academy. The building was a massive pile, square and ugly, -standing in its own extensive grounds, with a broad carriage-sweep -curving up to it from the road. It stood high, and commanded a view on -the one side of the grey roofs and bristling spires of Northern London, -and on the other of the well-wooded and beautiful country which fringes -the great city. The door was opened by a boy in buttons, and I was shown -into a well-appointed study, where the principal of the academy -presently joined me. - -The warnings and insinuations of the agent had prepared me to meet a -choleric and overbearing person—one whose manner was an insupportable -provocation to those who worked under him. Anything further from the -reality cannot be imagined. He was a frail, gentle creature, -clean-shaven and round-shouldered, with a bearing which was so courteous -that it became almost deprecating. His bushy hair was thickly shot with -grey, and his age I should imagine to verge upon sixty. His voice was -low and suave, and he walked with a certain mincing delicacy of manner. -His whole appearance was that of a kindly scholar, who was more at home -among his books than in the practical affairs of the world. - -“I am sure that we shall be very happy to have your assistance, Mr. -Weld,” said he, after a few professional questions. “Mr. Percival -Manners left me yesterday, and I should be glad if you could take over -his duties to-morrow.” - -“May I ask if that is Mr. Percival Manners of Selwyn?” I asked. - -“Precisely. Did you know him?” - -“Yes; he is a friend of mine.” - -“An excellent teacher, but a little hasty in his disposition. It was his -only fault. Now, in your case, Mr. Weld, is your own temper under good -control? Supposing for argument’s sake that I were to so far forget -myself as to be rude to you or to speak roughly or to jar your feelings -in any way, could you rely upon yourself to control your emotions?” - -I smiled at the idea of this courteous, little, mincing creature -ruffling my nerves. - -“I think that I could answer for it, sir,” said I. - -“Quarrels are very painful to me,” said he. “I wish every one to live in -harmony under my roof. I will not deny Mr. Percival Manners had -provocation, but I wish to find a man who can raise himself above -provocation, and sacrifice his own feelings for the sake of peace and -concord.” - -“I will do my best, sir.” - -“You cannot say more, Mr. Weld. In that case I shall expect you -to-night, if you can get your things ready so soon.” - -I not only succeeded in getting my things ready, but I found time to -call at the Benedict Club in Piccadilly, where I knew that I should find -Manners if he were still in town. There he was sure enough in the -smoking-room, and I questioned him, over a cigarette, as to his reasons -for throwing up his recent situation. - -“You don’t tell me that you are going to Dr. Phelps McCarthy’s Academy?” -he cried, staring at me in surprise. “My dear chap, it’s no use. You -can’t possibly remain there.” - -“But I saw him, and he seemed the most courtly, inoffensive fellow. I -never met a man with more gentle manners.” - -“He! oh, he’s all right. There’s no vice in him. Have you seen -Theophilus St. James?” - -“I have never heard the name. Who is he?” - -“Your colleague. The other master.” - -“No, I have not seen him.” - -“_He’s_ the terror. If you can stand him, you have either the spirit of -a perfect Christian or else you have no spirit at all. A more perfect -bounder never bounded.” - -“But why does McCarthy stand it?” - -My friend looked at me significantly through his cigarette smoke, and -shrugged his shoulders. - -“You will form your own conclusions about that. Mine were formed very -soon, and I never found occasion to alter them.” - -“It would help me very much if you would tell me them.” - -“When you see a man in his own house allowing his business to be ruined, -his comfort destroyed, and his authority defied by another man in a -subordinate position, and calmly submitting to it without so much as a -word of protest, what conclusion do you come to?” - -“That the one has a hold over the other.” - -Percival Manners nodded his head. - -“There you are! You’ve hit it first barrel. It seems to me that there’s -no other explanation which will cover the facts. At some period in his -life the little Doctor has gone astray. _Humanum est errare._ I have -even done it myself. But this was something serious, and the other man -got a hold of it and has never let go. That’s the truth. Blackmail is at -the bottom of it. But he had no hold over me, and there was no reason -why _I_ should stand his insolence, so I came away—and I very much -expect to see you do the same.” - -For some time he talked over the matter, but he always came to the same -conclusion—that I should not retain my new situation very long. - -It was with no very pleasant feelings after this preparation that I -found myself face to face with the very man of whom I had received so -evil an account. Dr. McCarthy introduced us to each other in his study -on the evening of that same day immediately after my arrival at the -school. - -“This is your new colleague, Mr. St. James,” said he, in his genial, -courteous fashion. “I trust that you will mutually agree, and that I -shall find nothing but good feeling and sympathy beneath this roof.” - -I shared the good Doctor’s hope, but my expectations of it were not -increased by the appearance of my _confrère_. He was a young, -bull-necked fellow about thirty years of age, dark-eyed and -black-haired, with an exceedingly vigorous physique. I have never seen a -more strongly built man, though he tended to run to fat in a way which -showed that he was in the worst of training. His face was coarse, -swollen, and brutal, with a pair of small black eyes deeply sunken in -his head. His heavy jowl, his projecting ears, and his thick bandy legs -all went to make up a personality which was as formidable as it was -repellent. - -“I hear you’ve never been out before,” said he, in a rude, brusque -fashion. “Well, it’s a poor life: hard work and starvation pay, as -you’ll find out for yourself.” - -“But it has some compensations,” said the principal. “Surely you will -allow that, Mr. St. James?” - -“Has it? I never could find them. What do you call compensations?” - -“Even to be in the continual presence of youth is a privilege. It has -the effect of keeping youth in one’s own soul, for one reflects -something of their high spirits and their keen enjoyment of life.” - -“Little beasts!” cried my colleague. - -“Come, come, Mr. St. James, you are too hard upon them.” - -“I hate the sight of them! If I could put them and their blessed -copybooks and lexicons and slates into one bonfire I’d do it to-night.” - -“This is Mr. St. James’s way of talking,” said the principal, smiling -nervously as he glanced at me. “You must not take him too seriously. -Now, Mr. Weld, you know where your room is, and no doubt you have your -own little arrangements to make. The sooner you make them the sooner you -will feel yourself at home.” - -It seemed to me that he was only too anxious to remove me at once from -the influence of this extraordinary colleague, and I was glad to go, for -the conversation had become embarrassing. - -And so began an epoch which always seems to me as I look back to it to -be the most singular in all my experience. The school was in many ways -an excellent one. Dr. Phelps McCarthy was an ideal principal. His -methods were modern and rational. The management was all that could be -desired. And yet in the middle of this well-ordered machine there -intruded the incongruous and impossible Mr. St. James, throwing -everything into confusion. His duties were to teach English and -mathematics, and how he acquitted himself of them I do not know, as our -classes were held in separate rooms. I can answer for it, however, that -the boys feared him and loathed him, and I know that they had good -reason to do so, for frequently my own teaching was interrupted by his -bellowings of anger, and even by the sound of his blows. Dr. McCarthy -spent most of his time in his class, but it was, I suspect, to watch -over the master rather than the boys, and to try to moderate his -ferocious temper when it threatened to become dangerous. - -It was in his bearing to the head master, however, that my colleague’s -conduct was most outrageous. The first conversation which I have -recorded proved to be typical of their intercourse. He domineered over -him openly and brutally. I have heard him contradict him roughly before -the whole school. At no time would he show him any mark of respect, and -my temper often rose within me when I saw the quiet acquiescence of the -old Doctor, and his patient tolerance of this monstrous treatment. And -yet the sight of it surrounded the principal also with a certain vague -horror in my mind, for supposing my friend’s theory to be correct—and I -could devise no better one—how black must have been the story which -could be held over his head by this man and, by fear of its publicity, -force him to undergo such humiliations. This quiet, gentle Doctor might -be a profound hypocrite, a criminal, a forger possibly, or a poisoner. -Only such a secret as this could account for the complete power which -the young man held over him. Why else should he admit so hateful a -presence into his house and so harmful an influence into his school? Why -should he submit to degradations which could not be witnessed, far less -endured, without indignation? - -And yet, if it were so, I was forced to confess that my principal -carried it off with extraordinary duplicity. Never by word or sign did -he show that the young man’s presence was distasteful to him. I have -seen him look pained, it is true, after some peculiarly outrageous -exhibition, but he gave me the impression that it was always on account -of the scholars or of me, never on account of himself. He spoke to and -of St. James in an indulgent fashion, smiling gently at what made my -blood boil within me. In his way of looking at him and addressing him, -one could see no trace of resentment, but rather a sort of timid and -deprecating good will. His company he certainly courted, and they spent -many hours together in the study and the garden. - -As to my own relations with Theophilus St. James, I made up my mind from -the beginning that I should keep my temper with him, and to that -resolution I steadfastly adhered. If Dr. McCarthy chose to permit this -disrespect, and to condone these outrages, it was his affair and not -mine. It was evident that his one wish was that there should be peace -between us, and I felt that I could help him best by respecting this -desire. My easiest way to do so was to avoid my colleague, and this I -did to the best of my ability. When we were thrown together I was quiet, -polite, and reserved. He, on his part, showed me no ill-will, but met me -rather with a coarse joviality, and a rough familiarity which he meant -to be ingratiating. He was insistent in his attempts to get me into his -room at night, for the purpose of playing euchre and of drinking. - -“Old McCarthy doesn’t mind,” said he. “Don’t you be afraid of him. We’ll -do what we like, and I’ll answer for it that he won’t object.” Once only -I went, and when I left, after a dull and gross evening, my host was -stretched dead drunk upon the sofa. After that I gave the excuse of a -course of study, and spent my spare hours alone in my own room. - -One point upon which I was anxious to gain information was as to how -long these proceedings had been going on. When did St. James assert his -hold over Dr. McCarthy? From neither of them could I learn how long my -colleague had been in his present situation. One or two leading -questions upon my part were eluded or ignored in a manner so marked that -it was easy to see that they were both of them as eager to conceal the -point as I was to know it. But at last one evening I had the chance of a -chat with Mrs. Carter, the matron—for the Doctor was a widower—and from -her I got the information which I wanted. It needed no questioning to -get at her knowledge, for she was so full of indignation that she shook -with passion as she spoke of it, and raised her hands into the air in -the earnestness of her denunciation, as she described the grievances -which she had against my colleague. - -“It was three years ago, Mr. Weld, that he first darkened this -doorstep,” she cried. “Three bitter years they have been to me. The -school had fifty boys then. Now it has twenty-two. That’s what he has -done for us in three years. In another three there won’t be one. And the -Doctor, that angel of patience, you see how he treats him, though he is -not fit to lace his boots for him. If it wasn’t for the Doctor, you may -be sure that I wouldn’t stay an hour under the same roof with such a -man, and so I told him to his own face, Mr. Weld. If the Doctor would -only pack him about his business—but I know that I am saying more than I -should!” She stopped herself with an effort, and spoke no more upon the -subject. She had remembered that I was almost a stranger in the school, -and she feared that she had been indiscreet. - -There were one or two very singular points about my colleague. The chief -one was that he rarely took any exercise. There was a playing-field -within the college grounds, and that was his farthest point. If the boys -went out, it was I or Dr. McCarthy who accompanied them. St. James gave -as a reason for this that he had injured his knee some years before, and -that walking was painful to him. For my own part I put it down to pure -laziness upon his part, for he was of an obese, heavy temperament. -Twice, however, I saw him from my window stealing out of the grounds -late at night, and the second time I watched him return in the grey of -the morning and slink in through an open window. These furtive -excursions were never alluded to, but they exposed the hollowness of his -story about his knee, and they increased the dislike and distrust which -I had of the man. His nature seemed to be vicious to the core. - -Another point, small but suggestive, was that he hardly ever during the -months that I was at Willow Lea House received any letters, and on those -few occasions they were obviously tradesmen’s bills. I am an early -riser, and used every morning to pick my own correspondence out of the -bundle upon the hall table. I could judge therefore how few were ever -there for Mr. Theophilus St. James. There seemed to me to be something -peculiarly ominous in this. What sort of a man could he be who during -thirty years of life had never made a single friend, high or low, who -cared to continue to keep in touch with him? And yet the sinister fact -remained that the head master not only tolerated, but was even intimate -with him. More than once on entering a room I have found them talking -confidentially together, and they would walk arm in arm in deep -conversation up and down the garden paths. So curious did I become to -know what the tie was which bound them, that I found it gradually push -out my other interests and become the main purpose of my life. In school -and out of school, at meals and at play, I was perpetually engaged in -watching Dr. Phelps McCarthy and Mr. Theophilus St. James, and in -endeavouring to solve the mystery which surrounded them. - -But, unfortunately, my curiosity was a little too open. I had not the -art to conceal the suspicions which I felt about the relations which -existed between these two men and the nature of the hold which the one -appeared to have over the other. It may have been my manner of watching -them, it may have been some indiscreet question, but it is certain that -I showed too clearly what I felt. One night I was conscious that the -eyes of Theophilus St. James were fixed upon me in a surly and menacing -stare. I had a foreboding of evil, and I was not surprised when Dr. -McCarthy called me next morning into his study. - -“I am very sorry, Mr. Weld,” said he, “but I am afraid that I shall be -compelled to dispense with your services.” - -“Perhaps you would give me some reason for dismissing me,” I answered, -for I was conscious of having done my duties to the best of my power, -and knew well that only one reason could be given. - -“I have no fault to find with you,” said he, and the colour came to his -cheeks. - -“You send me away at the suggestion of my colleague.” - -His eyes turned away from mine. - -“We will not discuss the question, Mr. Weld. It is impossible for me to -discuss it. In justice to you, I will give you the strongest -recommendation for your next situation. I can say no more. I hope that -you will continue your duties here until you have found a place -elsewhere.” - -My whole soul rose against the injustice of it, and yet I had no appeal -and no redress. I could only bow and leave the room, with a bitter sense -of ill-usage at my heart. - -My first instinct was to pack my boxes and leave the house. But the head -master had given me permission to remain until I had found another -situation. I was sure that St. James desired me to go, and that was a -strong reason why I should stay. If my presence annoyed him, I should -give him as much of it as