473.36.120 B
* SHORT
STORY
COLLECTIONS

TPTKPWARD FRESCOTT
Harvard College Library
IST OF
RESCOTT
1909








ROUND THE FIRE STORIES


OTHER BOOKS
BY A. CONAN DOYLE
The Green Flag, and Other Stories of War and Sport,
The Great Boer War, Adventures of Gerard,
Return of Sherlock Holmes, Sir Nigel,
The Hound of the Baskervilles,
Through the Magic Door






“I burst with a shriek into my own life"


ROUND THE FIRE STORIES
BY
ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
NEW YORK
THE MCCLURE COMPANY
MCMVIII


21473.36. 12o
B
Copyright, 1908, by The McClure Company
HARVARD COLLEGE LIBRARY
BEQUEST OF
WINWARD PRESCOTT
JANUARY 27, 1933
Copyright, 1902, by The S. S. McClure Company


PREFACE
In a previous volume, “ The Green Flag,” I have assem-
bled 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,
CROW BOROUGH.





ROUND THE FIRE STORIES





THE LEATHER FUNNEL
Y 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 be-
fore the avenue was constructed, for the gray tiles were
stained with lichens, and the walls were mildewed and dis-
colored 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 him-
self, 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 mag-
ical works, many of them of great rarity and value. His
tastes leaned toward the marvelous 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 as-
sured me that the worst excesses of the black mass have
been perpetrated in that large and lofty hall, which is lined


THE LEATHER FUNNEL
with the shelves of his books, and the cases of his
museum.
Dacre's appearance was enough to show that his deep in-
terest 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 con-
ducted at the time when he was endeavoring 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 fulfill 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.


THE LEATHER FUNNEL
“I have only that one spare couch,” said he, pointing to
a broad sofa in his large salon; “ I hope that you will man-
age 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 gen-
erally one worth telling.”
He was seated as he spoke at one side of the open fire-
place, 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
center, 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 discolored 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 ex-


THE LEATHER FUNNEL
treme 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 Eng-
land leathern drinking flagons of the seventeenth century
- black jacks' as they were called — which were of the
same color 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 knowl-
edge.
“ Have you included the psychology of dreams among
your learned studies ? ” he asked.
66 I did not even know that there was such a psychology."


THE LEATHER FUNNEL
“ 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 astrol-
oger 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 re-
duced to system and order. When that time comes the re-
searches 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.”


00
THE LEATHER FUNNEL
“ 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 let-
ters, 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 some-
thing 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 or-
dinary crown. It is a heraldic crown — a badge of rank,
and it consists of an alternation of four pearls and straw-
berry leaves, the proper badge of a marquis. We may in-
fer, therefore, that the person whose initials end in B was
entitled to wear that coronet.”
“ Then this common leather filler belonged to a mar-
quis ? "
Dacre gave a peculiar smile.
“ Or to some member of the family of a marquis,” said


THE LEATHER FUNNEL
he. “ So much we have clearly gathered from this en-
graved 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 su-
preme 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 inci-
dent 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, al-


THE LEATHER FUNNEL 11
I sat for some little time smoking by the smoldering
fire, and turning over in my mind the curious incident which
had occurred, and the strange experience which might lie
before me. Skeptical as I was, there was something im-
pressive in the assurance of Dacre's manner, and my ex-
traordinary 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 blond 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


12 THE LEATHER FUNNEL
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 en-
tirely 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 un-
like 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.


THE LEATHER FUNNEL 13
He threw up his hands in prayer, and he stooped contin-
ually 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 to-
gether. She held them meekly toward him as he did so.
Then he took her arm with a rough grip and led her to-
ward 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, quiv-
ering 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 prep-
arations, 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 hor- .
rible 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


14 THE LEATHER FUNNEL
through the window and throwing strange silver and black
traceries upon the opposite wall. Oh, what a blessed re-
lief to feel that I was back in the nineteenth century —
back out of that mediæval 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 ad-
vancing 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 ter-
rified.” He struck a match and lit the lamp. “I think we
may get the fire to burn up again,” he added, throwing


THE LEATHER FUNNEL 15
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 morn-
ing. 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?"


16
THE LEATHER FUNNEL
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 transla-
tion as I go. You will judge for yourself whether I have
solved the riddle or not.
• The prisoner was brought before the Grand Cham-
bers 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 coun-
selor 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 extra-
ordinary 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 afterward burned and her ashes scat-
tered 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 behavior when questioned. “When the ex-
ecutioner 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 with-
out uttering a word.' How's that?"
“ Yes, it was so.”


18 THE LEATHER FUNNEL
“ 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...
Marquis 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 cold blooded 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 mediæval 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 ex-
traordinary 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 ques-
tion. That he should engrave her initials upon it for the
information of others was surely a very ordinary proceed-
ing upon his part."


THE LEATHER FUNNEL 19
“ 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
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 oc-
cupied 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 nec-
essary 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 zoölogy,
toward 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
20


THE BEETLE HUNTER
21
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, Brooke Street. Application must be made
before twelve o'clock to-day.
Now, I have already said that I was devoted to zoölogy.
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 Brooke 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


22
THE BEETLE HUNTER
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 com-
pletely 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, Brooke Street, was one of those dingy and
yet imposing houses, dun-colored 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 some-
what 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


THE BEETLE HUNTER 23
could not for the instant recall anything about him. Fol-
lowing 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 gray, brushed back from his forehead.
He looked me up and down with a very shrewd, penetra-
ting 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 fulfill 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 con-
fidence in you because you do not pretend to be certain as
to what you would do in a position that was new to you.


24
THE BEETLE HUNTER
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 con-
trary, he was leaning eagerly forward across his desk, and
there was an expression 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 charac-
teristics of the beetle, and ran over the more common species,
with some allusions to the specimens in my own little col-
lection and to the article upon “ Burying Beetles " which
I had contributed to the Journal of Entomological Science.
6 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 pur-
pose. 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 en-
tered.
“ Ask Lady Rossiter to have the goodness to step this


THE BEETLE HUNTER
25
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 gray-black hair. The ex-
pression 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, Eve-
lyn,” 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 con-
nection 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 as-
sure 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.


26
THE BEETLE HUNTER
“ 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 Linch-
mere 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 ap-
pear 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 con-
cerned in so good a work.”
“ If it ends happily,” said the lady.
“ Exactly; if it ends happily," his lordship repeated.
“ And terms? " I asked.


THE BEETLE HUNTER
27
“ Twenty pounds a day.”
I was amazed at the sum, and must have showed my sur-
prise 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-by, 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 Brooke Street until I set out to meet
Lord Linchmere at Paddington. The whole fantastic busi-
ness kept arranging and re-arranging itself in kaleido-
scopic forms inside my brain, until I had thought out a


28 THE BEETLE HUNTER
dozen explanations, each of them more grotesquely im-
probable 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 re-
ceived. 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 traveling 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


THE BEETLE HUNTER 29
Luse
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 Rossi-
ter, 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 loath to give
any explanations which are not absolutely necessary. It
would be a different matter, Dr. Hamilton, if I were ask-
ing 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 than Lord Linchmere was acting rather
scurvily toward me. He wished to convert me into a pas-
sive tool, like the blackthorn in his hand. With his sensi-
tive 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


30
THE BEETLE HUNTER
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 des-
tination. 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 educa-
tion, all the same. I never regretted the years which I
devoted to medical study. These are the gates of Dela-
mere 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, gray hat cast his face into


THE BEETLE HUNTER 31
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 sen-
tences — “ well-known wishes ... hatred of strangers
... unjustifiable intrusion ... perfectly inex-
cusable.” 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.
6 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


THE BEETLE HUNTER
33
“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 accom-
panying 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 col-
lection, 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 im-
paled 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 pecu-
liarities 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 din-
ner. All the time Lord Linchmere said nothing, but he
stood at his brother-in-law's elbow, and I caught him con-
tinually shooting curious little, questioning glances into
his face. And his own features expressed some strong emo-


34
THE BEETLE HUNTER
tion, apprehension, sympathy, expectation: I seemed to
read them all. I was sure that Lord Linchmere was fearing
something and awaiting something, but what that some-
thing 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 Linch-
mere. As to our host, I found that he improved upon ac-
quaintance. He spoke constantly with affection of his ab-
sent wife, and also of his little son, who had recently been
sent to school. The house, he said, was not the same with-
out them. If it were not for his scientific studies, he did
not know how he could get through the days. After din-
ner we smoked for some time in the billiard-room, and fin-
ally 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 du-
ties. 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.


