A Mystery
RICHARD MARSH


KD18355


THE BEETLE
BY
RICHARD MARSH
AUTHORIZED AMERICAN EDITION
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
Tbe knickerbocker Press
1917


KDIP 355
HARVARD
LIBRARY
Fourth Impression
Originally published in London in 1897


CONTENTS
BOOK I
THE HOUSE WITH THE OPEN WINDOW
CHAPTER
OUTSIDE
.
1
8
15
I. OUTSIDE . . . . . . .
II. INSIDE . . . . . . .
III. THE MAN IN THE BED . . . .
IV. A LONELY VIGIL . . . . .
V. AN INSTRUCTION TO COMMIT BURGLARY.
VI. A SINGULAR FELONY . . . .
VII. THE GREAT PAUL LESSINGHAM.
VIII. THE MAN IN THE STREET
IX. THE CONTENTS OF THE PACKET . .
55
BOOK II
.
60
THE HAUNTED MAN
X. REJECTED . . . . .
XI. A MIDNIGHT EPISODE
XII. A MORNING VISITOR . .
XIII. THE PICTURE . . . .
.
.
79


vi.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
PAOL
91
100
107
.
.
XIV. THE DUCHESS' BALL. . .
XV. MR LESSINGHAM SPEAKS. .
XVI. ATHERTON's Magic VAPOUR .
XVII. MAGIC ?--OR MIRACLE ? . .
XVIII. THE APOTHEOSIS OF THE BEETLE
XIX. THE Lady Rages . . .
XX. A HEAVY FATHER . . .
XXI. THE TERROR IN THE NIGHT .
XXII. The Haunted MAN . .
........
116
119
.
.
.
.
146
159
BOOK III
THE TERROR BY NIGHT AND THE TERROR BY
DAY
XXIII. THE WAY HE TOLD HER . . , 173
XXIV. A WOMAN's View . . . . 179
XXV. THE MAN IN THE STREET . . . 183
XXVI. A FATHER's No . . . . . 188
XXVII. THE TERROR BY NIGHT . . .
XXVIII. THE STRANGE STORY OF THE MAN IN
THE STREET . . . . . 199
XXIX. THE HOUSE ON THE ROAD FROM THE
WORKHOUSE . . . . . 210
XXX. THE SINGULAR BEHAVIOUR OF MR HOLT 222
XXXI. THE TERROR BY DAY . . . . 225
192


CONTENTS
BOOK IV
IN PURSUIT
CHAPTER
PAGE
230
233
243
251
254
259
266
271
XXXII. A New CLIENT. . . . .
XXXIII. WHAT CAME OF LOOKING THROUGH A
LATTICE . . . . . .
XXXIV. AFTER TWENTY YEARS , . .
XXXV. A BRINGER OF TIDINGS . . .
XXXVI. WHAT THE TIDINGS WERE . . .
XXXVII. WHAT WAS HIDDEN UNDER THE FLOOR
XXXVIII. THE REST OF THE FIND . . .
XXXIX. Miss Louisa COLEMAN . . .
XL. WHAT Miss COLEMAN SAW THROUGH
THE WINDOW. . . . .
XLI. THE CONSTABLE,–His CLUE, AND
THE CAB . . . . .
XLII. THE QUARRY DOUBLES . . .
XLIII. THE MURDER AT MRS 'ENDERSON'S
XLIV. THE MAN WHO WAS MURDERED . .
XLV. ALL THAT MRS 'ENDERSON KNEW .
XLVI. THE SUDDEN STOPPING . . .
XLVII. THE CONTENTS OF THE THIRD-CLASS
CARRIAGE . . . . .
XLVIII. THE CONCLUSION Or' THE MATTER :
281
287
295
301
312
319
323
332





BOOK I
THE HOUSE WITH THE OPEN WINDOW
The Surprising Narration of Robert Holt
CHAPTER I
OUTSIDE
• No room 1-Full up!'
He banged the door in my face.
That was the final blow.
To have tramped about all day looking for work;
to have begged even for a job which would give me
money enough to buy a little food ; and to have tramped
and to have begged in vain,—that was bad. But,
sick at heart, depressed in mind and in body, exhausted
by hunger and fatigue, to have been compelled to pocket
any little pride I might have left, and solicit, as the
penniless, homeless tramp which indeed I was, a night's
lodging in the casual ward,—and to solicit it in vain!
—that was worse. Much worse. About as bad as
bad could be.
I stared, stupidly, at the door which had just been
banged in my face. I could scarcely believe that the
thing was possible. I had hardly expected to figure
as a tramp; but, supposing it conceivable that I could
become a tramp, that I should be refused admission
to that abode of all ignominy, the tramp's ward, was
to have attained a depth of misery of which never even
in nightmares I had dreamed.


THE BEETLE
As I stood wondering what I should do, a man slouched
towards me out of the shadow of the wall.
'Won't 'e let yer in ?'
' He says it's full.'
Says it's full, does 'e ? That's the lay at Fulham,
-they always says it's full. They wants to keep the
number down.
I looked at the man askance. His head hung for-
ward; his hands were in his trouser pockets; his
clothes were rags ; his tone was husky.
'Do you mean that they say it's full when it isn't,-
that they won't let me in although there's room?'
'That's it,—bloke's a-kiddin' yer.'
'But, if there's room, aren't they bound to let me
in ?'
'Course they are,—and, blimey, if I was you I'd
make 'em. Blimey I would l'
He broke into a volley of execrations.
'But what am I to do ?'
'Why, give 'em another rouser—let 'em know as
you won't be kidded '
I hesitated; then, acting on his suggestion, for the
second time I rang the bell. The door was flung wide
open, and the grizzled pauper, who had previously
responded to my summons, stood in the open door-
way. Had he been the Chairman of the Board of
Guardians himself he could not have addressed me with
greater scorn.
What, here again! What's your little game?
Think I've nothing better to do than to wait upon the
likes of you ?'
'I want to be admitted.'
• Then you won't be admitted !'
'I want to see someone in authority.'
'Ain't yer seein' someone in authority ?'
'I want to see someone beside you, I want to see
the master.'
'Then you won't see the master!'.
He moved the door swiftly to; but, prepared for
such a manœuvre, I thrust my foot sufficiently inside
to prevent his shutting it. I continued to address him.
Are you sure that the ward is full ?'


OUTSIDE
'Full two hours ago !
' But what am I to do ?'
'I don't know what you're to do!'.
'Which is the next nearest workhouse?
'Kensington.'
Suddenly opening the door, as he answered me,
putting out his arm he thrust me backwards. Be
fore I could recover the door was closed. The man in
rags had continued a grim spectator of the scene. Now
he spoke.
'Nice bloke, ain't he ?'
'He's only one of the paupers,—has he any right
to act as one of the officials ?'
I tell yer some of them paupers is wuss than the
orficers,—a long sight wuss 1 They thinks they owns
the 'ouses, blimey they do. Oh it's a fine world,
this is l'
He pauserl. I hesitated. For some time there had
been a suspicion of rain in the air. Now it was com-
mencing to fall in a fine but soaking drizzle. It only
needed that to fill my cup to overflowing. My com-
panion was regarding me with a sort of sullen curiosity.
Ain't you got no money ?'
Not a farthing.'
'Done much of this sort of thing?'.
It's the first time I've been to a casual ward,—and
it doesn't seem as if I'm going to get in now.'
'I thought you looked as if you was a bit fresh.
-What are yer goin' to do?
 How far is it to Kensington ?'
' Work'us ?—about three mile ;—but, if I was you,
I'd try St George's.'
'Where s that?'
'In the Fulham Road. Kensington's only a small
place, they do you well there, and it's always full as
soon as the door's opened ;—you'd 'ave more chawnce
at St George's.'
He was silent. I turned his words over in my mind,
feeling as little disposed to try the one place as the
other. Presently he began again.
i 'I've travelled from Reading this day, I 'ave,
- tramped every — foot and all the way as I come


THE BEETLE
along, I'D 'ave a shakedown at 'Ammersmith, I says,
- and now I'm as fur off from it as ever! This is a
fine country, this is,—I wish every — soul in it
was swept into the sea, blimey, I do! But I ain't
goin' to go no further, I'll 'ave a bed in 'Ammersmith
or I'll know the reason why.'
'How are you going to manage it,--have you got any
money?'
'Got any money ?—My crikey I look as though
I 'ad —I sound as though I 'ad too! I ain't 'ad no
brads,'cept now and then a brown, this larst six months.'
• How are you going to get a bed then ?'
''Ow am I going to ?—why, like this way.' He
picked up two stones, one in either hand. The one in
his left he flung at the glass which was over the door
of the casual ward. It crashed through it, and through
the lamp beyond. 'That's 'ow I'm goin' to get a
bed.'
The door was hastily opened. The grizzled pauper
reappeared. He shouted, as he peered at us in the
darkness.
'Who done that?'
'I done it, guvnor,—and, if you like, you can see
me do the other. It might do your eyesight good.'
Before the grizzled pauper could interfere, he had
hurled the stone in his right hand through another
pane. I felt that it was time for me to go. He was
earning a night's rest at a price which, even in my
extremity, I was not disposed to pay.
When I left two or three other persons had appeared
upon the scene, and the man in rags was addressing
them with a degree of frankness, which, in that direction,
left little to be desired. I slunk away unnoticed. But
had not gone far before I had almost decided that I
might as well have thrown in my fortune with the
bolder wretch, and smashed a window too. Indeed,
more than once my feet faltered, as I all but returned
to do the feat which I had left undone.
A more miserable night for an out-of-door excursion I
could hardly have chosen. The rain was like a mist,
and was not only drenching me to the skin, but it was
rendering it difficult to see more than a little distance


THE BEETLE
seemed to me that if I had to go hungry till the morning
I should collapse there would be an end. Yet, in
that strange and inhospitable place, where was I to
get food at that time of night, and how ?
I do not know how far I went. Every yard I covered,
my feet dragged more. I was dead beat, inside and
out. I had neither strength nor courage left. And
within there was that frightful craving, which was as
though it shrieked aloud. I leant against some palings,
dazed and giddy. If only death had come upon me
quickly, painlessly, how true a friend I should have
thought it! It was the agony of dying inch by inch
which was so hard to bear.
It was some minutes before I could collect myself
sufficiently to withdraw from the support of the
railings, and to start afresh. I stumbled blindly over
the uneven road. Once, like a drunken man, I lurched
forward, and fell upon my knees. Such was my back-
boneless state that for some seconds I remained where
I was, half disposed to let things slide, accept the good
the gods had sent me, and make a night of it just there.
A long night, I fancy, it would have been, stretching
from time unto eternity.
Having regained my feet, I had gone perhaps another
couple of hundred yards along the road—Heaven knows
that it seemed to me just then a couple of miles !
when there came over me again that overpowering
giddiness which, I take it, was born of my agony of
hunger. I staggered, helplessly, against a low wall
which, just there, was at the side of the path. With-
out it I should have fallen in a heap." The attack
appeared to last for hours ; I suppose it was only seconds;
and, when I came to myself, it was as though I had
been aroused from a swoon of sleep,--aroused, to an
extremity of pain. I exclaimed aloud,
For a loaf of bread what wouldn't I do!'.
I looked about me, in a kind of frenzy. As I did so
I for the first time became conscious that behind me
was a house. It was not a large one. It was one of
those so-called villas which are springing up in multitudes
all round London, and which are let at rentals of from
twenty-five to forty pounds a year. It was detached.


OUTSIDE
So far as I could see, in the imperfect light, there was
not another building within twenty or thirty yards of
either side of it. It was in two storeys. There were
three windows in the upper storey. Behind each the
blinds were closely drawn. The hall door was on my
right. It was approached by a little wooden gate.
The house itself was so close to the public road that
by leaning over the wall I could have touched either
of the windows on the lower floor. There were two
of them. One of them was a bow window. The bow
window was open. The bottom centre sash was raised
about six inches.


CHAPTER II
inside
I realised, and, so to speak, mentally photographed
standing with what almost amounted to a gleam of
preternatural perception. An instant before, the world
swam before my eyes. I saw nothing. Now I saw
everything, with a clearness which, as it were, was
shocking
Above all, I saw the open window. I stared at it,
conscious, as I did so, of a curious catching of the breath.
It was so near to me; so very near. I had but to stretch
out my hand to thrust it through the aperture. Once
inside, my hand would at least be dry. How it rained
out there! My scanty clothing was soaked ; I was wet
to the skin! I was shivering. And, each second, it
seemed to rain still faster. My teeth were chattering.
The damp was liquefying the very marrow in my bones.
And, inside that open window, it was, it must be,
so warm, so dry
There was not a soul in sight. Not a human being
anywhere near. I listened ; there was not a sound. I
alone was at the mercy of the sodden night. Of all God's
creatures the only one unsheltered from the fountains
of Heaven which He had opened. There was not one
to see what I might do; not one to care. I need fear
no spy.
Perhaps the house was empty; nay, probably. It
was my plain duty to knock at the door, rouse the
inmates, and call attention to their oversight,—the open
window. The least they could do would be to reward
me for my pains. But, suppose the place was empty,
what would be the use of knocking ? It would be to
make a useless clatter Possibly to disturb the


INSIDE
neighbourhood, for nothing. And, even if the people
were at home, I might go unrewarded. I had learned, in
a hard school, the world's ingratitude. To have caused
the window to be closed the inviting window, the
tempting window, the convenient window! and then
to be no better for it after all, but still to be penniless,
hopeless, hungry, out in the cold and the rain—better
anything than that. In such a situation, too late, I
should say to myself that mine had been the conduct
of a fool. And I should say it justly too. To be sure.
Leaning over the low wall I found that I could very
easily put my hand inside the room. How warm it
was in there ! I could feel the difference of temperature
in my finger-tips. Very quietly I stepped right over
the wall. There was just room to stand in comfort
between the window and the wall. The ground felt
to the foot as if it were cemented. Stooping down, I
peered through the opening. I could see nothing. It
was black as pitch inside. The blind was drawn right
up; it seemed incredible that anyone could be at home,
and have gone to bed, leaving the blind up, and the
window open. I placed my ear to the crevice. How
still it was! Beyond doubt, the place was empty.
I decided to push the window up another inch or two,
so as to enable me to reconnoitre. If anyone caught
me in the act, then there would be an opportunity to
describe the circumstances, and to explain how I was
just on the point of giving the alarm. Only, I must
go carefully. In such damp weather it was probable
that the sash would creak.
Not a bit of it. It moved as readily and as noiselessly
as if it had been oiled. This silence of the sash so
emboldened me that I raised it more than I intended.
In fact, as far as it would go. Not by a sound did it
betray me. Bending over the sill I put my head and
half my body into the room. But I was no forwarder.
I could see nothing. Not a thing. For all I could tell
the room might be unfurnished. Indeed, the likeli-
hood of such an explanation began to occur to me. I
might have chanced upon an empty house. In the
darkness there was nothing to suggest the contrary.
What was I to do?


IO
THE BEETLE
Well, if the house was empty, in such a plight as
mine I might be said to have a moral, if not a legal,
right, to its bare shelter. Who, with a heart in his
bosom, would deny it me? Hardly the most punctilious
landlord. Raising myself by means of the sill I slipped
my legs into the room.
The moment I did so I became conscious that, at
any rate, the room was not entirely unfurnished. The
floor was carpeted. I have had my feet on some good
carpets in my time; I know what carpets are ; but
never did I stand upon a softer one than that. It
reminded me, somehow, even then, of the turf in Rich-
mond Park,—it caressed my instep, and sprang
beneath my tread. To my poor, travel-worn feet, it
was luxury after the puddly, uneven road. Should I,
now I had ascertained that the room was, at least,
partially furnished, beat a retreat ? Or should I push
my researches further? It would have been rapture
to have thrown off my clothes, and to have sunk down,
on the carpet, then and there, to sleep. But, I was
so hungry; so famine-goaded; what would I not have
given to have lighted on something good to eat!
I moved a step or two forward, gingerly, reaching out
with my hands, lest I struck, unawares, against some
unseen thing. When I had taken three or four such
steps, without encountering an obstacle, or, indeed,
anything at all, I began, all at once, to wish I had not
seen the house ; that I had passed it by; that I had
not come through the window; that I were safely out of
it again. I became, on a sudden, aware, that something
was with me in the room. There was nothing, osten-
sible, to lead me to such a conviction ; it may be that
my faculties were unnaturally keen ; but, all at once,
I knew that there was something there. What was
more, I had a horrible persuasion that, though unseeing,
I was seen ; that my every movement was being watched.
What it was that was with me I could not tell ; I
could not even guess. It was as though something in
my mental organisation had been stricken by a sudden
paralysis. It may seem childish to use such language;
but I was overwrought, played out ; physically speaking,
at my last counter; and, in an instant, without the


INSIDE
II
slightest warning, I was conscious of a very curious
sensation, the like of which I had never felt before, and
the like of which I pray that I never may feel again-
a sensation of panic fear. I remained rooted to the
spot on which I stood, not daring to move, fearing
to draw my breath. I felt that the presence with me
in the room was something strange, something evil.
I do not know how long I stood there, spell-bound,
but certainly for some considerable space of time. By
degrees, as nothing moved, nothing was seen, nothing
was heard, and nothing happened, I made an effort to
better play the man. I knew that, at the moment, I
played the cur. And endeavoured to ask myself of
what it was I was afraid. I was shivering at my own
imaginings. What could be in the room, to have
suffered me to open the window and to enter unopposed ?
Whatever it was, was surely to the full as great a coward
as I was, or why permit, unchecked, my burglarious
entry. Since I had been allowed to enter, the probability
was that I should be at liberty to retreat,--and I was
sensible of a much keener desire to retreat than I had
ever had to enter.
I had to put the greatest amount of pressure upon
myself before I could summon up sufficient courage to
enable me to even turn my head upon my shoulders,
-and the moment I did so I turned it back again.
What constrained me, to save my soul I could not
have said,--but I was constrained. My heart was
palpitating in my bosom; I could hear it beat. I was
trembling so that I could scarcely stand. I was over-
whelmed by a fresh flood of terror. I stared in front
of me with eyes in which, had it been light, would have
been seen the frenzy of unreasoning fear. My ears
were strained so that I listened with an acuteness of
tension which was painful.
Something moved. Slightly, with so slight a sound,
that it would scarcely have been audible to other ears
save mine. But I heard. I was looking in the direction
from which the movement came, and, as I looked, I
saw in front of me two specks of light. They had not
been there a moment before, that I would swear. They
were there now. They were eyes,—I told myself they


12
THE BEETLE
were eyes. I had heard how cats' eyes gleam in the
dark, though I had never seen them, and I said to
myself that these were cats' eyes; that the thing in
front of me was nothing but a cat. But I knew I lied.
I knew that these were eyes, and I knew they were
not cats' eyes, but what eyes they were I did not know,
-nor dared to think.
They moved, -towards me. The creature to which
the eyes belonged was coming closer. So intense was
my desire to fly that I would much rather have died
than stood there still ; yet I could not control a limb;
my limbs were as if they were not mine. The eyes came
on,—noiselessly. At first they were between two
and three feet from the ground; but, on a sudden,
there was a squelching sound, as if some yielding body
had been squashed upon the floor. The eyes vanished,
to be a distance of some six inches from the floor. And
they again came on.
So it seemed that the creature, whatever it was to
which the eyes belonged, was, after all, but small.
Why I did not obey the frantic longing which I had to
flee from it, I cannot tell ; I only know, I could not.
I take it that the stress and privations which I had
lately undergone, and which I was, even then, still
undergoing, had much to do with my conduct at that
moment, and with the part I played in all that followed.
Ordinarily I believe that I have as high a spirit as the
average man, and as solid a resolution ; but when one
has been dragged through the Valley of Humiliation,
and plunged, again and again, into the Waters of Bitter-
ness and Privation, a man can be constrained to a
course of action of which, in his happier moments, he
would have deemed himself incapable. I know this
of my own knowledge.
Slowly the eyes came on, with a strange slowness,
and as they came they moved from side to side as if
their owner walked unevenly. Nothing could have
exceeded the horror with which I awaited their approach,
-except my incapacity to escape them. Not for an
instant did my glance pass from them,- I could not
have shut my eyes for all the gold the world contains !


THE BEETLE
aware that it emitted an unpleasant, fœtid odour; as
it neared my face it became so intense as to be unbearable.
It was at my chest. I became more and more conscious
of an uncomfortable wobbling motion, as if each time
it breathed its body heaved. Its forelegs touched the
bare skin about the base of my neck ; they stuck to it,
- shall I ever forget the feeling? I have it often in
my dreams. While it hung on with those in front it
seemed to draw its other legs up after it. It crawled
up my neck, with hideous slowness, a quarter of an
inch at a time, its weight compelling me to brace the
muscles of my back. It reached my chin, it touched
my lips,—and I stood still and bore it all, while it en-
veloped my face with its huge, slimy, evil-smelling
body, and embraced me with its myriad legs. The
horror of it made me mad. I shook myself like one
stricken by the shaking ague. I shook the creature
off. It squashed upon the floor. Shrieking like some
lost spirit, turning, I dashed towards the window. As
I went, my foot, catching in some obstacle, I fell head-
long to the floor.
Picking myself up as quickly as I could I resumed
my flight,—rain or no rain, oh to get out of that room!
I already had my hand upon the sill, in another instant
I should have been over it,—then, despite my hunger,
my fatigues, let anyone have stopped me if they could I
- when someone behind me struck a light.