I could. I had begun to hate him and to long -to have my revenge upon him. If he had a hold over our principal, might -not I in turn obtain one over him? It was a sign of weakness that he -should be so afraid of my curiosity. He would not resent it so much if -he had not something to fear from it. I entered my name once more upon -the books of the agents, but meanwhile I continued to fulfil my duties -at Willow Lea House, and so it came about that I was present at the -dénouement of this singular situation. - -During that week—for it was only a week before the crisis came—I was in -the habit of going down each evening, after the work of the day was -done, to inquire about my new arrangements. One night, it was a cold and -windy evening in March, I had just stepped out from the hall door when a -strange sight met my eyes. A man was crouching before one of the windows -of the house. His knees were bent and his eyes were fixed upon the small -line of light between the curtain and the sash. The window threw a -square of brightness in front of it, and in the middle of this the dark -shadow of this ominous visitor showed clear and hard. It was but for an -instant that I saw him, for he glanced up and was off in a moment -through the shrubbery. I could hear the patter of his feet as he ran -down the road, until it died away in the distance. - -It was evidently my duty to turn back and to tell Dr. McCarthy what I -had seen. I found him in his study. I had expected him to be disturbed -at such an incident, but I was not prepared for the state of panic into -which he fell. He leaned back in his chair, white and gasping, like one -who has received a mortal blow. - -“Which window, Mr. Weld?” he asked, wiping his forehead. “Which window -was it?” - -“The next to the dining-room—Mr. St. James’s window.” - -“Dear me! Dear me! This is, indeed, unfortunate! A man looking through -Mr. St. James’s window!” He wrung his hands like a man who is at his -wits’ end what to do. - -“I shall be passing the police-station, sir. Would you wish me to -mention the matter?” - -“No, no,” he cried, suddenly, mastering his extreme agitation; “I have -no doubt that it was some poor tramp who intended to beg. I attach no -importance to the incident—none at all. Don’t let me detain you, Mr. -Weld, if you wish to go out.” - -I left him sitting in his study with reassuring words upon his lips, but -with horror upon his face. My heart was heavy for my little employer as -I started off once more for town. As I looked back from the gate at the -square of light which marked the window of my colleague, I suddenly saw -the black outline of Dr. McCarthy’s figure passing against the lamp. He -had hastened from his study then to tell St. James what he had heard. -What was the meaning of it all, this atmosphere of mystery, this -inexplicable terror, these confidences between two such dissimilar men? -I thought and thought as I walked, but do what I would I could not hit -upon any adequate conclusion. I little knew how near I was to the -solution of the problem. - -It was very late—nearly twelve o’clock—when I returned, and the lights -were all out save one in the Doctor’s study. The black, gloomy house -loomed before me as I walked up the drive, its sombre bulk broken only -by the one glimmering point of brightness. I let myself in with my -latch-key, and was about to enter my own room when my attention was -arrested by a short, sharp cry like that of a man in pain. I stood and -listened, my hand upon the handle of my door. - -All was silent in the house save for a distant murmur of voices which -came, I knew, from the Doctor’s room. I stole quietly down the corridor -in that direction. The sound resolved itself now into two voices, the -rough bullying tones of St. James and the lower tone of the Doctor, the -one apparently insisting and the other arguing and pleading. Four thin -lines of light in the blackness showed me the door of the Doctor’s room, -and step by step I drew nearer to it in the darkness. St. James’s voice -within rose louder and louder, and his words now came plainly to my ear. - -“I’ll have every pound of it. If you won’t give it me I’ll take it. Do -you hear?” - -Dr. McCarthy’s reply was inaudible, but the angry voice broke in again. - -“Leave you destitute! I leave you this little goldmine of a school, and -that’s enough for one old man, is it not? How am I to set up in -Australia without money? Answer me that!” - -Again the Doctor said something in a soothing voice, but his answer only -roused his companion to a higher pitch of fury. - -“Done for me! What have you ever done for me except what you couldn’t -help doing? It was for your good name, not for my safety, that you -cared. But enough cackle! I must get on my way before morning. Will you -open your safe or will you not?” - -“Oh, James, how can you use me so?” cried a wailing voice, and then -there came a sudden little scream of pain. At the sound of that helpless -appeal from brutal violence I lost for once that temper upon which I had -prided myself. Every bit of manhood in me cried out against any further -neutrality. With my walking cane in my hand I rushed into the study. As -I did so I was conscious that the hall-door bell was violently ringing. - -“You villain!” I cried, “let him go!” - -The two men were standing in front of a small safe, which stood against -one wall of the Doctor’s room. St. James held the old man by the wrist, -and he had twisted his arm round in order to force him to produce the -key. My little head master, white but resolute, was struggling furiously -in the grip of the burly athlete. The bully glared over his shoulder at -me with a mixture of fury and terror upon his brutal features. Then, -realizing that I was alone, he dropped his victim and made for me with a -horrible curse. - -“You infernal spy!” he cried. “I’ll do for you anyhow before I leave.” - -I am not a very strong man, and I realized that I was helpless if once -at close quarters. Twice I cut at him with my stick, but he rushed in at -me with a murderous growl, and seized me by the throat with both his -muscular hands. I fell backwards and he on the top of me, with a grip -which was squeezing the life from me. I was conscious of his malignant -yellow-tinged eyes within a few inches of my own, and then with a -beating of pulses in my head and a singing in my ears, my senses slipped -away from me. But even in that supreme moment I was aware that the -door-bell was still violently ringing. - -When I came to myself, I was lying upon the sofa in Dr. McCarthy’s -study, and the Doctor himself was seated beside me. He appeared to be -watching me intently and anxiously, for as I opened my eyes and looked -about me he gave a great cry of relief. “Thank God!” he cried. “Thank -God!” - -“Where is he?” I asked, looking round the room. As I did so, I became -aware that the furniture was scattered in every direction, and that -there were traces of an even more violent struggle than that in which I -had been engaged. - -The Doctor sank his face between his hands. - -“They have him,” he groaned. “After these years of trial they have him -again. But how thankful I am that he has not for a second time stained -his hands in blood.” - -As the Doctor spoke I became aware that a man in the braided jacket of -an inspector of police was standing in the doorway. - -“Yes, sir,” he remarked, “you have had a pretty narrow escape. If we had -not got in when we did, you would not be here to tell the tale. I don’t -know that I ever saw any one much nearer to the undertaker.” - -I sat up with my hands to my throbbing head. - -“Dr. McCarthy,” said I, “this is all a mystery to me. I should be glad -if you could explain to me who this man is, and why you have tolerated -him so long in your house.” - -“I owe you an explanation, Mr. Weld—and the more so since you have, in -so chivalrous a fashion, almost sacrificed your life in my defence. -There is no reason now for secrecy. In a word, Mr. Weld, this unhappy -man’s real name is James McCarthy, and he is my only son.” - -“Your son?” - -“Alas, yes. What sin have I ever committed that I should have such a -punishment? He has made my whole life a misery from the first years of -his boyhood. Violent, headstrong, selfish, unprincipled, he has always -been the same. At eighteen he was a criminal. At twenty, in a paroxysm -of passion, he took the life of a boon companion and was tried for -murder. He only just escaped the gallows, and he was condemned to penal -servitude. Three years ago he succeeded in escaping, and managed, in -face of a thousand obstacles, to reach my house in London. My wife’s -heart had been broken by his condemnation, and as he had succeeded in -getting a suit of ordinary clothes, there was no one here to recognize -him. For months he lay concealed in the attics until the first search of -the police should be over. Then I gave him employment here, as you have -seen, though by his rough and overbearing manners he made my own life -miserable, and that of his fellow-masters unbearable. You have been with -us for four months, Mr. Weld, but no other master endured him so long. I -apologize now for all you have had to submit to, but I ask you what else -could I do? For his dead mother’s sake I could not let harm come to him -as long as it was in my power to fend it off. Only under my roof could -he find a refuge—the only spot in all the world—and how could I keep him -here without its exciting remark unless I gave him some occupation? I -made him English master therefore, and in that capacity I have protected -him here for three years. You have no doubt observed that he never -during the daytime went beyond the college grounds. You now understand -the reason. But when to-night you came to me with your report of a man -who was looking through his window, I understood that his retreat was at -last discovered. I besought him to fly at once, but he had been -drinking, the unhappy fellow, and my words fell upon deaf ears. When at -last he made up his mind to go he wished to take from me in his flight -every shilling which I possessed. It was your entrance which saved me -from him, while the police in turn arrived only just in time to rescue -you. I have made myself amenable to the law by harbouring an escaped -prisoner, and remain here in the custody of the inspector, but a prison -has no terrors for me after what I have endured in this house during the -last three years.” - -“It seems to me, Doctor,” said the inspector, “that, if you have broken -the law, you have had quite enough punishment already.” - -“God knows I have!” cried Dr. McCarthy, and sank his haggard face upon -his hands. - - - - - THE BROWN HAND - - -Every one knows that Sir Dominick Holden, the famous Indian surgeon, -made me his heir, and that his death changed me in an hour from a -hard-working and impecunious medical man to a well-to-do landed -proprietor. Many know also that there were at least five people between -the inheritance and me, and that Sir Dominick’s selection appeared to be -altogether arbitrary and whimsical. I can assure them, however, that -they are quite mistaken, and that, although I only knew Sir Dominick in -the closing years of his life, there were none the less very real -reasons why he should show his goodwill towards me. As a matter of fact, -though I say it myself, no man ever did more for another than I did for -my Indian uncle. I cannot expect the story to be believed, but it is so -singular that I should feel that it was a breach of duty if I did not -put it upon record—so here it is, and your belief or incredulity is your -own affair. - -Sir Dominick Holden, C.B., K.C.S.I., and I don’t know what besides, was -the most distinguished Indian surgeon of his day. In the Army -originally, he afterwards settled down into civil practice in Bombay, -and visited as a consultant every part of India. His name is best -remembered in connection with the Oriental Hospital, which he founded -and supported. The time came, however, when his iron constitution began -to show signs of the long strain to which he had subjected it, and his -brother practitioners (who were not, perhaps, entirely disinterested -upon the point) were unanimous in recommending him to return to England. -He held on so long as he could, but at last he developed nervous -symptoms of a very pronounced character, and so came back, a broken man, -to his native county of Wiltshire. He bought a considerable estate with -an ancient manor-house upon the edge of Salisbury Plain, and devoted his -old age to the study of Comparative Pathology, which had been his -learned hobby all his life, and in which he was a foremost authority. - -We of the family were, as may be imagined, much excited by the news of -the return of this rich and childless uncle to England. On his part, -although by no means exuberant in his hospitality, he showed some sense -of his duty to his relations, and each of us in turn had an invitation -to visit him. From the accounts of my cousins it appeared to be a -melancholy business, and it was with mixed feelings that I at last -received my own summons to appear at Rodenhurst. My wife was so -carefully excluded in the invitation that my first impulse was to refuse -it, but the interests of the children had to be considered, and so, with -her consent, I set out one October afternoon upon my visit to Wiltshire, -with little thought of what that visit was to entail. - -My uncle’s estate was situated where the arable land of the plains -begins to swell upwards into the rounded chalk hills which are -characteristic of the county. As I drove from Dinton Station in the -waning light of that autumn day, I was impressed by the weird nature of -the scenery. The few scattered cottages of the peasants were so dwarfed -by the huge evidences of prehistoric life, that the present appeared to -be a dream and the past to be the obtrusive and masterful reality. The -road wound through the valleys, formed by a succession of grassy hills, -and the summit of each was cut and carved into the most elaborate -fortifications, some circular and some square, but all on a scale which -has defied the winds and the rains of many centuries. Some call them -Roman and some British, but their true origin and the reasons for this -particular tract of country being so interlaced with entrenchments have -never been finally made clear. Here and there on the long, smooth, -olive-coloured slopes there rose small rounded barrows or tumuli. -Beneath them lie the cremated ashes of the race which cut so deeply into -the hills, but their graves tell us nothing save that a jar full of dust -represents the man who once laboured under the sun. - -It was through this weird country that I approached my uncle’s residence -of Rodenhurst, and the house was, as I found, in due keeping with its -surroundings. Two broken and weather-stained pillars, each surmounted by -a mutilated heraldic emblem, flanked the entrance to a neglected drive. -A cold wind whistled through the elms which lined it, and the air was -full of the drifting leaves. At the far end, under the gloomy arch of -trees, a single yellow lamp burned steadily. In the dim half-light of -the coming night I saw a long, low building stretching out two irregular -wings, with deep eaves, a sloping gambrel roof, and walls which were -criss-crossed with timber balks in the fashion of the Tudors. The cheery -light of a fire flickered in the broad, latticed window to the left of -the low-porched door, and this, as it proved, marked the study of my -uncle, for it was thither that I was led by his butler in order to make -my host’s acquaintance. - -He was cowering over his fire, for the moist chill of an English autumn -had set him shivering. His lamp was unlit, and I only saw the red glow -of the embers beating upon a huge, craggy face, with a Red Indian nose -and cheek, and deep furrows and seams from eye to chin, the sinister -marks of hidden volcanic fires. He sprang up at my entrance with -something of an old-world courtesy and welcomed me warmly to Rodenhurst. -At the same time I was conscious, as the lamp was carried in, that it -was a very critical pair of light-blue eyes which looked out at me from -under shaggy eyebrows, like scouts beneath a bush, and that this -outlandish uncle of mine was carefully reading off my character with all -the ease of a practised observer and an experienced man of the world. - -For my part I looked at him, and looked again, for I had never seen a -man whose appearance was more fitted to hold one’s attention. His figure -was the framework of a giant, but he had fallen away his coat dangled -straight down in a shocking fashion from a pair of broad and bony -shoulders. All his limbs were huge and yet emaciated, and I could not -take my gaze from his knobby wrists, and long, gnarled hands. But his -eyes—those peering light-blue eyes—they were the most arrestive of any -of his peculiarities. It was not their colour alone, nor was it the -ambush of hair in which they lurked; but it was the expression which I -read in them. For the appearance and bearing of the man were masterful, -and one expected a certain corresponding arrogance in his eyes, but -instead of that I read the look which