THE BEETLE HUNTER
35
“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 shoul-
ders and sat down in the arm-chair beside the empty fire-
place.
“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


36 THE BEETLE HUNTER
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, throw-
ing a circle of light round my chair, but leaving the cor-
ners of the room draped in shadow. On the bed Lord Linch-
mere 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 determin-
ation 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 expres-
sion 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


THE BEETLE HUNTER 37
lamplight, and of the small, hunched-up figure and strained
anxious face of Lord Linchmere in the center 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 cau-
tiously 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 tremb-
ling with excitement. His hand which still held my sleeve
twitched like a branch in the wind.
“ What is it? " I whispered.
66 It's he!”
66 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


38
THE BEETLE HUNTER
of our room. The grayish 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 crouch-
ing, with the silhouette of a bulky and misshapen dwarf.
Slowly the door swung open with this ominous shape framed
in the center 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 motion-
less 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 Linch-
mere with his arms round the neck of his brother-in-law,
holding bravely on to him like a game bull-terrier with his
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 shoul-
der. 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 endeavoring
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 pris-


THE BEETLE HUNTER
39
oner, who lay foaming and glaring upon the ground. One
glance at his face was enough to prove that he was a dan-
gerous maniac, while the short, heavy hammer which lay
beside the bed showed how murderous had been his inten-
tions.
“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.
“ This 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 be-
cause 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


40
THE BEETLE HUNTER
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 characteris-
tic of such maladies that it is absolutely impossible to con-
vince the man who suffers from them of their existence.
“ Our great object was, of course, to get him under re-
straint 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 nec-
essary for our purpose that the medical man should con-
vince 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 Brooke Street.
“ It remained for me to convince a medical man of Sir
Thomas's insanity, without which it is 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 anyone 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.


THE BEETLE HUNTER
41
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 oc-
cur in the early hours of the morning. I am a very nerv-
ous 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 pa-
tient removed in the morning."
So that was my visit to Sir Thomas Rossiter, the fam-
ous beetle-hunter, and that was also my first step upon the
ladder of success, for Lady Rossiter and Lord Linchmere
have proved to be stanch 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
HERE 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 dullness, it attracted
perhaps rather more attention than it deserved, but it of-
fered to the public that mixture of the whimsical and the
tragic which is most stimulating to the popular imagina-
tion. Interest dropped, however, when, after weeks of fruit-
less 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 be-
fore 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 anyone would travel who was not driven to do so by
42


THE MAN WITH THE WATCHES 43
necessity. The train, however, is a favorite 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 en-
gine-driver when he observed two belated passengers hurry-
ing down the platform. The one was an exceptionally tall
man, dressed in a long black overcoat with Astrakhan col-
lar and cuffs. I have already said that the evening was an
inclement one, and the tall traveler 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 vigor 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
out-paced the gentleman beside her. She wore a long, fawn-
colored 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.


44 THE MAN WITH THE WATCHES
“ 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 pre-
pared, afterward, to describe or to identify him. He was
a man of thirty-four or thirty-five years of age, dressed
in some gray 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 trav-
elers 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 some-
thing 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 inter-
val. An examination of the tickets has made it certain that
no one either joined or left it at this time, and no passen-
ger 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


THE MAN WITH THE WATCHES 45
to the fact that the door of one of the first-class carriages
was open. An examination of that compartment, and of
its neighbor, 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 orig-
inally drawn, there was no sign either of the gentleman
with the Astrakhan collar or of the young lady who ac-
companied him. All three passengers had disappeared. On
the other hand, there was found upon the floor of this car-
riage — the one in which the tall traveler and the lady
had been — a young man, fashionably dressed and of ele-
gant 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 compart-
ments.
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


46 THE MAN WITH THE WATCHES
various pockets of his waistcoat, one in his ticket-pocket,
one in his breast-pocket, and one small one in a leather
strap and fastened round his left wrist. The obvious ex-
planation that the man was a pick-pocket, 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 Eng-
land. Three of them bore the mark of the Rochester Watch-
making Company; one was by. Mason, of Elmira ; one was
unmarked; and the small one, which was highly jeweled
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 Ly-
ceum theater; 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 in-
stantly made of the tickets of all passengers, and the num-
ber of the passengers themselves was counted. It was found
that only three tickets were unaccounted for, correspond-
ing to the three travelers 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


THE MAN WITH THE WATCHES 47
arrival of Inspector Vane, of Scotland Yard, and of Mr.
Henderson, a detective in the service of the railway com-
pany, an exhaustive inquiry was made into all the circum-
stances.
That crime had been committed was certain. The bullet,
which appeared to have come from a small pistol or revol-
ver, had been fired from some little distance, as there was
no scorching of the clothes. No weapon was found in the
compartinent (which finally disposed of the theory of sui-
cide), nor was there any sign of the brown leather bag
which the guard had seen in the hand of the tall gentle-
man. A lady's parasol was found upon the rack, but no
other trace was to be seen of the travelers 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, accord-
ing 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 ex-
ceptionally 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 cus-
tom to stand in the middle between the metals, and the open
carriage door was upon the far side, so that it was con-


48 THE MAN WITH THE WATCHES
ceivable that someone might have alighted unseen, as the
darkness would by that time be drawing in. A steep em-
bankment would instantly screen anyone who sprang 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 Willes-
den (and the half-smoked cigar upon the floor seemed to
favor 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 writ-
ten: “ James, July 4th, 1859," and beneath that again:
“ Edward, Nov. 1st, 1869," all the entries being in the


THE MAN WITH THE WATCHES 49
same handwriting. This was the only clew, if it could be
called a clew, 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. Advertise-
ments, 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 theo-
ries were formed to account for the facts. On the con-
trary, the Press, both in England and in America, teemed
with suggestions and suppositions, most of which were ob-
viously absurd. The fact that the watches were of Amer-
ican 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 man-
ufacture. 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 se-
crets, put to death by his fellow passengers. When cou-
pled 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 Nihil-
istic 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 coin-
cidence that conspirators should stray exactly into the very
compartment in which a spy was already concealed! Be-


50 THE MAN WITH THE WATCHES
sides, this explanation ignored the man in the smoking car-
riage, and gave no reason at all for his simultaneous dis-
appearance. The police had little difficulty in showing that
such a theory would not cover the facts, but they were un-
prepared in the absence of evidence to advance any alterna-
tive explanation.
There was a letter in the Daily Gazette, over the signa-
ture 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 de-
pend 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 oc-
curred, 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 proba-
bility increases in a geometrical progression until the evi-
dence 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 MAN WITH THE WATCHES 51
the repairs of the line. The two trains would at that time
be traveling 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 car-
riage can see very plainly the passengers in the other car-
riages 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 ab-
normal 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 jewelry 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 the-
ory 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


52 THE MAN WITH THE WATCHES
woman are traveling, 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 supposi-
tion 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 car-
riage. Presuming that we have, up to this point, recon-
structed 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 mur-
derer 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 ab-


THE MAN WITH THE WATCHES 53
solutely 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
traveled 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 open-
ing 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 Roches-


THE MAN WITH THE WATCHES 55
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 presecute,
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 jail 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


56 THE MAN WITH THE WATCHES
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, suc-
cess, 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-traveler, 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.
666 Gentlemen,' said I, .are you aware whom you are
playing with?'
their as settling But I soo


THE MAN WITH THE WATCHES 57
66 • What's that to you? You mind your own business!'
said he, with an oath.
6 • Who is it, anyway?' asked one of the dudes.
6. He's Sparrow MacCoy, the most notorious card-
sharper in the States.'
"Up he jumped with a bottle in his hand, but he remem-
bered that he was under the flag of the effete Old Country,
where law and order run, and Tammany has no pull. Jail
and the gallows wait for violence and murder, and there's
no slipping out by the back door on board an ocean liner.
66 • 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 be-
ing there, and it was. He cursed me, slunk out of the sa-
loon, and was hardly seen again during the voyage. For
once, at any rate, I got level with Mister Sparrow Mac-
Coy.
“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 Ameri-
can watches, until this villain came across his path once