CHAPTER III
the man in the bed
The illumination which instantly followed was unex-
pected. It startled me, causing a moment's check,
from which I was just recovering when a voice said,
'Keep still !
There was a quality in the voice which I cannot
describe. Not only an accent of command, but a
something malicious, a something saturnine. It was a
little guttural, though whether it was a man speaking
I could not have positively said ; but I had no doubt
it was a foreigner. It was the most disagreeable voice
I had ever heard, and it had on me the most disagreeable
effect ; for when it said, 'Keep still !'I kept still. It
was as though there was nothing else for me to do.
'Turn round I'.
I turned round, mechanically, like an automaton.
Such passivity was worse than undignified, it was
galling; I knew that well. I resented it with secret
rage. But in that room, in that presence, I was in-
vertebrate.
When I turned I found myself confronting someone
who was lying in bed. At the head of the bed was a
shelf. On the shelf was a small lamp which gave the
most brilliant light I had ever seen. It caught me full
in the eyes, having on me such a blinding effect that for
some seconds I could see nothing. Throughout the
whole of that strange interview I cannot affirm that I
saw clearly; the dazzling glare caused dancing specks
to obscure my vision. Yet, after an interval of time,
I did see something; and what I did see I had rather
have left unseen.
I saw someone in front of me lying in a bed. I could
not at once decide if it was a man or a woman. Indeed


THE BEETLE
at first I doubted if it was anything human. But,
afterwards, I knew it to be a man,—for this reason, if
for no other, that it was impossible such a creature
could be feminine. The bedclothes were drawn up to
his shoulders ; only his head was visible. He lay on
his left side, his head resting on his left hand; motion-
less, eyeing me as if he sought to read my inmost soul.
And, in very truth, I believe he read it. His age I
could not guess ; such a look of age I had never imagined.
Had he asserted that he had been living through the
ages, I should have been forced to admit that, at least,
he looked it. And yet I felt that it was quite within
the range of possibility that he was no older than myself,
-there was a vitality in his eyes which was startling.
It might have been that he had been afflicted by some
terrible disease, and it was that which had made him
so super-naturally ugly.
There was not a hair upon his face or head, but, to
make up for it, the skin, which was a saffron yellow,
was an amazing mass of wrinkles. The cranium, and,
indeed, the whole skull, was so small as to be disagreeably
suggestive of something animal. The nose, on the other
hand, was abnormally large; so extravagant were its
dimensions, and so peculiar its shape, it resembled the
beak of some bird of prey. A characteristic of the face
Land an uncomfortable one was that, practically,
it stopped short at the mouth. The mouth, with its
blubber lips, came immediately underneath the nose,
and chin, to all intents and purposes, there was none.
This deformity—for the absence of chin amounted to
that—it was which gave to the face the appearance of
something not human,--that, and the eyes. For so
marked a feature of the man were his eyes, that, ere
long, it seemed to me that he was nothing but eyes.
His eyes ran, literally, across the whole of the upper
portion of his face, -remember, the face was un-
wontedly small, and the columna of the nose was razor-
edged. They were long, and they looked out of narrow
windows, and they seemed to be lighted by some
internal radiance, for they shone out like lamps in a
lighthouse tower. Escape them I could not, while, as
I endeavoured to meet them, it was as if I shrivelled


THE MAN IN THE BED
into nothingness. Never before had I realised what was
meant by the power of the eye. They held me enchained,
helpless, spell-bound. I felt that they could do with
me as they would ; and they did. Their gaze was
unfaltering, having the bird-like trick of never blinking;
this man could have glared at me for hours and never
moved an eyelid.
It was he who broke the silence. I was speechless.
Shut the window.' I did as he bade me. 'Pull
down the blind.' I obeyed. 'Turn round again.' I
was still obedient. 'What is your name?'
Then I spoke,—to answer him. There was this odd
thing about the words I uttered, that they came from
me, not in response to my will power, but in response
to his. It was not I who willed that I should speak;
it was he. What he willed that I should say, I said.
Just that, and nothing more. For the time I was no
longer a man ; my manhood was merged in his. I
was, in the extremest sense, an example of passive
obedience.
Robert Holt.'
'What are you?'
'A clerk.'
* You look as if you were a clerk.' There was a
flame of scorn in his voice which scorched me even then.
What sort of a clerk are you?'
'I am out of a situation.'
'You look as if you were out of a situation.' Again
the scorn. 'Are you the sort of clerk who is always
out of a situation? You are a thief.'
'I am not a thief.'
'Do clerks come through the window ?' I was still,
-he putting no constraint on me to speak. Why
did you come through the window ?'
* Because it was open.'
'So!—Do you always come through a window which
is open ?'
'No.'
'Then why through this ?'.
'Because I was wet—and cold—and hungry—and
tired.'


18
THE BEETLE
The words came from me as if he had dragged them
one by one, which, in fact, he did.
' Have you no home?'
'No.'
'Money ?'
'No.'
'Friends?
'No.'
Then what sort of a clerk are you?'
I did not answer him,—I did not know what it was
he wished me to say. I was the victim of bad luck,
nothing else, I swear it. Misfortune had followed
hard upon misfortune. The firm by whom I had been
employed for years suspended payment. I obtained
a situation with one of their creditors, at a lower salary.
They reduced their staff, which entailed my going.
After an interval I obtained a temporary engagement;
the occasion which required my services passed, and I
with it. After another, and a longer interval, I again
found temporary employment, the pay for which was
but a pittance. When that was over I could find
nothing. That was nine months ago, and since then
I had not earned a penny. It is so easy to grow shabby,
when you are on the everlasting tramp, and are living
on your stock of clothes. I had trudged all over
London in search of work,—work of any kind would have
been welcome, so long as it would have enabled me to
keep body and soul together. And I had trudged
in vain. Now I had been refused admittance as a casual,
-how easy is the descent! But I did not tell the man
lying on the bed all this. He did not wish to hear,
-had he wished he would have made me tell him.
! It may be that he read my story, unspoken though
it was,—it is conceivable. His eyes had powers of
penetration which were peculiarly their own,—that I
know.
• Undress !'
When he spoke again that was what he said, in
those guttural tones of his in which there was a remini-
scence of some foreign land. I obeyed, letting my
sodden, shabby clothes fall anyhow upon the floor. A
look came on his face, as I stood naked in front of him,


CHAPTER IV
A LONELY VIGIL
urs which do of the black the manhen all
for the lampustling squeen the shit ble nighing
I KNEW that the light went out. For not the least
singular, nor, indeed, the least distressing part of my
condition was the fact that, to the best of my knowledge
and belief, I never once lost consciousness during the
long hours which followed. I was aware of the extinction
of the lamp, and of the black darkness which ensued.
I heard a rustling sound, as if the man in the bed was
settling himself between the sheets. Then all was still.
And throughout that interminable night I remained,
my brain awake, my body dead, waiting, watching,
for the day. What had happened to me I could not
guess. That I probably wore some of the external
evidences of death my instinct told me,- I knew I did.
Paradoxical though it may sound, I felt as a man might
feel who had actually died, -as, in moments of specu-
lation, in the days gone by, I had imagined it as quite
possible that he would feel. It is very far from certain
that feeling necessarily expires with what we call life.
I continually asked myself if I could be dead, the
inquiry pressed itself on me with awful iteration. Does
the body die, and the brain—the I, the ego—still live
on ? God only knows. But, then I the agony of the
thought.
The hours passed. By slow degrees, the silence was
eclipsed. Sounds of traffic, of hurrying footsteps, -
life 1-were ushers of the morn. Outside the window
sparrows twittered,—a cat mewed, a dog barked
there was the clatter of a milk can. Shafts of light
stole past the blind, increasing in intensity. It still
rained, now and again it pattered against the pane.
The wind must have shifted, because, for the first time,
there came, on a sudden, the clang of a distant clock


A LONELY VIGIL
striking the hour, seven. Then, with the interval
of a lifetime between each chiming, eight,—nine,—ten.
So far, in the room itself there had not been a sound.
When the clock had struck ten, as it seemed to me,
years ago, there came a rustling noise, from the direction
of the bed. Feet stepped upon the floor,—moving
towards where I was lying. It was, of course, now
broad day, and I, presently, perceived that a figure,
clad in some queer coloured garment, was standing
at my side, looking down at me. It stooped, then
knelt. My only covering was unceremoniously thrown
from off me, so that I lay there in my nakedness. Fingers
prodded me then and there, as if I had been some beast
ready for the butcher's stall. A face looked into mine,
and, in front of me, were those dreadful eyes. Then,
whether I was dead or living, I said to myself that this
could be nothing human,—nothing fashioned in God's
image could wear such a shape as that. Fingers were
pressed into my cheeks, they were thrust into my mouth,
they touched my staring eyes, shut my eyelids, then
opened them again, and—horror of horrors the
blubber lips were pressed to mine the soul of something
evil entered into me in the guise of a kiss.
Then this travesty of manhood reascended to his
feet, and said, whether speaking to me or to himself
I could not tell.
'Dead dead as good as dead —and better !
We'll have him buried.'
He moved away from me. I heard a door open and
shut, and knew that he was gone.
And he continued gone throughout the day. I had
no actual knowledge of his issuing out into the street,
but he must have done so, because the house appeared
deserted. What had become of the dreadful creature
of the night before I could not guess. My first fear
was that he had left it behind him in the room with
me,—it might be, as a sort of watchdog. But, as the
minutes and the hours passed, and there was still no sign
or sound of anything living, I concluded that, if the
thing was there, it was, possibly, as helpless as myself,
and that during its owner's absence, at anyrate, I had
nothing to fear from its too pressing attentions.


22
THE BEETLE
That, with the exception of myself, the house held
nothing human, I had strong presumptive proof more
than once in the course of the day. Several times,
both in the morning and the afternoon, people without
endeavoured to attract the attention of whoever was
within. Vehicles—probably tradesmen's carts—drew
up in front, their stopping being followed by more or
less assiduous assaults upon the knocker and the bell.
But in every case their appeals remained unheeded.
Whatever it was they wanted, they had to go unsatisfied
away. Lying there, torpid, with nothing to do but
listen, I was, possibly, struck by very little, but it did
occur to me that one among the callers was more per-
sistent than the rest.
The distant clock had just struck noon when I heard
the gate open, and someone approached the front door.
Since nothing but silence followed, I supposed that
to do so as silently as he had gone. Presently, however,
there came from the doorstep a slight but peculiar call,
as if a rat was squeaking. It was repeated three times,
and then there was the sound of footsteps quietly
retreating, and the gate re-closing. Between one and two
the caller came again; there was a repetition of the same
signal,—that it was a signal I did not doubt ; followed
by the same retreat. About three the mysterious
visitant returned. The signal was repeated, and,
when there was no response, fingers tapped softly
against the panels of the front door. When there was
still no answer, footsteps stole softly round the side
of the house, and there came the signal from the rear,
--and then, again, tapping of fingers against what was,
apparently, the back door. No notice being taken of
these various proceedings, the footsteps returned the
way they went, and, as before, the gate was closed.
Shortly after darkness had fallen this assiduous caller
returned, to make a fourth and more resolute attempt to
call attention to his presence. From the peculiar
character of his manœuvres it seemed that he suspected
that whoever was within had particular reasons for
ignoring him without. He went through the familiar
pantomime of the three squeaky calls both at the front


A LONELY VIGIL
23
door and the back—followed by the tapping of the
fingers on the panels. This time, however, he also
tried the window panes,—I could hear, quite distinctly,
the clear, yet distinct, noise of what seemed like knuckles
rapping against the windows behind. Disappointed
there, he renewed his efforts at the front. The curiously
quiet footsteps came round the house, to pause before
the window of the room in which I lay,--and then
something singular occurred.
While I waited for the tapping, there came, instead,
the sound of someone or something, scrambling on to
the window-sill, -as if some creature, unable to reach
the window from the ground, was endeavouring to
gain the vantage of the sill. Some ungainly creature,
unskilled in surmounting such an obstacle as a per-
pendicular brick wall. There was the noise of what
seemed to be the scratching of claws, as if it experienced
considerable difficulty in obtaining a hold on the
unyielding surface. What kind of creature it was I could
not think, - I was astonished to find that it was a creature
at all. I had taken it for granted that the persevering
visitor was either a woman or a man. If, however, as
now seemed likely, it was some sort of animal, the fact
explained the squeaking sounds,—though what, except
a rat did squeak like that was more than I could say,
and the absence of any knocking or ringing.
Whatever it was, it had gained the summit of its
desires, the window-sill. It panted as if its efforts
at climbing had made it short of breath. Then began
the tapping. In the light of my new discovery, I per- ;
ceived, clearly enough, that the tapping was hardly
that which was likely to be the product of human
fingers,—it was sharp and definite, rather resembling
the striking of the point of a nail against the glass.
It was not loud, but in time it continued with much
persistency--it became plainly vicious. It was accom-
panied by what I can only describe as the most extraor-
dinary noises. There were squeaks, growing angrier
and shriller as the minutes passed; what seemed like
gaspings for breath; and a peculiar buzzing sound like,
yet unlike, the purring of a cat.
The creature's resentment at its want of success in


24
THE BEETLE
attracting attention was unmistakable. The tapping
became like the clattering of hailstones; it kept up a
continuous noise with its cries and pantings; there
was the sound as of some large body being rubbed
against the glass, as if it were extending itself against
the window, and endeavouring, by force of pressure,
to gain an entrance through the pane. So violent did
its contortions become that I momentarily anticipated
the yielding of the glass, and the excited assailant
coming crashing through. Considerably to my relief
the window proved more impregnable than seemed
at one time likely. The stolid resistance proved, in the
end, to be too much either for its endurance or its
patience. Just as I was looking for some fresh mani-
festation of fury, it seemed rather to tumble than to
spring off the sill ; then came, once more, the same sound
of quietly retreating footsteps; and what, under the
circumstances, seemed odder still, the same closing of
the gate.
During the two or three hours which immediately
ensued nothing happened at all out of the way,—and
then took place the most surprising incident of all.
The clock had struck ten some time before. Since
before the striking of the hour nothing and no one had
passed along what was evidently the little frequented
road in front of that uncanny house. On a sudden
two sounds broke the stillness without, -of someone
running, and of cries. Judging from his hurrying steps
someone seemed to be flying for his life,—to the accom-
paniment of curious cries. It was only when the runner
reached the front of the house that, in the cries, I re-
cognised the squeaks of the persistent caller. I imagined
that he had returned, as before, alone, to renew his
attacks upon the window,—until it was made plain,
as it quickly was, that, with him, was some sort of a
companion. Immediately there arose, from without,
the noise of battle. Two creatures, whose cries were, to
me, of so unusual a character, that I found it impossible
to even guess at their identity, seemed to be waging war
to the knife upon the doorstep. After a minute or two
of furious contention, victory seemed to rest with one
of the combatants, for the other filed, squeaking as with


A LONELY VIGIL
pain. While I listened, with strained attention, for
the next episode in this queer drama, expecting that
now would come another assault upon the window, to
my unbounded surprise I heard a key thrust in the
keyhole, the lock turned, and the front door thrown
open with a furious bang. It was closed as loudly as
it was opened. Then the door of the room in which
I was, was dashed open, with the same display of excite-
ment, and of clamour, footsteps came hurrying in,
the door was slammed to with a force which shook the
house to its foundations, there was a rustling as of
bed-clothes, the brilliant illumination of the night
before, and a voice, which I had only too good reason
to remember said,
'Stand up.'
I stood up, automatically, at the word of command,
facing towards the bed.
There, between the sheets, with his head resting on
his hand, in the attitude in which I had seen him last,
was the being I had made acquaintance with under
circumstances which I was never likely to forget,
the same, yet not the same


CHAPTER V
an instruction to commit burglary
That the man in the bed was the one whom, to my cost,
I had suffered myself to stumble on the night before,
there could, of course, not be the faintest doubt. And
yet, directly I saw him, I recognised that some aston-
ishing alteration had taken place in his appearance.
To begin with, he seemed younger,—the decrepitude
of age had given place to something very like the fire
of youth. His features had undergone some subtle
change. His nose, for instance, was not by any means
so grotesque ; its beak-like quality was less conspicuous.
The most part of his wrinkles had disappeared, as if
by magic. And, though his skin was still as yellow
as saffron, his contours had rounded,—he had even
come into possession of a modest allowance of chin.
But the most astounding novelty was that about the
face there was something which was essentially feminine ;
so feminine, indeed, that I wondered if I could by any
possibility have blundered, and mistaken a woman
for a man ; some ghoulish example of her sex, who had
so yielded to her depraved instincts as to have become
nothing but a ghastly reminiscence of womanhood.
The effect of the changes which had come about in
his appearance—for, after all, I told myself that it
was impossible that I could have been such a simpleton
as to have been mistaken on such a question as gender
-was heightened by the self-evident fact that, very
recently, he had been engaged in some pitched battle ;
some hand to hand, and, probably, discreditable en-
counter, from which he had borne away uncomfortable
proofs of his opponent's prowess. His antagonist
could hardly have been a chivalrous fighter, for his
countenance was mark d by a dozen different scratches,


INSTRUCTION TO COMMIT BURGLARY 27
which seemed to suggest that the weapons used had
been someone's finger-nails. It was, perhaps, because
the heat of the battle was still in his veins that he was
in such a state of excitement. He seemed to be almost
overwhelmed by the strength of his own feelings. His
eyes seemed literally to flame with fire. The muscles
of his face were working as if they were wholly beyond
his own control. When he spoke his accent was markedly
foreign ; the words rushed from his lips in an inarticulate
torrent; he kept repeating the same thing over and
over again in a fashion which was not a little suggestive
of insanity.
'So you're not dead l-you're not dead :—you're
alive l-you're alive! Well,—how does it feel to be
dead? I ask you l-Is it not good to be dead? To
keep dead is better, it is the best of all ! To have
made an end of all things, to cease to strive and to
cease to weep, to cease to want and to cease to have,
to cease to annoy and to cease to long, to no more care,
-no not for anything, to put from you the curse
of life,—forever !—is that not the best? Oh yes !
I tell you —do I not know? But for you such know-
ledge is not yet. For you there is the return to life,
the coming out of death,--you shall live on for me
—Live on l'
He made a movement with his hand, and, directly
he did so, it happened as on the previous evening, that
a metamorphosis took place in the very abysses of my
being. I woke from my torpor, as he put it, I came
out of death, and was alive again. I was far, yet, from
being my own man; I realised that he exercised on
me a degree of mesmeric force which I had never dreamed
that one creature could exercise on another ; but, at
least, I was no longer in doubt as to whether I was or
was not dead. I knew I was alive.
He lay, watching me, as if he was reading the thoughts
which occupied my brain,—and, for all I know, he was.
'Robert Holt, you are a thief.'
'I am not.
My own voice, as I heard it, startled me, it was so
long since it had sounded in my ears.
You are a thief I Only thieves come through


28
THE BEETLE
windows, did you not come through the window?'
I was still,—what would my contradiction have availed
me? 'But it is well that you came through the
window,—well you are a thief, -well for me I for me!
It is you that I am wanting at the happy moment
you have dropped yourself into my hands, in the nick
of time. For you are my slave,--at my beck and call,
-my familiar spirit, to do with as I will, you knew
this, -eh?'
I did know it, and the knowledge of my impotence
was terrible. I felt that if I could only get away from
him ; only release myself from the bonds with which he
had bound me about ; only remove myself from the
horrible glamour of his near neighbourhood; only get
one or two square meals and have an opportunity of
recovering from the enervating stress of mental and
bodily fatigue ;—I felt that then I might be something
like his match, and that, a second time, he would
endeavour in vain to bring me within the compass of
his magic. But, as it was, I was conscious that I was
helpless, and the consciousness was agony. He persisted
in reiterating his former falsehood.
'I say you are a thief a thief, Robert Holt, a
thief ! You came through a window for your own
pleasure, now you will go through a window for mine,
-not this window, but another. Where the jest lay
I did not perceive; but it tickled him, for a grating
sound came from his throat which was meant for
laughter. 'This time it is as a thief that you will go,
-oh yes, be sure.'
He paused, as it seemed, to transfix me with his gaze.
His unblinking eyes never for an instant quitted my
face. With what a frightful fascination they constrained
me, and how I loathed them!
When he spoke again there was a new intonation in
his speech, something bitter, cruel, unrelenting.
'Do you know Paul Lessingham ?'
He pronounced the name as if he hated it,--and yet
as if he loved to have it on his tongue.
'What Paul Lessingham ?'
'There is only one Paul Lessingham! The Paul
Lessingham,--the great Paul Lessingham!'