tells of a spirit cowed and -crushed, the furtive, expectant look of the dog whose master has taken -the whip from the rack. I formed my own medical diagnosis upon one -glance at those critical and yet appealing eyes. I believed that he was -stricken with some mortal ailment, that he knew himself to be exposed to -sudden death, and that he lived in terror of it. Such was my judgment—a -false one, as the event showed; but I mention it that it may help you to -realize the look which I read in his eyes. - -My uncle’s welcome was, as I have said, a courteous one, and in an hour -or so I found myself seated between him and his wife at a comfortable -dinner, with curious pungent delicacies upon the table, and a stealthy, -quick-eyed Oriental waiter behind his chair. The old couple had come -round to that tragic imitation of the dawn of life when husband and -wife, having lost or scattered all those who were their intimates, find -themselves face to face and alone once more, their work done, and the -end nearing fast. Those who have reached that stage in sweetness and -love, who can change their winter into a gentle Indian summer, have come -as victors through the ordeal of life. Lady Holden was a small, alert -woman, with a kindly eye, and her expression as she glanced at him was a -certificate of character to her husband. And yet, though I read a mutual -love in their glances, I read also a mutual horror, and recognized in -her face some reflection of that stealthy fear which I detected in his. -Their talk was sometimes merry and sometimes sad, but there was a forced -note in their merriment and a naturalness in their sadness which told me -that a heavy heart beat upon either side of me. - -We were sitting over our first glass of wine, and the servants had left -the room, when the conversation took a turn which produced a remarkable -effect upon my host and hostess. I cannot recall what it was which -started the topic of the supernatural, but it ended in my showing them -that the abnormal in psychical experiences was a subject to which I had, -like many neurologists, devoted a great deal of attention. I concluded -by narrating my experiences when, as a member of the Psychical Research -Society, I had formed one of a committee of three who spent the night in -a haunted house. Our adventures were neither exciting nor convincing, -but, such as it was, the story appeared to interest my auditors in a -remarkable degree. They listened with an eager silence, and I caught a -look of intelligence between them which I could not understand. Lady -Holden immediately afterwards rose and left the room. - -Sir Dominick pushed the cigar-box over to me, and we smoked for some -little time in silence. That huge bony hand of his was twitching as he -raised it with his cheroot to his lips, and I felt that the man’s nerves -were vibrating like fiddle-strings. My instincts told me that he was on -the verge of some intimate confidence, and I feared to speak lest I -should interrupt it. At last he turned towards me with a spasmodic -gesture like a man who throws his last scruple to the winds. - -“From the little that I have seen of you it appears to me, Dr. -Hardacre,” said he, “that you are the very man I have wanted to meet.” - -“I am delighted to hear it, sir.” - -“Your head seems to be cool and steady. You will acquit me of any desire -to flatter you, for the circumstances are too serious to permit of -insincerities. You have some special knowledge upon these subjects, and -you evidently view them from that philosophical standpoint which robs -them of all vulgar terror. I presume that the sight of an apparition -would not seriously discompose you?” - -“I think not, sir.” - -“Would even interest you, perhaps?” - -“Most intensely.” - -“As a psychical observer, you would probably investigate it in as -impersonal a fashion as an astronomer investigates a wandering comet?” - -“Precisely.” - -He gave a heavy sigh. - -“Believe me, Dr. Hardacre, there was a time when I could have spoken as -you do now. My nerve was a by-word in India. Even the Mutiny never shook -it for an instant. And yet you see what I am reduced to—the most -timorous man, perhaps, in all this county of Wiltshire. Do not speak too -bravely upon this subject, or you may find yourself subjected to as -long-drawn a test as I am—a test which can only end in the madhouse or -the grave.” - -I waited patiently until he should see fit to go farther in his -confidence. His preamble had, I need not say, filled me with interest -and expectation. - -“For some years, Dr. Hardacre,” he continued, “my life and that of my -wife have been made miserable by a cause which is so grotesque that it -borders upon the ludicrous. And yet familiarity has never made it more -easy to bear—on the contrary, as time passes my nerves become more worn -and shattered by the constant attrition. If you have no physical fears, -Dr. Hardacre, I should very much value your opinion upon this phenomenon -which troubles us so.” - -“For what it is worth my opinion is entirely at your service. May I ask -the nature of the phenomenon?” - -“I think that your experiences will have a higher evidential value if -you are not told in advance what you may expect to encounter. You are -yourself aware of the quibbles of unconscious cerebration and subjective -impressions with which a scientific sceptic may throw a doubt upon your -statement. It would be as well to guard against them in advance.” - -“What shall I do, then?” - -“I will tell you. Would you mind following me this way?” He led me out -of the dining-room and down a long passage until we came to a terminal -door. Inside there was a large bare room fitted as a laboratory, with -numerous scientific instruments and bottles. A shelf ran along one side, -upon which there stood a long line of glass jars containing pathological -and anatomical specimens. - -“You see that I still dabble in some of my old studies,” said Sir -Dominick. “These jars are the remains of what was once a most excellent -collection, but unfortunately I lost the greater part of them when my -house was burned down in Bombay in ’92. It was a most unfortunate affair -for me—in more ways than one. I had examples of many rare conditions, -and my splenic collection was probably unique. These are the survivors.” - -I glanced over them, and saw that they really were of a very great value -and rarity from a pathological point of view: bloated organs, gaping -cysts, distorted bones, odious parasites—a singular exhibition of the -products of India. - -“There is, as you see, a small settee here,” said my host. “It was far -from our intention to offer a guest so meagre an accommodation, but -since affairs have taken this turn, it would be a great kindness upon -your part if you would consent to spend the night in this apartment. I -beg that you will not hesitate to let me know if the idea should be at -all repugnant to you.” - -“On the contrary,” I said, “it is most acceptable.” - -“My own room is the second on the left, so that if you should feel that -you are in need of company a call would always bring me to your side.” - -“I trust that I shall not be compelled to disturb you.” - -“It is unlikely that I shall be asleep. I do not sleep much. Do not -hesitate to summon me.” - -And so with this agreement we joined Lady Holden in the drawing-room and -talked of lighter things. - -It was no affectation upon my part to say that the prospect of my -night’s adventure was an agreeable one. I have no pretence to greater -physical courage than my neighbours, but familiarity with a subject robs -it of those vague and undefined terrors which are the most appalling to -the imaginative mind. The human brain is capable of only one strong -emotion at a time, and if it be filled with curiosity or scientific -enthusiasm, there is no room for fear. It is true that I had my uncle’s -assurance that he had himself originally taken this point of view, but I -reflected that the breakdown of his nervous system might be due to his -forty years in India as much as to any psychical experiences which had -befallen him. I at least was sound in nerve and brain, and it was with -something of the pleasurable thrill of anticipation with which the -sportsman takes his position beside the haunt of his game that I shut -the laboratory door behind me, and partially undressing, lay down upon -the rug-covered settee. - -It was not an ideal atmosphere for a bedroom. The air was heavy with -many chemical odours, that of methylated spirit predominating. Nor were -the decorations of my chamber very sedative. The odious line of glass -jars with their relics of disease and suffering stretched in front of my -very eyes. There was no blind to the window, and a three-quarter moon -streamed its white light into the room, tracing a silver square with -filigree lattices upon the opposite wall. When I had extinguished my -candle this one bright patch in the midst of the general gloom had -certainly an eerie and discomposing aspect. A rigid and absolute silence -reigned throughout the old house, so that the low swish of the branches -in the garden came softly and soothingly to my ears. It may have been -the hypnotic lullaby of this gentle susurrus, or it may have been the -result of my tiring day, but after many dozings and many efforts to -regain my clearness of perception, I fell at last into a deep and -dreamless sleep. - -I was awakened by some sound in the room, and I instantly raised myself -upon my elbow on the couch. Some hours had passed, for the square patch -upon the wall had slid downwards and sideways until it lay obliquely at -the end of my bed. The rest of the room was in deep shadow. At first I -could see nothing, presently, as my eyes became accustomed to the faint -light, I was aware, with a thrill which all my scientific absorption -could not entirely prevent, that something was moving slowly along the -line of the wall. A gentle, shuffling sound, as of soft slippers, came -to my ears, and I dimly discerned a human figure walking stealthily from -the direction of the door. As it emerged into the patch of moonlight I -saw very clearly what it was and how it was employed. It was a man, -short and squat, dressed in some sort of dark-grey gown, which hung -straight from his shoulders to his feet. The moon shone upon the side of -his face, and I saw that it was chocolate-brown in colour, with a ball -of black hair like a woman’s at the back of his head. He walked slowly, -and his eyes were cast upwards towards the line of bottles which -contained those gruesome remnants of humanity. He seemed to examine each -jar with attention, and then to pass on to the next. When he had come to -the end of the line, immediately opposite my bed, he stopped, faced me, -threw up his hands with a gesture of despair, and vanished from my -sight. - -I have said that he threw up his hands, but I should have said his arms, -for as he assumed that attitude of despair I observed a singular -peculiarity about his appearance. He had only one hand! As the sleeves -drooped down from the upflung arms I saw the left plainly, but the right -ended in a knobby and unsightly stump. In every other way his appearance -was so natural, and I had both seen and heard him so clearly, that I -could easily have believed that he was an Indian servant of Sir -Dominick’s who had come into my room in search of something. It was only -his sudden disappearance which suggested anything more sinister to me. -As it was I sprang from my couch, lit a candle, and examined the whole -room carefully. There were no signs of my visitor, and I was forced to -conclude that there had really been something outside the normal laws of -Nature in his appearance. I lay awake for the remainder of the night, -but nothing else occurred to disturb me. - -I am an early riser, but my uncle was an even earlier one, for I found -him pacing up and down the lawn at the side of the house. He ran towards -me in his eagerness when he saw me come out from the door. - -“Well, well!” he cried. “Did you see him?” - -“An Indian with one hand?” - -“Precisely.” - -“Yes, I saw him”—and I told him all that occurred. When I had finished, -he led the way into his study. - -“We have a little time before breakfast,” said he. “It will suffice to -give you an explanation of this extraordinary affair—so far as I can -explain that which is essentially inexplicable. In the first place, when -I tell you that for four years I have never passed one single night, -either in Bombay, aboard ship, or here in England without my sleep being -broken by this fellow, you will understand why it is that I am a wreck -of my former self. His programme is always the same. He appears by my -bedside, shakes me roughly by the shoulder, passes from my room into the -laboratory, walks slowly along the line of my bottles, and then -vanishes. For more than a thousand times he has gone through the same -routine.” - -“What does he want?” - -“He wants his hand.” - -“His hand?” - -“Yes, it came about in this way. I was summoned to Peshawur for a -consultation some ten years ago, and while there I was asked to look at -the hand of a native who was passing through with an Afghan caravan. The -fellow came from some mountain tribe living away at the back of beyond -somewhere on the other side of Kaffiristan. He talked a bastard Pushtoo, -and it was all I could do to understand him. He was suffering from a -soft sarcomatous swelling of one of the metacarpal joints, and I made -him realize that it was only by losing his hand that he could hope to -save his life. After much persuasion he consented to the operation, and -he asked me, when it was over, what fee I demanded. The poor fellow was -almost a beggar, so that the idea of a fee was absurd, but I answered in -jest that my fee should be his hand, and that I proposed to add it to my -pathological collection. - -“To my surprise he demurred very much to the suggestion, and he -explained that according to his religion it was an all-important matter -that the body should be reunited after death, and so make a perfect -dwelling for the spirit. The belief is, of course, an old one, and the -mummies of the Egyptians arose from an analogous superstition. I -answered him that his hand was already off, and asked him how he -intended to preserve it. He replied that he would pickle it in salt and -carry it about with him. I suggested that it might be safer in my -keeping than in his, and that I had better means than salt for -preserving it. On realizing that I really intended to carefully keep it, -his opposition vanished instantly. ‘But remember, sahib,’ said he, ‘I -shall want it back when I am dead.’ I laughed at the remark, and so the -matter ended. I returned to my practice, and he no doubt in the course -of time was able to continue his journey to Afghanistan. - -“Well, as I told you last night, I had a bad fire in my house at Bombay. -Half of it was burned down, and, among other things, my pathological -collection was largely destroyed. What you see are the poor remains of -it. The hand of the hillman went with the rest, but I gave the matter no -particular thought at the time. That was six years ago. - -“Four years ago—two years after the fire—I was awakened one night by a -furious tugging at my sleeve. I sat up under the impression that my -favourite mastiff was trying to arouse me. Instead of this, I saw my -Indian patient of long ago, dressed in the long grey gown which was the -badge of his people. He was holding up his stump and looking -reproachfully at me. He then went over to my bottles, which at that time -I kept in my room, and he examined them carefully, after which he gave a -gesture of anger and vanished. I realized that he had just died, and -that he had come to claim my promise that I should keep his limb in -safety for him. - -“Well, there you have it all, Dr. Hardacre. Every night at the same hour -for four years this performance has been repeated. It is a simple thing -in itself, but it has worn me out like water dropping on a stone. It has -brought a vile insomnia with it, for I cannot sleep now for the -expectation of his coming. It has poisoned my old age and that of my -wife, who has been the sharer in this great trouble. But there is the -breakfast gong, and she will be waiting impatiently to know how it fared -with you last night. We are both much indebted to you for your -gallantry, for it takes something from the weight of our misfortune when -we share it, even for a single night, with a friend, and it reassures us -as to our sanity, which we are sometimes driven to question.” - -This was the curious narrative which Sir Dominick confided to me—a story -which to many would have appeared to be a grotesque impossibility, but -which, after my experience of the night before, and my previous -knowledge of such things, I was prepared to accept as an absolute fact. -I thought deeply over the matter, and brought the whole range of my -reading and experience to bear upon it. After breakfast, I surprised my -host and hostess by announcing that I was returning to London by the -next train. - -“My dear doctor,” cried Sir Dominick in great distress, “you make me -feel that I have been guilty of a gross breach of hospitality in -intruding this unfortunate matter upon you. I should have borne my own -burden.” - -“It is, indeed, that matter which is taking me to London,” I answered; -“but you are mistaken, I assure you, if you think that my experience of -last night was an unpleasant one to me. On the contrary, I am about to -ask your permission to return in the evening and spend one more night in -your laboratory. I am very eager to see this visitor once again.” - -My uncle was exceedingly anxious to know what I was about to do, but my -fears of raising false hopes prevented me from telling him. I was back -in my own consulting-room a little after luncheon, and was confirming my -memory of a passage in a recent book upon occultism which had arrested -my attention when I read it. - -“In the case of earth-bound spirits,” said my authority, “some one -dominant idea obsessing them at the hour of death is sufficient to hold -them to this material world. They are the amphibia of this life and of -the next, capable of passing from one to the other as the turtle passes -from land to water. The causes which may bind a soul so strongly to a -life which its body has abandoned are any violent emotion. Avarice, -revenge, anxiety, love, and pity have all been known to have this -effect. As a rule it springs from some unfulfilled wish, and when the -wish has been fulfilled the material bond relaxes. There are many cases -upon record which show the singular persistence of these visitors, and -also their disappearance when their wishes have been fulfilled, or in -some cases when a reasonable compromise has been effected.” - -“_A reasonable compromise effected_”—those were the words which I had -brooded over all the morning, and which I now verified in the original. -No actual atonement could be made here—but a reasonable compromise! I -made my way as fast as a train could take me to the Shadwell Seamen’s -Hospital, where my old friend Jack Hewett was house-surgeon. Without -explaining the situation I made him understand exactly what it was that -I wanted. - -“A brown man’s hand!” said he, in amazement. “What in the world do you -want that for?” - -“Never mind. I’ll tell you some day. I know that your wards are full of -Indians.” - -“I should think so. But a hand——” He thought a little and then struck a -bell. - -“Travers,” said he to a student-dresser, “what became of the hands of -the Lascar which we took off yesterday? I mean the fellow from the East -India Dock who got caught in the steam winch.” - -“They are in the _post-mortem_ room, sir.” - -“Just pack one of them in antiseptics and give it to Dr. Hardacre.” - -And so I found myself back at Rodenhurst before dinner with this curious -outcome of my day in town. I still said nothing to Sir Dominick, but I -slept that night in the laboratory, and I placed the Lascar’s hand in -one of the glass jars at the end of my couch. - -So interested was I in the result of my experiment that sleep was out of -the question. I sat with a shaded lamp beside me and waited patiently -for my visitor. This time I saw him clearly from the first. He appeared -beside the door, nebulous for an instant, and then hardening into as -distinct an outline as any living man. The slippers beneath his grey -gown were red and heelless, which accounted for the low, shuffling sound -which he made as he walked. As on the previous night he passed slowly -along the line of bottles until he paused before that which contained -the hand. He reached up to it, his whole figure quivering with -expectation, took it down, examined it eagerly, and then, with a face -which was convulsed with fury and disappointment, he hurled it down on -the floor. There was a crash which resounded through the house, and when -I looked up the mutilated Indian had disappeared. A moment later my door -flew open and Sir Dominick rushed in. - -“You are not hurt?” he cried. - -“No—but deeply disappointed.” - -He looked in astonishment at the splinters of glass, and the brown hand -lying upon the floor. - -“Good God!” he cried. “What is this?” - -I told him my idea and its wretched sequel. He listened intently, but -shook his head. - -“It was well thought of,” said he, “but I fear that there is no such -easy end to my sufferings. But one thing I now insist upon. It is that -you shall never again upon any pretext occupy this room. My fears that -something might have happened to you—when I heard that crash—have been -the most acute of all the agonies which I have undergone. I will not -expose myself to a repetition of it.” - -He allowed me, however, to spend the remainder of that night where I -was, and I lay there worrying over the problem and lamenting my own -failure. With the first light of morning there was the Lascar’s hand -still lying upon the floor to remind me of my fiasco. I lay looking at -it—and as I lay suddenly an idea flew like a bullet through my head and -brought me quivering with excitement out of my couch. I raised the grim -relic from where it had fallen. Yes, it was indeed so. The hand was the -_left_ hand of the Lascar. - -By the first train I was on my way to town, and hurried at once to the -Seamen’s Hospital. I remembered that both hands of the Lascar had been -amputated, but I was terrified lest the precious organ which I was in -search of might have been already consumed in the crematory. My suspense -was soon ended. It had still been preserved in the _post-mortem_ room. -And so I returned to Rodenhurst in the evening with my mission -accomplished and the material for a fresh experiment. - -But Sir Dominick Holden would not hear of my occupying the laboratory -again. To all my entreaties he turned a deaf ear. It offended his sense -of hospitality, and he could no longer permit it. I left the hand, -therefore, as I had done its fellow the night before, and I occupied a -comfortable bedroom in another portion of the house, some distance from -the scene of my adventures. - -But in spite of that my sleep was not destined to be uninterrupted. In -the dead of night my host burst into my room, a lamp in his hand. His -huge gaunt figure was enveloped in a loose dressing-gown, and his whole -appearance might certainly have seemed more formidable to a weak-nerved -man than that of the Indian of the night before. But it was not his -entrance so much as his expression which amazed me. He had turned -suddenly younger by twenty years at the least. His eyes were shining, -his features radiant, and he waved one hand in triumph over his head. I -sat up astounded, staring sleepily at this extraordinary visitor. But -his words soon drove the sleep from my eyes. - -“We have done it! We have succeeded!” he shouted. “My dear Hardacre, how -can I ever in this world repay you?” - -“You don’t mean to say that it is all right?” - -“Indeed I do. I was sure that you would not mind being awakened to hear -such blessed news.” - -“Mind! I should think not indeed. But is it really certain?” - -“I have no doubt whatever upon the point. I owe you such a debt, my dear -nephew, as I have never owed a man before, and never expected to. What -can I possibly do for you that is commensurate? Providence must have -sent you to my rescue. You have saved both my reason and my life, for -another six months of this must have seen me either in a cell or a -coffin. And my wife—it was wearing her out before my eyes. Never could I -have believed that any human being could have lifted this burden off -me.” He seized my hand and wrung it in his bony grip. - -“It was only an experiment—a forlorn hope—but I am delighted from my -heart that it has succeeded. But how do you know that it is all right? -Have you seen something?” - -He seated himself at the foot of my bed. - -“I have seen enough,” said he. “It satisfies me that I shall be troubled -no more. What has passed is easily told. You know that at a certain hour -this creature always comes to me. To-night he arrived at the usual time, -and aroused me with even more violence than is his custom. I can only -surmise that his disappointment of last night increased the bitterness -of his anger against me. He looked angrily at me, and then went on his -usual round. But in a few minutes I saw him, for the first time since -this persecution began, return to my chamber. He was smiling. I saw the -gleam of his white teeth through the dim light. He stood facing me at -the end of my bed, and three times he made the low Eastern salaam which -is their solemn leave-taking. And the third time that he bowed he raised -his arms over his head, and I saw his _two_ hands outstretched in the -air. So he vanished, and, as I believe, for ever.” - - * * * * * - -So that is the curious experience which won me the affection and the -gratitude of my celebrated uncle, the famous Indian surgeon. His -anticipations were realized, and never again was he disturbed by the -visits of the restless hillman in search of his lost member. Sir -Dominick and Lady Holden spent a very happy old age, unclouded, so far -as I know, by any trouble, and they finally died during the great -influenza epidemic within a few weeks of each other. In his lifetime he -always turned to me for advice in everything which concerned that -English life of which he knew so little; and I aided him also in the -purchase and development of his estates. It was no great surprise to me, -therefore, that I found myself eventually promoted over the heads of -five exasperated cousins, and changed in a single day from a -hard-working country doctor into the head of an important Wiltshire -family. I at least have reason to bless the memory of the man with the -brown hand, and the day when I was fortunate enough to relieve -Rodenhurst of his unwelcome presence. - - - - - THE FIEND OF THE COOPERAGE - - -It was no easy matter to bring the _Gamecock_ up to the island, for the -river had swept down so much silt that the banks extended for many miles -out into the Atlantic. The coast was hardly to be seen when the first -white curl of the breakers warned us of our danger, and from there -onwards we made our way very carefully under mainsail and jib, keeping -the broken water well to the left, as is indicated on the chart. More -than once her bottom touched the sand (we were drawing something under -six feet at the time), but we had always way enough and luck enough to -carry us through. Finally, the water shoaled very rapidly, but they had -sent a canoe from the factory, and the Krooboy pilot brought us within -two hundred yards of the island. Here we dropped our anchor, for the -gestures of the negro indicated that we could not hope to get any -farther. The blue of the sea had changed to the brown of the river, and, -even under the shelter of the island, the current was singing and -swirling round our bows. The stream appeared to be in spate, for it was -over the roots of the palm trees, and everywhere upon its muddy, greasy -surface we could see logs of wood and debris of all sorts which had been -carried down by the flood. - -When I had assured myself that we swung securely at our moorings, I -thought it best to begin watering at once, for the place looked as if it -reeked with fever. The heavy river, the muddy, shining banks, the bright -poisonous green of the jungle, the moist steam in the air, they were all -so many danger signals to one who could read them. I sent the long-boat -off, therefore, with two large hogsheads, which should be sufficient to -last us until we made St. Paul de Loanda. For my own part I took the -dinghy and rowed for the island, for I could see the Union Jack -fluttering above the palms to mark the position of Armitage and Wilson’s -trading station. - -When I had cleared the grove, I could see the place, a long, low, -whitewashed building, with a deep verandah in front, and an immense pile -of palm oil barrels heaped upon either flank of it. A row of surf boats -and canoes lay along the beach, and a single small jetty projected into -the river. Two men in white suits with red cummerbunds round their -waists were waiting upon the end of it to receive me. One was a large -portly fellow with a greyish beard. The other was slender and tall, with -a pale pinched face, which was half concealed by a great mushroom-shaped -hat. - -“Very glad to see you,” said the latter, cordially. “I am Walker, the -agent of Armitage and Wilson. Let me introduce Dr. Severall of the same -company. It is not often we see a private yacht in these parts.” - -“She’s the _Gamecock_,” I explained. “I’m owner and captain—Meldrum is -the name.” - -“Exploring?” he asked. - -“I’m a lepidopterist—a butterfly-catcher. I’ve been doing the west coast -from Senegal downwards.” - -“Good sport?” asked the Doctor, turning a slow yellow-shot eye upon me. - -“I have forty cases full. We came in here to water, and also to see what -you have in my line.” - -These introductions and explanations had filled up the time whilst my -two Krooboys were making the dinghy fast. Then I walked down the jetty -with one of my new acquaintances upon either side, each plying me with -questions, for they had seen no white man for months. - -“What do we do?” said the Doctor, when I had begun asking questions in -my turn. “Our business keeps us pretty busy, and in our leisure time we -talk politics.” - -“Yes, by the special mercy of Providence Severall is a rank Radical and -I am a good stiff Unionist, and we talk Home Rule for two solid hours -every evening.” - -“And drink quinine cocktails,” said the Doctor. “We’re both pretty well -salted now, but our normal temperature was about 103 last year. I -shouldn’t, as an impartial adviser, recommend you to stay here very long -unless you are collecting bacilli as well as butterflies. The mouth of -the Ogowai River will never develop into a health resort.” - -There is nothing finer than the way in which these outlying pickets of -civilization distil a grim humour out of their desolate situation, and -turn not only a bold, but a laughing face upon the chances which their -lives may bring. Everywhere from Sierra Leone downwards I had found the -same reeking swamps, the same isolated fever-racked communities and the -same bad jokes. There is something approaching to the divine in that -power of man to rise above his conditions and to use his mind for the -purpose of mocking at the miseries of his body. - -“Dinner will be ready in about half an hour, Captain Meldrum,” said the -Doctor. “Walker has gone in to see about it; he’s the housekeeper this -week. Meanwhile, if you like, we’ll stroll round and I’ll show you the -sights of the island.” - -The sun had already sunk beneath the line of palm trees, and the great -arch of the heaven above our head was like the inside of a huge shell, -shimmering with dainty pinks and delicate iridescence. No one who has -not lived in a land where the weight and heat of a napkin become -intolerable upon the knees can imagine the blessed relief which the -coolness of evening brings along with it. In this sweeter and purer air -the Doctor and I walked round the little island, he pointing out the -stores, and explaining the routine of his work. - -“There’s a certain romance about the place,” said he, in answer to some -remark of mine about the dulness of their lives. “We are living here -just upon the edge of the great unknown. Up there,” he continued, -pointing to the north-east, “Du Chaillu penetrated, and found the home -of the gorilla. That is the Gaboon country—the land of the great apes. -In this direction,” pointing to the south-east, “no one has been very -far. The land which is drained by this river is practically unknown to -Europeans. Every log which is carried past us by the current has come -from an undiscovered country. I’ve often wished that I was a better -botanist when I have seen the singular orchids and curious-looking -plants which have been cast up on the eastern end of the island.” - -The place which the Doctor indicated was a sloping brown beach, freely -littered with the flotsam of the stream. At each end was a curved point, -like a little natural breakwater, so that a small shallow bay was left -between. This was full of floating vegetation, with a single huge -splintered tree lying stranded in the middle of it, the current rippling -against its high black side. - -“These are all from up country,” said the Doctor. “They get caught in -our little bay, and then when some extra freshet comes they are washed -out again and carried out to sea.” - -“What is the tree?” I asked. - -“Oh, some kind of teak I should imagine, but pretty rotten by the look -of it. We get all sorts of big hardwood trees floating past here, to say -nothing of the palms. Just come in here, will you?” - -He led the way into a long building with an immense quantity of barrel -staves and iron hoops littered about in it. - -“This is our cooperage,” said he. “We have the staves sent out in -bundles, and we put them together ourselves. Now, you don’t see anything -particularly sinister about this building, do you?” - -I looked round at the high corrugated iron roof, the white wooden walls, -and the earthen floor. In one corner lay a mattress and a blanket. - -“I see nothing very alarming,” said I. - -“And yet there’s something out of the common, too,” he remarked. “You -see that bed? Well, I intend to sleep there