58 THE MAN WITH THE WATCHES
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 traveler 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 depot 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.
6 They were both disguised, and with good reason, for
they knew that the London police were after them. Mac-
Coy had a great astrakhan collar drawn up, so that only
his eyes and nose were showing. My brother was dressed


THE MAN WITH THE WATCHES 59
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 im-
possible to soften or to move. I tried this way and I tried
that; I pictured his future in an English jail; 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.
6. 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


60 THE MAN WITH THE WATCHES
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.
6 “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 coun-
try there is a more contemptible-looking creature than you
are as you sit there with that Dolly pinafore upon you.'
He colored 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 at-
tached, 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 jail, then to jail you shall go.'
“ That was the way to manage him. I felt my advan-
tage 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.
6. He's my pard, and you shall not bully him, he cried.
6 " 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


THE MAN WITH THE WATCHES 61
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 toward 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 foot-board 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


62 THE MAN WITH THE WATCHES
empty world now that he is gone, and I don't care a conti-
nental 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 pre-
serves 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 depot. 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 MAN WITH THE WATCHES 63
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 in-
trusted to him for business purposes. It may have been for
the same business purposes that he was taking them to Man-
chester, 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
card-sharper. If you sit back a little from the table, and
lay the mirror, face upward, 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 after-
ward we made our way quietly to London, whence Mac-
Coy went on to Cairo and I returned to New York. My
mother died six months afterward, and I am glad to say


64 THE MAN WITH THE WATCHES
that to the day of her death she never knew what happened.
She was always under the delusion that Edward was earn-
ing 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.
6 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 ex-
planation, 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 anyone else.
If you address it to X, Bassano's Library, Broadway, New
York, it is sure to come to hand.”


THE POT OF CAVIARE
TT 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 scat-
tered 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 crumb-
ling brick walls outlining the tiny European quarter, and
they fired away briskly, if ineffectively, at the rapidly ad-
vancing sangars of the Boxers. It was certain that in an-
other day or so they would be at the end of their resources,
65


66
THE POT OF CAVIARE
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 ven-
tured 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 gray slopes lay bare and unrespon-
sive 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
Wednesday evening. Colonel Dresler, the German ex-in-
fantry 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


THE POT OF CAVIARE 67
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 Presby-
terian 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 re-
lief was assured? There would be no attack that day, as
most of the Boxers could be seen streaming off in the direc-
tion 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, Pro-
fessor, out with the pot of caviare!”
“ Potz-tausend! yes,” grunted old Dresler. “ It is cer-
tainly time that we had that famous pot."


68 THE POT OF CAVIARE
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 Rals-
ton, 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
as
were


THE POT OF CAVIARE 69
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 strat-
egist,” 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 savor 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 ex-
perience.”


70
THE POT OF CAVIARE
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, gray 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 re-
mains from the table. But after they had left, the old


THE POT OF CAVIARE
171
Professor sat on there, his massive, gray-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 ob-
served 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. “ Defense
of Ichau against the Boxers by Colonel Dresler, late Ma-
jor of the 114th Hanoverian Infantry. Splendid resistance
of small garrison against overwhelming odds.' It will cer-
tainly appear in the Berlin papers.”
6 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 ex-
cited on the morning when you brought back Lepidus
Mercerensis in your collecting-box.”
“ The fly was safe in my collecting-box first,” the en-
tomologist 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 advanc-
ing swiftly, the firing has died down to show that resistance
is at an end, and within an hour we'll see them over the


72 THE POT OF CAVIARE
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 trag-
edy. But you have seen how I have conducted the defense
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 de-
fended? To me a comparison of this sort is very interest-
ing. Could it have been saved?”
“No; everything possible was done — save only one
thing.”
66 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


THE POT OF CAVIARE
73
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.”
6 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 con-
sciences 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 re-
ceive 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


174
THE POT OF CAVIARE
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 in-
quiry when the door flew open, and Colonel Dresler stag-
gered 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.
6 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 some-
thing 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. Com-
modore Wyndham, the Englishman, had sent him. The
relieving force had been checked. They had shot away


THE POT OF CAVIARE 175
most of their ammunition. They had entrenched them-
selves 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 gray brows.
6 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. Be-
hind 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."


- 76
THE POT OF CAVIARE
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-martialed, '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 way 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,


THE POT OF CAVIARE
7
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, watch-
ing 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 Pro-
fessor, her portion lay hardly touched at the side of her
plate.
“ You don't like my little delicacy. It is a disappoint-
ment 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


178
THE POT OF CAVIARE
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 westward 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 re-
proof. “ You must not look so pleased, Mr. Patterson.”
“ Well, well, our views are very different,” said the Pres-
byterian, “but there is no personal feeling toward you,
Father Pierre. At the same time, how any reasonable edu-
cated 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


THE POT OF CAVIARE 79
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 al-
ways 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!”


80
THE POT OF CAVIARE
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
afterward? 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


THE POT OF CAVIARE
81
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 ap-
preciate each other and we've learned to appreciate each
other's nations. There's the Colonel here stands for Ger-
many. 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!”


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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 stum-
bling 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 di-
lated 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 upward 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.


THE POT OF CAVIARE
83
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 gray 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.


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TT 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 situa-
tion 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 gray 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.
84


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85
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 gray 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 Wither-
ton, 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
foot 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 gray eyes, weary, hopeless-look-


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ing 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. In-
deed, 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.


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87
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, in-
side which, as I afterward 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 im-
pression. 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 with-
out delay. The incident led, however, to an instructive talk


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with Richards, the agent, who had never penetrated into the
chamber which chance had opened to me. That very after-
noon 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 favor," 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 Eng-
land knew something of his antecedents. I should not men-
tion the matter if it were not that you are now one of our-
selves, 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


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89
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 be-
tween 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?"
66 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?"


90 THE JAPANNED BOX
6 Yes.”
“I fancy it contains her letters. If ever he has occa-
sion to be away, if only for a single night, he invariably.
takes his black japanned box with him. Well, well, Col-
more, 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 newcomer, should have been the first to
penetrate into the untrodden chamber. But the fact raised
me in his esteem, and from that time onward 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 un-
derstand that strangely human look in his eyes, those deep
lines upon his careworn face. He was a man who was fight-
ing a ceaseless battle, holding at arm's length, from morn-
ing till night, a horrible adversary, who was for ever try-
ing 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 dan-
ger 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 un-
guarded 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


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91
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 anyone before. He asked me also to in-
dex 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 cham-
ber in the turret.
And then came my revulsion of feeling. A single inci-
dent 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 hap-
pened was as follows.
One evening Miss Witherton had gone down to Broad-
way, the neighboring 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 east-
ern 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


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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 timber. It spoke hurriedly,
gaspingly for a few sentences, and then was silent — a
piteous, breathless, imploring sort of voice. Miss With-
erton 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 cer-
tainly did not live there. But in that case where did
she come from? It could not be any one of the house-
hold. They were all under the vigilant eyes of Mrs. Stev-
ens. The visitor must come from without. But how?
And then suddenly I remembered how ancient this build-
ing was, and how probable that some mediæval passage


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existed in it. There is hardly an old castle without one.
The mysterious room was the basement of the turret, so
that if there was 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 neighbor-
ing copse. I said nothing to anyone, but I felt that the
secret of my employer lay within my power.
And the more convinced I was of this the more I
marveled 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, con-
sistent hypocrisy.
Only once during all those months did I ever see him
without that sad but impassive mask which he usually
presented toward 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 sud-
den, startled scream, and merged in it the husky, growling
note of a man who is inarticulate with passion. It was the


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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 curi-
osity, 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 Bolla-
more'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


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95
some lingering doubt as to whether my curiosity did not
get the better of my honor, and whether I did not con-
descend to play the spy. If you choose to think so I can-
not 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 sup-
ported the ceiling. Rotten with age, it snapped in the
middle one morning, and brought down a quantity of plas-
ter 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.
6. 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?”


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“ 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 some-
thing 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 nar-
cotic. 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


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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 around me. A dim radiance from the moonlight came
through the farther window, and against this lighter back-
ground 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 yearn-
ing love, that it will ring forever 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 dy-
ing woman.
“I am not really gone, John," said the thin, gasping


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voice. “I am here at your 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 honor 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.