INSTRUCTION TO COMMIT BURGLARY 29
He shrieked, rather than said this, with an outburst
of rage so frenzied that I thought, for the moment,
that he was going to spring on me and rend me. I
shook all over. I do not doubt that, as I replied, my
voice was sufficiently tremulous.
* All the world knows Paul Lessingham,—the politi-
cian,—the statesman.'
As he glared at me his eyes dilated. I still stood in
expectation of a physical assault. But, for the present,
he contented himself with words.
'To-night you are going through his window like a
I had no inkling of his meaning, and, apparently,
judging from his next words, I looked something of the
bewilderment I felt.
'You do not understand ?—no!—it is simple l—what
could be simpler ? I say that to-night—to-night !—you
are going through his window like a thief. You came
through my window,—why not through the window
of Paul Lessingham, the politician—the statesman.'
He repeated my words as if in mockery. I am—I
make it my boast of that great multitude which
regards Paul Lessingham as the greatest living force
in practical politics ; and which looks to him, with con-
fidence, to carry through that great work of consti-
tutional and social reform which he has set himself to
do. I daresay that my tone, in speaking of him,
savoured of laudation,—which, plainly, the man in the
bed resented. What he meant by his wild words about
my going through Paul Lessingham's window like a
thief, I still had not the faintest notion. They sounded
like the ravings of a madman.
As I continued silent, and he yet stared, there came
into his tone another note,—a note of tenderness, -a
note of which I had not deemed him capable.
'He is good to look at, Paul Lessingham,—is he not
good to look at ?'.
I was aware that, physically, Mr Lessingham was a
fine specimen of manhood, but I was not prepared for
the assertion of the fact in such a quarter,—nor for the
manner in which the temporary master of my fate
continued to harp and enlarge upon the theme.


30
THE BEETLE
I 'He is straight, straight as the mast of a ship,—he
is tall,—his skin is white; he is strong—do I not know
that he is strong—how strong —oh yes! Is there a
better thing than to be his wife ? his well-beloved ?
the light of his eyes ? Is there for a woman a happier
chance ? Oh no, not one! His wife 1-Paul Les-
singham '
As, with soft cadences, he gave vent to these un-
looked-for sentiments, the fashion of his countenance
was changed. A look of longing came into his face
of savage, frantic longing—which, unalluring though
it was, for the moment transfigured him. But the mood
was transient.
'To be his wife,—oh yes the wife of his scorn |
the despised and rejected '
The return to the venom of his former bitterness was
rapid, --I could not but feel that this was the natural
man. Though why a creature such as he was should
go out of his way to apostrophise, in such a manner, a
publicist of Mr Lessingham's eminence, surpassed my
comprehension. Yet he stuck to his subject like a
leech,—as if it had been one in which he had an
engrossing personal interest.
'He is a devil,—hard as the granite rock, cold as
the snows of Ararat. In him there is none of life's
warm blood,—he is accursed! He is false,—ay, false
as the fables of those who lie for love of lies, -he is all
treachery. Her whom he has taken to his bosom he
would put away from him as if she had never been,
he would steal from her like a thief in the night,—he
would forget she ever was! But the avenger follows
after, lurking in the shadows, hiding among the rocks,
waiting, watching, till his time shall come. And it
shall come the day of the avenger l-ay, the
day I
Raising himself to a sitting posture, he threw his
arms above his head, and shrieked with a demoniac fury.
Presently be became a trifle calmer. Reverting to his
recumbent position, resting his head upon his hand,
he eyed me steadily; then asked me a question which
struck me as being, under the circumstances, more
than a little singular.


THE BEETLE
you while I stalk at your side. I will cover you with
the cloak of invisibility, so that you may come in
safety to the house of the great Paul Lessingham.'
He paused again. What he said, wild and wanton
though it was, was beginning to fill me with a sense of
the most extreme discomfort. His sentences, in some
strange, indescribable way, seemed, as they came from
his lips, to warp my limbs ; to enwrap themselves about
me; to confine me, tighter and tighter, within, as it
were, swaddling clothes ; to make me more and more
helpless. I was already conscious that whatever mad
freak he chose to set me on, I should have no option
but to carry it through.
'When you come to the house, you will stand, and
look, and seek for a window convenient for entry. It
may be that you will find one open, as you did mine ;
if not, you will open one. How,—that is your affair,
not mine. You will praise the arts of a thief to steal
into his house.'
The monstrosity his suggestion fought against
the spell which he a l was casting upon me, and forced
me into speech, — lowed me with the power to show
that there still in me something of a man ; though
every second the crands of my manhood, as it seemed,
were slipping faster through the fingers which were
strained to clutch them.
'I will not.'
He was silent. He looked at me. The pupils of his
eyes dilated,—until they seemed all pupil.
* You will.—Do you hear ?—I say you will.'
'I am not a thief, I am an honest man,—why should
I do this thing?
 Because I bid you.'
'Have mercy !
'On whom—on you, or on Paul Lessingham ?—Who
at any time, has shown mercy unto me, that I should
show mercy unto any ?'
He stopped, and then again went on,—reiterating his
former incredible suggestion with an emphasis which
seemed to eat its way into my brain
'You will practise the arts of a thief to steal into his


INSTRUCTION TO COMMIT BURGLARY 33
house ; and, being in, will listen. If all be still, you will
make your way to the room he calls his study.'
'How shall I find it? I know nothing of his house.'
The question was wrung from me; I felt that the
sweat was standing in great drops upon my brow.
• I will show it you.'
'Shall you go with me?'
'Ay,- I shall go with you. All the time I shall be
with you. You will not see me, but I shall be there.
Be not afraid.'
His claim to supernatural powers, for what he said
amounted to nothing less, .was, on the face of it, pre-
posterous, but, then, I was in no condition to even hint
at its absurdity. He continued.
When you have gained the study, you will go to a
certain drawer, which is in a certain bureau, in a corner
of the room—I see it now; when you are there you shall
see it too—and you will open it.
'Should it be locked ?'
'You still will open it.'
'But how shall I open it if it is locked ?'
'By those arts in which a thief is skilled. I say to
you again that that is your affair, not mine.'
I made no attempt to answer him. Even supposing
that he forced me, by the wicked, and unconscionable
exercise of what, I presumed, were the hypnotic powers
with which nature had to such a dangerous degree
endowed him, to carry the adventure to a certain stage,
since he could hardly, at an instant's notice, endow me
with the knack of picking locks, should the drawer
he alluded to be locked—which might Providence
permit nothing serious might issue from it after all.
He read my thoughts.
' You will open it,—though it be doubly and trebly
locked, I say that you will open it.—In it you will
find—' he hesitated, as if to reflect—' some letters ;
it may be two or three,—I know not just how many,
- they are bound about by a silken ribbon. You will
take them out of the drawer, and, having taken them,
you will make the best of your way out of the house,
and bear them back to me.'
' And should anyone come upon me while engaged


34
THE BEETLE
in these nefarious proceedings,- for instance, should
I encounter Mr Lessingham himself, what then?'
'Paul Lessingham ?—You need have no fear if you
encounter him.'
'I need have no fear l-If he finds me, in his own
house, at dead of night, committing burglary!'
'You need have no fear of him.'
On your account, or on my own ?—At least he
will have me haled to gaol.'
'I say you need have no fear of him. I say what
I mean.
'How, then, shall I escape his righteous vengeance ?
He is not the man to suffer a midnight robber to escape
him scatheless, shall I have to kill him?'
You will not touch him with a finger,—nor will he
touch you.'
'By what spell shall I prevent him to
'By the spell of two words.'
What words are they?'
'Should Paul Lessingham chance to come upon you;
and find you in his house, a thief, and should seek to
stay you from whatever it is you may be at, you will
not flinch nor flee from him, but you will stand still,
and you will say“.
Something in the crescendo accents of his voice,
something weird and ominous, caused my heart to
press against my ribs, so that when he stopped, in
my eagerness I cried out,
What?'
'THE BEETLEI
As the words came from him in a kind of screech,
the lamp went out, and the place was all in darkness,
and I knew, so that the knowledge filled me with a
sense of loathing, that with me, in the room, was the
evil presence of the night before. Two bright specks
gleamed in front of me; something flopped from off
the bed on to the ground; the thing was coming to-
wards me across the floor. It came slowly on, and on,
and on. I stood still, speechless in the sickness of my
horror. Until, on my bare feet, it touched me with
slimy feelers, and my terror lest it should creep up my


INSTRUCTION TO COMMIT BURGLARY 35
baked body lent me voice, and I fell shrieking like a
soul in agony.
It may be that my shrieking drove it from me. At
least, it went. I knew it went. And all was still.
Until, on a sudden, the lamp flamed out again, and
there, lying, as before, in bed, glaring at me with his
baleful eyes, was the being whom, in my folly, or in my
wisdom,—whichever it was I was beginning to
credit with the possession of unhallowed, unlawful
powers.
You will say that to him ; those two words; they
only; no more. And you will see what you will see.
But Paul Lessingham is a man of resolution. Should
he still persist in interference, or seek to hinder you,
you will say those two words again. You need do no
more. Twice will suffice, I promise you.—Now go.
-Draw up the blind ; open the window; climb through
it. Hasten to do what I have bidden you. I wait
here for your return, and all the way I shall be with
you.


CHAPTER VI
singular felony
I went to the window ; I drew up the blind, unlatching
the sash, I threw it open, and clad, or, rather, unclad
as I was, I clambered through it into the open air. I
was not only incapable of resistance, I was incapable of
distinctly formulating the desire to offer resistance.
Some compelling influence moved me hither and hither,
with completest disregard of whether I would or would
not.
And yet, when I found myself without, I was conscious
of a sense of exultation at having escaped from the
miasmic atmosphere of that room of unholy memories.
And a faint hope began to dawn within my bosom
that, as I increased the distance between myself and
it, I might shake off something of the nightmare help-
lessness which numbed and tortured me. I lingered
for a moment by the window; then stepped over the
short dividing wall into the street; and then again I
lingered.
My condition was one of dual personality,—while,
physically, I was bound, mentally, to a considerable
extent, I was free. But this measure of freedom on
my mental side made my plight no better. For, among
other things, I realised what a ridiculous figure I must
be cutting, barefooted and bareheaded, abroad, at
such an hour of the night, in such a boisterous breeze,
—for I quickly discovered that the wind amounted
to something like a gale. Apart from all other con-
siderations, the notion of parading the streets in such
a condition filled me with profound disgust. And I
do believe that if my tyrannical oppressor had only
permitted me to attire myself in my own garments
I should have started with a comparatively light heart


A SINGULAR FELONY
37
on the felonious mission on which he apparently was
sending me. I believe, too, that the consciousness
of the incongruity of my attire increased my sense of
helplessness, and that, had I been dressed as Englishmen
are won't to be, who take their walks abroad, he would
not have found in me, on that occasion, the facile
instrument, which, in fact, he did.
There was a moment, in which the gravelled path-
way first made itself known to my naked feet, and the
cutting wind to my naked flesh, when I think it possible
that, had I gritted my teeth, and strained my every
nerve, I might have shaken myself free from the bonds
which shackled me, and bade defiance to the ancient
sinner who, for all I knew, was peeping at me through
the window. But so depressed was I by the knowledge
of the ridiculous appearance I presented that, before I
could take advantage of it the moment passed, -not to
return again that night.
I did catch, as it were, at its fringe, as it was flying
past me, making a hurried movement to one side,
the first I had made, of my own initiative, for hours.
But it was too late. My tormentor,—as if, though
unseen, he saw—tightened his grip, I was whirled round,
and sped hastily onwards in a direction in which I
certainly had no desire of travelling.
All the way I never met a soul. I have since wondered
whether in that respect my experience was not a normal
one; whether it might not have happened to any. If
so, there are streets in London, long lines of streets,
which, at a certain period of the night, in a certain
sort of weather—probably the weather had something
to do with it—are clean deserted; in which there is
neither foot-passenger nor vehicle,--not even a
policeman. The greater part of the route along which
I was driven—I know no juster word—was one with
which I had some sort of acquaintance. It led, at
first, through what, I take it, was some part of Walham
Green ; then along the Lillie Road, through Brompton,
across the Fulham Road, through the network of
streets leading to Sloane Street, across Sloane Street
into Lowndes Square. Who goes that way goes some
distance, and goes through some important thorough.


38
THE BEETLE
fares; yet not a creature did I see, nor, I imagine, was
there a creature who saw me. As I crossed Sloane
Street, I fancied that I heard the distant rumbling of
a vehicle along the Knightsbridge Road, but that was
the only sound I heard.
It is painful even to recollect the plight in which I
was when I was stopped,—for stopped I was, as shortly
and as sharply, as the beast of burden, with a bridle
in its mouth, whose driver puts a period to his career.
I was wet,—intermittent gusts of rain were borne on
the scurrying wind ; in spite of the pace at which I
had been brought, I was chilled to the bone; and
worst of all !--my mud-stained feet, all cut and bleeding,
were so painful—for, unfortunately, I was still sus-
ceptible enough to pain--that it was agony to have
them come into contact with the cold and the slime
of the hard, unyielding pavement.
I had been stopped on the opposite side of the square,
that nearest to the hospital ; in front of a house which
struck me as being somewhat smaller than the rest.
It was a house with a portico; about the pillars of this
portico was trelliswork, and on the trelliswork was
trained some climbing plant. As I stood, shivering,
wondering what would happen next, some strange
impulse mastered me, and, immediately, to my own
unbounded amazement, I found myself scrambling
up the trellis towards the verandah above. I am no
gymnast, either by nature or by education ; I doubt
whether, previously, I had ever attempted to climb
anything more difficult than a step ladder. The result
was, that, though the impulse might be given me,
the skill could not, and I had only ascended a yard
or so when, losing my footing, I came slithering down
upon my back. Bruised and shaken though I was,
I was not allowed to inquire into my injuries. In a
moment I was on my feet again, and again I was im-
pelled to climb,—only, however, again to come to
grief. This time the demon, or whatever it was, that
had entered into me, seeming to appreciate the
impossibility of getting me to the top of that verandah,
directed me to try another way. I mounted the steps
leading to the front door, got on to the low parapet


A SINGULAR FELONY
39
which was at one side, thence on to the sill of
the adjacent window,—had I slipped then I should
have fallen a sheer descent of at least twenty feet to
the bottom of the deep area down below. But the
sill was broad, and—if it is proper to use such language
in connection with a transaction of the sort in which
I was engaged--fortune favoured me. I did not fall.
In my clenched fist I had a stone. With this I struck
the pane of glass, as with a hammer. Through the hole
which resulted, I could just insert my hand, and reach
the latch within. In another minute the sash was
raised, and I was in the house, I had committed
burglary.
As I look back and reflect upon the audacity of the
whole proceeding, even now I tremble. Hapless slave
of another's will although in very truth I was, I cannot
repeat too often that I realised to the full just what
it was that I was being compelled to do—a fact which
was very far from rendering my situation less distressful !
-and every detail of my involuntary actions was
projected upon my brain in a series of pictures, whose
clear-cut outlines, so long as memory endures, will
never fade. Certainly no professional burglar, nor,
indeed, any creature in his senses, would have ventured
to emulate my surprising rashness. The process of
smashing the pane of glass—it was plate glass—was
anything but a noiseless one. There was, first, the
blow itself, then the shivering of the glass, then the
clattering of fragments into the area beneath. One
would have thought that the whole thing would have
made din enough to have roused the Seven Sleepers.
But, here, again the weather was on my side. About
that time the wind was howling wildly, it came shrieking
across the square. It is possible that the tumult which
it made deadened all other sounds.
Anyhow, as I stood within the room which I had
violated, listening for signs of someone being on the
alert, I could hear nothing. Within the house there
seemed to be the silence of the grave. I drew down the
window, and made for the door.
It proved by no means easy to find. The windows
were obscured by heavy curtains, so that the room


40
THE BEETLE
inside was dark as pitch. It appeared to be unusually
full of furniture,—an appearance due, perhaps, to
my being a stranger in the midst of such Cimmerian
blackness. I had to feel my way, very gingerly indeed,
among the various impedimenta. As it was I seemed
to come into contact with most of the obstacles there
were to come into contact with, stumbling more than
once over footstools, and over what seemed to be
dwarf chairs. It was a miracle that my movements still
continued to be unheard,—but I believe that the
explanation was, that the house was well built; that
the servants were the only persons in it at the time;
that their bedrooms were on the top floor; that they
were fast asleep; and that they were little likely to be
disturbed by anything that might occur in the room
which I had entered.
Reaching the door at last, I opened it, listening
for any promise of being interrupted—and—to adapt
a hackneyed phrase—directed by the power which
shaped my end, I went across the hall and up the
stairs. I passed up the first landing, and, on the second,
moved to a door upon the right. I turned the handle,
it yielded, the door opened, I entered, closing it behind
me. I went to the wall just inside the door, found a
handle, jerked it, and switched on the electric light,
--doing, I make no doubt, all these things, from a
spectator's point of view, so naturally, that a judge and
jury would have been with difficulty persuaded that
they were not the product of my own volition.
In the brilliant glow of the electric light I took a
leisurely survey of the contents of the room. It was,
as the man in the bed had said it would be, a study,-
a fine, spacious apartment, evidently intended rather
for work than for show. There were three separate
writing-tables, one very large and two smaller ones,
all covered with an orderly array of manuscripts and
papers. A typewriter stood at the side of one. On
the floor, under and about them, were piles of books,
portfolios, and official-looking documents. Every
available foot of wall space on three sides of the room
was lined with shelves, full as they could hold with
books. On the fourth side, facing the door, was a


A SINGULAR FELONY
a quaint old bureau. So soon as I saw this bureau I
went for it, straight as an arrow from a bow,—indeed,
it would be no abuse of metaphor to say that I was
propelled towards it like an arrow from a bow.
It had drawers below, glass doors above, and between
the drawers and the doors was a flap to let down. It
was to this flap my attention was directed. I put out
my hand to open it ; it was locked at the top. I pulled
at it with both hands; it refused to budge.
So this was the lock I was, if necessary, to practise
the arts of a thief to open. I was no picklock; I had
flattered myself that nothing, and no one, could make
me such a thing. Yet now that I found myself confronted
by that unyielding flap, I found that pressure, irresistible
pressure, was being put upon me to gain, by any and
every means, access to its interior. I had no option
but to yield. I looked about me in search of some
convenient tool with which to ply the felon's trade. I
found it close beside me. Leaning against the wall,
within a yard of where I stood, were examples of
various kinds of weapons, -among them, spear-heads.
Taking one of these spear-heads, with much difficulty
I forced the point between the flap and the bureau.
Using the leverage thus obtained, I attempted to prise
it open. The flap held fast; the spear-head snapped
in two. I tried another, with the same result; a third,
to fail again. There were no more. The most con-
venient thing remaining was a queer, heavy-headed
sharp-edged hatchet. This I took, brought the sharp
edge down with all my force upon the refractory flap.
The hatchet went through,—before I had done with it,
it was open with a vengeance.
But I was destined on the occasion of my first—and,
I trust, last—experience of the burglar's calling, to
carry the part completely through. I had gained access
to the flap itself only to find that at the back were several
small drawers, on one of which my observation was
brought to bear in a fashion which it was quite impossible
to disregard. As a matter of course it was locked, and,
once more, I had to search for something which would
serve as a rough-and-ready substitute for the missing key.


THE BEETLE
There was nothing at all suitable among the weapons,
- I could hardly for such a purpose use the hatchet;
the drawer in question was such a little one that to
have done so would have been to shiver it to splinters.
On the mantelshelf, in an open leather case, were a
pair of revolvers. Statesmen, nowadays, sometimes
stand in actual peril of their lives. It is possible that
Mr Lessingham, conscious of continually threatened
danger, carried them about with him as a necessary
protection. They were serviceable weapons, large,
and somewhat weighty, -of the type with which, I
believe, upon occasion the police are armed. Not only
were all the barrels loaded, but, in the case itself there
was a supply of cartridges more than sufficient to charge
them all again.
I was handling the weapons, wondering—if, in my
condition, the word was applicable—what use I could
make of them to enable me to gain admission to that
drawer, when there came, on a sudden, from the street
without, the sound of approaching wheels. There
was a whirring within my brain, as if someone was
endeavouring to explain to me to what service to apply
the revolvers, and I, perforce, strained every nerve
to grasp the meaning of my invisible mentor. While
I did so, the wheels drew rapidly nearer, and, just as I
was expecting them to go whirling by, stopped,—in
front of the house. My heart leapt in my bosom. In
a convulsion of frantic terror, again, during the passage
of one frenzied moment, I all but burst the bonds that
held me, and fled, haphazard, from the imminent peril.
But the bonds were stronger than I,—it was as if I had
been rooted to the ground.
A key was inserted in the keyhole of the front door,
the lock was turned, the door thrown open, firm footsteps
entered the house. If I could I would not have stood
upon the order of my going, but gone at once, any-
where, anyhow; but, at that moment, my comings
and goings were not matters in which I was consulted.
Panic fear raging within, outwardly I was calm as
possible, and stood, turning the revolvers over and over,
asking myself what it could be that I was intended
to do with them. All at once it came to me in an


A SINGULAR FELONY
illuminating flash, I was to fire at the lock of the
drawer, and blow it open.
A madder scheme it would have been impossible to
hit upon. The servants had slept through a good deal,
but they would hardly sleep through the discharge of a
revolver in a room below them,--not to speak of the
person who had just entered the premises, and whose
footsteps were already audible as he came up the stairs.
I struggled to make a dumb protest against the insensate
folly which was hurrying me to infallible destruction,
without success. For me there was only obedience.
With a revolver in either hand I marched towards the
bureau as unconcernedly as if I would not have given
my life to have escaped the dénouement which I needed
but a slight modicum of common sense to be aware
was close at hand. I placed the muzzle of one of the
revolvers against the keyhole of the drawer to which
my unseen guide had previously directed me, and pulled
the trigger. The lock was shattered, the contents of
the drawer were at my mercy. I snatched up a bundle
of letters, about which a pink ribbon was wrapped.
Startled by a noise behind me, immediately following
the report of the pistol, I glanced over my shoulder.
The room door was open, and Mr Lessingham was
standing with the handle in his hand!