to-night. I don’t want to -buck, but I think it’s a bit of a test for nerve.” - -“Why?” - -“Oh, there have been some funny goings on. You were talking about the -monotony of our lives, but I assure you that they are sometimes quite as -exciting as we wish them to be. You’d better come back to the house now, -for after sundown we begin to get the fever-fog up from the marshes. -There, you can see it coming across the river.” - -I looked and saw long tentacles of white vapour writhing out from among -the thick green underwood and crawling at us over the broad swirling -surface of the brown river. At the same time the air turned suddenly -dank and cold. - -“There’s the dinner gong,” said the Doctor. “If this matter interests -you I’ll tell you about it afterwards.” - -It did interest me very much, for there was something earnest and -subdued in his manner as he stood in the empty cooperage, which appealed -very forcibly to my imagination. He was a big, bluff, hearty man, this -Doctor, and yet I had detected a curious expression in his eyes as he -glanced about him—an expression which I would not describe as one of -fear, but rather that of a man who is alert and on his guard. - -“By the way,” said I, as we returned to the house, “you have shown me -the huts of a good many of your native assistants, but I have not seen -any of the natives themselves.” - -“They sleep in the hulk over yonder,” the Doctor answered, pointing over -to one of the banks. - -“Indeed. I should not have thought in that case that they would need the -huts.” - -“Oh, they used the huts until quite recently. We’ve put them on the hulk -until they recover their confidence a little. They were all half mad -with fright, so we let them go, and nobody sleeps on the island except -Walker and myself.” - -“What frightened them?” I asked. - -“Well, that brings us back to the same story. I suppose Walker has no -objection to your hearing all about it. I don’t know why we should make -any secret about it, though it is certainly a pretty bad business.” - -He made no further allusion to it during the excellent dinner which had -been prepared in my honour. It appeared that no sooner had the little -white topsail of the _Gamecock_ shown round Cape Lopez than these kind -fellows had begun to prepare their famous pepper-pot—which is the -pungent stew peculiar to the West Coast—and to boil their yams and sweet -potatoes. We sat down to as good a native dinner as one could wish, -served by a smart Sierra Leone waiting boy. I was just remarking to -myself that he at least had not shared in the general flight when, -having laid the dessert and wine upon the table, he raised his hand to -his turban. - -“Anyting else I do, Massa Walker?” he asked. - -“No, I think that is all right, Moussa,” my host answered. “I am not -feeling very well to-night, though, and I should much prefer if you -would stay on the island.” - -I saw a struggle between his fears and his duty upon the swarthy face of -the African. His skin had turned of that livid purplish tint which -stands for pallor in a negro, and his eyes looked furtively about him. - -“No, no, Massa Walker,” he cried, at last, “you better come to the hulk -with me, sah. Look after you much better in the hulk, sah!” - -“That won’t do, Moussa. White men don’t run away from the posts where -they are placed.” - -Again I saw the passionate struggle in the negro’s face, and again his -fears prevailed. - -“No use, Massa Walker, sah!” he cried. “S’elp me, I can’t do it. If it -was yesterday or if it was to-morrow, but this is the third night, sah, -an’ it’s more than I can face.” - -Walker shrugged his shoulders. - -“Off with you then!” said he. “When the mail-boat comes you can get back -to Sierra Leone, for I’ll have no servant who deserts me when I need him -most. I suppose this is all mystery to you, or has the Doctor told you, -Captain Meldrum?” - -“I showed Captain Meldrum the cooperage, but I did not tell him -anything,” said Dr. Severall. “You’re looking bad, Walker,” he added, -glancing at his companion. “You have a strong touch coming on you.” - -“Yes, I’ve had the shivers all day, and now my head is like a -cannon-ball. I took ten grains of quinine, and my ears are singing like -a kettle. But I want to sleep with you in the cooperage to-night.” - -“No, no, my dear chap. I won’t hear of such a thing. You must get to bed -at once, and I am sure Meldrum will excuse you. I shall sleep in the -cooperage, and I promise you that I’ll be round with your medicine -before breakfast.” - -It was evident that Walker had been struck by one of those sudden and -violent attacks of remittent fever which are the curse of the West -Coast. His sallow cheeks were flushed and his eyes shining with fever, -and suddenly as he sat there he began to croon out a song in the -high-pitched voice of delirium. - -“Come, come, we must get you to bed, old chap,” said the Doctor, and -with my aid he led his friend into his bedroom. There we undressed him, -and presently, after taking a strong sedative, he settled down into a -deep slumber. - -“He’s right for the night,” said the Doctor, as we sat down and filled -our glasses once more. “Sometimes it is my turn and sometimes his, but, -fortunately, we have never been down together. I should have been sorry -to be out of it to-night, for I have a little mystery to unravel. I told -you that I intended to sleep in the cooperage.” - -“Yes, you said so.” - -“When I said sleep I meant watch, for there will be no sleep for me. -We’ve had such a scare here that no native will stay after sundown, and -I mean to find out to-night what the cause of it all may be. It has -always been the custom for a native watchman to sleep in the cooperage, -to prevent the barrel hoops being stolen. Well, six days ago the fellow -who slept there disappeared, and we have never seen a trace of him -since. It was certainly singular, for no canoe had been taken, and these -waters are too full of crocodiles for any man to swim to shore. What -became of the fellow, or how he could have left the island is a complete -mystery. Walker and I were merely surprised, but the blacks were badly -scared, and queer Voodoo tales began to get about amongst them. But the -real stampede broke out three nights ago, when the new watchman in the -cooperage also disappeared.” - -“What became of him?” I asked. - -“Well, we not only don’t know, but we can’t even give a guess which -would fit the facts. The niggers swear there is a fiend in the cooperage -who claims a man every third night. They wouldn’t stay in the -island—nothing could persuade them. Even Moussa, who is a faithful boy -enough, would, as you have seen, leave his master in a fever rather than -remain for the night. If we are to continue to run this place we must -reassure our niggers, and I don’t know any better way of doing it than -by putting in a night there myself. This is the third night, you see, so -I suppose the thing is due, whatever it may be.” - -“Have you no clue?” I asked. “Was there no mark of violence, no -blood-stain, no footprints, nothing to give a hint as to what kind of -danger you may have to meet?” - -“Absolutely nothing. The man was gone and that was all. Last time it was -old Ali, who has been wharf-tender here since the place was started. He -was always as steady as a rock, and nothing but foul play would take him -from his work.” - -“Well,” said I, “I really don’t think that this is a one-man job. Your -friend is full of laudanum, and come what might he can be of no -assistance to you. You must let me stay and put in a night with you at -the cooperage.” - -“Well, now, that’s very good of you, Meldrum,” said he heartily, shaking -my hand across the table. “It’s not a thing that I should have ventured -to propose, for it is asking a good deal of a casual visitor, but if you -really mean it——” - -“Certainly I mean it. If you will excuse me a moment, I will hail the -_Gamecock_ and let them know that they need not expect me.” - -As we came back from the other end of the little jetty we were both -struck by the appearance of the night. A huge blue-black pile of clouds -had built itself up upon the landward side, and the wind came from it in -little hot pants, which beat upon our faces like the draught from a -blast furnace. Under the jetty the river was swirling and hissing, -tossing little white spurts of spray over the planking. - -“Confound it!” said Doctor Severall. “We are likely to have a flood on -the top of all our troubles. That rise in the river means heavy rain -up-country, and when it once begins you never know how far it will go. -We’ve had the island nearly covered before now. Well, we’ll just go and -see that Walker is comfortable, and then if you like we’ll settle down -in our quarters.” - -The sick man was sunk in a profound slumber, and we left him with some -crushed limes in a glass beside him in case he should awake with the -thirst of fever upon him. Then we made our way through the unnatural -gloom thrown by that menacing cloud. The river had risen so high that -the little bay which I have described at the end of the island had -become almost obliterated through the submerging of its flanking -peninsula. The great raft of driftwood, with the huge black tree in the -middle, was swaying up and down in the swollen current. - -“That’s one good thing a flood will do for us,” said the Doctor. “It -carries away all the vegetable stuff which is brought down on to the -east end of the island. It came down with the freshet the other day, and -here it will stay until a flood sweeps it out into the main stream. -Well, here’s our room, and here are some books, and here is my tobacco -pouch, and we must try and put in the night as best we may.” - -By the light of our single lantern the great lonely room looked very -gaunt and dreary. Save for the piles of staves and heaps of hoops there -was absolutely nothing in it, with the exception of the mattress for the -Doctor, which had been laid in the corner. We made a couple of seats and -a table out of the staves, and settled down together for a long vigil. -Severall had brought a revolver for me, and was himself armed with a -double-barrelled shot-gun. We loaded our weapons and laid them cocked -within reach of our hands. The little circle of light and the black -shadows arching over us were so melancholy that he went off to the -house, and returned with two candles. One side of the cooperage was -pierced, however, by several open windows, and it was only by screening -our lights behind staves that we could prevent them from being -extinguished. - -The Doctor, who appeared to be a man of iron nerves, had settled down to -a book, but I observed that every now and then he laid it upon his knee, -and took an earnest look all round him. For my part, although I tried -once or twice to read, I found it impossible to concentrate my thoughts -upon the book. They would always wander back to this great empty silent -room, and to the sinister mystery which overshadowed it. I racked my -brains for some possible theory which would explain the disappearance of -these two men. There was the black fact that they were gone, and not the -least tittle of evidence as to why or whither. And here we were waiting -in the same place—waiting without an idea as to what we were waiting -for. I was right in saying that it was not a one-man job. It was trying -enough as it was, but no force upon earth would have kept me there -without a comrade. - -What an endless, tedious night it was! Outside we heard the lapping and -gurgling of the great river, and the soughing of the rising wind. -Within, save for our breathing, the turning of the Doctor’s pages, and -the high, shrill ping of an occasional mosquito, there was a heavy -silence. Once my heart sprang into my mouth as Severall’s book suddenly -fell to the ground and he sprang to his feet with his eyes on one of the -windows. - -“Did you see anything, Meldrum?” - -“No. Did you?” - -“Well, I had a vague sense of movement outside that window.” He caught -up his gun and approached it. “No, there’s nothing to be seen, and yet I -could have sworn that something passed slowly across it.” - -“A palm leaf, perhaps,” said I, for the wind was growing stronger every -instant. - -“Very likely,” said he, and settled down to his book again, but his eyes -were for ever darting little suspicious glances up at the window. I -watched it also, but all was quiet outside. - -And then suddenly our thoughts were turned into a new direction by the -bursting of the storm. A blinding flash was followed by a clap which -shook the building. Again and again came the vivid white glare with -thunder at the same instant, like the flash and roar of a monstrous -piece of artillery. And then down came the tropical rain, crashing and -rattling on the corrugated iron roofing of the cooperage. The big hollow -room boomed like a drum. From the darkness arose a strange mixture of -noises, a gurgling, splashing, tinkling, bubbling, washing, -dripping—every liquid sound that nature can produce from the thrashing -and swishing of the rain to the deep steady boom of the river. Hour -after hour the uproar grew louder and more sustained. - -“My word,” said Severall, “we are going to have the father of all the -floods this time. Well, here’s the dawn coming at last and that is a -blessing. We’ve about exploded the third night superstition anyhow.” - -A grey light was stealing through the room, and there was the day upon -us in an instant. The rain had eased off, but the coffee-coloured river -was roaring past like a waterfall. Its power made me fear for the anchor -of the _Gamecock_. - -“I must get aboard,” said I. “If she drags she’ll never be able to beat -up the river again.” - -“The island is as good as a breakwater,” the Doctor answered. “I can -give you a cup of coffee if you will come up to the house.” - -I was chilled and miserable, so the suggestion was a welcome one. We -left the ill-omened cooperage with its mystery still unsolved, and we -splashed our way up to the house. - -“There’s the spirit lamp,” said Severall. “If you would just put a light -to it, I will see how Walker feels this morning.” - -He left me, but was back in an instant with a dreadful face. - -“He’s gone!” he cried hoarsely. - -The words sent a thrill of horror through me. I stood with the lamp in -my hand, glaring at him. - -“Yes, he’s gone!” he repeated. “Come and look!” - -I followed him without a word, and the first thing that I saw as I -entered the bedroom was Walker himself lying huddled on his bed in the -grey flannel sleeping suit in which I had helped to dress him on the -night before. - -“Not dead, surely!” I gasped. - -The Doctor was terribly agitated. His hands were shaking like leaves in -the wind. - -“He’s been dead some hours.” - -“Was it fever?” - -“Fever! Look at his foot!” - -I glanced down and a cry of horror burst from my lips. One foot was not -merely dislocated but was turned completely round in a most grotesque -contortion. - -“Good God!” I cried. “What can have done this?” - -Severall had laid his hand upon the dead man’s chest. - -“Feel here,” he whispered. - -I placed my hand at the same spot. There was no resistance. The body was -absolutely soft and limp. It was like pressing a sawdust doll. - -“The breast-bone is gone,” said Severall in the same awed whisper. “He’s -broken to bits. Thank God that he had the laudanum. You can see by his -face that he died in his sleep.” - -“But who can have done this?” - -“I’ve had about as much as I can stand,” said the Doctor, wiping his -forehead. “I don’t know that I’m a greater coward than my neighbours, -but this gets beyond me. If you’re going out to the _Gamecock_——” - -“Come on!” said I, and off we started. If we did not run it was because -each of us wished to keep up the last shadow of his self-respect before -the other. It was dangerous in a light canoe on that swollen river, but -we never paused to give the matter a thought. He bailing and I paddling -we kept her above water, and gained the deck of the yacht. There, with -two hundred yards of water between us and this cursed island, we felt -that we were our own men once more. - -“Well go back in an hour or so,” said he. “But we need a little time to -steady ourselves. I wouldn’t have had the niggers see me as I was just -now for a year’s salary.” - -“I’ve told the steward to prepare breakfast. Then we shall go back,” -said I. “But in God’s name, Doctor Severall, what do you make of it -all?” - -“It beats me—beats me clean. I’ve heard of Voodoo devilry, and I’ve -laughed at it with the others. But that poor old Walker, a decent, -God-fearing, nineteenth-century, Primrose-League Englishman should go -under like this without a whole bone in his body—it’s given me a shake, -I won’t deny it. But look there, Meldrum, is that hand of yours mad or -drunk, or what is it?” - -Old Patterson, the oldest man of my crew, and as steady as the Pyramids, -had been stationed in the bows with a boat-hook to fend off the drifting -logs which came sweeping down with the current. Now he stood with -crooked knees, glaring out in front of him, and one forefinger stabbing -furiously at the air. - -“Look at it!” he yelled. “Look at it!” - -And at the same instant we saw