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“ 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 rumors to
which it has given rise. These speculations whether scan-
dalous 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 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 suf-
fered, 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 min-
istering 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 -


THE BLACK DOCTOR
ISHOP'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 In-
dian 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 honor which was
familiar to the whole country-side, and extended far be-
yond the narrow confines of the village.
For the newcomer proved himself to be a capable sur-
geon 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
101


102
THE BLACK DOCTOR 1
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 favorite through the charm of his conversation
and the elegance of his manners. An absence of antece-
dents 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 recom-
mendation.
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 prac-
tice 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 mar-
ried, and that it was in order to escape the consequence
of an early misalliance that he had buried himself at Bish-
op's Crossing. And then, just as the match-makers had
finally given him up in despair, his engagement was sud-
denly 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


THE BLACK DOCTOR 103
brother, Arthur Morton, who had inherited the family es-
tate. 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 de-
votion to each other. There was some discrepancy in age,
he being thirty-seven, and she twenty-four; but, save in
that 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 Au-
gust.
Upon the 3rd of June Dr. Lana received a letter from
abroad. In a small village the postmaster is also in a posi-
tion to be the gossip-master, and Mr. Bankley, of Bishop's
Crossing, had many of the secrets of his neighbors in his
possession. Of this particular letter he remarked only that
it was in a curious envelope, that it was in a man's hand-
writing, 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 fol-
lowed, 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 vil-
lage that the engagement was at an end, that Dr. Lana had


104 THE BLACK DOCTOR
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 an-
other; 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 adver-
tisement 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 Mon-
day, June 21st, there came a fresh development which
changed what had been a mere village scandal into a trag-
edy 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 house-
keeper, 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 cus-
tom of the doctor to sit at night in his study, which was
next the surgery in the wing of the house which was far-
thest 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 anyone. As a mat-
ter of fact, when patients came late it was quite usual for
him to let them in and out by the surgery entrance, for the


THE BLACK DOCTOR 105
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 sur-
prised 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 gro-
cer, who was dangerously ill of typhoid fever. Dr. Lana
had asked her to look in the last thing and let him know


106
THE BLACK DOCTOR
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 return-
ing 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.
6 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.


THE BLACK DOCTOR
107
When she reached the house she perceived to her sur-
prise that the light was still burning in the study. She
therefore tapped at the surgery door. There was no an-
swer. She repeated the knocking several times without ef-
fect. 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 car-
pet. And then suddenly, as her eyes became more accus-
tomed 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 some-
thing 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 vio-
lence, for one of his eyes was blackened, and there were
marks of bruises about his face and neck. A slight thick-
ening and swelling of his features appeared to suggest


108
THE BLACK DOCTOR
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 car-
pet 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 na-
ture 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 doc-
tor, 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


THE BLACK DOCTOR
109
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 toward 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, ac-
cording 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 conver-
sation 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 un-
suspected 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 for-
midable one.
On the other hand, there were some strong points for
the defense. 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 fam-


THE BLACK DOCTOR
111
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 toward 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
anyone 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. Mad-
ding called the doctor might have retired to his room, or
he might, as she thought at the time, have gone out and
returned afterward 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 car-
pet that it was impossible to make any trustworthy deduc-
tion 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 centered 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


112
THE BLACK DOCTOR
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 dis-
cussed the case of the Black Doctor of Bishop's Cross-
ing, 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 ex-
citement upon the first day of the trial, and came to a cli-
max 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 singu-
lar light upon the case.
Mr. Porlock Carr, the counsel for the prosecution, had
marshaled 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 defense, 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-treat-
ment 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 wit-
ness 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


THE BLACK DOCTOR
113
that he had heard his master return about three that morn-
ing, 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 unex-
pected should be disclosed by the defense. 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 defense proved to be
Miss Frances Morton, the sister of the prisoner. Our read-
ers 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 defense 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 ex-
treme emotion. She alluded to her engagement to the doc-
tor, touched briefly upon its termination, which was due,


114
THE BLACK DOCTOR
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 coun-
sel, she replied that she did not feel that she had any griev-
ance whatever against Dr. Lana, and that in her opinion
he had acted in a perfectly honorable manner. Her brother,
on an insufficient knowledge of the facts, had taken an-
other 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 favor.
The questions of her counsel, however, soon put a very
different light upon the matter, and disclosed an unex-
pected line of defense.
Mr. Humphrey: Do you believe your brother to be
guilty of this crime?
The Judge: I cannot permit that question, Mr. Hum-
phrey. 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.


THE BLACK DOCTOR
115
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 wit-
nesses, 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, ac-


116
THE BLACK DOCTOR
1 Cid,
cording to her own account, have possessed this letter dur-
ing the proceedings at the inquest and at the police-court.
She desires us to believe that she permitted these to pro-
ceed, 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 pre-
served.
Mr. Porlock Carr: Then why have you made this pub-
lic?
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 defense, it lies with
you, Mr. Humphrey, to throw a light upon who this man
is whose body has been recognized by so many friends and
patients of Dr. Lana as being that of the doctor himself.
A Juryman: Has anyone 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 pre-
vented 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


THE BLACK DOCTOR
117
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 over-
flowing, and a murmur of excitement passed over it when
Mr. Humphrey was observed to enter in a state of emo-
tion, 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 defense, 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 sensa-
tion 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


118
THE BLACK DOCTOR
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 hav-
ing 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 anyone 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 Presi-
dent but for his death in the riots of San Juan. A bril-
liant career might have been open to my twin brother Ern-
est 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 fol-
low.
“ I had, as I have said, a twin brother named Ernest,
whose resemblance to me was so great that even when we


THE BLACK DOCTOR 119
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 re-
pose 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 ony say —
for I have to say it — that in my early manhood I con-
ceived 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 Ar-
gentine forever, and to seek a career in Europe. The free-
dom from his hated presence more than compensated me
for the loss of my native land. I had enough money to de-
fray 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 trou-
ble, and even disgrace, upon some whom I was especially


120
THE BLACK DOCTOR
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 foot-
step 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 honorable 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.


THE BLACK DOCTOR
121
It was to cover his injured eye that he wore this patch,
which he removed when he entered the room. He was him-
self 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 toward 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 debauch-
ery 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 an-
swer 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 after-
ward 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


122
THE BLACK DOCTOR
rose from my chair my future movements were finally de-
cided upon without my having been conscious of any pro-
cess of thought. It was an instinct which irresistibly in-
clined me toward 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 feel-
ings were as I describe. Any chance of getting away from
Bishop's Crossing and of everyone in it would be most wel-
come 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 ca-
reer. 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


THE BLACK DOCTOR 123
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 anyone might be
caused serious danger through this stratagem by which I
endeavored to gain a fresh start in the world. On the con-
trary, it was the thought of relieving others from the bur-
den 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 unsym-
pathetic her relatives might be. She understood and appre-


124
THE BLACK DOCTOR
ciated the motives upon which I had acted, and if the rest
of her family condemned me, she, at least, would not for-
get. 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 accusa-
tion 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 morn-
ing 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 subse-
quent 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 fol-
lowed may be judged from a notice extracted from a prom-
inent column in the Morning Post:


THE BLACK DOCTOR
125
TE
A marriage was solemnized upon September 19th, by
the Rev. Stephen Johnson, at the parish church of Bish-
op's Crossing, between Aloysius Xavier Lana, son of Don
Alfredo Lana, formerly Foreign Minister of the Argen-
tine Republic, and Frances Morton, only daughter of the
late James Morton, J.P., of Leigh Hall, Bishop's Cross-
ing, Lancashire.


PLAYING WITH FIRE
CANNOT pretend to say what occurred on the 14th
of April last at No. 17, Badderly Gardens. Put
1 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 state-
ment, which will be submitted to John Moir, Harvey
Deacon, and Mrs. Delamere, and withheld from publica-
tion 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 eventu-
ally 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 spiritu-
alism. 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
126


PLAYING WITH FIRE 127
little group the body of men who have turned these sin-
gular 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, fortu-
nately, Moir had discovered that his sister was mediumis-
tic — 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 our-
selves, rightly, or wrongly, explaining what we saw. The
lady càme, 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


128
PLAYING WITH FIRE
peed-
originally attracted him to it, but his attentio
ily arrested by some of those phenomena to i have
referred, and he was coming rapidly to the co: a 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


PLAYING WITH FIRE
129
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 imagina-
tive, fairies and animals and allegorical figures of all sorts.
The ladies were loud in their praises, and indeed the color
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 em-
blems — 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-humored 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."