CHAPTER VII
the great paul lessingham
He was in evening dress. He carried a small portfolio
in his left hand. If the discovery of my presence
startled him, as it could scarcely have failed to do, he
allowed no sign of surprise to escape him. Paul Les-
singliam's impenetrability is proverbial. Whether on
platforms addressing excited crowds, or in the midst
of heated discussion in the House of Commons, all the
world knows that his coolness remains unruffled. It is
generally understood that he owes his success in the
political arena in no slight measure to the adroitness
which is born of his invulnerable presence of mind.
He gave me a taste of its quality then. Standing in
the attitude which has been familiarised to us by carica-
turists, his feet apart, his broad shoulders well set back,
his handsome head a little advanced, his keen blue
eyes having in them something suggestive of a bird of
prey considering just when, where, and how to pounce,
he regarded me for some seconds in perfect silence,
whether outwardly I flinched I cannot say ; inwardly
I know I did. When he spoke, it was without moving
from where he stood, and in the calm, airy tones in
which he might have addressed an acquaintance who
had just dropped in.
May I ask, sir, to what I am indebted for the pleasure
of your company?'
He paused, as if waiting for my answer. When none
came, he put his question in another form.
Pray, sir, who are you, and on whose invitation do
I find you here?'
As I still stood speechless, motionless, meeting his
glance without a twitching of an eyebrow, nor a tremor
of the hand, I imagine that he began to consider me with


THE GREAT PAUL LESSINGHAM
45
in even closer intentness than before. And that the
-to say the least of it—peculiarity of my appearance,
caused him to suspect that he was face to face with an
adventure of a peculiar kind. Whether he took me
for a lunatic I cannot certainly say; but, from his manner,
I think it possible he did. He began to move towards
me from across the room, addressing me with the utmost
suavity and courtesy
'Be so good as to give me the revolver, and the
papers you are holding in your hand.
As he came on, something entered into me, and forced
itself from between my lips, so that I said, in a low,
hissing voice, which I vow was never mine,
'THE BEETLE!
Whether it was, or was not, owing, in some degree,
to a trick of my imagination, I cannot determine, but,
as the words were spoken, it seemed to me that the lights
went low, so that the place was all in darkness, and I
again was filled with the nauseous consciousness of the
presence of something evil in the room. But if, in that
matter, my abnormally strained imagination played me
a trick, there could be no doubt whatever as to the effect
which the words had on Mr Lessingham. When the
mist of the blackness—real or supposititioushad
passed from before my eyes, I found that he had retreated
to the extremest limits of the room, and was crouching
his back against the bookshelves, clutching at them,
in the attitude of a man who has received a staggering
blow, from which, as yet, he has had no opportunity
of recovering. A most extraordinary change had taken
place in the expression of his face; in his countenance
amazement, fear, and horror seemed struggling for the
mastery. I was filled with a most discomforting
qualm as I gazed at the frightened figure in front of me,
and realised that it was that of the great Paul
Lessingham, the god of my political idolatry.
Who are you?—In God's name, who are you?'
His very voice seemed changed ; his frenzied, choking
accents would hardly have been recognised by either
friend or foe.
'Who are you?—Do you hear me ask, who are you?
In the name of God, I bid you say !


THE BEETLE
As he perceived that I was still, he began to show a
species of excitement which it was unpleasant to witness,
especially as he continued to crouch against the book-
shelf, as if he was afraid to stand up straight. So far
from exhibiting the impassivity for which he was
renowned, all the muscles in his face and all the limbs
in his body seemed to be in motion at once ; he was
like a man afflicted with the shivering ague,—his very
fingers were twitching aimlessly, as they were stretched
out on either side of him, as if seeking for support
from the shelves against which he leaned.
'Where have you come from ? what do you want ?
who sent you here? what concern have you with me?
is it necessary that you should come and play these
childish tricks with me? why? why?'
The questions came from him with astonishing
rapidity. When he saw that I continued silent, they
came still faster, mingled with what sounded to me
like a stream of inchoate abuse.
'Why do you stand there in that extraordinary
garment,—it's worse than nakedness, yes, worse than
nakedness ! For that alone I could have you punished,
and I will l-and try to play the fool ? Do you think
I am a boy to be bamboozled by every bogey a blunderer
may try to conjure up ? If so, you're wrong, as whoever
sent you might have had sense enough to let you know.
If you tell me who you are, and who sent you here',
and what it is you want, I will be merciful; if not, the
police shall be sent for, and the law shall take its course,
-to the bitter end l-I warn you.—Do you hear?
You fool I tell me who you are ?'
The last words came from him in what was very like
a burst of childish fury. He himself seemed conscious,
the moment after, that his passion was sadly lacking in
dignity, and to be ashamed of it. He drew himself
straight up. With a pocket-handkerchief which he
took from an inner pocket of his coat, he wiped his lips.
Then, clutching it tightly in his hand, he eyed me with
a fixedness which, under any other circumstances, I
should have found unbearable.
Well, sir, is your continued silence part of the busi.
ness of the role ju. 'lave set yourself to play ?'


THE GREAT TAD, LS-7XGHAM
cannotin he pay vehicle
His tone was firmer, and his bearing more in keeping
with his character.
'If it be so, I presume that I, at least have liberty to
speak. When I find a gentleman, even one gifted with
your eloquence of silence, playing the part of burglar,
I think you will grant that a few words on my part
cannot justly be considered to be out of place.
Again he paused. I could not but feel that he was
employing the vehicle of somewhat cumbrous sarcasm
to gain time, and to give himself the opportunity of
recovering, if the thing was possible, his pristine courage.
That, for some cause wholly hidden from me, the
mysterious utterance had shaken his nature to its
deepest foundations, was made plainer by his endeavour
to treat the whole business with a sort of cynical levity.
'To commence with, may I ask if you have come
through London, or through any portion of it, in that
costume, or rather, in that want of costume ? It
would seem out of place in a Cairene street,—would it
not ?—even in the Rue de Rabagas,—was it not the
Rue de Rabagas ?'.
He asked the question with an emphasis the meaning
of which was wholly lost on me. What he referred to
either then, or in what immediately followed, I, of
course, knew no more than the man in the moon,-
though I should probably have found great difficulty
in convincing him of my ignorance.
'I take it that you are a reminiscence of the Rue de
Rabagas,—that, of course ;—is it not of course ? The
little house with the blue-grey venetians, and the piano
with the F sharp missing? Is there still the piano ?
with the tinny treble,—indeed, the whole atmosphere,
was it not tinny ?—You agree with me?—I have not
forgotten. I am not even afraid to remember,—you
perceive it?'
A new idea seemed to strike him,—born, perhaps,
of my continued silence.
You look English,—is it possible that you are not
English? What are you then—French ? We shall
see
He addressed me in a tongue which I recognised as
French, but with which I was not sufficiently acquainted


THE BEETLE
to understand. Although, I flatter myself that,—as
the present narrative should show—I have not made an
ill-use of the opportunities which I have had to improve
my, originally, modest education, I regret that I have
never had so much as a ghost of a chance to acquire an
even rudimentary knowledge of any language except
my own. Recognising, I suppose, from my looks,
that he was addressing me in a tongue to which I was
a stranger, after a time he stopped, added something
with a smile, and then began to talk to me in a lingo to
which, in a manner of speaking, I was even stranger,
for this time I had not the faintest notion what it was,
--it might have been gibberish for all that I could tell,
quickly perceiving that he had succeeded no better than
before, he returned to English.
'You do not know French ?—nor the patois of the
Rue de Rabagas ? Very good,—then what is it that you
do know ? Are you under a vow of silence, or are you
dumb,—except upon occasion ? Your face is English,
—what can be seen of it, and I will take it, therefore,
that English spoken words convey some meaning to
your brain. So listen, sir, to what I have to say, do
me the favour to listen carefully.'
He was becoming more and more his former self.
In his clear, modulated tones there was a ring of some-
thing like a threat,--a something which went very far
beyond his words.
You know something of a period which I choose
to have forgotten,—that is plain ; you come from a
person who, probably knows, still more. Go back to
that person and say that what I have forgotten I have
forgotten; nothing will be gained by anyone by an
endeavour to induce me to remember,—be very sure
upon that point, say that nothing will be gained by any-
one. That time was one of mirage, of delusion, of
disease. I was in a condition, mentally and bodily, in
which pranks could have been played upon me by any
trickster. Such pranks were played. I know that now
quite well. I do not pretend to be proficient in the
modus operandi of the hankey-pankey, man, but I know
that he has a method, all the same,—one susceptible,
toe of facile explanation. Go back to your friend,


THE GREAT PAUL LESSINGHAM
49
and tell him that I am not again likely to be made the
butt of his old method, nor of his new one either.
-You hear me, sir?'
I remained motionless and silent,—an attitude which,
plainly, he resented.
Are you deaf and dumb ? You certainly are not
dumb, for you spoke to me just now. Be advised by
me, and do not compel me to resort to measures which
will be the cause to you of serious discomfort.—You
hear me, sir?'
Still, from me, not a sign of comprehension, to his
increased annoyance.
So be it. Keep your own counsel, if you choose.
Yours will be the bitterness, not mine. You may play
the lunatic, and play it excellently well, but that you
do understand what is said to you is clear.—Come to
business, sir. Give me that revolver, and the packet
of letters which you have stolen from my desk.
He had been speaking with the air of one who desired
to convince himself as much as me,--and about his last
words there was almost a flavour of braggadocio. I
remained unheeding.
Are you going to do as I require, or are you insane
enough to refuse ?—in which case I shall summon
assistance, and there will quickly be an end of it. Pray
do not imagine that you can trick me into supposing
that you do not grasp the situation. I know better. -
Once more, are you going to give me that revolver and
those letters ?'
Yet no reply. His anger was growing momentarily
greater,—and his agitation too. On my first intro-
duction to Paul Lessingham I was not destined to dis-
cover in him any one of those qualities of which the world
held him to be the undisputed possessor. He showed
himself to be as unlike the statesman I had conceived,
and esteemed, as he easily could have done.
'Do you think I stand in awe of you ?—you l-of
such a thing as you! Do as I tell you, or I myself will
make you,—and, at the same time, teach you a much-
needed lesson.'
He raised his voice. In his bearing there was a
would-be defiance. He might not have been aware


50
THE BEETLE
of it, but the repetitions of the threats were, in them-
selves, confessions of weakness. He came a step or
two forward,—then, stopping short, began to tremble.
The perspiration broke out upon his brow; he made
spasmodic little dabs at it with his crumpled-up hand-
kerchief. His eyes wandered hither and thither, as if
searching for something which they feared to see yet
were constrained to seek. He began to talk to himself,
out loud, in odd disconnected sentences,—apparently
ignoring me entirely.
What was that ? ---It was nothing.—It was my
imagination.—My nerves are out of order.—I have
been working too hard. I am not well. What's
that??'
This last inquiry came from him in a half-stifled
shriek,--as the door opened to admit the head and body
of an elderly man in a state of considerable undress.
He had the tousled appearance of one who had been
unexpectedly roused out of slumber, and unwillingly
dragged from bed. Mr Lessingham stared at him as if
he had been a ghost, while he stared back at Mr Lessing-
ham as if he found a difficulty in crediting the evidence
of his own eyes. It was he who broke the silence.
stutteringly.
'I am sure I beg your pardon, sir, but one of the maids
thought that she heard the sound of a shot, and we came
down to see if there was anything the matter,--I had
no idea, sir, that you were here.' His eyes travelled
from Mr Lessingham towards me,—suddenly increasing,
when they saw me, to about twice their previous size.
'Goci save us !—who is that?'
The man's self-evident cowardice possibly impressed
Mr Lessingham with the conviction that he himself
was not cutting the most dignified of figures. At any
rate, he made a notable effort to, once more, assume
a bearing of greater determination.
'You are quite right, Matthews, quite right. I am
obliged by your watchfulness. At present you may
leave the room—I propose to deal with this fellow
myself,—only remain with the other men upon the land-
ing, so that, if I call, you may come to my assistance.'
Matthews did as he was told, he left the room,—with,


THE GREAT PAUL LESSINGHAM
51
I fancy, more rapidity than he had entered it. Mr
Lessingham returned to me, his manner distinctly more
determined, as if he found his resolution reinforced by
the near neighbourhood of his retainers.
Now, my man, you see how the case stands, at a
word from me you will be overpowered and doomed to
undergo a long period of imprisonment. Yet I am still
willing to listen to the dictates of mercy. Put down
that revolver, give me those letters, you will not find
me disposed to treat you hardly.
For all the attention I paid him, I might have been a
graven image. He misunderstood, or pretended to
misunderstand, the cause of my silence.
'Come, I see that you suppose my intentions to be
harsher than they really are, do not let us have a
scandal, and a scene,—be sensible !--give me those
letters l'
Again he moved in my direction ; again, after he had
taken a step or two, to stumble and stop, and look
about him with frightened eyes; again to begin to
mumble to himself aloud.
'It's a conjurer's trick ! Of course 1-Nothing more.
-What else could it be?—I'm not to be fooled.-
I'm older than I was. I've been overdoing it, -that's
all.'
Suddenly he broke into cries.
'Matthews! Matthews !—Help I help!'.
Matthews entered the room, followed by three other
men, younger than himself. Evidently all had slipped
into the first articles of clothing they could lay their
hands upon, and each carried a stick, or some similar
rudimentary weapon.
Their master spurred them on.
Strike the revolver out of his hand, Matthews !
knock him down take the letters from him don't
be afraid !—I'm not afraid !'
In proof of it, he rushed at me, as it seemed half
blindly. As he did so I was constrained to shout out,
in tones which I should not have recognised as mine,
'THE BEETLE!'.
And that moment the room was all in darkness, and
there were screams as of someone in an agony of terror


52
THE BEETLE
or of pain. I felt that something had come into the
room, I knew not whence nor how, something of horror.
And the next action of which I was conscious was, that
under cover of the darkness, I was flying from the room,
propelled by I knew not what.


CHAPTER VIII
the man in the street
Whether anyone pursued I cannot say. I have some
dim recollection, as I came out of the room, of women
being huddled against the wall upon the landing, and of
their screaming as I went past. But whether any effort
was made to arrest my progress I cannot tell. My own
impression is that not the slightest attempt to impede
my headlong flight was made by anyone.
In what direction I was going I did not know. I was
like a man flying through the phantasmagoric happen-
ings of a dream, knowing neither how nor whither. I
tore along what I suppose was a broad passage, through
a door at the end into what, I fancy, was a drawing-
room. Across this room I dashed, helter-skelter,
bringing down, in the gloom, unseen articles of furniture,
with myself sometimes on top, and sometimes under
them. In a trice, each time I fell, I was on my feet
again,—until I went crashing against a window which
was concealed by curtains. It would not have been
strange had I crashed through it,—but I was spared
that. Thrusting aside the curtains, I fumbled for the
fastening of the window. It was a tall French casement,
extending, so far as I could judge, from floor to ceiling.
When I had it open I stepped through it on to the
verandah without —to find that I was on the top of the
portico which I had vainly essayed to ascend from below.
I tried the road down which I had tried up,—pro-
ceeding with a breakneck recklessness of which now I
shudder to think. It was, probably, some thirty feet
above the pavement, yet I rushed at the descent with
as much disregard for the safety of life and limb as if it
had been only three. Over the edge of the parapet I
went, obtaining, with my naked feet, a precarious


THE CONTENTS OF THE PACKET
57
not the slightest difficulty in deciphering what was
passing through my mind.
'That is so, -you and he, you are a pair,—the great
Paul Lessingham is as great a thief as you,—and greater
-for, at least, than you he has more courage.
For some moments he was still; then exclaimed, with
sudden fierceness,
'Give me what you have stolen !'
I inoved towards the bed—most unwillingly—and
held out to him the packet of letters which I had
abstracted from the little drawer. Perceiving my
disinclination to his near neighbourhood, he set himself
to play with it. Ignoring niy outstretched hand, he
stared me straight in the face.
'What ails you ? Are you not well ? Is it not
sweet to stand close at my side ? You, with your
white skin, if I were a woman, would you not take me
for a wife?'
There was something about the manner in which
this was said which was so essentially feminine that once
more I wondered if I could possibly be mistaken in
the creature's sex. I would have given much to have
been able to strike him across the face, or, better, to
have taken him by the neck, and thrown him through
the window, and rolled him in the mud.
He condescended to notice what I was holding out
to him.
'So !--that is what you have stolen ! That is
what you have taken from the drawer in the bureau-
the drawer which was locked—and which you used the
arts in which a thief is skilled to enter. Give it to me,
-thief !'
He snatched the packet from me, scratching the
back of my hand as he did so, as if his nails had been
talons. He turned the packet over and over, glaring
at it as he did so,—it was strange what a relief it was
to have his glance removed from off my face.
You kept it in your inner drawer, Paul Lessingham,
where none but you could see it, — did you ? You hid
it as one hides treasure. There should be something
here worth having, worth seeing, worth knowing,


58
THE BEETLE
yes, worth knowing since you found it worth your
while to hide it up so closely.'
As I have said, the packet was bound about by a
string of pink ribbon,—a fact on which he presently
began to comment.
With what a pretty string you have encircled it,
-and how neatly it is tied | Surely only a woman's
hand could tie a knot like that, who would have guessed
yours were such agile fingers ?—So! An endorsement
on the cover! What's this ?—let's see what's written !
-“The letters of my dear love, Majorie Lindon."
As he read these words, which, as he said, were endorsed
upon the outer sheet of paper which served as a cover
for the letters which were enclosed within, his face
became transfigured. Never did I suppose that rage
could have so possessed a human countenance. His
jaw dropped open so that his yellow fangs gleamed
through his parted lips, -he held his breath so long that
each moment I looked to see him fall down in a fit ;
the veins stood out all over his face and head like seams
of blood. I know not how long he continued speechless.
When his breath returned, it was with chokings and
gaspings, in the midst of which he hissed out his words,
as if their mere passage through his throat brought him
near to strangulation.
'The letters of his dear love of his dear love I
his l-Paul Lessingham's So!—It is as I guessed,
as I knew,—as I saw l-Majorie Lindon Sweet
Marjorie His dear love l-Paul Lessingham's dear
love !—She with the lily face, the corn-hued hair |--
What is it his dear love has found in her fond heart to
write Paul Lessingham ?'
Sitting up in bed he tore the packet open. It con-
tained, perhaps, eight or nine letters, some mere notes,
some long epistles. But, short or long, he devoured
them with equal appetite, each one over and over again,
till I thought he never would have done re-reading them.
They were on thick white paper, of a peculiar shade of
whiteness, with untrimmed edges. On each sheet a
crest and an address were stamped in gold, and all the
sheets were of the same shape and size. I told myself
that if anywhere, at any time, I saw writing paper


THE CONTENTS OF THE PACKET
like that again, I should not fail to know it. The cal-
igraphy was, like the paper, unusual, bold, decided,
and, I should have guessed, produced by a J pen.
All the time that he was reading he kept emitting
sounds, more resembling yelps and snarls than anything
more human,—like some savage beast nursing its pent-
up rage. When he had made an end of reading, -for
the season,—he let his passion have full vent.
'So!—That is what his dear love has found it in her
heart to write Paul Lessingham 1-Paul Lessingham!'
Pen cannot describe the concentrated frenzy of
hatred with which the speaker dwelt upon the name,
it was demoniac.
'It is enough —it is the end —it is his doom! He
shall be ground between the upper and the nether stones
in the towers of anguish, and all that is left of him shall
be cast on the accursed stream of the bitter waters, to
stink under the blood-grimed sun! And for her—for
Majorie Lindon for his dear love —it shall come
to pass that she shall wish that she was never born,
-nor he l-and the gods of the shadows shall smell
the sweet incense of her suffering 1-It shall be ! it
shall be! It is I that say it,—even Il
In the madness of his rhapsodical frenzy I believe
that he had actually forgotten I was there. But, on a
sudden, glancing aside, he saw me, and remembered,
--and was prompt to take advantage of an opportunity
to wreak his rage upon a tangible object.
'It is you l-you thief !--you still live 1-to make a
mock of one of the children of the gods !
He leaped, shrieking, off the bed, and sprang at me,
clasping my throat with his horrid hands, bearing me
backwards on to the floor; I felt his breath mingle
with mine * * * and then God, in His mercy, sent
oblivion.