it. - -A huge black tree trunk was coming down the river, its broad glistening -back just lapped by the water. And in front of it—about three feet in -front—arching upwards like the figure-head of a ship, there hung a -dreadful face, swaying slowly from side to side. It was flattened, -malignant, as large as a small beer-barrel, of a faded fungoid colour, -but the neck which supported it was mottled with a dull yellow and -black. As it flew past the _Gamecock_ in the swirl of the waters I saw -two immense coils roll up out of some great hollow in the tree, and the -villainous head rose suddenly to the height of eight or ten feet, -looking with dull, skin-covered eyes at the yacht. An instant later the -tree had shot past us and was plunging with its horrible passenger -towards the Atlantic. - -“What was it?” I cried. - -“It is our fiend of the cooperage,” said Dr. Severall, and he had become -in an instant the same bluff, self-confident man that he had been -before. “Yes, that is the devil who has been haunting our island. It is -the great python of the Gaboon.” - -I thought of the stories which I had heard all down the coast of the -monstrous constrictors of the interior, of their periodical appetite, -and of the murderous effects of their deadly squeeze. Then it all took -shape in my mind. There had been a freshet the week before. It had -brought down this huge hollow tree with its hideous occupant. Who knows -from what far distant tropical forest it may have come. It had been -stranded on the little east bay of the island. The cooperage had been -the nearest house. Twice with the return of its appetite it had carried -off the watchman. Last night it had doubtless come again, when Severall -had thought he saw something move at the window, but our lights had -driven it away. It had writhed onwards and had slain poor Walker in his -sleep. - -“Why did it not carry him off?” I asked. - -“The thunder and lightning must have scared the brute away. There’s your -steward, Meldrum. The sooner we have breakfast and get back to the -island the better, or some of those niggers might think that we had been -frightened.” - - - - - JELLAND’S VOYAGE - - -“Well,” said our Anglo-Jap as we all drew up our chairs round the -smoking-room fire, “it’s an old tale out yonder, and may have spilt over -into print for all I know. I don’t want to turn this club-room into a -chestnut stall, but it is a long way to the Yellow Sea, and it is just -as likely that none of you have ever heard of the yawl _Matilda_, and of -what happened to Henry Jelland and Willy McEvoy aboard of her. - -“The middle of the sixties was a stirring time out in Japan. That was -just after the Simonosaki bombardment, and before the Daimio affair. -There was a Tory party and there was a Liberal party among the natives, -and the question that they were wrangling over was whether the throats -of the foreigners should be cut or not. I tell you all, politics have -been tame to me since then. If you lived in a treaty port, you were -bound to wake up and take an interest in them. And to make it better, -the outsider had no way of knowing how the game was going. If the -opposition won it would not be a newspaper paragraph that would tell him -of it, but a good old Tory in a suit of chain mail, with a sword in each -hand, would drop in and let him know all about it in a single upper cut. - -“Of course it makes men reckless when they are living on the edge of a -volcano like that. Just at first they are very jumpy, and then there -comes a time when they learn to enjoy life while they have it. I tell -you, there’s nothing makes life so beautiful as when the shadow of death -begins to fall across it. Time is too precious to be dawdled away then, -and a man lives every minute of it. That was the way with us in -Yokohama. There were many European places of business which had to go on -running, and the men who worked them made the place lively for seven -nights in the week. - -“One of the heads of the European colony was Randolph Moore, the big -export merchant. His offices were in Yokohama, but he spent a good deal -of his time at his house up in Jeddo, which had only just been opened to -the trade. In his absence he used to leave his affairs in the hands of -his head clerk, Jelland, whom he knew to be a man of great energy and -resolution. But energy and resolution are two-edged things, you know, -and when they are used against you you don’t appreciate them so much. - -“It was gambling that set Jelland wrong. He was a little dark-eyed -fellow with black curly hair—more than three-quarters Celt, I should -imagine. Every night in the week you would see him in the same place, on -the left-hand side of the croupier at Matheson’s _rouge et noir_ table. -For a long time he won, and lived in better style than his employer. And -then came a turn of luck, and he began to lose so that at the end of a -single week his partner and he were stone broke, without a dollar to -their names. - -“This partner was a clerk in the employ of the same firm—a tall, -straw-haired young Englishman called McEvoy. He was a good boy enough at -the start, but he was clay in the hands of Jelland, who fashioned him -into a kind of weak model of himself. They were for ever on the prowl -together, but it was Jelland who led and McEvoy who followed. Lynch and -I and one or two others tried to show the youngster that he could come -to no good along that line, and when we were talking to him we could win -him round easily enough, but five minutes of Jelland would swing him -back again. It may have been animal magnetism or what you like, but the -little man could pull the big one along like a sixty-foot tug in front -of a full-rigged ship. Even when they had lost all their money they -would still take their places at the table and look on with shining eyes -when any one else was raking in the stamps. - -“But one evening they could keep out of it no longer. Red had turned up -sixteen times running, and it was more than Jelland could bear. He -whispered to McEvoy, and then said a word to the croupier. - -“‘Certainly, Mr. Jelland; your cheque is as good as notes,’ said he. - -“Jelland scribbled a cheque and threw it on the black. The card was the -king of hearts, and the croupier raked in the little bit of paper. -Jelland grew angry, and McEvoy white. Another and a heavier cheque was -written and thrown on the table. The card was the nine of diamonds. -McEvoy leaned his head upon his hands and looked as if he would faint. -‘By God!’ growled Jelland, ‘I won’t be beat,’ and he threw on a cheque -that covered the other two. The card was the deuce of hearts. A few -minutes later they were walking down the Bund, with the cool night-air -playing upon their fevered faces. - -“‘Of course you know what this means,’ said Jelland, lighting a cheroot; -‘we’ll have to transfer some of the office money to our current account. -There’s no occasion to make a fuss over it. Old Moore won’t look over -the books before Easter. If we have any luck, we can easily replace it -before then.’ - -“‘But if we have no luck?’ faltered McEvoy. - -“‘Tut, man, we must take things as they come. You stick to me, and I’ll -stick to you, and we’ll pull through together. You shall sign the -cheques to-morrow night, and we shall see if your luck is better than -mine.’ - -“But if anything it was worse. When the pair rose from the table on the -following evening, they had spent over £5,000 of their employer’s money. -But the resolute Jelland was as sanguine as ever. - -“‘We have a good nine weeks before us before the books will be -examined,’ said he. ‘We must play the game out, and it will all come -straight.’ - -“McEvoy returned to his rooms that night in an agony of shame and -remorse. When he was with Jelland he borrowed strength from him; but -alone he recognized the full danger of his position, and the vision of -his old white-capped mother in England, who had been so proud when he -had received his appointment, rose up before him to fill him with -loathing and madness. He was still tossing upon his sleepless couch when -his Japanese servant entered the bedroom. For an instant McEvoy thought -that the long-expected outbreak had come, and plunged for his revolver. -Then, with his heart in his mouth, he listened to the message which the -servant had brought. - -“Jelland was downstairs, and wanted to see him. - -“What on earth could he want at that hour of night? McEvoy dressed -hurriedly and rushed downstairs. His companion, with a set smile upon -his lips, which was belied by the ghastly pallor of his face, was -sitting in the dim light of a solitary candle, with a slip of paper in -his hands. - -“‘Sorry to knock you up, Willy,’ said he. ‘No eavesdroppers, I suppose?’ - -“McEvoy shook his head. He could not trust himself to speak. - -“‘Well, then, our little game is played out. This note was waiting for -me at home. It is from Moore, and says that he will be down on Monday -morning for an examination of the books. It leaves us in a tight place.’ - -“‘Monday!’ gasped McEvoy; ‘to-day is Friday.’ - -“‘Saturday, my son, and 3 a.m. We have not much time to turn round in.’ - -“‘We are lost!’ screamed McEvoy. - -“‘We soon will be, if you make such an infernal row,’ said Jelland -harshly. ‘Now do what I tell you, Willy, and we’ll pull through yet.’ - -“‘I will do anything—anything.’ - -“‘That’s better. Where’s your whisky? It’s a beastly time of the day to -have to get your back stiff, but there must be no softness with us, or -we are gone. First of all, I think there is something due to our -relations, don’t you?’ - -“McEvoy stared. - -“‘We must stand or fall together, you know. Now I, for one, don’t intend -to set my foot inside a felon’s dock under any circumstances. D’ye see? -I’m ready to swear to that. Are you?’ - -“‘What d’you mean?’ asked McEvoy, shrinking back. - -“‘Why, man, we all have to die, and it’s only the pressing of a trigger. -I swear that I shall never be taken alive. Will you? If you don’t, I -leave you to your fate.’ - -“‘All right. I’ll do whatever you think best.’ - -“‘You swear it?’ - -“‘Yes.’ - -“‘Well, mind, you must be as good as your word. Now we have two clear -days to get off in. The yawl _Matilda_ is on sale, and she has all her -fixings and plenty of tinned stuff aboard. We’ll buy the lot to-morrow -morning, and whatever we want, and get away in her. But, first, we’ll -clear all that is left in the office. There are 5,000 sovereigns in the -safe. After dark we’ll get them aboard the yawl, and take our chance of -reaching California. There’s no use hesitating, my son, for we have no -ghost of a look-in in any other direction. It’s that or nothing.’ - -“‘I’ll do what you advise.’ - -“‘All right; and mind you get a bright face on you to-morrow, for if -Moore gets the tip and comes before Monday, then——’ He tapped the -side-pocket of his coat and looked across at his partner with eyes that -were full of a sinister meaning. - -“All went well with their plans next day. The _Matilda_ was bought -without difficulty; and, though she was a tiny craft for so long a -voyage, had she been larger two men could not have hoped to manage her. -She was stocked with water during the day, and after dark the two clerks -brought down the money from the office and stowed it in the hold. Before -midnight they had collected all their own possessions without exciting -suspicion, and at two in the morning they left their moorings and stole -quietly out from among the shipping. They were seen, of course, and were -set down as keen yachtsmen who were on for a good long Sunday cruise; -but there was no one who dreamed that that cruise would only end either -on the American coast or at the bottom of the North Pacific Ocean. -Straining and hauling, they got their mainsail up and set their foresail -and jib. There was a slight breeze from the south-east, and the little -craft went dipping along upon her way. Seven miles from land, however, -the wind fell away and they lay becalmed, rising and falling on the long -swell of a glassy sea. All Sunday they did not make a mile, and in the -evening Yokohama still lay along the horizon. - -“On Monday morning down came Randolph Moore from Jeddo, and made -straight for the offices. He had had the tip from some one that his -clerks had been spreading themselves a bit, and that had made him come -down out of his usual routine; but when he reached his place and found -the three juniors waiting in the street with their hands in their -pockets he knew that the matter was serious. - -“‘What’s this?’ he asked. He was a man of action, and a nasty chap to -deal with when he had his topmasts lowered. - -“‘We can’t get in,’ said the clerks. - -“‘Where is Mr. Jelland?’ - -“‘He has not come to-day.’ - -“‘And Mr. McEvoy?’ - -“‘He has not come either.’ - -“Randolph Moore looked serious. ‘We must have the door down,’ said he. - -“They don’t build houses very solid in that land of earthquakes, and in -a brace of shakes they were all in the office. Of course the thing told -its own story. The safe was open, the money gone, and the clerks fled. -Their employer lost no time in talk. - -“‘Where were they seen last?’ - -“‘On Saturday they bought the _Matilda_ and started for a cruise.’ - -“Saturday! The matter seemed hopeless if they had got two days’ start. -But there was still the shadow of a chance. He rushed to the beach and -swept the ocean with his glasses. - -“‘My God!’ he cried. ‘There’s the _Matilda_ out yonder. I know her by -the rake of her mast. I have my hand upon the villains after all!’ - -“But there was a hitch even then. No boat had steam up, and the eager -merchant had not patience to wait. Clouds were banking up along the -haunch of the hills, and there was every sign of an approaching change -of weather. A police boat was ready with ten armed men in her, and -Randolph Moore himself took the tiller as she shot out in pursuit of the -becalmed yawl. - -“Jelland and McEvoy, waiting wearily for the breeze which never came, -saw the dark speck which sprang out from the shadow of the land and grew -larger with every swish of the oars. As she drew nearer, they could see -also that she was packed with men, and the gleam of weapons told what -manner of men they were. Jelland stood leaning against the tiller, and -he looked at the threatening sky, the limp sails, and the approaching -boat. - -“‘It’s a case with us, Willy,’ said he. ‘By the Lord, we are two most -unlucky devils, for there’s wind in that sky, and another hour would -have brought it to us.’ - -“McEvoy groaned. - -“‘There’s no good softening over it, my lad,’ said Jelland. ‘It’s the -police boat right enough, and there’s old Moore driving them to row like -hell. It’ll be a ten-dollar job for every man of them.’ - -“Willy McEvoy crouched against the side with his knees on the deck. ‘My -mother! my poor old mother!’ he sobbed. - -“‘She’ll never hear that you have been in the dock anyway,’ said -Jelland. ‘My people never did much for me, but I will do that much for -them. It’s no good, Mac. We can chuck our hands. God bless you, old man! -Here’s the pistol!’ - -“He cocked the revolver, and held the butt towards the youngster. But -the other shrunk away from it with little gasps and cries. Jelland -glanced at the approaching boat. It was not more than a few hundred -yards away. - -“‘There’s no time for nonsense,’ said he. ‘Damn it! man, what’s the use -of flinching? You swore it!’ - -“‘No, no, Jelland!’ - -“‘Well, anyhow, I swore that neither of us should be taken. Will you do -it?’ - -“‘I can’t! I can’t!’ - -“‘Then I will for you.’ - -“The rowers in the boat saw him lean forwards, they heard two pistol -shots, they saw him double himself across the tiller, and then, before -the smoke had lifted, they found that they had something else to think -of. - -“For at that instant the storm broke—one of those short sudden squalls -which are common in these seas. The _Matilda_ heeled over, her sails -bellied out, she plunged her lee-rail into a wave, and was off like a -frightened deer. Jelland’s body had jammed the helm, and she kept a -course right before the wind, and fluttered away over the rising sea -like a blown piece of paper. The rowers worked frantically, but the yawl -still drew ahead, and in five minutes it had plunged into the storm -wrack never to be seen again by mortal eye. The boat put back, and -reached Yokohama with the water washing half-way up to the thwarts. - -“And that was how it came that the yawl _Matilda_, with a cargo of five -thousand pounds and a crew of two dead young men, set sail across the -Pacific Ocean. What the end of Jelland’s voyage may have been no man -knows. He may have foundered in that gale, or he may have been picked up -by some canny merchantman, who stuck to the bullion and kept his mouth -shut, or he may still be cruising in that vast waste of waters, blown -north to the Behring Sea, or south to the Malay Islands. It’s better to -leave it unfinished than to spoil a true story by inventing a tag to -it.” - - - - - B. 24 - - -I told my story when I was taken, and no one would listen to me. Then I -told it again at the trial—the whole thing absolutely as it happened, -without so much as a word added. I set it all out truly, so help me God, -all that Lady Mannering said and did, and then all that I had said and -done, just as it occurred. And what did I get for it? “The prisoner put -forward a rambling and inconsequential statement, incredible in its -details, and unsupported by any shred of corroborative evidence.” That -was what one of the London papers said, and others let it pass as if I -had made no defence at all. And yet, with my own eyes I saw Lord -Mannering murdered, and I am as guiltless of it as any man on the jury -that tried me. - -Now, sir, you are there to receive the petitions of prisoners. It all -lies with you. All I ask is that you read it—just read it—and then that -you make an inquiry or two about the private character of this “lady” -Mannering, if she still keeps the name that she had three years ago, -when to my sorrow and ruin I came to meet her. You could use a private -inquiry agent or a good lawyer, and you would soon learn enough to show -you that my story is the true one. Think of the glory it would be to you -to have all the papers saying that there would have been a shocking -miscarriage of justice if it had not been for your perseverance and -intelligence! That must be your reward, since I am a poor man and can -offer you nothing. But if you don’t do it, may you never lie easy in -your bed again! May no night pass that you are not haunted by the -thought of the man who rots in gaol because you have not done the duty -which you are paid to do! But you will do it, sir, I know. Just make one -or two inquiries, and you will soon find which way the wind blows. -Remember, also, that the only person who profited by the crime was -herself, since it changed her from an unhappy wife to a rich young -widow. There’s the end of the string in your hand, and you only have to -follow it up and see where it leads to. - -Mind you, sir, I make no complaint as far as the burglary goes. I don’t -whine about what I have deserved, and so far I have had no more than I -have deserved. Burglary it was, right enough, and my three years have -gone to pay for it. It was shown at the trial that I had had a hand in -the Merton Cross business, and did a year for that, so my story had the -less attention on that account. A man with a previous conviction never -gets a really fair trial. I own to the burglary, but when it comes to -the murder which brought me a lifer—any judge but Sir James might have -given me the gallows—then I tell you that I had nothing to do with it, -and that I am an innocent man. And now I’ll take that night, the 13th of -September, 1894, and I’ll give you just exactly what occurred, and may -God’s hand strike me down if I go one inch over the truth. - -I had been at Bristol in the summer looking for work, and then I had a -notion that I might get something at Portsmouth, for I was trained as a -skilled mechanic, so I came tramping my way across the south of England, -and doing odd jobs as I went. I was trying all I knew to keep off the -cross, for I had done a year in Exeter Gaol, and I had had enough of -visiting Queen Victoria. But it’s cruel hard to get work when once the -black mark is against your name, and it was all I could do to keep soul -and body together. At last, after ten days of wood-cutting and -stone-breaking on starvation pay, I found myself near Salisbury with a -couple of shillings in my pocket, and my boots and my patience clean -wore out. There’s an ale-house called “The Willing Mind,” which stands -on the road between Blandford and Salisbury, and it was there that night -I engaged a bed. I was sitting alone in the tap-room just about closing -time, when the innkeeper—Allen his name was—came beside me and began -yarning about the neighbours. He was a man that liked to talk and to -have some one to listen to his talk, so I sat there smoking and drinking -a mug of ale which he had stood me; and I took no great interest in what -he said until he began to talk (as the devil would have it) about the -riches of Mannering Hall. - -“Meaning the large house on the right before I came to the village?” -said I. “The one that stands in its own park?” - -“Exactly,” said he—and I am giving all our talk so that you may know -that I am telling you the truth and hiding nothing. “The long white -house with the pillars,” said he. “At the side of the Blandford Road.” - -Now I had looked at it as I passed, and it had crossed my mind, as such -thoughts will, that it was a very easy house to get into with that great -row of ground windows and glass doors. I had put the thought away from -me, and now here was this landlord bringing it back with his talk about -the riches within. I said nothing, but I listened, and as luck would -have it, he would always come back to this one subject. - -“He was a miser young, so you can think what he is now in his age,” said -he. “Well, he’s had some good out of his money.” - -“What good can he have had if he does not spend it?” said I. - -“Well, it bought him the prettiest wife in England, and that was some -good that he got out of it. She thought she would have the spending of -it, but she knows the difference now.” - -“Who was she then?” I asked, just for the sake of something to say. - -“She was nobody at all until the old Lord made her his Lady,” said he. -“She came from up London way, and some said that she had been on the -stage there, but nobody knew. The old Lord was away for a year, and when -he came home he brought a young wife back with him, and there she has -been ever since. Stephens, the butler, did tell me once that she was the -light of the house when fust she came, but what with her husband’s mean -and aggravatin’ way, and what with her loneliness—for he hates to see a -visitor within his doors; and what with his bitter words—for he has a -tongue like a hornet’s sting, her life all went out of her, and she -became a white, silent creature, moping about the country lanes. Some -say that she loved another man, and that it was just the riches of the -old Lord which tempted her to be false to her lover, and that now she is -eating her heart out because she has lost the one without being any -nearer to the other, for she might be the poorest woman in the parish -for all the money that she has the handling of.” - -Well, sir, you can imagine that it did not interest me very much to hear -about the quarrels between a Lord and a Lady. What did it matter to me -if she hated the sound of his voice, or if he put every indignity upon -her in the hope of breaking her spirit, and spoke to her as he would -never have dared to speak to one of his servants? The landlord told me -of these things, and of many more like them, but they passed out of my -mind, for they were no concern of mine. But what I did want to hear was -the form in which Lord Mannering kept his riches. Title-deeds and stock -certificates are but paper, and more danger than profit to the man who -takes them. But metal and stones are worth a risk. And then, as if he -were answering my very thoughts, the landlord told me of Lord -Mannering’s great collection of gold medals, that it was the most -valuable in the world, and that it was reckoned that if they were put -into a sack the strongest man in the parish would not be able to raise -them. Then his wife called him, and he and I went to our beds. - -I am not arguing to make out a case for myself, but I beg you, sir, to -bear all the facts in your mind, and to ask yourself whether a man could -be more sorely tempted than I was. I make bold to say that there are few -who could have held out against it. There I lay on my bed that night, a -desperate man without hope or work, and with my last shilling in my -pocket. I had tried to be honest, and honest folk had turned their backs -upon me. They taunted me for theft; and yet they pushed me towards it. I -was caught in the stream and could not get out. And then it was such a -chance: the great house all lined with windows, the golden medals which -could so easily be melted down. It was like putting a loaf before a -starving man and expecting him not to eat it. I fought against it for a -time, but it was no use. At last I sat up on the side of my bed, and I -swore that that night I should either be a rich man and able to give up -crime for ever, or that the irons should be on my wrists once more. Then -I slipped on my clothes, and, having put a shilling on the table—for the -landlord had treated me well, and I did not wish to cheat him—I passed -out through the window into the garden of the inn. - -There was a high wall round this garden, and I had a job to get over it, -but once on the other side it was all plain sailing. I did not meet a -soul upon the road, and the iron gate of the avenue was open. No one was -moving at the lodge. The moon was shining, and I could see the great -house glimmering white through an archway of trees. I walked up it for a -quarter of a mile or so, until I was at the edge of the drive, where it -ended in a broad, gravelled space before the main door. There I stood in -the shadow and looked at the long building, with a full moon shining in -every window and silvering the high stone front. I crouched there for -some time, and I wondered where I should find the easiest entrance. The -corner window of the side seemed to be the one which was least -overlooked, and a screen of ivy hung heavily over it. My best chance was -evidently there. I worked my way under the trees to the back of the -house, and then crept along in the black shadow of the building. A dog -barked and rattled his chain, but I stood waiting until he was quiet, -and then I stole on once more until I came to the window which I had -chosen. - -It is astonishing how careless they are in the country, in places far -removed from large towns, where the thought of burglars never enters -their heads. I call it setting temptation in a poor man’s way when he -puts his hand, meaning no harm, upon a door, and finds it swing open -before him. In this case it was not so bad as that, but the window was -merely fastened with the ordinary catch, which I opened with a push from -the blade of my knife. I pulled up the window as quickly as possible, -and then I thrust the knife through the slit in the shutter and prized -it open. They were folding shutters, and I shoved them before me and -walked into the room. - -“Good evening, sir! You are very welcome!” said a voice. - -I’ve had some starts in my life, but never one to come up to that one. -There, in the opening of the shutters, within reach of my arm, was -standing a woman with a small coil of wax taper burning in her hand. She -was tall and straight and slender, with a beautiful white face that -might have been cut out of clear marble, but her hair and eyes were as -black as night. She was dressed in some sort of white dressing-gown -which flowed down to her feet, and what with this robe and what with her -face, it seemed as if a spirit from above was standing in front of me. -My knees knocked together, and I held on to the shutter with one hand to -give me support. I should have turned and run away if I had had the -strength, but I could only just stand and stare at her. - -She soon brought me back to myself once more. - -“Don’t be frightened!” said she, and they were strange words for the -mistress of a house to have to use to a burglar. “I saw you out of my -bedroom window when you were hiding under those trees, so I slipped -downstairs, and then I heard you at the window. I should have opened it -for you if you had waited, but you managed it yourself just as I came -up.” - -I still held in my hand the long clasp-knife with which I had opened the -shutter. I was unshaven and grimed from a week on the roads. Altogether, -there are few people who would have cared to face me alone at one in the -morning; but this woman, if I had been her lover meeting her by -appointment, could not have looked upon me with a more welcoming eye. -She laid her hand upon my sleeve and drew me into the room. - -“What’s the meaning of this, ma’am? Don’t get trying any little games -upon me,” said I, in my roughest way—and I can put it on rough when I -like. “It’ll be the worse for you if you play me any trick,” I added, -showing her my knife. - -“I will play you no trick,” said she. “On the contrary, I am your -friend, and I wish to help you.” - -“Excuse me, ma’am, but I find it hard to believe that,” said I. “Why -should you wish to help me?” - -“I have my own reasons,” said she; and then suddenly, with those black -eyes blazing out of her white face: “It’s because I hate him, hate him, -hate him! Now you understand.” - -I remembered what the landlord had told me, and I did understand. I -looked at her Ladyship’s face, and I knew that I could trust her. She -wanted to revenge herself upon her husband. She wanted to hit him where -it would hurt him most—upon the pocket. She hated him so that she would -even lower her pride to take such a man as me into her confidence if she -could gain her end by doing so. I’ve hated some folk in my time, but I -don’t think I ever understood what hate was until I saw that woman’s -face in the light of the taper. - -“You’ll trust me now?” said she, with another coaxing touch upon my -sleeve. - -“Yes, your Ladyship.” - -“You know me, then?” - -“I can guess who you are.” - -“I daresay my wrongs are the talk of the county. But what does he care -for that? He only cares for one thing in the whole world, and that you -can take from him this night. Have you a bag?” - -“No, your Ladyship.” - -“Shut the shutter behind you. Then no one can see the light. You are -quite safe. The servants all sleep in the other wing. I can show you -where all the most valuable things are. You cannot carry them all, so we -must pick the best.” - -The room in which I found myself was long and low, with many rugs and -skins scattered about on a polished wood floor. Small cases stood here -and there, and the walls were decorated with spears and swords and -paddles, and other things which find their way into museums. There were -some queer clothes, too, which had been brought from savage countries, -and the lady took down a large leather sack-bag from among them. - -“This sleeping-sack will do,” said she. “Now come with me and I will -show you where the medals are.” - -It was like a dream to me to think that this tall, white woman was the -lady of the house, and that she was lending me a hand to rob her own -home. I could have burst out laughing at the thought of it, and yet -there was something in that pale face of hers which stopped my laughter -and turned me cold and serious. She swept on in front of me like a -spirit, with the green taper in her hand, and I walked behind with my -sack until we came to a door at the end of this museum. It was locked, -but the key was in it, and she led me through. - -The room beyond was a small one, hung all round with curtains which had -pictures on them. It was the hunting of a deer that was painted on it, -as I remember, and in the flicker of that light you’d have sworn that -the dogs and the horses were streaming round the walls. The only other -thing in the room was a row of cases made of walnut, with brass -ornaments. They had glass tops, and beneath this glass I saw the long -lines of those gold medals, some of them as big as a plate and half an -inch thick, all resting upon red velvet and glowing and gleaming in the -darkness. My fingers were just itching to be at them, and I slipped my -knife under the lock of one of the cases to wrench it open. - -“Wait a moment,” said she, laying her hand upon my arm. “You might do -better than this.” - -“I am very well satisfied, ma’am,” said I, “and much obliged to your -Ladyship for kind assistance.” - -“You can do better,” she repeated. “Would not golden sovereigns be worth -more to you than these things?” - -“Why, yes,” said I. “That’s best of all.” - -“Well,” said she. “He sleeps just above our head. It is but one short -staircase. There is a tin box with money enough to fill this bag under -his bed.” - -“How can I get it without waking him?” - -“What matter if he does wake?” She looked very hard at me as she spoke. -“You could keep him from calling out.” - -“No, no, ma’am, I’ll have none of that.” - -“Just as you like,” said she. “I thought that you were a stout-hearted -sort of man by your appearance, but I see that I made a mistake. If you -are afraid to run the risk of one old man, then of course you cannot -have the gold which is under his bed. You are the best judge of your own -business, but I should think that you would do better at some other -trade.” - -“I’ll not have murder on my conscience.” - -“You could overpower him without harming him. I never said anything of -murder. The money lies under the bed. But if you are faint-hearted, it -is better that you should not attempt it.” - -She worked upon me so, partly with her scorn and partly with this money -that she held before my eyes, that I believe I should have yielded and -taken my chances upstairs, had it not been that I saw her eyes following -the struggle within me in such a crafty, malignant fashion, that it was -evident she was bent upon making me the tool of her revenge, and that -she would leave me no choice but to do the old man an injury or to be -captured by him. She felt suddenly that