130 PLAYING WITH FIRE
“ 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 coc'satrices, 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 recon-
ciled us to the innovation. Monsieur Paul Le Duc was a
famous student of occultism, a seer, a medium, and a
mystic. He was traveling 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 honored by his presence?
He was, as I have said, a small, stout man, undistin-
guished 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


PLAYING WITH FIRE
131
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 center 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 French-
man 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 ma-
chine to be worked by another. Hein? But what have uni-
corns 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?”
66 This is wonderful!” cried Deacon. “I have been try-
ing 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 im-


132
PLAYING WITH FIRE
agine 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 our-
selves now — hein? You will not be frightened in the
darkness, madame? What a fun is such a séance !"


PLAYING WITH FIRE 133
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? ”
Se 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 cold-
ness 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 sys-
tem, but worthy of some attention all the same. At the
same time I was conscious of a strained feeling of ex-
pectancy which was almost painful. From the rigid, ab-
solute 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.


134
PLAYING WITH FIRE
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 phos-
phorescent light — or I should say a luminous vapor
rather than a light — which lay over the surface of the
table. It rolled and wreathed and undulated in dim glim-
mering folds, turning and swirling like clouds of smoke.
I could see the white, square-ended hands of the French
medium in this baleful light.
6 What a fun!” he cried. “It is splendid!”
“ Shall we call the alphabet?” asked Moir.


PLAYING WITH FIRE
135
“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, Mark-
ham? "
“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.”
6 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 else-
where, 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.


136
PLAYING WITH FIRE
“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 depart-
ure 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.
6 There, what more could you ask? ” cried Moir, who
was much exicted. “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 elevat-
ing, 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?"
6 We cannot reckon time as you do. Our conditions are
different.”


PLAYING WITH FIRE 137
“ Are you happy?”
66 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 labor for our own improvement and for the ad-
vancement 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.”


138
PLAYING WITH FIRE
“ 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 con-
trol.”
“ 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.”
66 These questions of religion,” said the Frenchman,


PLAYING WITH FIRE
139
“ 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 French-
man 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 an-
swer.”
“ 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


PLAYING WITH FIRE 141
ing, 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, rush-
ing 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


149
PLAYING pr
WITH FIRE
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 lamp-
light. 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.


PLAYING WITH FIRE
143
“ 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
perfecly 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 dark-
ness. A luminous, glowing cloud, with an incandescent cen-
ter, 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


144
PLAYING WITH FIRE
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 ex-
perience. 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 Mark-
ham, 146m, The Albany, would help to throw a light upon
that which is very dark to us.


THE JEW'S BREASTPLATE
Y 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 lecture-
ship 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 investi-
gator, but not so large as to enervate him.
There was only one reason which made Ward Morti-
mer's position a little difficult at the Belmore Street Mu-
seum, 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
145


146 THE JEW'S BREASTPLATE
age of fifty-five, he suddenly resigned his position and
retired from those duties which had been both his liveli-
hood and his pleasure. He and his daughter left the com-
fortable suite of rooms which had formed his official res-
idence 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 An-
dreas had written him a very kindly and flattering con-
gratulatory 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 Baby-
lonian, 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 aproached a case which


148 THE JEW'S BREASTPLATE
fessor 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 Solo-
mon'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 in-
dicate the setting of the stones, when Captain Wilson inter-
rupted 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 in-
teresting 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 pro-
motion. When his guests were departing he pulled my,
sleeve and signaled to me that he wished me to remain.
W


THE JEW'S BREASTPLATE 149
“ 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 armchair 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 mis-
fortune 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 poeple 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.com-
mitted.' Look at the capital 1. 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."


150 THE JEW'S BREASTPLATE
“ The second,” said Ward Mortimer, “is the letter of
congratulation which was written to me by Professor An-
dreas 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 knowl-
edge 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 rob-
bery? "
“I should have thought so. The public are only ad-
mitted 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 elec-
tric light burning in each room all night.”


THE JEW'S BREASTPLATE 151
“ 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 anonym-
ous, 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 acquaint-
ance, 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


152 THE JEW'S BREASTPLATE
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 Com-
pany, 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 breast-
plate 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 someone 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 skillful


THE JEW'S BREASTPLATE 153
imitations which have been put in the place of the orig-
inals."
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 color began to come back to my poor friend's fright-
ened face, and he drew a long breath of relief.
6 Thank God!” he cried. “ Then what in the world did
the thief want? "
“ Probably he meant to take the stones, but was inter-,
rupted."
“ 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 watch-
man."
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 ? "


154 THE JEW'S BREASTPLATE
“ 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 anyone 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 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 en-
trances 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 impor-
tance, and the dust of cellar and attic assured us that no


THE JEW'S BREASTPLATE 155
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 tam-
pered 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 prede-
cessor with having written the anonymous warning, and to
ask him to explain the fact that he should have antici-
pated 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 color of old ivory or 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.”


156 THE JEW'S BREASTPLATE
“ 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 ex-
citedly 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."
6 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 pro-
faned in the same manner as the upper ones. Of the twelve
jewels, eight had been now tampered with in this singular


THE JEW'S BREASTPLATE 157
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 emer-
ald. 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 comissionaire 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 it 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 con-
ceive that a fanatic of that way of thinking might dese-
crate —”
“ No, no, no!” cried Mortimer. " That will never do!
Such a man might push his lunacy to the length of de-
stroying 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


158 THE JEW'S BREASTPLATE
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 destruc-
tion? Nothing has been taken away. He has no motive.”
6 Mania?"
“No, I will swear to his sanity.”
“ Have you any other theory?”
“ Well, yourself, for example. You are not a somnam-
bulist, 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


THE JEW'S BREASTPLATE 159
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 hac met to solve. At last
the roaring stream of hansom cabs and the rush of hurry-
ing feet became lower and more intermittent as the pleas-
ure-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 im-
possible for anyone 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 speci-
men, 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 thum-


160 THE JEW'S BREASTPLATE
mim 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 mo-
tionless, 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 center of the room.
There he took a bunch of keys from his pocket, unlocked


THE JEW'S BREASTPLATE 161
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 di-
rectly 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 com-
panion, 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 labors.
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 consterna-
tion.
“ The abominable Goth!” he cried. “ Could you have
believed it?"


162 THE JEW'S BREASTPLATE
" 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 en-
tirely 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 An-
dreas 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


164 THE JEW'S BREASTPLATE
early before the crowd had cleared from the street. Then I
hid myself in the mummy-case, and took refuge there when-
ever Simpson came round. I could always hear him coming.
I used to leave in the same way as I came."
6 You ran a risk.”
“ Í 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 have 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 ob-
tained an introduction to me and ingratiated himself into
my friendship and the affection of my daughter. He


THE JEW'S BREASTPLATE 165
brought letters from foreign colleagues which compelled
me to show him some attention. And then, by his own at-
tainments, 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 con-
versation 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 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 re-
tirement 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.
This 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


166 THE JEW'S BREASTPLATE
what motive this man could originally have had in prac-
ticing this elaborate deception upon me. I was too poor a
man for any forune-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 rob-
bery. 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 effec-
tive. If I had written a letter under my own name, you
would naturally have turned to me for details which I did
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 domi-
nate her. I had not realized how far this was the case, or
the extent of the confidence which existed between them un-
til 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


THE JEW'S BREASTPLATE 167
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 re-
marks without a sign of 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 be-
hind her. Then he took her hand in his.
66 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 forever,' said he.
“ She did not withdraw her hand.
6. 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 abso-
lutely useless. Her whole life was bound up in this man be-
fore 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


THE JEW'S BREASTPLATE
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 re-
deeming 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 antique stones of the Jewish priest were a challenge
to my daring and ingenuity. I determined to get them.'
" I guessed as much.'
66. There was only one thing that you did not guess.'
666 And what is that?'
666 That I got them. They are in this box.'
6 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 en-
graved 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 dis-
covery??
6 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.'
66 « Then the present stones are false?' I cried.
66. They have been for some weeks.'