REJECTED
61
who would be willing to lay down his life for her that
she should be sorry when she finds him ?'
'I did not know that you felt like this, though I
confess that I have had my—my doubts.'
* Doubts !—I thank you.'
'You are quite aware, Mr Atherton, that I like you
very much.'
Like me 1-Bah!'
'I cannot help liking you,—though it may be " bah.”'
'I don't want you to like me, I want you to love
me.'
* Precisely,—that is your mistake.'
My mistake l-in wanting you to love me !—when
I love you,
' Then you shouldn't,—though I can't help thinking
that you are mistaken even there.'
Mistaken —in supposing that I love you !—when
I assert and reassert it with the whole force of my
being! What do you want me to do to prove I love
you,—take you in my arms and crush you to my bosom,
and make a spectacle of you before every creature in
the place ?"
'I'd rather you wouldn't, and perhaps you wouldn't
mind not talking quite so loud. Mr Challoner seems
to be wondering what you're shouting about.'
'You shouldn't torture me.'
She opened and shut her fan,—as she looked down
at it I am disposed to suspect that she smiled.
'I am glad we have had this little explanation, because,
of course, you are my friend.'
'I am not your friend.'
• Pardon me, you are.
I say I'm not, if I can't be something else, I'll be
no friend.'
She went on,—calmly ignoring me,—playing with
her fan.
As it happens, I am, just now, in rather a delicate
position, in which a friend is welcome.'
'What's the matter ? Who's been worrying you,
your father?'
Well,—he has not,—as yet; but he may be soon.'
• What's in the wind ?'.


62
THE BEETLE
• Mr Lessingham.'
She dropped her voice,--and her eyes. For the
moment I did not catch her meaning.
'What?'
'Your friend, Mr Lessingham.'
'Excuse me, Miss Lindon, but I am by no means
sure that anyone is entitled to call Mr Lessingham a
friend of mine.'
'What |--Not when I am going to be his wife?'
That took me aback. I had had my suspicions that
Paul Lessingham was more with Marjorie than he had
any right to be, but I had never supposed that she could
see anything desirable in a stick of a man like that.
Not to speak of a hundred and one other considerations,
-Lessingham on one side of the House, and her father
on the other; and old Lindon girding at him anywhere
and everywhere—with his high-dried Tory notions of
his family importance, to say nothing of his fortune.
I don't know if I looked what I felt,—if I did, I
looked uncommonly blank.
You have chosen an appropriate moment, Miss
Lindon, to make to me such a communication.'
She chose to disregard my irony.
'I am glad you think so, because now you will under-
stand what a difficult position I am in.'
I offer you my hearty congratulations.'
' And I thank you for them, Mr Atherton, in the
spirit in which they are offered, because from you I
know they mean so much.'
I bit my lip,--for the life of me I could not tell how
she wished me to read her words.
'Do I understand that this announcement has been
made to me as one of the public ?'.
'You do not. It is made to you, in confidence, as
my friend,—as my greatest friend ; because a husband
is something more than friend.' My pulses tingled.
* You will be on my side ?'
She had paused, and I stayed silent.
• On your side, or Mr Lessingham's ?'
'His side is my side, and my side is his side ;—you will
be on our side ?
'I am not sure that I altogether follow you.'


REJECTED
'You are the first I have told. Wiren papa hears it
is possible that there will be trouble,—as you know.
He thinks so much of you and of your opinion ; when
that trouble comes I want you to be on our side, on
my side.
Why should I?—what does it matter? You are
stronger than your father,—it is just possible that
Lessingham is stronger than you ; together, from your
father's point of view, you will be invincible."
You are my friend,—are you not my friend ?'
'In effect, you offer me an Apple of Sodom.'
'Thank you ;—I did not think you so unkind.'
And you,—are you kind ? I make you an avowal
of my love, and, straightway, you ask me to act as
chorus to the love of another.'
' How could I tell you loved me,—as you say! I
had no notion. You have known me all your life,
yet you have not breathed a word of it till now.'
'If I had spoken before ?'
I imagine that there was a slight movement of her
shoulders,—almost amounting to a shrug.
'I do not know that it would have made any difference.
-I do not pretend that it would. But I do know this,
I believe that you yourself have only discovered the
state of your own mind within the last half-hour.'
If she had slapped my face she could not have startled
me more. I had no notion if her words were uttered
at random, but they came so near the truth they held
me breathless. It was a fact that only during the last
few minutes had I really realised how things were with
me,—only since the end of that first waltz that the
flame had burst out in my soul which was now con-
suming me. She had read me by what seemed so like
a flash of inspiration that I hardly knew what to say
to her. I tried to be stinging.
'You flatter me, Miss Lindon, you flatter me at every
point. Had you only discovered to me the state of
your mind a little 'sooner I should not have discovered
to you the state of mine at all.'
i We will consider it terra incognita.'
'Since you wish it.' Her provoking calmness stung
me,—and the suspicion that she was laughing at me in


64
THE BEETLE
her sleeve. I gave her a glimpse of the cloven hoof.
• But, at the same time, since you assert that you have
so long been innocent, I beg that you will continue so
no more. At least, your innocence shall be without
excuse. For I wish you to understand that I love you,
that I have loved you, that I shall love you. Any
understanding you may have with Mr Lessingham will
not make the slightest difference. I warn you, Miss
Lindon, that, until death, you will have to write me
down your lover.'
She looked at me, with wide open eyes, -as if I almost
frightened her. To be frank, that was what I wished
to do.
• Mr Atherton !'
• Miss Lindon ?'
• That is not like you at all.'
We seem to be making each other's acquaintance
for the first time.
She continued to gaze at me with her big eyes,
which, to be candid, I found it difficult to meet. On a
sudden her face was lighted by a smile,—which I resented.
'Not after all these years,—not after all these years!
I know you, and though I daresay you're not flawless,
I fancy you'll be found to ring pretty true.
Her manner was almost sisterly, -elder-sisterly. I
could have shaken her. Hartridge coming to claim his
dance gave me an opportunity to escape with such
remnants of dignity as I could gather about me. He
dawdled up,—his thumbs, as usual, in his waistcoat
pockets.
• I believe, Miss Lindon, this is our dance.'
She acknowledged it with a bow, and rose to take his
arm. I got up, and left her, without a word.
As I crossed one hall I chanced on Percy Woodville.
He was in his familiar state of fluster, and was gaping
about him as if he had mislaid the Koh-i-noor, and
wondered where in the thunder it had got to. When
he saw it was I he caught me by the arm.
I say, Atherton, have you seen Miss Lindon ?'
I have.'
No !—Have you ?—By Jove !—Where? I've been
looking for her all over the place, except in the cellars


REJECTED
and the attics,—and I was just going to commence on
them. This is our dance.
 In that case; she's shunted you.'
• No!—Impossible !' His mouth went like an O,-
and his eyes ditto, his eyeglass clattering down on to his
shirt front. 'I expect the mistake's mine. Fact is,
I've made a mess of my programme. It's either the
last dance, or this dance, or the next, that I've booked
with her, but I'm hanged if I know which. Just take
a squint at it, there's a good chap, and tell me which
one you think it is.'
I took a squint'—since he held the thing within an
inch of my nose I could hardly help it ; one 'squint,'
and that was enough—and more. Some men's ball
programmes are studies in impressionism, Percy's
seemed to me to be a study in madness. It was covered
with hieroglyphics, but what they meant, or what they
did there anyhow, it was absurd to suppose that I
could tell,—I never put them there !—Proverbially, the
man's a champion hasher.
'I regret, my dear Percy, that I am not an expert
in cuneiform writing. If you have any doubt as to
which dance is yours, you'd better ask the lady, she'll
feel flattered.
Leaving him to do his own addling I went to find my
coat.—I panted to get into the open air ; as for dancing
I felt that I loathed it. Just as I neared the cloak-
room someone stopped me. It was Dora Grayling.
Have you forgotten that this is our dance ?'
I had forgotten,—clean. And I was not obliged by
her remembering. Though as I looked at her sweet,
grey eyes, and at the soft contours of her gentle face,
I felt that I deserved well kicking. She is an angel,
one of the best !—but I was in no mood for angels. Not
for a very great deal would I have gone through that
dance just then, nor, with Dora Grayling, of all women
in the world, would I have sat it out.--So I was a brute
and blundered.
* You must forgive me, Miss Grayling, but I am not
feeling very well, and—I don't think I m up to any more
dancing. Good-night.'


CHAPTER XI
a midnight episode
The weather out of doors was in tune with my frame of
mind, -I was in a deuce of a temper, and it was a deuce
of a night. A keen north-east wind, warranted to take
the skin right off you, was playing catch-who-catch-can
with intermittent gusts of blinding rain. Since it was
not fit for a dog to walk, none of your cabs for me,-
nothing would serve but pedestrian exercise.
So I had it.
I went down Park Lane,—and the wind and rain
went with me,—also, thoughts of Dora Grayling. What
a bounder I had been,--and was! If there is anything
in worse taste than to book a lady for a dance, and then
to leave her in the lurch, I should like to know what
that thing is, when found it ought to be made a note
of. If any man of my acquaintance allowed himself
to be guilty of such a felony in the first degree, I should
cut him. I wished someone would try to cut me,—I
should like to see him at it.
It was all Marjorie's fault, everything ! past, present,
and to come! I had known that girl when she was in
long frocks—I had, at that period of our acquaintance,
pretty recently got out of them ; when she was advanced
to short ones; and when, once more, she returned to
long. And all that time,—well, I was nearly persuaded
that the whole of the time I had loved her. If I had
not mentioned it, it was because I had suffered my
affection, like the worm, to lie hidden in the bud,' -
or whatever it is the fellow says.
At any rate, I was perfectly positive that if I had had
the faintest notion that she would ever seriously consider
such a man as Lessingham I should have loved her long
ago. Lessingham! Why, he was old enough to be
or whatever it i was perfectly id ever seriously her long


A MIDNIGHT EPISODE
67
her father,—at least he was a good many years older
than I was. And a wretched Radical! It is true that
on certain points I, also, am what some people would
call a Radical, but not a Radical of the kind he is.
Thank Heaven, no! No doubt I have admired traits
in his character, until I learnt this thing of him. I am
even prepared to admit that he is a man of ability,
in his way! which is, emphatically, not mine. But to
think of him in connection with such a girl as Marjorie
Lindon,—preposterous !—Why, the man's as dry as a
stick,drier ! And cold as an iceberg. Nothing but
a politician, absolutely. He a lover-how I could
fancy such a stroke of humour setting all the benches
in a roar. Both by education, and by nature, he was
incapable of even playing such a part; as for being the
thing,—absurd! If you were to sink a shaft from the
crown of his head to the soles of his feet, you would
find inside him nothing but the dry bones of parties
and of politics.
What my Marjorie—if everyone had his own, she is
mine, and, in that sense, she always will be mine—what
my Marjorie could see in such a dry-as-dust out of which
even to construct the rudiments of a husband was beyond
my fathoming.
Suchlike agreeable reflections were fit company for
the wind and the wet, so they bore me company all
down the lane. I crossed at the corner, going round
the hospital towards the square. This brought me to
the abiding-place of Paul the Apostle. Like the idiot
I was, I went out into the middle of the street, and stood
awhile in the mud to curse him and his house, on the
whole, when one considers that that is the kind of man
I can be, it is, perhaps, not surprising that Marjorie
disdained me.
May your following,' I cried,—it is an absolute fact
that the words were shouted !—' both in the House and
out of it, no longer regard you as a leader! May your
party follow after other gods! May your political
aspirations wither, and your speeches be listened to
by empty benches! May the Speaker persistently and
strenuously refuse to allow you to catch his eye, and,


THE BEETLE
at the next election, may your constituency inject you!
-Jehoram l-what's that?'
I might well ask. Until that moment I had appeared
to be the only lunatic at large, either outside the house
or in it, but, on a sudden, a second lunatic came on the
scene, and that with a vengeance. A window was
crashed open from within,—the one over the front door,
and someone came plunging through it on to the top of
the portico. That it was a case of intended suicide I
made sure,—and I began to be in hopes that I was
about to witness the suicide of Paul. But I was not
so assured of the intention when the individual in ques-
tion began to scramble down the pillar of the porch
in the most extraordinary fashion I ever witnessed, -
I was not even convinced of a suicidal purpose when he
came tumbling down, and lay sprawling in the mud
at my feet.
I fancy, if I had performed that portion of the act I
should have lain quiet for a second or two, to consider
whereabouts I was, and which end of me was upper-
most. But there was no nonsense of that sort about
that singularly agile stranger,—if he was not made of
indiarubber he ought to have been. So to speak, before
he was down he was up-it was all I could do to grab
at him before he was off like a rocket.
Such a figure as he presented is seldom seen,—at least,
in the streets of London. What he had done with the
rest of his apparel I am not in a position to say, all
that was left of it was a long, dark cloak which he strove
to wrap round him. Save for that, and mud I-he was
bare as the palm of my hand. Yet it was his face
that held me. In my time I have seen strange expres-
sions on men's faces, but never before one such as I
saw on his. He looked like a man might look who,
after living a life of undiluted crime, at last finds himself
face to face with the devil. It was not the look of a
madman,—far from it; it was something worse.
It was the expression on the man's countenance, as
much as anything else, which made me behave as I did.
I said something to him,—some nonsense, I know not
what. He regarded me with a silence which was super-
natural. I spoke to him again ;—not a word issued


A MIDNIGHT EPISODE
69
from those rigid lips; there was not a tremor of those
awful eyes, eyes which I was tolerably convinced saw
something which I had never seen, or ever should.
Then I took my hand from off his shoulder, and let him
go. I know not why,—I did.
He had remained as motionless as a statue while I
held him,—indeed, for any evidence of life he gave,
he might have been a statue ; but, when my grasp was
loosed, how he ran! He had turned the corner and
was out of sight before I could say, 'How do '
It was only then,—when he had gone, and I had
realised the extra-double-express-flash-of-lightning rate
at which he had taken his departure—that it occurred
to me of what an extremely sensible act I had been guilty
in letting him go at all. Here was an individual who
had been committing burglary, or something very like
it, in the house of a budding cabinet minister, and who
had tumbled plump into my arms, so that all I had to
do was to call a policeman and get him quodded,—and
all that I had done was something of a totally different
kind.
“ You're a nice type of an ideal citizen !' I was
addressing myself. A first chop specimen of a low-
down idiot,—to connive at the escape of the robber
who's been robbing Paul. Since you've let the villain
go, the least you can do is to leave a card on the Apostle,
and inquire how he's feeling.'
I went to Lessingham's front door and knocked,—I
knocked once, I knocked twice, I knocked thrice, and
the third time, I give you my word, I made the echoes
ring,—but still there was not a soul that answered.
If this is a case of a seven or seventy-fold murder,
and the gentleman in the cloak had made a fair clearance
of every living creature the house contains, perhaps it's
just as well I've chanced upon the scene,—still I do
think that one of the corpses might get up to answer
the door. If it is possible to make noise enough to
waken the dead, you bet I'm on to it.
And I was,- I punished that knocker | until I warrit
the pounding I gave it was audible on the other side of
Green Park. And, at last, I woke the dead,—or,
rather, I roused Matthews to a consciousness that


70
THE BEETLE
something was going on. Opening the door about six
inches, through the interstice he protruded his ancient
nose.
• Who's there?'
'Nothing, my dear sir, nothing and no one. It must
have been your vigorous imagination which induced
you to suppose that there was,—you let it run away
with you.'
Then he knew me,—and opened the door about two
feet.
'Oh, it's you, Mr Atherton. I beg your pardon, sir,
-I thought it might have been the police.'"
'What then? Do you stand in terror of the minions
of the law,—at last ?'
: A most discreet servant, Matthews, -just the fellow
for a budding cabinet minister. He glanced over his
shoulder, I had suspected the presence of a colleague
at his back, now I was assured. He put his hand up to
his mouth,—and I thought how exceedingly discreet he
looked, in his trousers and his stockinged feet, and with
his hair all rumpled, and his braces dangling behind,
and his nightshirt creased.
'Well, sir, I have received instructions not to admit
the police.'
The deuce you have From whom?'
Coughing behind his hand, leaning forward, he
addressed me with an air which was flatteringly con-
fidential.
From Mr Lessingham, sir.
'Possibly Mr Lessingham is not aware that a robbery
has been committed on his premises, that the burglar
has just come out of his drawing-room window with a
hop, skip, and a jump, bounded out of the window like
a tennis-ball, flashed round the corner like a rocket.'
Again Matthews glanced over his shoulder, as if not
clear which way discretion lay, whether fore or aft.
Thank you, sir. I believe that Mr Lessingham ..
aware of something of the kind.' He seemed to com
to a sudden resolution, dropping his voice to a whisper
• The fact is, sir, that I fancy Mr Lessingham's a good
deal upset.'
Upset ?' I stared at him. There was something


A MIDNIGHT EPISODE
71
in his inanner I did not understand. 'What do you
mean by upset ? Has the scoundrel attempted
violence ?
Who's there?
The voice was Lessingham's, calling to Matthews from
the staircase, though, for an instant, I hardly recog-
nised it, it was so curiously petulant. Pushing past
Matthews, I stepped into the hall. A young man, I
suppose a footman, in the same undress as Matthews,
was holding a candle,- it seemed the only light about
the place. By its glimmer I perceived Lessingham
standing halfway up the stairs. He was in full war
paint,—as he is not the sort of man who dresses for the
House, I took it that he had been mixing pleasure with
business.
'It's I, Lessingham,—Atherton. Do you know that
a fellow has jumped out of your drawing-room window ?'
It was a second or two before he answered. When he
did, his voice had lost its petulance.
'Has he escaped ?'
• Clean,—he's a mile away by now.'
It seemed to me that in his tone, when he spoke again,
there was a note of relief.
'I wondered if he had. Poor fellow | more sinned
against than sinning! Take my advice, Atherton and
keep out of politics. They bring you into contact with all
the lunatics at large. Good night! I am much obliged
to you for knocking us up. Matthews, shut the
door.'
Tolerably cool, on my honour,—a man who brings
news big with the fate of Rome does not expect to
receive such treatment. He expects to be listened to
with deference, and to hear all that there is to hear,
and not to be sent to the rightabout before he has had
a chance of really opening his lips. Before I knew it-
almost 1-the door was shut, and I was on the doorstep.
Confound the Apostle's impudence / next time he might
have his house burnt down—and him in it 1-belse I
took the trouble to touch his dirty knocker.
What did he mean by his allusion to lunatics in politics,
- did he think to fool me? There was more in the
business than met the eye,—and a good deal more than


72
THE BEETLE
he wished to meet mine, -hence his insolence. The
creature.
What Marjorie Lindon could see in such an opusculum
surpassed my comprehension; especially when there was
a man of my sort walking about who adored the very
ground she trod upon.