she was giving herself away, and -she changed her face to a kindly, friendly smile, but it was too late, -for I had had my warning. - -“I will not go upstairs,” said I. “I have all I want here.” - -She looked her contempt at me, and there never was a face which could -look it plainer. - -“Very good. You can take these medals. I should be glad if you would -begin at this end. I suppose they will all be the same value when melted -down, but these are the ones which are the rarest, and, therefore, the -most precious to him. It is not necessary to break the locks. If you -press that brass knob you will find that there is a secret spring. So! -Take that small one first—it is the very apple of his eye.” - -She had opened one of the cases, and the beautiful things all lay -exposed before me. I had my hand upon the one which she had pointed out, -when suddenly a change came over her face, and she held up one finger as -a warning. “Hist!” she whispered. “What is that?” - -Far away in the silence of the house we heard a low, dragging, shuffling -sound, and the distant tread of feet. She closed and fastened the case -in an instant. - -“It’s my husband!” she whispered. “All right. Don’t be alarmed. I’ll -arrange it. Here! Quick, behind the tapestry!” - -She pushed me behind the painted curtains upon the wall, my empty -leather bag still in my hand. Then she took her taper and walked quickly -into the room from which we had come. From where I stood I could see her -through the open door. - -“Is that you, Robert?” she cried. - -The light of a candle shone through the door of the museum, and the -shuffling steps came nearer and nearer. Then I saw a face in the -doorway, a great, heavy face, all lines and creases, with a huge curving -nose, and a pair of gold glasses fixed across it. He had to throw his -head back to see through the glasses, and that great nose thrust out in -front of him like the beak of some sort of fowl. He was a big man, very -tall and burly, so that in his loose dressing-gown his figure seemed to -fill up the whole doorway. He had a pile of grey, curling hair all round -his head, but his face was clean-shaven. His mouth was thin and small -and prim, hidden away under his long, masterful nose. He stood there, -holding the candle in front of him, and looking at his wife with a -queer, malicious gleam in his eyes. It only needed that one look to tell -me that he was as fond of her as she was of him. - -“How’s this?” he asked. “Some new tantrum? What do you mean by wandering -about the house? Why don’t you go to bed?” - -“I could not sleep,” she answered. She spoke languidly and wearily. If -she was an actress once, she had not forgotten her calling. - -“Might I suggest,” said he, in the same mocking kind of voice, “that a -good conscience is an excellent aid to sleep?” - -“That cannot be true,” she answered, “for you sleep very well.” - -“I have only one thing in my life to be ashamed of,” said he, and his -hair bristled up with anger until he looked like an old cockatoo. “You -know best what that is. It is a mistake which has brought its own -punishment with it.” - -“To me as well as to you. Remember that!” - -“You have very little to whine about. It was I who stooped and you who -rose.” - -“Rose!” - -“Yes, rose. I suppose you do not deny that it is promotion to exchange -the music-hall for Mannering Hall. Fool that I was ever to take you out -of your true sphere!” - -“If you think so, why do you not separate?” - -“Because private misery is better than public humiliation. Because it is -easier to suffer for a mistake than to own to it. Because also I like to -keep you in my sight, and to know that you cannot go back to him.” - -“You villain! You cowardly villain!” - -“Yes, yes, my lady. I know your secret ambition, but it shall never be -while I live, and if it happens after my death I will at least take care -that you go to him as a beggar. You and dear Edward will never have the -satisfaction of squandering my savings, and you may make up your mind to -that, my lady. Why are those shutters and the window open?” - -“I found the night very close.” - -“It is not safe. How do you know that some tramp may not be outside? Are -you aware that my collection of medals is worth more than any similar -collection in the world? You have left the door open also. What is there -to prevent any one from rifling the cases?” - -“I was here.” - -“I know you were. I heard you moving about in the medal room, and that -was why I came down. What were you doing?” - -“Looking at the medals. What else should I be doing?” - -“This curiosity is something new.” He looked suspiciously at her and -moved on towards the inner room, she walking beside him. - -It was at this moment that I saw something which startled me. I had laid -my clasp-knife open upon the top of one of the cases, and there it lay -in full view. She saw it before he did, and with a woman’s cunning she -held her taper out so that the light of it came between Lord Mannering’s -eyes and the knife. Then she took it in her left hand and held it -against her gown out of his sight. He looked about from case to case—I -could have put my hand at one time upon his long nose—but there was -nothing to show that the medals had been tampered with, and so, still -snarling and grumbling, he shuffled off into the other room once more. - -And now I have to speak of what I heard rather than of what I saw, but I -swear to you, as I shall stand some day before my Maker, that what I say -is the truth. - -When they passed into the outer room I saw him lay his candle upon the -corner of one of the tables, and he sat himself down, but in such a -position that he was just out of my sight. She moved behind him, as I -could tell from the fact that the light of her taper threw his long, -lumpy shadow upon the floor in front of him. Then he began talking about -this man whom he called Edward, and every word that he said was like a -blistering drop of vitriol. He spoke low, so that I could not hear it -all, but from what I heard I should guess that she would as soon have -been lashed with a whip. At first she said some hot words in reply, but -then she was silent, and he went on and on in that cold, mocking voice -of his, nagging and insulting and tormenting, until I wondered that she -could bear to stand there in silence and listen to it. Then suddenly I -heard him say in a sharp voice, “Come from behind me! Leave go of my -collar! What! would you dare to strike me?” There was a sound like a -blow, just a soft sort of thud, and then I heard him cry out, “My God, -it’s blood!” He shuffled with his feet as if he was getting up, and then -I heard another blow, and he cried out, “Oh, you she-devil!” and was -quiet, except for a dripping and splashing upon the floor. - -I ran out from behind my curtain at that, and rushed into the other -room, shaking all over with the horror of it. The old man had slipped -down in the chair, and his dressing-gown had rucked up until he looked -as if he had a monstrous hump to his back. His head, with the gold -glasses still fixed on his nose, was lolling over upon one side, and his -little mouth was open just like a dead fish. I could not see where the -blood was coming from, but I could still hear it drumming upon the -floor. She stood behind him with the candle shining full upon her face. -Her lips were pressed together and her eyes shining, and a touch of -colour had come into each of her cheeks. It just wanted that to make her -the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in my life. - -“You’ve done it now!” said I. - -“Yes,” said she, in her quiet way, “I’ve done it now.” - -“What are you going to do?” I asked. “They’ll have you for murder as -sure as fate.” - -“Never fear about me. I have nothing to live for, and it does not -matter. Give me a hand to set him straight in the chair. It is horrible -to see him like this!” - -I did so, though it turned me cold all over to touch him. Some of his -blood came on my hand and sickened me. - -“Now,” said she, “you may as well have the medals as any one else. Take -them and go.” - -“I don’t want them. I only want to get away. I was never mixed up with a -business like this before.” - -“Nonsense!” said she. “You came for the medals, and here they are at -your mercy. Why should you not have them? There is no one to prevent -you.” - -I held the bag still in my hand. She opened the case, and between us we -threw a hundred or so of the medals into it. They were all from the one -case, but I could not bring myself to wait for any more. Then I made for -the window, for the very air of this house seemed to poison me after -what I had seen and heard. As I looked back, I saw her standing there, -tall and graceful, with the light in her hand, just as I had seen her -first. She waved good-bye, and I waved back at her and sprang out into -the gravel drive. - -I thank God that I can lay my hand upon my heart and say that I have -never done a murder, but perhaps it would be different if I had been -able to read that woman’s mind and thoughts. There might have been two -bodies in the room instead of one if I could have seen behind that last -smile of hers. But I thought of nothing but of getting safely away, and -it never entered my head how she might be fixing the rope round my neck. -I had not taken five steps out from the window skirting down the shadow -of the house in the way that I had come, when I heard a scream that -might have raised the parish, and then another and another. - -“Murder!” she cried. “Murder! Murder! Help!” and her voice rang out in -the quiet of the night-time and sounded over the whole country-side. It -went through my head, that dreadful cry. In an instant lights began to -move and windows to fly up, not only in the house behind me, but at the -lodge and in the stables in front. Like a frightened rabbit I bolted -down the drive, but I heard the clang of the gate being shut before I -could reach it. Then I hid my bag of medals under some dry fagots, and I -tried to get away across the park, but some one saw me in the moonlight, -and presently I had half a dozen of them with dogs upon my heels. I -crouched down among the brambles, but those dogs were too many for me, -and I was glad enough when the men came up and prevented me from being -torn into pieces. They seized me, and dragged me back to the room from -which I had come. - -“Is this the man, your Ladyship?” asked the oldest of them—the same whom -I found out afterwards to be the butler. - -She had been bending over the body, with her handkerchief to her eyes, -and now she turned upon me with the face of a fury. Oh, what an actress -that woman was! - -“Yes, yes, it is the very man,” she cried. “Oh, you villain, you cruel -villain, to treat an old man so!” - -There was a man there who seemed to be a village constable. He laid his -hand upon my shoulder. - -“What do you say to that?” said he. - -“It was she who did it,” I cried, pointing at the woman, whose eyes -never flinched before mine. - -“Come! come! Try another!” said the constable, and one of the -men-servants struck at me with his fist. - -“I tell you that I saw her do it. She stabbed him twice with a knife. -She first helped me to rob him, and then she murdered him.” - -The footman tried to strike me again, but she held up her hand. - -“Do not hurt him,” said she. “I think that his punishment may safely be -left to the law.” - -“I’ll see to that, your Ladyship,” said the constable. “Your Ladyship -actually saw the crime committed, did you not?” - -“Yes, yes, I saw it with my own eyes. It was horrible. We heard the -noise and we came down. My poor husband was in front. The man had one of -the cases open, and was filling a black leather bag which he held in his -hand. He rushed past us, and my husband seized him. There was a -struggle, and he stabbed him twice. There you can see the blood upon his -hands. If I am not mistaken, his knife is still in Lord Mannering’s -body.” - -“Look at the blood upon her hands!” I cried. - -“She has been holding up his Lordship’s head, you lying rascal,” said -the butler. - -“And here’s the very sack her Ladyship spoke of,” said the constable, as -a groom came in with the one which I had dropped in my flight. “And here -are the medals inside it. That’s good enough for me. We will keep him -safe here to-night, and to-morrow the inspector and I can take him into -Salisbury.” - -“Poor creature,” said the woman. “For my own part, I forgive him any -injury which he has done me. Who knows what temptation may have driven -him to crime? His conscience and the law will give him punishment enough -without any reproach of mine rendering it more bitter.” - -I could not answer—I tell you, sir, I could not answer, so taken aback -was I by the assurance of the woman. And so, seeming by my silence to -agree to all that she had said, I was dragged away by the butler and the -constable into the cellar, in which they locked me for the night. - -There, sir, I have told you the whole story of the events which led up -to the murder of Lord Mannering by his wife upon the night of September -the 14th, in the year 1894. Perhaps you will put my statement on one -side as the constable did at Mannering Towers, or the judge afterwards -at the county assizes. Or perhaps you will see that there is the ring of -truth in what I say, and you will follow it up, and so make your name -for ever as a man who does not grudge personal trouble where justice is -to be done. I have only you to look to, sir, and if you will clear my -name of this false accusation, then I will worship you as one man never -yet worshipped another. But if you fail me, then I give you my solemn -promise that I will rope myself up, this day month, to the bar of my -window, and from that time on I will come to plague you in your dreams -if ever yet one man was able to come back and to haunt another. What I -ask you to do is very simple. Make inquiries about this woman, watch -her, learn her past history, find out what use she is making of the -money which has come to her, and whether there is not a man Edward as I -have stated. If from all this you learn anything which shows you her -real character, or which seems to you to corroborate the story which I -have told you, then I am sure that I can rely upon your goodness of -heart to come to the rescue of an innocent man. - - - THE END - - - PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - SIR A. CONAN DOYLE’S WORKS. - - - =SIR NIGEL.= With Illustrations by ARTHUR TWIDLE. Third Impression. - Crown 8vo. 6_s._ - - =THE TRAGEDY OF THE ‘KOROSKO.’= New Edition With 40 Full-page - Illustrations. Crown 8vo. 3_s._ 6_d._ - - =UNCLE BERNAC=: a Memory of the Empire. With 12 Full-page - Illustrations. Third and Cheaper Edition. Crown 8vo. 3_s._ 6_d._ - - =RODNEY STONE.= New and Cheaper Illustrated Edition. With 8 - Full-page Illustrations. Crown 8vo. 3_s._ 6_d._ - - =THE WHITE COMPANY.= New and Cheaper Edition (the 28th Edition. - Revised). With 8 Full-page Illustrations. 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THE GREAT SHADOW; - UNCLE BERNAC.—9. A DUET.—10. THE TRAGEDY OF THE ‘KOROSKO’; THE GREEN - FLAG, AND OTHER TALES OF WAR AND SPORT.—11. THE STARK-MUNRO LETTERS; - ROUND THE RED LAMP.—12. THE EXPLOITS OF BRIGADIER GERARD; THE CRIME OF - THE BRIGADIER. - - London: SMITH, ELDER, & CO., 15 Waterloo Place, S.W. - - - - - WORKS BY FRANK T. BULLEN, F.R.G.S. - - - =Our Heritage the Sea.= With a Frontispiece by ARTHUR TWIDLE. Crown - 8vo. 6_s._ - - _DAILY TELEGRAPH._—‘The first step to winning the people to the - reading a good book is to produce the good book for them to read, and - that Mr. Bullen has done.’ - - - =Back to Sunny Seas.= With 8 Full-page Illustrations in Colour by A. - S. FORREST, R.I. Crown 8vo. 6_s._ - - _DAILY TELEGRAPH._—‘A bright, interesting and chatty record of a - pleasant cruise to the West Indies.’ - - - =Sea-Wrack.= SECOND IMPRESSION. With 8 Illustrations by ARTHUR - TWIDLE. 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The story never flags or loiters.’ - - - FROM ONE GENERATION TO ANOTHER. Crown 8vo, 6_s._; and Fcap. 8vo, - boards, Pictorial Cover, 2_s._; or limp red cloth, 2_s._ 6_d._ - - _ILLUSTRATED LONDON NEWS._—‘The book is a good book. The characters of - Michael Seymour and of James Agar are admirably contrasted.’ - - - THE SLAVE OF THE LAMP. Crown 8vo, 6_s._; and Fcap. 8vo, boards, - Pictorial Cover, 2_s._; or limp red cloth, 2_s._ 6_d._ - - _MANCHESTER GUARDIAN._—‘A masterly story ... so like real life, and so - entirely unconventional.’ - - - THE GREY LADY. With 12 Full-page Illustrations by ARTHUR RACKHAM. - SIXTH IMPRESSION. Crown 8vo, 6_s._ - - _BRITISH WEEKLY._—‘An interesting, thoughtful, carefully written - story, with a charming touch of pensiveness.’ - - - NOTE.—Mr. MERRIMAN’S 14 NOVELS are published uniform in style, - binding, and price, and thus form a Collected Edition of his - Works. - - London: SMITH, ELDER & CO., 15 Waterloo Place, S.W. - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - -Transcriber’s note: - - 1. Changed ‘suppling’ to ‘supplying’ on p. 53. - - 2. Used an ⁂ in place of an inverted asterism. - - 3. Silently corrected typographical errors. - - 4. 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