THE JEW'S BREASTPLATE 169
“ 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 restitu-
tion, 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 in-
juring 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 anyone be-
ing the wiser. With my keys I could get into the museum
at any time, and I was confident that I could avoid Simp-
son, whose hours and methods were familiar to me. I de-
termined to take no one into my confidence — not even my


170 THE JEW'S BREASTPLATE
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 skillful than
the thief had been. He had replaced the setting so exactly
that I defy anyone 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 ob-
served 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 honor and of compassion, whether what I have told you
should go any further 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


THE JEW'S BREASTPLATE 171
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 honored.
But if the truth were known, that honor 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
\HE confession of Herbert de Lernac, now lying
under sentence of death at Marseilles, has thrown
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. Al-
though 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
172


THE LOST SPECIAL
173
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


174
THE LOST SPECIAL
second-class, and a second-class smoking. The first compart-
ment, which was nearest to the engine, was the one allotted
to the travelers. 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, al-
though they were assured that the better part of an hour
must elapse before the line could be cleared. In the mean-
time a singular coincidence had occurred in the office which
Monsieur Caratal had just quitted.
A request for a special is not very uncommon circum-
stance in a rich commercial center, 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 traveler before a second entered with a similar re-
quest. 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 axiety 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 LOST SPECIAL
175
the other empty first-class compartment, if Monsieur Car-
atal 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 be-
fore six o'clock. At a quarter after six considerable sur-
prise 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."


176
THE LOST SPECIAL
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 ad-
vices.- Manchester.”
The matter was assuming a most amazing aspect, al-
though 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 ex-
planation 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 in-
strument 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 5 o'clock.- Collins Green.”
“ Special passed here 6 past 5.— Earlestown.”
“ Special passed here 5:10.— Newton.”
“ Special passed here 5:20.— Kenyon Junction."
“ No special train has passed her -- 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


178
THE LOST SPECIAL
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 my-
self.”
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


THE LOST SPECIAL
179
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 for-
ward 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 col-
lieries. Of these, some are being worked and some have been
abandoned. There are no fewer than twelve which have
small gauge lines which run trolley-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 centers 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 Redgaunt-
let, Hero, Slough of Despond, and Heartease mines, the
latter having ten years ago been one of the principle mines


180
THE LOST SPECIAL
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 remains 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 re-
moval 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 out-
put 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


THE LOST SPECIAL
181
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 accusa-
tion 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 oc-
cupants 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 signa-
ture 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


182
THE LOST SPECIAL
curious can see the whole letter in the issue of the 3rd of
'July.
** “ It is one of the elementary principles of practical rea-
soning,” 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 sub-
merged in the Lancashire and Staffordshire Canal, which


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183
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 travelers had brought with them, and suggest-
ing that some novel explosive of immense and pulverizing
power might have been concealed in it. The obvious ab-
surdity, however, of supposing that the whole train might
be blown to dust while the metals remained uninjured re-
duced 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. McPher-
son 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 posi-
tive as to the writing, and the fact that it contained a re-
mittance 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


184
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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,
6 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 traveled from South-
ampton under the name of Summers in the Hamburg and
New York liner Vistula, which started upon the 7th of
Junė. 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 com-
ments in the Press may have warned him that the police
were using them as a bait. However this may be, it is cer-
tain 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 travelers have only established the fact that Mon-
sieur Caratal was well known as a financier and political
agent in Central America, and that during his voyage to


THE LOST SPECIAL
185
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, em-
ployed 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 lit-
erally 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 under-
stand 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 em-
ployers then, and no doubt they will be true to me now.
I hope so, and until I am convinced that they have betrayed


186
THE LOST SPECIAL
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 honor and careers of many of the chief men in France
were at stake. You have seen a group of nine-pins stand-
ing, 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 ar-
rive.
"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 syn-
dicate 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,


THE LOST SPECIAL 187
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 pos-
sibly 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 Liver-
pool; 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 suc-
ceed. You must not underrate the difficulties of my under-
taking, 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 an-
other 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 ar-


188
THE LOST SPECIAL
rived 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 Liver-
pool, we were ready. If he took an ordinary train, an ex-
press, 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 thor-
oughly, 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 impor-
tant 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 im-
portance 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 LOST SPECIAL
189
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 pre-
pared to use them. This fellow carried Caratal's confi-
dential 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,


190
THE LOST SPECIAL
which might under certain circumstances have been help-
ful 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 traveler.
My agent then left the station, returned by another en-
trance, entered the guard's van on the side farthest from
the platform, and traveled 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 com-
pleting a juncture with the line, and arranging the points
as they had been before. The sleepers had never been re-
moved, 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 travelers.
“ Our plan had been that Smith the stoker should chloro-
form 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 McPher-
son in writing home to his wife. Our stoker did his business
so clumsily that Slater in his struggles fell off the engine,


THE LOST SPECIAL
191
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 master-
pieces which are only to be contemplated in silent admira-
tion. 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 kilometers, 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 Eng-
land. 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


THE LOST SPECIAL 193
ered it, and we had cleared the square entrance. The rails
had formerly run very close to the shaft for the con-
venience 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 to-
gether 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 vapor shredded off into thin


194 THE LOST SPECIAL
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 success-
fully, 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 every-
thing 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, with-
out 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 occa-
sion. 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 -


THE LOST SPECIAL
195
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
Y uncle, Mr. Stephen Maple, had been at the
same time the most successful and the least re-
- spectable 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 savory
character, with the riverside and seafaring people. He
was ship's chandler, provision merchant, and, if rumor
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 forever 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 servi-
tude, 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
196


THE CLUB-FOOTED GROCER 197
me by the first train after this comes to hand. He will
find that to serve me will pay him better than the en-
gineering, 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.


198 THE CLUB-FOOTED GROCER
“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 anyone 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 Sted-
ding Bridge, not Congleton.” And so, with a gun-case
added to my luggage and some surprise at my uncle's in-
sistence, 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 gray-roofed, gray-walled cottages hud-
dled 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 depress-
ing country, and my heart grew heavier and heavier as


THE CLUB-FOOTED GROCER 199
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 gray angle
of distant sea. Bleak and sad and stern were all my sur-
roundings, 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


200 THE CLUB-FOOTED GROCER
hung together and pointed to some vague but sinister
meaning. Things which appeared to be impossible in Ken-
sington 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 ap-
prehension. 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-humored 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.”


THE CLUB-FOOTED GROCER 201
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 noth-
ing 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 center of all those
scattered flocks.
“ Garth Farm,” said my driver. “ There is Farmer Pur-
cell himself,” he added, as a man strolled out of the porch
and stood waiting for our arrival. He advanced as I de-
scended 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. Ste-


202 THE CLUB-FOOTED GROCER
phen 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 good will, 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 sympa-
thy 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?”


THE CLUB-FOOTED GROCER 203
“ 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 drift-
ing 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 sud-
denly he stopped and dragged me down among some gorse
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.


204 THE CLUB-FOOTED GROCER
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-colored mustache, 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 anyone I should get no pay.”
“ You met that sailor on the road?”
“ Yes, and I think he was one of them.”
66 One of whom?"
6 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
was


THE CLUB-FOOTED GROCER 205
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 urg-
ently, “Who is it, I say? ”
“ It's me, Maister Maple. I have brought the gentle-
man."
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-colored lashes were
continually moving. My mother had said once that they


206 THE CLUB-FOOTED GROCER
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 vil-
lainous 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 center some supper, cold meat,
bread, and a jug of beer was laid for me. An elderly man-
servant, 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


THE CLUB-FOOTED GROCER 207
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 defense 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's 'as 'ad 'is revenge on me.


THE CLUB-FOOTED GROCER 209
“ 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 some-
thing 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


210 THE CLUB-FOOTED GROCER
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


THE CLUB-FOOTED GROCER 211
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, com-
mon, 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.
66 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.