CHAPTER XD
A MORNING VISITOR
All through the night, waking and sleeping, and in my
dreams, I wondered what Marjorie could see in him!
In those same dreams I satisfied myself that she could,
and did, see nothing in him, but everything in me,-
oh the comfort! The misfortune was that when I
awoke I knew it was the other way round, so that it
was a sad awakening. An awakening to thoughts of
murder.
So, swallowing a mouthful and a peg, I went into my
laboratory to plan murder—legalised murder--on the
biggest scale it ever has been planned. I was on the
track of a weapon which would make war not only an
affair of a single campaign, but of a single half-hour.
It would not want an army to work it either. Once let
an individual, or two or three at most, in possession of
my weapon-that-was-to-be, get within a mile or so of even
the largest body of disciplined troops that ever yet a
nation put into the field, and—pouf !--in about the time
it takes you to say that they would be all dead men.
If weapons of precision, which may be relied upon to
slay, are preservers of the peace and the man is a fool
who says that they are not !—then I was within reach
of the finest preserver of the peace imagination ever yet
conceived.
What a sublime thought to think that in the hollow of
your own hand lies the life and death of nations, and it
was almost in mine.
I had in front of me some of the finest destructive
agents you could wish to light upon—carbon-monoxide,
chlorine-trioxide, mercuric-oxide, conine, potassamide,
Potassium-carboxide, cyanogen—when Edwards entered.
I was wearing a mask of my own invention, a thing that


74
THE BEETLE
covered ears and head and everything, something like
a diver's helmet—I was dealing with gases a sniff of
which meant death ; only a few days before, unmasked,
I had been doing some fool's trick with a couple of acids
- sulphuric and cyanide of potassium—when, somehow,
my hand slipped, and, before I knew it, minute portions
of them combined. By the mercy of Providence I fell
backwards instead of forwards ;- sequel, about an hour
afterwards Edwards found me on the floor, and it took
the remainder of that day, and most of the doctors in
town, to bring me back to life again.
Edwards announced his presence by touching me
on the shoulder,—when I am wearing that mask it
isn't always easy to make me hear.
'Someone wishes to see you, sir.'
• Then tell someone that I don't wish to see him.'
Well-trained servant, Edwards,—he walked off with
the message as decorously as you please. And then
I thought there was an end, but there wasn't.
I was regulating the valve of a cylinder in which I
was fusing some oxides when, once more, someone
touched me on the shoulder. Without turning I took
it for granted it was Edwards back again.
'I have only to give a tiny twist to this tap, my
good fellow, and you will be in the land where the bogies
bloom. Why will you come where you're not wanted ?'
Then I looked round. 'Who the devil are you?'
For it was not Edwards at all, but quite a different
class of character.
I found myself confronting an individual who might
almost have sat for one of the bogies I had just alluded
to. His costume was reminiscent of the 'Algerians'
whom one finds all over France, and who are the most
persistent, insolent and amusing of pedlars. I remember
one who used to haunt the répétitions at the Alcazar
at Tours, but there! This individual was like the
originals, yet unlike,—he was less gaudy and a good
deal dingier, than his Gallic prototypes are apt to be.
Then he wore a burnoose, -the yellow, grimy-looking
article of the Arab of the Soudan, not the spick and
span Arab of the boulevard. Chief difference of all
his face was clean shaven,—and whoever saw an Algerian


A MORNING VISITOR
75
of Paris whose chiefest glory was not his well-trimmed
moustache and beard ?
I expected that he would address me in the lingo
which these gentlemen call French,—but he didn't.
* You are Mr Atherton ?
' And you are Mr— Who ?—how did you come
here? Where's my servant ?'
The fellow held up his hand. As he did so, as if in
accordance with a pre-arranged signal, Edwards came
into the room looking excessively startled. I turned
to him.
Is this the person who wished to see me?'
* Yes, sir.'
'Didn't I tell you to say that I didn't wish to see
him ?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Then why didn't you do as I told you :
• I did, sir.
 Then how comes he here ?'
'Really, sir,'—Edwards put his hand up to his head
as if he was half asleep—' I don't quite know.'
'What do you mean by you don't know? Why
didn't you stop him ?
'I think, sir, that I must have had a touch of sudden
faintness, because I tried to put out my hand to stop
him, and—I couldn't.'
You're an idiot.—Go!' And he went. I turned
to the stranger. ' Pray, sir, are you a magician ?'.
He replied to my question with another.
'You, Mr Atherton, are you also a magician ?'
He was staring at my mask with an evident lack of
comprehension.
I wear this because, in this place, death lurks in so
many subtle forms, that, without it, I dare not breathe.'
He inclined his head,—though I doubt if he understood.
'Be so good as to tell me, briefly, what it is you wish
with me.'
He slipped his hand into the folds of his burnoose,
and, taking out a slip of paper, laid it on the shelf by
which we were standing. I glanced at it, expecting to
find on it a petition, or a testimonial, or a true statement
of his sad case ; instead it contained two words only


THE BEETLE
- Marjorie Lindon. The unlooked-for sight of that
well-loved name brought the blood into my cheeks.
'You come from Miss Lindon ?'
He narrowed his shoulders, brought his finger-tips
together, inclined his head, in a fashion which was
peculiarly Oriental, but not particularly explanatory,
-So I repeated my question.
'Do you wish me to understand that you do come
from Miss Lindon ?'
Again he slipped his hand into his burnoose, again he
produced a slip of paper, again he laid it on the shelf,
again I glanced at it, again nothing was written on it
but a name,— Paul Lessingham.
Well ?—I see,—Paul Lessingham.—What then ?'
She is good,—he is bad,—is it not so ?'
He touched first one scrap of paper, then the other.
I stared.
'Pray how do you happen to know ?'
'He shall never have her, eh?'
'What on earth do you mean ?'
• Ah !—what do I mean!
' Precisely, what do you mean? And also, and at
the same time, who the devil are you?"
'It is as a friend I come to you.'
* Then in that case you may go ; I happen to be over-
stocked in that fine just now.'
'Not with the kind of friend I am!'
'The saints forefend l'
* You love her, you love Miss Lindon! Can you
bear to think of him in her arms ? '
I took off my mask,—feeling that the occasion re-
quired it. As I did so he brushed aside the hanging
folds of the hood of his burnoose, so that I saw more
of his face. I was immediately conscious that in his
eyes there was, in an especial degree, what, for want of
a better term, one may call the mesmeric quality.
That his was one of those morbid organisations which
are oftener found, thank goodness, in the east than in
the west, and which are apt to exercise an uncanny
influence over the weak and the foolish folk with whom
they come in contact,—the kind of creature for whom
it is always just as well to keep a seasoned rope close


MORNING VISITOR
77
handy. I was, also, conscious that he was taking
advantage of the removal of my mask to try his strength
on me,—than which he could not have found a tougher
job. The sensitive something which is found in the
hypnotic subject happens, in me, to be wholly absent.
'I see you are a mesmerist.'
He started.
• I am nothing,—a shadow !'
'And I'm a scientist. I should like, with your per.
mission—or without it !—to try an experiment or two
on you.'
He moved further back. There came a gleam into
his eyes which suggested that he possessed his hideous
power to an unusual degree,—that, in the estimation
of his own people, he was qualified to take his standing
as a regular devil-doctor.
'We will try experiments together, you and I,—on
Paul Lessingham.
Why on him ?'
" You do not know ?'
'I do not.'
* Why do yine to you, your interest thing ; it
'I don't lie to you, I haven't the faintest notion
what is the nature of your interest in Mr Lessingham.'
My interest ?—that is another thing; it is your
interest of which we are speaking.'
'Pardon me,—It is yours.'
'Listen! you love her,—and he! But at a word
from you he shall not have her,—never! It is I who
say it,—I!'
And, once more, sir, who are you?'
'I am of the children of Isis !'
'Is that so ?—It occurs to me that you have made
a slight mistake,—this is London, not a dog-hole in the
desert.'
'Do I not know ?—what does it matter?---you shall
see! There will come a time when you will want me,
-you will find that you cannot bear to think of him
in her arms,—her whom you love! You will call to
me, and I shall come, and of Paul Lessingham there
shall be an end.'
While I was wondering whether he was really as mad


78
THE BEETLE
as he sounded, or whether he was some impudent
charlatan who had an axe of his own to grind, and thought
that he had found in me a grindstone, he had vanished
from the room. I moved after him.
'Hang it all !—stop l'I cried.
He must have made pretty good travelling, because,
before I had a foot in the hall, I heard the front door
slam, and, when I reached the street, intent on calling
him back, neither to the right nor to the left was there
a sign of him to be seen.


CHAPTER XIII
the picture
'I wonder what that nice-looking beggar really means,
and who he happens to be ?' That was what I said
to myself when I returned to the laboratory. If
it is true that, now and again, Providence does write a
man's character on his face, then there can't be the
slightest shred of a doubt that a curious one's been
written on his. I wonder what his connection has
been with the Apostle,—or if it's only part of his game
of bluff.'
I strode up and down,- for the moment my interest
in the experiments I was conducting had waned.
'If it was all bluff I never saw a better piece of acting,
-and yet what sort of finger can such a precisian as
St Paul have in such a pie ? The fellow seemed to
squirm at the mere mention of the rising-hope-of-the-
Radical's name. Can the objection be political ?
Let me consider,—what has Lessingham done which
could offend the religious or patriotic susceptibilities
of the most fanatical of Orientals ? Politically, I can
recall nothing. Foreign affairs, as a rule, he has carefully
eschewed. If he has offended—and if he hasn't the
seeming was uncommonly good !--the cause will have
to be sought upon some other track. But, then, what
track ?'
The more I strove to puzzle it out, the greater the
puzzlement grew.
Absurd —The rascal has had no more connection
with St Paul than St Peter. The probability is that
he's a crack-pot; and if he isn't, he has some little
game on foot—in close association with the hunt of the
oof-bird !—which he tried to work off on me, but couldn't.
As for—for Marjorie—my Marjorie !—only she isn't


80
THE BEETLE
mine, confound it !—if I had had my senses about me,
I should have broken his head in several places for
daring to allow her name to pass his lips,—the unbaptised
Mohammedan !--Now to return to the chase of splendid
murder !'
I snatched up my mask—one of the most ingenious
inventions, by the way, of recent years ; if the armies
of the future wear my mask they will defy my weapon !
-and was about to re-adjust it in its place, when
someone knocked at the door.
• Who's there?—Come in !'
It was Edwards. He looked round him as if surprised.
'I beg your pardon, sir, I thought you were en-
gaged. I didn't know that—that gentleman had
gone.'
He went up the chimney, as all that kind of gentlemen
do.—Why the deuce did you let him in when I told you
not to ?'
'Really, sir, I don't know. I gave him your message,
and—he looked at me, and—that is all I remember till
I found myself standing in this room.'
Had it not been Edwards I might have suspected
him of having had his palm well greased,—but, in his
case, I knew better. It was as I thought,-my visitor
was a mesmerist of the first class ; he had actually played
some of his tricks, in broad daylight, on my servant,
at my own front door,—a man worth studying. Edwards
continued :
There is someone else, sir, who wishes to see you,-
Mr Lessingham.
Mr Lessingham !' At that moment the juxtaposi-
tion seemed odd. though I daresay it was so rather in
appearance than in reality. Show him in.'
Presently in came Paul.
I am free to confess,--I have owned it before !
that, in a sense, I admire that man,--so long as he
does not presume to thrust himself into a certain position.
He possesses physical qualities which please my eye-
speaking as a mere biologist. I like the suggestion
conveyed by his every pose, his every movement, of
a tenacious hold on life, of reserve force, of a repository
of bone and gristle on which he can fall back at pleasure.


THE PICTURE
81
The fellow's lithe and active; not hasty, yet agile ;
clean built, well hung,—the sort of man who might be
relied upon to make a good recovery. You might
beat him in a sprint, -mental or physical—though to
do that you would have to be spry!—but in a staying
race he would see you out. I do not know that he is
exactly the kind of man whom I would trust,—unless I
knew that he was on the job,—which knowledge, in
his case, would be uncommonly hard to attain. He
is too calm ; too self-contained ; with the knack of
looking all round him even in moments of extremest
peril,--and for whatever he does he has a good excuse.
He has the reputation, both in the House and out of it,
of being a man of iron nerve,—and with some reason;
yet I am not so sure. Unless I read him wrongly
his is one of those individualities which, confronted
by certain eventualities, collapse,—to rise, the moment
of trial having passed, like Phœnix from her ashes.
However it might be with his adherents, he would show
no trace of his disaster.
And this was the man whom Marjorie loved. Well,
she could show some cause. He was a man of position,
- destined, probably, to rise much higher; a man of
parts,—with capacity to make the most of them;
not ill-looking ; with agreeable manners,—when he
chose ; and he came within the lady's definition of a
gentleman, 'he always did the right thing, at the right
time, in the right way. And yet—! Well, I take it
that we are all cads, and that we most of us are prigs ;
for mercy's sake do not let us all give ourselves away.
He was dressed as a gentleman should be dressed,
black frock coat, black vest, dark grey trousers, stand-
up collar, smartly-tied bow, gloves of the proper shade,
neatly brushed hair, and a smile, which if it was not
childlike, at any rate was bland.
'I am not disturbing you ?'
Not at all.
'Sure ?—I never enter a place like this, where a man
is matching himself with nature, to wrest from her her
secrets, without feeling that I am crossing the threshold
of the unknown. The last time I was in this room
was just after you had taken out the final patents for


82
THE BEETLE
your System of Telegraphy at Sea, which the Admiralty
purchased, -wisely—What is it, now?'.
'Death.'
'No ?—really ?—what do you mean?'
i “If you are a member of the next government, you
will possibly learn; I may offer them the refusal of a
new wrinkle in the art of murder.
'I see,—a new projectile. How long is this race to
continue between attack and defence ?
Until the sun grows cold.'
' And then ?'
* There'll be no defence,—nothing to defend."
He looked at me with his calm, grave eyes.
'The theory of the Age of Ice towards which we are
advancing is not a cheerful one.' He began to finger a
glass retort which lay upon a table. By the way, it
was very good of you to give me a look in last night.
I am afraid you thought me peremptory,- I have
come to apologise.'
'I don't know that I thought you peremptory; I
thought you—queer.'
'Yes.' He glanced at me with that expressionless
look upon his face which he wuld summon at will,
and which is at the bottom of the superstition about
his iron nerve. 'I was worried, and not well. Besides,
one doesn't care to be burgled, even by a maniac.'
'Was he a maniac ?'
• Did you see him ?'
• Very clearly.'
• Where?'
'In the street.
'How close were you to him ?'
• Closer than I am to you.'
'Indeed. I didn't know you were so close to him
'as that. Did you try to stop him?'.
• Easier said than done,—he was off at such a rate.'
' Did you see how he was dressed,—or, rather, un-
dressed?
' I did.'
'In nothing but a cloak on such a night. Who but
a lunatic would have attempted burglary in such a
, costume ?'
look which ise
1We burgle


THE PICTURE
'Did he take anything ?'
'Absolutely nothing.'
' It seems to have been a curious episode.'
He moved his eyebrows,—according to members of
the House the only gesture in which he has been known
to indulge.
'We become accustomed to curious episodes. Oblige
me by not mentioning it to anyone,—to anyone.' He
repeated the last two words, as if to give them emphasis.
I wondered if he was thinking of Marjorie. 'I am com-
municating with the police. Until they move
I don't want it to get into the papers, or to be talked
about. It's a worry,—you understand ?'
I nodded. He changed the theme.
'This that you're engaged upon,—is it a projectile
or a weapon ?
'If you are a member of the next government you
will possibly know ; if you aren't you possibly won't.'
'I suppose you have to keep this sort of thing secret ?'
'I do. It seems that matters of much less moment
you wish to keep secret.'
'You mean that business of last night ? If a trifle
of that sort gets into the papers, or gets talked about,
—which is the same thing !—you have no notion how
we are pestered. It becomes an almost unbearable
nuisance. Jones the Unknown can commit murder
with less inconvenience to himself than Jones the
Notorious can have his pocket picked,—there is not so
much exaggeration in that as there sounds.—Good-
bye,—thanks for your promise. I had given him no
promise, but that was by the way. He turned as to
go,—then stopped. There's another thing,—I believe
you're a specialist on questions of ancient superstitions
and extinct religions.'
'I am interested in such subjects, but I am not a
specialist.
'Can you tell me what were the exact tenets of the
worshippers of Isis ?'.
'Neither I nor any man,—with scientific certainty.
As you know, she had a brother; the cult of Osiris and
Isis was one and the same. What, precisely, were its
dogmas, or its practices, or anything about it, none,


184
THE BEETLE
now, can tell. The Papyri, hieroglyphics, and so on,
which remain are very far from being exhaustive, and
our knowledge of those which do remain, is still less so.'
'I suppose that the marvels which are told of it are
purely legendary ?'
'To what marvels do you particularly refer ? '
• Weren't supernatural powers attributed to the priests
of Isis ?'.
Broadly speaking, at that time, supernatural powers
were attributed to all the priests of all the creeds.
I see.' Presently he continued. 'I presume that
her cult is long since extinct,—that none of the wor-
shippers of Isis exist to-day.
I hesitated,- I was wondering why he had hit on such
a subject ; if he really had a reason, or if he was merely
asking questions as a cover for something else,—you
see, I knew my Paul.
'That is not so sure.'
He looked at me with that passionless, yet searching
glance of his.
You think that she still is worshipped ?'
'I think it possible, even probable, that, here and
there, in Africa Africa is a large order !—homage is
paid to Isis, quite in the good old way.'
'Do you know that as a fact?'
'Excuse me, but do you know it as a fact ?—Are
you aware that you are treating me as if I was on the
witness stand ?—Have you any special purpose in
making these inquiries ?'
He smiled.
'In a kind of a way I have. I have recently come
across rather a curious story; I am trying to get to the
bottom of it.
What is the story?'
'I am afraid that at present I am not at liberty to
tell it you; when I am I will. You will find it inter-
esting, -as an instance of a singular survival.---Didn't
the followers of Isis believe in transmigration ?'
'Some of them,—no doubt.'
What did they understand by transmigration po
Transmigration.'
'Yes,—but of the soul or of the body ?'


THE PICTURE
85
'How do you mean ?—transmigration is transmigra-
tion. Are you driving at something in particular ? If
you'll tell me fairly and squarely what it is I'll do my
best to give you the information you require ; as it is,
your questions are a bit perplexing.'
'Oh, it doesn't matter,—as you say, “ transmigra-
tion is transmigration.”' I was eyeing him keenly ; I
seemed to detect in his manner an odd reluctance to
enlarge on the subject he himself had started. He
continued to trifle with the retort upon the table.
'Hadn't the followers of Isis a—what shall I say ?—a
sacred emblem ? '
How?'
'Hadn't they an especial regard for some sort of a-
wasn't it some sort of a—beetle ?'.
* You mean Scarabæus sacer, -according to Latreille,
Scarabæus Egyptiorum ? Undoubtedly,—the scarab was
venerated throughout Egypt,—indeed, speaking gener-
ally, most things that had life, for instance, cats, as you
know, Orisis continued among men in the figure of Apis
the bull.'
'Weren't the priests of Isis—or some of them—sup-
posed to assume, after death, the form of a--scarabæus ?'
'I never heard of it.'
' Are you sure ?—think I'
'I shouldn't like to answer such a question positively,
offhand, but I don't, on the spur of the moment, recall
any supposition of the kind.
Don't laugh at me--I'm not a lunatic !—but I
understand that recent researches have shown that even
in some of the most astounding of the ancient legends
there was a substratum of fact. Is it absolutely certain
that there could be no shred of truth in such a belief ?'
'In what belief ?'
'In the belief that a priest of Isis--or anyone-
assumed after death the form of a scarabæus ?'
It seems to me, Lessingham, that you have lately
come across some uncommonly interesting data, of a
kind, too, which it is your bounden duty to give to the
world,—or, at any rate, to that portion of the world
which is represented by me. Come,—tell us all about
it |--what are you afraid of ?'


86
THE BEETLE
'I am afraid of nothing, and some day you shall be
told,—but not now. At present, answer my question.'
'Then repeat your question,—clearly.'
'Is it absolutely certain that there could be no
foundation of truth in the belief that a priest of Isis
or anyone—assumed after death the form of a beetle ?'
'I know no more than the man in the moon,—how the
dickens should I? Such a belief may have been
symbolical. Christians believe that after death the body
takes the shape of worms—and so, in a sense, it does,
and, sometimes, eels.'
* That is not what I mean.'
• Then what do you mean ?'
' Listen. If a person, of whose veracity there could
not be a vestige of a doubt, assured you that he had seen
such a transformation actually take place, could it
conceivably be explained on natural grounds ?'
Seen a priest of Isis assume the form of a beetle ?'
'Or a follower of Isis ?'
* Before, or after death ?'
He hesitated. I had seldom seen him wear such an
appearance of interest,—to be frank, I was keenly
interested too !—but, on a sudden there came into his
eyes a glint of something that was almost terror. When
he spoke, it was with the most unwonted awkwardness.
'In—in the very act of dying.'
'In the very act of dying?
'If—he had seen a follower of Isis in the very act of
dying, assume—the form of a—a beetle, on any con-
ceivable grounds would such a transformation be
susceptible of a natural explanation ?
I stared,—as who would not ? Such an extra-
ordinary question was rendered more extraordinary by
coming from such a man,—yet I was almost beginning to
suspect that there was something behind it more extra-
ordinary still.
* Look here, Lessingham, I can see you've a capital
tale to tell, so tell it, man! Unless I'm mistaken, it's
not the kind of tale in which ordinary scruples can have
any part or parcel,—anyhow, it's hardly fair of you to
set my curiosity all'agog, and then to leave it unappeased.'
He eyed me steadily, the appearance of interest fading


THE PICTURE
87
more and more, until, presently, his face assumed its
wonted expressionless mask,—somehow I was conscious
that what he had seen in my face was not altogether to
his liking. His voice was once more bland and self-
contained.
I perceive you are of opinion that I have been told a
tarradiddle. I suppose I have.'
'But what is the tarradiddle ?—don't you see I'm
burning?
Unfortunately, Atherton, I am on my honour. Until
I have permission to unloose it, my tongue is tied.' He
picked up his hat and umbrella from where he had placed
them on the table. Holding them in his left hand, he
advanced to me with his right outstretched. It is
very good of you to suffer my continued interruption ;
I know, to my sorrow, what such interruptions mean,-
believe me, I am not ungrateful. What is this ?'
On the shelf, within a foot or so of where I stood, was
a sheet of paper,—the size and shape of half a sheet of
post note. At this he stooped to glance. As he did so,
something surprising occurred. On the instant a look
came on to his face which, literally, transfigured him.
His hat and umbrella fell from his grasp on to the floor.
He retreated, gibbering, his hands held out as if to ward
something off from him, until he reached the wall on
the other side of the room. A more amazing spectacle
than he presented I never saw.
'Lessingham !' I exclaimed. 'What's wrong with
you?'
My first impression was that he was struck by a fit of
epilepsy,—though anyone less like an epileptic subject
it would be hard to find. In my bewilderment I looked
round to see what could be the immediate cause. My
eye fell upon the sheet of paper. I stared at it with
considerable surprise. I had not noticed it there
previously, I had not put it there,—where had it come
from ? The curious thing was that, on it, produced
apparently by some process of photogravure, was an
illustration of a species of beetle with which I felt that
I ought to be acquainted, and yet was not. It was of
a dull golden green ; the colour was so well brought out,
-even to the extent of seeming to scintillate, and the
canis hat anda, gibberinon, unti


88
THE BEETLE
whole thing was so dexterously done that the creature
seemed alive. The semblance of reality was, ir deed, so
vivid that it needed a second glance to be assured that
it was a mere trick of the reproducer. Its presence
there was odd,—after what we had been talking about
it might seem to need explanation ; but it was absurd
to suppose that that alone could have had such an effect
on a man like Lessingham.
With the thing in my hand, I crossed to where he was,
-pressing his back against the wall, he had shrunk
lower inch by inch till he was actually crouching on his
haunches.
'Lessingham !—come, man, what's wrong with you?'
Taking him by the shoulder, I shook him with some
vigour. My touch had on him the effect of seeming to
wake him out of a dream, of restoring him to conscious-
ness as against the nightmare horrors with which he was
struggling. He gazed up at me with that look of cunning
on his face which one associates with abject terror.
'Atherton ?—Is it you ?—It's all right,—quite right.
-I'm well,—very well.'
As he spoke, he slowly drew himself up, till he was
standing erect.
'Then, in that case, all I can say is that you have a
queer way of being very well.'
He put his hand up to his mouth, as if to hide the
trembling of his lips.
'It's the pressure of overwork, I've had one or two
attacks like this,—but it's nothing, only—a local
lesion.'
I observed him keenly ; to my thinking there was
something about him which was very odd indeed.
Only a local lesion !—If you take my strongly-urged
advice you'll get a medical opinion without delay,-
if you haven't been wise enough to have done so already.'
I'll go to-day ;—at once ; but I know it's only mental
overstrain.'
'You're sure it's nothing to do with this ?
I held out in front of him the photogravure of the
beetle. As I did so he backed away from me, shrieking,
trembling as with palsy.
* Take it away I take it away l'he screamed.


THE PICTURE
89
I stared at him, for some seconds, astonished into
speechlessness. Then I found my tongue.
* Lessingham !—It's only a picture I-Are you stark
mad?'
He persisted in his ejaculations.
'Take it away! take it away!—Tear it up !—Burn it!'
His agitation was so unnatural,—from whatever cause
it arose !—that, fearing the recurrence of the attack
from which he had just recovered, I did as he bade me.
I tore the sheet of paper into quarters, and, striking a
match, set fire to each separate piece. He watched the
process of incineration as if fascinated. When it was
concluded, and nothing but ashes remained, he gave
a gasp of relief.
Lessingham,' I said, ' you're either mad already, or
you're going mad,—which is it?'
I think it's neither. I believe I am as sane as you.
It's—it's that story of which I was speaking ; it—it
seems curious, but I'll tell you all about it—some day.
As I observed, I think you will find it an interesting
instance of a singular survival. He made an obvious
effort to become more like his usual self. It is
extremely unfortunate, Atherton, that I should have
troubled you with such a display of weakness,—especi-
ally as I am able to offer you so scant an explanation.
One thing I would ask of you,—to observe strict confi-
dence. What has taken place has been between our-
selves. I am in your hands, but you are my friend,
I know I can rely on you not to speak of it to anyone,
-and, in particular, not to breathe a hint of it to Miss
Lindon.'
• Why, in particular, not to Miss Lindon ?'
. Can you not guess ?'
I hunched my shoulder.
'If what I guess is what you mean is not that a cause
the more why silence would be unfair to her ?
 It is for me to speak, if for anyone. I shall not
fail to do what should be done.—Give me your promise
that you will not hint a word to her of what you have
so unfortunately seen?
I gave him the promise he required.


90
THE BEETLE
There was no more work for me that day. The Apostle,
his divagations, his example of the coleoptera, his
Arabian friend,—these things were as microbes which,
acting on a system already predisposed for their
reception, produced high fever ; I was in a fever,—of
unrest. Brain in a whirl !—Marjorie, Paul, Isis, beetle,
mesmerism, in delirious jumble. Love's upsetting !
in itself a sufficiently severe disease ; but when com-
plications intervene, suggestive of mystery and novelties,
so that you do not know if you are moving in an at-
mosphere of dreams or of frozen facts—if, then, your
temperature does not rise, like that rocket of M. Verne's,
-which reached the moon, then you are a freak of an
entirely genuine kind, and if the surgeons do not preserve
you, and place you on view, in pickle, they ought to
for the sake of historical doubters, for no one will believe
that there ever was a man like you, unless you yourself
are somewhere around to prove them Thomases.
Myself,—I am not that kind of man. When I get
warm I grow heated, and when I am heated there is
likely to be a variety show of a gaudy kind. When Paul
had gone I tried to think things out, and if I had kept
on trying something would have happened—so I went
on the river instead.


CHAPTER XIV
the duchess' ball
That night was the Duchess of Datchet's ball—the
first person I saw as I entered the dancing-room was
Dora Grayling.
I went straight up to her.
• Miss Grayling, I behaved very badly to you last
night. I have come to make to you my apologies, -
to sue for your forgiveness !'
'My forgiveness?' Her head went back, she has
a pretty bird-like trick of cocking it a little on one
side. You were not well. Are you better?'
'Quite.—You forgive me? Then grant me plenary
absolution by giving me a dance for the one I lost last
night.'
She rose. A man came up,—a stranger to me ;
she's one of the best hunted women in England, -
there's a million with her.
'This is my dance, Miss Grayling.'
She looked at him.
* You must excuse me. I am afraid I have made a
mistake. I had forgotten that I was already engaged.'
I had not thought her capable of it. She took my
arm, and away we went, and left him staring.
' It's he who's the sufferer now,' I whispered, as we
went round, she can waltz !
* You think so ? It was I last night, -I did not
mean, if I could help it, to suffer again. To me a dance
with you means something.' She went all red,—adding,
as an after thought, 'Nowadays so few men really dance.
I expect it's because you dance so well.'
'Thank you.'
We danced the waltz right through, then we went to
an impromptu shelter which had been rigged up on a


92
THE BEETLE
balcony. And we talked. There's something sym-
pathetic about Miss Grayling which leads one to
talk about one's self,—before I was half aware of it
I was telling her of all my plans and projects, –actually
telling her of my latest notion which, ultimately, was
to result in the destruction of whole armies as by a
flash of lightning. She took an amount of interest in
it which was surprising.
'What really stands in the way of things of this
sort is not theory but practice, one can prove one's
facts on paper, or on a small scale in a room ; what is
wanted is proof on a large scale, by actual experiment.
If, for instance, I could take my plant to one of the
forests of South America, where there is plenty of
animal life but no human, I could demonstrate the
soundness of my position then and there.'
• Why don't you ?
 Think of the money it would cost.'
'I thought I was a friend of yours.'
'I had hoped you were.'
• Then why don't you let me help you?':
• Help me ?—How?'.
' By letting you have the money for your South
American experiment ;—it would be an investment
on which I should expect to receive good interest.'
I fidgeted.
• It is very good of you, Miss Grayling, to talk like
that.'
She became quite frigid.
* Please don't be absurd !—I perceive quite clearly
that you are snubbing me, and that you are trying to
do it as delicately as you know how.'
Miss Grayling!
I understand that it was an impertinence on my
part to volunteer assistance which was unasked ; you
have made that sufficiently plain.'
I assure you '.
'Pray don't. Of course, if it had been Miss Lindon
it would have been different ; she would at least have
received a civil answer. But we are not all Miss Lindon.'
I was aghast. The outburst was so uncalled for,-
I had not the faintest notion what I had said or done


THE DUCHESS' BALL
93
to cause it : she was in such a surprising passion and
it suited her ! -I thought I had never seen her look
prettier,— I could do nothing else but stare. So she
went on,—with just as little reason.
'Here is someone , coming to claim this dance,—I
can't throw all my partners over. Have I offended you
so irremediably that it will be impossible for you to
dance with me again ?'
'Miss Grayling !—I shall be only too delighted.'
She handed me her card. Which may I have ?
For your own sake you had better place it as far
off as you possibly can.'
'They all seem taken.'
'That doesn't matter ; strike off any name you please,
anywhere and put your own instead.'
It was giving me an almost embarrassingly free
hand. I booked myself for the next waltz but two,-
who it was who would have to give way to me I did
not trouble to inquire.
* Mr Atherton !—Is that you ?'
It was,—it was also she. It was Marjorie! And so
soon as I saw her I knew that there was only one woman
in the world for me,—the mere sight of her sent the
blood tingling through my veins. Turning to her
attendant cavalier, she dismissed him with a bow.
'Is there an empty chair?'
She seated herself in the one Miss Grayling had just
vacated. I sat down beside her. She glanced at me,
laughter in her eyes. I was all in a stupid tremble-
ment.
* You remember that last night I told you that I
might require your friendly services in diplomatic
intervention?' I nodded,- I felt that the allusion
was unfair. 'Well, the occasion's come,—or, at least,
it's very near.' She was still,- and I said nothing
to help her. 'You know how unreasonable papa
can be.'
I did, -never a more pig-headed man in England
than Geoffrey Lindon,—or, in a sense, a duller. But,
just then, I was not prepared to admit it to his child.
'You know what an absurd objection he has to-
-Paul.'


THE DUCHESS' BALL
95
to me like that ?- it is not like you at all. She looked
at me shrewdly, with flashing eyes. 'Is it possible that
you are—jealous ?—that you were in earnest in what
you said last night ?—I thought that was the sort of
thing you said to every girl.'
i I would have given a great deal to take her in my
arms, and press her to my bosom then and there,—to
think that she should taunt me with having said to her
the sort of thing I said to every girl.
• What do you know of Mr Lessingham ?'
'What all the world knows,—that history will be
made by him.'
1 'There are kinds of history in the making of which
one would not desire to be associated. What do you
know of his private life,- it was to that that I was
referring.'
'Really,—you go too far. I know that he is one of
the best, just as he is one of the greatest, of men ; for
me, that is sufficient.'
If you do know that, it is sufficient.'
'I do know it, all the world knows it. Everyone
with whom he comes in contact is aware—must be
aware, that he is incapable of a dishonourable thought
or action.
'Take my advice, don't appreciate any man too
highly. In the book of every man's life there is a page
which he would wish to keep turned down.'
'There is no such page in Paul's,—there may be in
yours ; I think that probable.'
'Thank you. I fear it is more than probable. I
fear that, in my case, the page may extend to several.
There is nothing Apostolic about me,—not even the
name.'
'Sydney 1-you are unendurable !—It is the more
strange to hear you talk like this since Paul regards
you as his friend.'
• He flatters me.'
'Are you not his friend ?'
' Is it not sufficient to be yours?'
'No,—who is against Paul is against me.'
'That is hard.'
'How is it hard ? Who is against the husband can


90
THE BEETLE
hardly be for the wife, when the husband and the
wife are one.'
'But as yet you are not one.—Is my cause so hopeless ?'
'What do you call your cause ?—are you thinking
of that nonsense you were talking about last night ?'
She laughed !
You call it nonsense.—You ask for sympathy, and
give—so much!
'I will give you all the sympathy you stand in need
of, -I promise it! My poor, dear Sydney !—don't
be so absurd! Do you think that I don't know you ?
You're the best of friends, and the worst of lovers,
as the one, so true; so fickle as the other. To my
certain knowledge, with how many girls have you been
in love,—and out again. It is true that, to the best
of my knowledge and belief, you have never been
in love with me before,—but that's the merest accident.
Believe me, my dear, dear Sydney, you'll be in love
with someone else to-morrow, if you're not half-way
there to night. I confess quite frankly, that, in that
direction, all the experience I have had of you has in
no wise strengthened my prophetic instinct. Cheer
up !—one never knows !—Who is this that's coming ?'
It was Dora Grayling who was coming—I went
off with her without a word,—we were half-way through
the dance before she spoke to me.
'I am sorry that I was cross to you just now, and
-disagreeable. Somehow I always seem destined
to show to you my most unpleasant side.'
'The blame was mine,—what sort of side do I show
you? You are far kinder to me than I deserve,
now, and always.
'That is what you say.'
'Pardon me, it's true,—else how comes it that, at
this time of day, I'm without a friend in all the world ?'
'You !—without a friend !—I never knew a man
who had so many I-I never knew a person of whom
so many men and women join in speaking well I'
Miss Grayling !
*As for never having done anything worth doing,
think of what you have done. Think of your discoveries,
think of your inventions, think of—but never mind i


THE DUCHESS' BALL
97
The world knows you have done great things, and it
confidently looks to you to do still greater. You talk
of being friendless, and yet when I ask, as a favour-as
a great favour 1-to be allowed to do something to show
my friendship, you—well, you snub me.'
'I snub you l'
You know you snubbed me.'
'Do you really mean that you take an interest in-
in my work?'
'You know I mean it.'
She turned to me, her face all glowing,—and I did
know it.
'Will you come to my laboratory to-morrow morn-
ing?'
• Will I l-won't I!'
With your aunt ?'.
'Yes, with my aunt.'
'I'll show you round, and tell you all there is to be
told, and then if you still think there's anything in it,
I'll accept your offer about that South American ex.
periment,- that is, if it still holds good.'
'Of course it still holds good.
 And well be partners.'
'Partners ?— Yes,—we will be partners.
'It will cost a terrific sum.
'There are some things which never can cost too
much.'
That's not my experience.'
'I hope it will be mine.'
'It's a bargain ?'
'On my side, I promise you that it's a bargain.'
When I got outside the room I found that Percy
Woodville was at my side. His round face was, in a
manner of speaking, as long as my arm. He took his
glass out of his eye, and rubbed it with his handkerchief,
-and directly he put it back he took it out and rubbed
it again. I believe that I never saw him in such a state
of fluster,—and, when one speaks of Woodville, that
means something.
'Atherton, I am in a devil of a stew.' He looked it.
• All of a heap 1-I've had a blow which I shall never
get over l'


98
THE BEETLE
" Then get under.'
Woodville is one of those fellows who will insist on
telling me their most private matters, even to what
they owe their washerwoman for the ruination of their
shirts. Why, goodness alone can tell,—heaven knows
I am not sympathetic.
'Don't be an idiot you don't know what I'm
suffering |-- I'm as nearly as possible stark mad.'
'That's all right, old chap, I've seen you that way
more than once before.'
' Don't talk like that, you're not a perfect brute l'
'I bet you a shilling that I am.'
'Don't torture me,—you're not. Atherton !' He
seized me by the lapels of my coat, seeming half beside
himself,fortunately he had drawn me into a recess,
so that we were noticed by few observers. What
do you think has happened ?!
My dear chap, how on earth am I to know ?'
'She's refused me!'.
'Has she l-Well I never !—Buck up,—try some
other address—there are quite as good fish in the sea
as ever came out of it.'
• Atherton, you're a blackguard.'
He had crumpled his handkerchief into a ball, and
was actually bobbing at his eyes with it,—the idea of
Percy Woodville being dissolved in tears was excrucia-
tingly funny,but, just then, I could hardly tell him so.
'There's not a doubt of it,—it's my way of being
sympathetic. Don't be so down, man,—try her again !
'It's not the slightest use I know it isn't—from
the way she treated me.'
* Don't be so sure women often say what they mean
least. Who's the lady?'
'Who ?- Is there more women in the world than one
for me, or has there ever been? You ask me who !
What does the word mean to me but Marjorie Lindon !
Marjorie Lindon ?'
I fancy that my jaw dropped open,—that, to use
his own vernacular, I was 'all of a heap.' I felt like it.
I strode away—leaving him mazed—and all but ran
into Marjorie's arms.
'I'm just leaving. Will you see me to the carriage,


THE DUCHESS' BALL
99
Mr Atherton ?' I saw her to the carriage. 'Are you off ?
-can I give you a lift?'
'Thank you,—I am not thinking of being off.'
'I'm going to the House of Commons, won't you
come?'
'What are you going there for ?
Directly she spoke of it I knew why she was going,
and she knew that I knew, as her words showed.
'You are quite well aware of what the magnet is.
You are not so ignorant as not to know that the Agri-
cultural Amendment Act is on to-night, and that Paul
is to speak. I always try to be there when Paul is to
speak, and I mean to always keep on trying.'
He is a fortunate man.'
'Indeed,—and again indeed. A man with such
gifts as his is inadequately described as fortunate.-
But I must be off. He expected to be up before, but
I heard from him a few minutes ago that there has been
a delay, but that he will be up within half-an-hour.-
Till our next meeting.'
As I returned into the house, in the hall I met Percy
Woodville. He had his hat on.
* Where are you off to?'.
'I'm off to the House.'
* To hear Paul Lessingham ?'
' Damn Paul Lessingham!'
• With all my heart '
'There's a division expected,—I've got to go.'
'Someone else has gone to hear Paul Lessingham,-
Marjorie Lindon.'
'No !—you don't say so !—by Jove 1-I say, Atherton,
I wish I could make a speech, -I never can. When
I'm electioneering I have to have my speeches written
for me, and then I have to read 'em. But, by Jove, if
I knew Miss Lindon was in the gallery, and if I knew
anything about the thing, or could get someone to tell
me something, hang me if I wouldn't speak,—I'd show
her I'm not the fool she thinks I am!'
'Speak, Percy, speak !—you'd knock 'em silly, sir !
-I tell you what I'll do, I'll come with you! I'll
to the House as well l-Paul Lessingham shall have an
audience of three.'


CHAPTER XV
mr lessingham speaks
The House was full. Percy and I went upstairs,—to
the gallery which is theoretically supposed to be reserved
for what are called 'distinguished strangers,'—those
curious animals. Trumperton was up, hammering out
those sentences which smell, not so much of the lamp
as of the dunderhead. Nobody was listening, -except
the men in the Press Gallery ; where is the brain of the
House, and ninety per cent, of its wisdom.
It was not till Trumperton had finished that I dis-
covered Lessingham. The tedious ancient resumed
his seat amidst a murmur of sounds which, I have no
doubt, some of the pressmen interpreted next day as
' loud and continued applause.' There was movement
in the House, possibly expressive of relief; a hum of
voices ; men came flocking in. Then, from the Opposi-
tion benches, there rose a sound which was applause,
-and I perceived that, on a cross bench close to the
gangway, Paul Lessingham was standing up bare-
headed.
I eyed him critically,—as a collector might eye a
valuable specimen, or a pathologist a curious subject.
During the last four and twenty hours my interest in
him had grown apace. Just then, to me, he was the
most interesting man the world contained.
When I remembered how I had seen him that same
morning, a nerveless, terror-stricken wretch, grovelling,
like some craven cur, upon the floor, frightened, to the
verge of inbecility, by a shadow, and less than a shadow,
I was confronted by two hypotheses. Either I had
exaggerated his condition then, or I exaggerated his
condition now. So far as appearance went, it was
ncredible that this man could be that one.


IR LESSINGHAM SPEAKS
το1
I confess that my feeling rapidly became one of ad
miration. I love the fighter. I quickly recognised
that here we had him in perfection. There was no
seeming about him then,—the man was to the manner
born. To his finger-tips a fighting man. I had never
realised it so clearly before. He was coolness itself.
He had all his faculties under complete command.
While never, for a moment, really exposing himself,
he would be swift in perceiving the slightest weakness in
his opponents' defence, and, so soon as he saw it, like
lightning, he would slip in a telling blow. Though
defeated, he would hardly be disgraced ; and one might
easily believe that their very victories would be so
expensive to his assailants, that, in the end, they would
actually conduce to his own triumph.
'Hang me!' I told myself, if, after all, I am sur-
prised if Marjorie does see something in him. For I
perceived how a clever and imaginative young woman,
seeing him at his best, holding his own, like a gallant
knight, against overwhelming odds, in the lists in which
he was so much at home, might come to think of
him as if he were always and only there, ignoring
altogether the kind of man he was when the joust was
finished.
It did me good to hear him, I do know that,—and I
could easily imagine the effect he had on one particular
auditor who was in the Ladies' Cage. It was very far
from being an 'oration ! in the American sense ; it
had little or nothing of the fire and fury of the French
Tribune; it was marked neither by the ponderosity
nor the sentiment of the eloquent German ; yet it was
as satisfying as are the efforts of either of the three,
producing, without doubt, precisely the effect which
the speaker intended. His voice was clear and calm,
not exactly musical, yet distinctly pleasant, and it
was so managed that each word he uttered was as
audible to every person present as if it had been addressed
particularly to him. His sentences were short and
crisp ; the words which he used were not big ones, but
they came from him with an agreeable ease; and he
spoke just fast enough to keep one's interest alert
without involving a strain on the attention.


102
THE BEETLE
He commenced by making, in the quietest and most
courteous manner, sarcastic comments on the speeches
and methods of Trumperton and his friends which
tickled the House amazingly. But he did not make
the mistake of pushing his personalities too far. To
a speaker of a certain sort nothing is easier than to
sting to madness. If he likes, his every word is barbed.
Wounds so given fester; they are not easily forgiven ;
it is essential to a politician that he should have his
firmest friends among the fools; or his climbing days
will soon be over. Soon his sarcasms were at an end.
He began to exchange them forsweet-sounding phrases.
He actually began to say pleasant things to his opponents;
apparently to mean them. To put them in a good
conceit with themselves. He pointed out how much
truth there was in what they said ; and then, as if by
accident, with what ease and at how little cost, amend-
ments might be made. He found their arguments,
and took them for his own, and flattered them, whether
they would or would not, by showing how firmly they
were founded upon fact ; and grafted other arguments
upon them, which seemed their natural sequelæ ; and
transformed them, and drove them hither and thither ;
and brought them—their own arguments !—to a
round, irrefragable conclusion, which was diametrically
the reverse of that to which they themselves had brought
them. And he did it all with an aptness, a readiness,
a grace, which was incontestable. So that, when he
sat down, he had performed that most difficult of all
feats, he had delivered what, in a House of Commons'
sense, was a practical, statesmanlike speech, and yet
one which left his hearers in an excellent humour.
1 It was a great success,—an immense success. A
parliamentary triumph of almost the highest order.
Paul Lessingham had been coming on by leaps and
bounds. When he resumed his seat, amidst applause
which, this time, really was applause, there were, prob-
ably, few who doubted that he was destined to go still
farther. How much farther it is true that time alone
could tell ; but, so far as appearances went, all the
prizes, which are as the crown and climax of a states.
man's career, were well within his reach.