212 THE CLUB-FOOTED GROCER
“ 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 pas-
sage 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


THE CLUB-FOOTED GROCER 213
who had passed me on the moor. The great black cloak
which poor. Enoch had taken out with him was still hang-
ing 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 sud-
denly turned themselves upon mé 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?"
66 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


THE CLUB-FOOTED GROCER 215
6 In my bedroom.”
“ Where is that?”
6. 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


216 THE CLUB-FOOTED GROCER
round me almost as soon 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


THE CLUB-FOOTED GROCER 217
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 farthest from us. All round
this foot a dozen brilliant objects were twinkling and flash-
ing 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 unob-
served 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


218 THE CLUB-FOOTED GROCER
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 Purcell's 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, gray 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


220 THE CLUB-FOOTED GROCER
Captain Elias in the little back parlor 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 be-
cause '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 be-
fore 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 ex-
traordinary 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
SOLICITOR of an active habit and athletic tastes
who is compelled by his hopes of business to re-
main 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 Stan-
niford, and so led up to what has been the most extraordi-
nary 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 un-
clouded 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 neighbors, all of which
were crudely and painfully new. Their symmetrical line
221


222 THE SEALED ROOM
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, moon-
lit 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 dis-
tance, 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


THE SEALED ROOM
223
fellow, with a slight dark mustache 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, fum-
bling with his key in the lock.
“ No, you must allow me to see you safe.”
He made some feeble, petulent 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


224
THE SEALED ROOM
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 color was horrible. The re-
sponsibility 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 gray 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 sur-
prised 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 discolored. I was
still staring at it, and wondering what that door might con-
ceal, when I heard a voice calling behind me, and, running


THE SEALED ROOM
225
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? "
66 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 some-
one.”
“ 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?"


230
THE SEALED ROOM
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 in-
flict 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 honored 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


232
THE SEALED ROOM
“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 frank-
ness of a professional adviser, I should say that it is very
clear that your father had the strongest reasons for keep-
ing 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 anyone should lose money through him would cut
him to the heart. His sense of honor 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


234
THE SEALED ROOM
“ 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 plausi-
ble 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 in-
stant.
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 put-
ting 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 await-
ing you when that seal is removed and the door is opened.”
6 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 sen-
tence, and I suddenly realized, as clearly as if he had told
tene. He i to be


THE SEALED ROOM
235
me, that he knew what was behind that closed door, and that
it was something terrible. “ Here are the keys, Mr. Stan-
niford, 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 discolored 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 keyhole, 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
shriveled, lemon-colored hands. His head had fallen for-
ward upon his breast. His pen still rested upon a discol-
ored 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


236
THE SEALED ROOM
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 con-
sciousness. “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 long, 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 al-
lowance 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.
6 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


238
THE SEALED ROOM
his death, he thought no doubt that the shock to the feel-
ings of his surviving friends would be lessened. He was al-
ways 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 241
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 Parlia-
mentary ambitions.
My attention was drawn away from my driver's pan-
egyric 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 endeavoring to rear in England. When once we had
passed the gates of Graylands 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 crea-
tures which I observed as we drove along the winding ave-
nue.
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-humored face,
burned brown with the tropical sun, and shot with a thou-
sand wrinkles. He wore white linen clothes, in true planter
style, with a cigar between his lips, and a large Panama


242
THE BRAZILIAN CAT
hat upon the back of his head. It was such a figure as one
associates with a verandahed bungalow, and it looked curi-
ously 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 Graylands !
I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Cousin Marshall,
and I take it as a great compliment that you should honor
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 man-
ners 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 Graylands 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 disre-
garded 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 im-
plored me to tell him anything which could add to my hap-
piness. It was on the tip of my tongue to inform him that


THE BRAZILIAN CAT 243
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 to
gether 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 hospit-
able 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.”
6 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.).


244
THE BRAZILIAN CAT
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 be-
fore 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 re-
marks," 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 anyone — 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


THE BRAZILIAN CAT
245
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.” i
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 center 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


246
THE BRAZILIAN CAT
it cuddled up and basked in that yellow pool of light ex-
actly 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 pre-
fer 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 anyone 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


THE BRAZILIAN CAT 247
to pass thorating
he ope
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 pun-
gent, 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 anyone 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 center of South America; but
as a


THE BRAZILIAN CAT 249
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 rela-
tive, 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


250 THE BRAZILIAN CAT
jealousy to the extent of ignoring me, never addressing me,
and in every way making my stay at Greylands as uncom-
fortable 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, and 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 consider-
ably 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 flavor 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-


252
THE BRAZILIAN CAT
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 fickering 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 humor.
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."


THE BRAZILIAN CAT 255
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 al-
ready 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 be-
low, from behind, and from each side. Only on the open
face of it could I be attacked. There, it is true, I had no


THE BRAZILIAN CAT
257
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 noth-
ing 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 poison-
ous 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


258 THE BRAZILIAN CAT.
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 gray squares upon the black wall, then
gray turned to white, and I could see my terrible com-
panion 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 dread-
ful 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, pal-
pitating scarlet of the glistening tongue which hung from
the jet-black muzzle. And all the time that deep, threaten-
ing 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


• THE BRAZILIAN CAT
259
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 appar-
ently 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 after-
wards 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 mis-
calculated. It could not retain its position. Slowly, grin-
ning with rage and scratching madly at the bars, it swung


260 THE BRAZILIAN CAT
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 mis-
calculate 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


THE BRAZILIAN CAT
261
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.


262
THE BRAZILIAN CAT
“ 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


THE BRAZILIAN CAT 263
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


264 THE BRAZILIAN CAT
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 await-
ing 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 USHER OF LEA HOUSE SCHOOL
R. 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.”
“ Honors? "
“ No, sir.”
6 Athlete? "
“ Nothing remarkable, I am afraid.”
“ Not a Blue?”
66 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 appli-
cants 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
266


USHER OF LEA HOUSE SCHOOL 269
.." 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 in-
terview, “ 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 Acad-
emy. The building was a massive pile, square and ugly,
standing in its own extensive grounds, with a broad car-
riage-sweep curving up to it from the road. It stood high,
and commanded a view on the one side of the gray 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 prin-
cipal of the academy presently joined me.
The warnings and insinuations of the agent had pre-
pared 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 gray, and his age I should


270 USHER OF LEA HOUSE SCHOOL
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 Sel-
wyn?” I asked.
“ Precisely. Did you know him?"
“Yes, he is a friend of mine."
“ An excellent teacher, but a little hasty in his disposi-
tion. 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
everyone 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


274 USHER OF LEA HOUSE SCHOOL
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 col-
league, and I was glad to go, for the conversation had be-
come 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 mod-
ern and rational. The management was all that could be
desired. And yet in the middle of this well-ordered ma-
chine there intruded the incongruous and impossible Mr.
St. James, throwing everything into confusion. His duties
were to teach English and mathematics, and how he ac-
quitted 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 con-
versation 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


USHER OF LEA HOUSE SCHOOL 275
saw the quiet acquiescence of the old Doctor, and his pa-
tient tolerance of his 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 Doc-
tor 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 look-
ing 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


278 USHER OF LEA HOUSE SCHOOL
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 endeavoring 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


USHER OF LEA HOUSE SCHOOL 279
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 con-
scious that the eyes of Theophilus St. James were fixed
upon me in a surly and menacing stare. I had a forebod-
ing 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 color
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 im-
possible 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 re-
main 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


280 USHER OF LEA HOUSE SCHOOL
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
fulfill my duties at Willow Lea House, and so it came about
that I was present at the dénouement of this singular sit-
uation.
During that week — for it was only a week before the
crisis came — I was in the habit of going down each eve-
ning, 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 crouch-
ing before one of the windows of the house. His knees were
bent and his eyes were fixed upon the small line of light be-
tween 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,


USHER OF LEA HOUSE SCHOOL 281
“Which window, Mr. Weld?” he asked, wiping his fore-
head." Which window was it?"
“ The next to the dining-room — Mr. St. James's win-
dow."
“ 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 agi-
tation;“ 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 sud-
denly saw the black outline of Dr. McCarthy's figure pass-
ing against the lamp. He had hastened from his study then
to tell St. James what he had heard. What was the mean-
ing 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 re-
turned, 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 somber bulk broken only by the


282 USHER OF LEA HOUSE SCHOOL
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 re-
solved itself now into two voices, the rough bullying tones
of St. James and the lower tone of the Doctor, the one ap-
parently 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 gold-mine
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 ex-
cept 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?”


USHER OF LEA HOUSE SCHOOL 283
“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 furi-
ously 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 çut 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


284 USHER OF LEA HOUSE SCHOOL
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 nar-
row 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
anyone 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 sacri-
ficed your life in my defense. There is no reason now for


USHER OF LEA HOUSE SCHOOL 285
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 gal-
lows, 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-mas-
ters 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 there-
fore, and in that capacity I have protected him here for
three years. You have no doubt observed that he never


THE BROWN HAND
N\VERYONE 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 arbi-
trary 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 good will
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 con-
sultant 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
287


288
THE BROWN HAND
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 char-
acter, 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 Pathol-
ogy, 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 ex-
cited by the news of the return of this rich and childless
uncle to England. On his part, although by no means ex-
uberant 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 feel-
ings 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


290
THE BROWN HAND
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 practiced observer and an
experience 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 until 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 color 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


THE BROWN HAND
291
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 ex-
posed 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 pun-
gent 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 some-
times 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.


292
THE BROWN HAND
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 in-
terest 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 ac-
quit me of any desire to flatter you, for the circumstances


294
THE BROWN HAND
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 evi-
dential value if you are not told in advance what you may
expect to encounter. You are yourself aware of the quib-
bles 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 con-
taining 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.


THE BROWN HAND
295
“ There is, as you see, a small settee here,” said my host.
“ It was far from our intention to offer a guest so meager
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.”
66 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 pros-
pect of my night's adventure was an agreeable one. I
have no pretense to greater physical courage than my
neighbors, 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 him-
self 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 experi-
ences which had befallen him. I at least was sound in
nerve and brain, and it was with something of the pleasur-
able thrill of anticipation with which the sportsman takes


296
THE BROWN HAND
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 odors, 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 op-
posite wall. When I had extinguished my candle this one
bright patch in the midst of the general gloom had cer-
tainly an eerie and discomposing aspect. A rigid and ab-
solute 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 in-
stantly 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 pre-
vent, that something was moving slowly along the line of
the wall. A gentle, shuffling sound, as of soft slippers,


300
THE BROWN HAND
house at Bombay. Half of it was burned down, and, among
other things, my pathological collection was largely de-
stroyed. 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 favorite mastiff was
trying to arouse me. Instead of this, I saw my Indian
patient of long ago, dressed in the long gray 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 the 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 ex-
pectation 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 gal-
lantry, for it takes something from the weight of our
misfortune when we share it, even for a single night, with


THE BROWN HAND 301
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 con-
fided to me — a story which to many would have ap-
peared to be a grotesque impossibility, but which, after
my experience of the night before, and my previous knowl-
edge of such things, I was prepared to accept as an abso-
lute 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 an-
nouncing that I was returning to London by the next
train.
“My dear doctor," cried Sir Dominick in great dis-
tress, “ 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 Lon-
don," I answered; “ but you are mistaken, I assure you, if
you think that my experience of last night was an un-
pleasant 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 mem-
ory 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,


THE BROWN HAND
303
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 din-
ner 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 be-
side 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 be-
neath his gray 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 disappoint-
ment, 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.


THE BROWN HAND
305
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 un-
interrupted. In the dead of night my host burst into my
room, a lamp in his hand. His huge gaunt figure was en-
veloped in a loose dressing-gown, and his whole appear-
ance might certainly have seemed more formidable to a
weak-nerved man than that of the Indian of the night be-
fore. 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 cer-
tain? "
“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


THE BROWN HAND
307
and Lady Holden spent a very happy old age, unclouded,
so far as I know, by any trouble, and they finally died dur-
ing the great influenza epidemic within a few weeks of
each other. In his lifetime he always turned to me for ad-
vice in everything which concerned that English life of
which he knew so little; and I aided him also in the pur-
chase and development of his estates. It was no great sur-
prise to me, therefore, that I found myself eventually pro-
moted over the heads of five exasperated cousins, and
changed in a single day from a hard-working country doc-
tor 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
FT 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 At-
lantic. 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 débris 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,
308


THE FIEND OF THE COOPERAGE 309
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 Wil-
son'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 grayish 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 in-
troduce 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.


312 THE FIEND OF THE COOPERAGE
was full of floating vegetation, with a single huge splin-
tered 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


THE FIEND OF THE COOPERAGE 313
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 vapor 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 imagina-
tion. 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 them-
selves.”
“ They sleep in the hulk over yonder,” the Doctor an-
swered, 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.


314 THE FIEND OF THE COOPERAGE
“Well, that brings us back to the same story. I sup-
pose 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 honor. 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.
“ Anything else I do, Massa Walker?” he asked.
“No, I think that is all right, Moussa," my host an-
swered. “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.


316 THE FIEND OF THE COOPERAGE
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. “ Some times 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


318 THE FIEND OF THE COOPERAGE
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 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


THE FIEND OF THE COOPERAGE 319
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-barreled 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 extin-
guished.
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 pos-
sible 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


320 THE FIEND OF THE COOPERAGE
the lapping and gurgling of the great river, and the
soughing of the rising wind. Within save for our breath-
ing, 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 grow-
ing 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, drip-
ping — every liquid sound that nature can produce from
the thrashing and swishing of the rain to the deep steady


THE FIEND OF THE COOPERAGE 321 .
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 ex-
ploded the third night superstition anyhow."
A gray light was stealing through the room, and there
was the day upon us in an instant. The rain had eased
off, but the coffee-colored 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 shrill 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


322 THE FIEND OF THE COOPERAGE
huddled on his bed in the gray 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 shak-
ing 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 grotesue 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 re-
sistance. 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 neighbors, 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


324 THE FIEND OF THE COOPERAGE
fungoid color, but the neck which supported it was mot-
tled 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 plung-
ing 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-con-
fident 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 the 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


JELLAND'S VOYAGE
327
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 Ran-
dolph 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 cropier 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


JELLAND'S VOYAGE
329
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.'
6. 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.
6. 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 bor-
rowed 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 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


330 JELLAND'S VOYAGE
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 eaves-
droppers, I suppose?'
“ McEvoy shook his head. He could not trust himself
to speak.
6. 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.'
6. Saturday, my son, and 3 a.m. We have not much
time to turn round in.'
66 • We are lost!' screamed McEvoy.
666 We soon will be, if you make sạch an infernal row,'
said Jelland harshly. “Now do what I tell you, Willy, and
we'll pull through yet.'
6. I will do anything — anything
6. 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?'
66 What d'you mean?' asked McEvoy, shrinking back.
666 Why, man, we all have to die, and it's only the
pressing of a trigger. I swear that I shall never be taken


JELLAND'S VOYAGE
331
alive. Will you? If you don't I leave you to your
fate.'
666 All right. I'll do whatever you think best.'
66 " You swear it?'
.666 Yes.'
66 • 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 morn-
ing, 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.'
6 • I'll do what you advise.'
66 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 posses-
sions without exciting suspicion, and at two in the morn-
ing they left their moorings and stole quietly out from
among the shipping. They were seen, of course, and were


332
JELLAND'S VOYAGE
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 spread-
ing 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.
6. What's this?' he asked. He was a man of action,
and a nasty chap to deal with when he had his topmasts
lowered.
6. We can't get in,' said the clerks.
666 Where is Mr. Jelland?'
“ “ He has not come to-day!
666 And Mr. McEvoy?'
6. 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


JELLAND'S VOYAGE
333
safe was open, the money gone, and the clerks fled. Their
employer lost no time in talk.
66 • 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.
6. My God!' he cried. “There's the Matilda out yon-
der. 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.


334
JELLAND'S VOYAGE
“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 hundreds yards away.
6. 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 VOYAGE 335
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 halfway 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.”


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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 jail 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 in-
quiries, 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 bur-
glary 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 Septem-
ber, 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


338
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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 Jail,
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
neighbors. He was a man that liked to talk and to have
someone 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,


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339
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.”
6 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 but-
ler, 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


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343
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 under-
stand.”


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345
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.”


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“ 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 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 up-
stairs, 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.


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347
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 warn-
ing. “ 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 tapes-
try!”
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.


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“ Looking at the medals. What else should I be
doing?”
“ This curiosity is something new.” He looked sus-
piciously 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 Man-
nering'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 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


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351
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 color 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


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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 anyone 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


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353
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 someone 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 handker-
chief 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 con-
stable. 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.


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355
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 after-
wards 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 worshiped 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


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Edward as I have stated. If from all this you learn any-
thing 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





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