MR LESSINGHAM SPEAKS
105
*Come, let us be off. It is Mr Atherton to-night
who is not well.'
She had just slipped her arm through Lessingham's
when her father approached. Old Lindon stared at
her on the Apostle's arm, as if he could hardly believe
that it was she.
'I thought that you were at the Duchess'?'
So I have been, papa ; and now I'm here.'
• Here!' Old Lindon began to stutter and stammer,
and to grow red in the face, as is his wont when at all
excited. 'W—what do you mean by here ?—wh-
where's the carriage ?
'Where should it be, except waiting for me outside,
-unless the horses have run away.'
1-1-I'll take you down to it. I—I don't approve
of y—your w—w—waiting in a place like this.'
'Thank you, papa, but Mr Lessingham is going to
take me down.—I shall see you afterwards.—Good-bye.'
Anything cooler than the way in which she walked
off I do not think I ever saw. This is the age of feminine
advancement. Young women think nothing of twisting
their mothers round their fingers, let alone their fathers;
but the fashion in which that young woman walked off,
on the Apostle's arm, and left her father standing there,
was, in its way, a study.
Lindon seemed scarcely able to realise that the pair
of them had gone. Even after they had disappeared
in the crowd he stood staring after them, growing redder
and redder, till the veins stood out upon his face, and
I thought that an apoplectic seizure threatened. Then,
with a gasp, he turned to me.
'Damned scoundrel !' I took it for granted that he
alluded to the gentleman,- even though his following
words hardly suggested it. 'Only this morning I
forbade her to have anything to do with him, and n-
now he's w—walked off with her ! C—confounded
adventurer! That's what he is, an adventurer, and
before many hours have passed I'll take the liberty to
tell him so l'
Jamming his fists into his pockets, and puffing like a
grampus in distress, he took himself away,—and it was
time he did, for his words were as audible as they were


106
THE BEETLE
pointed, and already people were wondering what the
matter was. Woodville came up as Lindon was going,
- just as sorely distressed as ever.
She went away with Lessingham,—did you see her?'
Of course I saw her. When a man makes a speech
like Lessingham's any girl would go away with him,
and be proud to. When you are endowed with such
great powers as he is, and use them for such lofty
purposes, she'll walk away with you,—but, till then,
never.'
He was at his old trick of polishing his eyeglass.
• It's bitter hard. When I knew that she was there,
I'd half a mind to make a speech myself, upon my word
I had, only I didn't know what to speak about, and I
can't speak anyhow,—how can a fellow speak when he's
shoved into the gallery ?'
' As you say, how can he ?—he can't stand on the
railing and shout, even with a friend holding him
behind.'
'I know I shall speak one day,—bound to; and then
she won't be there.'
* It'll be better for you if she isn't.'
'Think so ?—Perhaps you're right. I'd be safe to
make a mess of it, and then, if she were to see me at it,
it'd be the devil! 'Pon my word, I've been wishing,
lately, I was clever.'
He rubbed his nose with the rim of his eyeglass,
looking the most comically disconsolate figure.
''Put black care behind you, Percy |-buck up, my
boy! The division's over—you are freenow we ll
gou on the fly."
And we did ' go on the fly.'


CHAPTER XVI
atherton's magic vapour
I bore him off to supper at the Helicon. All the way
in the cab he was trying to tell me the story of how he
proposed to Marjorie,—and he was very far from being
through with it when we reached the club. There was
the usual crowd of supperites, but we got a little table to
ourselves, in a corner of the room, and before anything
was brought for us to eat he was at it again. A good
many of the people were pretty near to shouting, and
as they seemed to be all speaking at once, and the band
was playing, and as the Helicon supper band is not
piano, Percy did not have it quite all to himself, but,
considering the delicacy of his subject, he talked as
loudly as was decent,—getting more so as he went on.
But Percy is peculiar.
'I don't know how many times I've tried to tell her,
-over and over again.
Have you now?'.
'Yes, pretty near every time I met her,--but I never
seemed to get quite to it, don't you know.'
How was that ?'
'Why, just as I was going to say, “ Miss Lindon, may
I offer you the gift of my affection-"!
Was that how you invariably intended to begin ?'
'Well, not always—one time like that, another time
another way. Fact is, I got off a little speech by heart,
but I never got a chance to reel it off, so I made up my
mind to just say anything.'
And what did you say?'
'Well, nothing, you see, I never go there. Just
as I was feeling my way, she'd ask me if I preferred big
sleeves to little ones, or top hats to billycocks, or some
nonsense of the kind.'


108
THE BEETLE
Would she now ?'
Yes,—of course I had to answer, and by the time I'd
answered the chance was lost.' Percy was polishing his
eyeglass. 'I tried to get there so many times, and she
choked me off so often, that I can't help thinking that
she suspected what it was that I was after.'
* You think she did ?'
'She must have done. Once I followed her down
Piccadilly, and chivied her into a glove shop in the
Burlington Arcade. I meant to propose to her in there,
-I hadn't had a wink of sleep all night through dreaming
of her, and I was just about desperate.'
' And did you propose ?'
'The girl behind the counter made me buy a dozen
pairs of gloves instead. They turned out to be three
sizes too large for me when they came home. I believe
she thought I'd gone to spoon the glove girl, she went
out and left me there. That girl loaded me with all
sorts of things when she was gone,- I couldn't get
away. She held me with her blessed eye. I believe it
was a glass one.'
'Miss Lindon's ?—or the glove girl's ?'.
'The glove girl's. She sent me home a whole cartload
of green ties, and declared I'd ordered them. I shall
never forget that day. I've never been up the Arcade
since, and never mean to.
'You gave Miss Lindon a wrong impression.'
'I don't know. I was always giving her wrong
impressions. Once she said that she knew I was not
a marrying man, that I was the sort of chap who never
would marry, because she saw it in my face.'
Under the circumstances, that was trying.'
* Bitter hard. Percy sighed again. I shouldn't
mind if I wasn't so gone. I'm not a fellow who does get
gone, but when I do get gone, I get so beastly gone.
I tell you what, Percy,—have a drink !'
'I'm a teetotaler,you know I am.'
• You talk of your heart being broken, and of your
being a teetotaler in the same breath,—if your heart
were really broken you'd throw teetotalism to the
winds.'
'Do you think so,—why?'


ATHERTON'S MAGIC VAPOUR
109
another beide me, ananyhow
'Because you would,—men whose hearts are broken
always do,—you'd swallow a magnum at the least.'
Percy groaned.
'When I drink I'm always ill,—but I'll have a try.'
He had a try,—making a good beginning by emptying
at a draught the glass which the waiter had just now
filled. Then he relapsed into melancholy.
* Tell me, Percy,—honest Indian !do you really
love her?'
'Love her ?' His eyes grew round as saucers.
* Don't I tell you that I love her?'
''I know you tell me, but that sort of thing is easy
telling. What does it make you feel like, this love you
talk so much about?'
Feel like ?—Just anyhow,—and nohow. You
should look inside me, and then you'd know.'
I see.—It's like that, is it?—Suppose she loved
another man, what sort of feeling would you feel to-
wards him ?
'Does she love another man?'.
'I say, suppose.'
I dare say she does. I expect that's it.—What an
idiot I am not to have thought of that before.' He
sighed,—and refilled his glass. 'He's a lucky chap,
whoever he is. I'd I'd like to tell him so.'
You'd like to tell him so ?'.
'He's such a jolly lucky chap, you know.'
'Possibly,—but his jolly good luck is your jolly bad
luck. Would you be willing to resign her to him with-
out a word ?'
'If she loves him.'
' But you say you love her.'
Of course I do.'
Well then ?'
You don't suppose that, because I love her, I shouldn't
like to see her happy ?—I'm not such a beast !—I'd
sooner see her happy than anything else in all the world.'
I see.--Even happy with another ?—I'm afraid
that my philosophy is not like yours. If I loved Miss
Lindon, and she loved, say, Jones, I'm afraid I shouldn't
feel like that towards Jones at all.'
What would you feel like ? '


IIO
THE BEETLE
'Murder. Percy, you come home with me, we've
begun the night together, let's end it together,--and
I'll show you one of the finest notions for committing
murder on a scale of real magnificence you ever dreamed
of. I should like to make use of it to show my feelings
towards the supposititious Jones,—he'd know what I
felt for him when once he had been introduced to it.'
Percy went with me without a word. He had not
had much to drink, but it had been too much for him,
and he was in a condition of maundering sentimentality.
I got him into a cab. We dashed along Piccadilly.
He was silent, and sat looking in front of him with an
air of vacuous sullenness which ill-became his cast of
countenance. I bade the cabman pass though Lowndes
Square. As we passed the Apostle's I pulled him up.
I pointed out the place to Woodville.
You see, Percy, that's Lessingham's house !—that's
the house of the man who went away with Marjorie l'
'Yes.' Words came from him slowly, with a quite
unnecessary stress on each. 'Because he made a
speech.—I'd like to make a speech.—One day I'U
make a speech.'
'Because he made a speech, only that, and nothing
more! When a man speaks with an Apostle's tongue,
he can witch any woman in the land.—Hallo, who's
that ?--Lessingham, is that you ?'
I saw, or thought I saw, someone, or something, glide
up the steps, and withdraw into the shadow of the
doorway, as if unwilling to be seen. When I hailed no
one answered. I called again.
'Don't be shy, my friend !'.
I sprang out of the cab, ran across the pavement,
and up the steps. To my surprise, there was no one
in the doorway. It seemed incredible, but the place
was empty. I felt about me with my hands, as if I
had been playing at blind man's buff, and grasped at
vacancy. I came down a step or two.
'Ostensibly, there'sa vacuum,—which nature abhors.-
I say, driver, didn't you see someone come up the
steps ?'
I thought I did, sir, I could have sworn I did.'
So could I.—It's very odd.'


ATHERTON'S MAGIC VAPOUR
III
Perhaps whoever it was has gone into the 'ouse,
sir.'
'I don't see how. We should have heard the door
open, if we hadn't seen it,—and we should have seen
it, it's not so dark as that. I've half a mind to ring
the bell and inquire.
 I shouldn't do that if I was you, sir,—you jump in,
and I'll get along. This is Mr Lessingham's,—the great
Mr Lessingham's.'
I believe the cabman thought that I was drunk,
and not respectable enough to claim acquaintance
with the great Mr Lessingham.
Wake up, Woodville ! Do you know I believe there's
some mystery about this place,—I feel assured of it.
I feel as if I were in the presence of something uncanny,
--something which I can neither see, nor touch, nor
hear.'
The cabman bent down from his seat, wheedling me.
'Jump in, sir, and we'll be getting along.'
I jumped in, and we got along, but not far. Be-
fore we had gone a dozen yards, I was out again, without
troubling the driver to stop. He pulled up, aggrieved.
'Well, sir, what's the matter now? You'll be damaging
yourself before you've done, and then you'll be blaming
me.'
I had caught sight of a cat crouching in the shadow of
the railings,—a black one. That cat was my quarry.
Either the creature was unusually sleepy, or slow, or
stupid, or it had lost its wits—which a cat seldom does
lose !—anyhow, without making an attempt to escape
it allowed me to grab it by the nape of the neck.
So soon as we were inside my laboratory, I put the
cat into my glass box. Percy stared.
'What have you put it there for ?'
'That, my dear Percy, is what you are shortly about
to see. You are about to be the witness of an experiment
which, to a legislator—such as you are !—ought to be
of the greatest possible interest. I am going to demon-
strate, on a small scale, the action of the force which,
on a large scale, I propose to employ on behalf of my
native land.'
He showed no signs of being interested. Sinking


THE BEETLE
into a chair, he recommenced his wearisome reitera-
tion.
'I hate cats !—Do let it go! I'm always miserable
when there's a cat in the room.'
Nonsense,—that's your fancy! What you want's a
taste of whisky—you'll be as chirpy as a cricket.
'I don't want anything more to drink !—I've had
too much already!
I paid no heed to what he said. I poured two stiff
doses into a couple of tumblers. Without seeming to be
aware of what it was that he was doing he disposed of the
better half of the one I gave him at a draught. Putting
his glass upon the table, he dropped his head upon his
hands, and groaned.
What would Marjorie think of me if she saw me
ow?'
'Think ?—nothing. Why should she think of a
man like you, when she has so much better fish to fry?'
'I'm feeling frightfully ill !—I'll be drunk before I've
done!'
'Then be drunk !—only, for gracious sake, be lively
drunk, not deadly doleful.—Cheer up, Percy!' I
clapped him on the shoulder,—almost knocking him
off his seat on to the floor. 'I am now going to show
you that little experiment of which I was speaking !
-You see that cat?'
Of course I see it !—the beast !—I wish you'd let
it go!
Why should I let it go ?—Do you know whose cat
that is ? That cat's Paul Lessingham's.'
'Paul Lessingham's ?'
'Yes, Paul Lessingham's,—the man who made the
speech,—the man whom Marjorie went away with.'
How do you know it's his ?'
I don't know it is, but I believe it is,—I choose to
believe it is I-I intend to believe it is !- It was outside
his house, therefore it's his cat,—that's how I argue.
I can't get Lessingham inside that box, so I get his cat
instead.
Whatever for ?'.
•You shall see you observe how happy it is ?'
'It don't seem happy.'


ATHERTON'S MAGIC VAPOUR
113
'We've all our ways of seeming happy,—that's its
way.'
The creature was behaving like a cat gone mad,
dashing itself against the sides of its glass prison, leaping
to and fro, and from side to side, squealing with rage, or
with terror, or with both. Perhaps it foresaw what
was coming,—there is no fathoming the intelligence of
what we call the lower animals.
'It's a funny way.'
We some of us have funny ways, beside cats. Now,
attention ! Observe this little toy,--you've seen some-
thing of its kind before. It's a spring gun ; you pull
the spring—drop the charge into the barrel—release
the spring—and the charge is fired. I'll unlock this
safe, which is built into the wall. It's a letter lock,
the combination just now, is "whisky,"—you see,
that's a hint to you. You'll notice the safe is strongly
made,—it's air-tight, fire-proof, the outer casing is of
triple-plated drill-proof steel,—the contents are valuable
-to me !—and devilish dangerous,—I'd pity the thief
who, in his innocent ignorance, broke in to steal. Look
inside,—you see it's full of balls,—glass balls, each in
its own little separate nest ; light as feathers; transparent,
-you can see right through them. Here are a couple,
like tiny pills. They contain neither dynamite, nor
cordite, nor anything of the kind, yet, given a fair
field and no favour, they'll work more mischief than
all the explosives man has fashioned. Take hold of
one—you say your heart is broken !—squeeze this
under your nose—it wants but a gentle pressure--
and in less time than no time you'll be in the land where
they say there are no broken hearts.
He shrunk back.
'I don't know what you're talking about.—I don't
want the thing.—Take it away.
'Think twice,—the chance may not recur.'
'I tell you I don't want it.'
'Sure ?—Consider !'
'Of course I'm sure !
'Then the cat shall have it.'
'Let the poor brute go!'
'The poor brute's going to the land which is so


114
THE BEETLE
near, and yet so far. Once more, if you please, attention.
Notice what I do with this toy gun. I pull back the
spring ; I insert this small glass pellet ; I thrust the
muzzle of the gun through the opening in the glass box
which contains the Apostle's cat, -you'll observe it fits
quite close, which, on the whole, is perhaps as well for
us.- I am about to release the spring.—Close attention
please. --Notice the effect.'
'Atherton, let the brute go !'
'The brute's gone! I've released the spring—the
pellet has been discharged—it has struck against the
roof of the glass box—it has been broken by the contact,-
and, hey presto! the cat lies dead,—and that in face
of its nine lives. You perceive how still it is,—how
still! Let's hope that, now, it's really happy. The
cat which I choose to believe is Paul Lessingham's
has received its quietus; in the morning I'll send it
back to him, with my respectful compliments. He'll
miss it if I don't.—Reflect! think of a huge bomb,
filled with what we'll call Atherton's Magic Vapour,
fired, say, from a hundred and twenty ton gun, bursting
at a given elevation over the heads of an opposing
force. Properly managed, in less than an instant
of time, a hundred thousand men,—quite possibly
more !—would drop down dead, as if smitten by the
lightning of the skies. Isn't that something like a
weapon, sir?'
' I'm not well I want to get away! I wish I'd
never come !
That was all Woodville had to say.
'Rubbish !—You're adding to your stock of inform-
ation every second, and, in these days, when a member of
Parliament is supposed to know all about everything,
information's the one thing wanted. Empty your glass,
man,—that's the time of day for you!'
I handed him his tumbler. He drained what was
left of its contents, then, in a fit of tipsy, childish temper
he flung the tumbler from him. I had placed—carelessly
enough—the second pellet within a foot of the edge
of the table. The shock of the heavy beaker striking
the board close to it, set it rolling. I was at the other
side. I started forward to stop its motion, but I was


ATHERTON'S MAGIC VAPOUR
115
too late. Before I could reach the crystal globule,
it had fallen off the edge of the table on to the floor at
Woodville's feet, and smashed in falling. As it smashed,
he was looking down, wondering, no doubt, in his
stupidity, what the pother was about,—for I was shouting,
and making something of a clatter in my efforts to
prevent the catastrophe which I saw was coming. On
the instant, as the vapour secreted in the broken pellet
gained access to the air, he fell forward on to his face.
Rushing to him, I snatched his senseless body from the
ground, and dragged it, staggeringly, towards the door
which opened on to the yard. Flinging the door open,
I got him into the open air.
As I did so, I found myself confronted by someone
who stood outside. It was Lessingham's mysterious
Eygpto-Arabian friend, my morning's visitor.


CHAPTER XVII
MAGIC ?-OR MIRACLE ?
The passage into the yard from the electrically-lit
laboratory was a passage from brilliancy to gloom.
The shrouded figure standing in the shadow, was like
some object in a dream. My own senses reeled. It
was only because I had resolutely held my breath, and
kept my face averted that I had not succumbed to the
fate which had overtaken Woodville. Had I been a
moment longer in gaining the open air, it would have
been too late. As it was, in placing Woodville on the
ground, I stumbled over him. My senses left me.
Even as they went I was conscious of exclaiming,–
remembering the saying about the engineer being hoist
'by his own petard,
Atherton's Magic Vapour !'
My sensations on returning to consciousness were
curious. I found myself being supported in someone's
arms, a stranger's face was bending over me, and
the most extraordinary pair of eyes I had ever seen
were looking into mine.
Who the deuce are you?' I asked.
Then, understanding that it was my uninvited visitor,
with scant ceremony I drew myself away from him.
By the light which was streaming through the lab-
oratory door I saw that Woodville was lying close beside
me,—stark and still.
'Is he dead?' I cried. 'Percy 1-speak, man !
--it's not so bad with you as that!'
But it was pretty bad,—so bad that, as I bent down
and looked at him, my heart beat uncomfortably fast
lest it was as bad as it could be. His heart seemed still,
-the vapour took effect directly on the cardiac centres.
To revive their action, and that instantly, was indis-


MAGIC ?_OR MIRACLE ?
117
pensable. Yet my brain was in such a whirl that I
could not even think of how to set about beginning.
Had I been alone, it is more than probable Woodville
would have died. As I stared at him, senselessly, aim-
lessly, the stranger, passing his arms beneath his body,
extended himself at full length upon his motionless
form. Putting his lips to Percy's, he seemed to be
pumping life from his own body into the unconscious
man's. As I gazed bewildered, surprised presently
there came a movement of Percy's body. His limbs
twitched, as if he was in pain. By degrees, the motions
became convulsive,—till on a sudden he bestirred him-
self to such effect that the stranger was rolled right
off him. I bent down,—to find that the young gentle-
man's condition still seemed very far from satisfactory.
There was a rigidity about the muscles of his face, a
clamminess about his skin, a disagreeable suggestiveness
about the way in which his teeth and the whites of his
eyes were exposed, which was uncomfortable to con-
template.
The stranger must have seen what was passing through
my mind, -not a very difficult thing to see. Point-
ing to the recumbent Percy, he said, with that queer
foreign twang of his, which, whatever it had seemed
like in the morning, sounded musical enough just then.
All will be well with him.'
I am not so sure.'
The stranger did not deign to answer. He was
kneeling on one side of the victim of modern science,
I on the other. Passing his hand to and fro in front
of the unconscious countenance, as if by magic all
semblance of discomfort vanished from Percy's features,
and, to all appearances, he was placidly asleep.
Have you hypnotised him ? '
'What does it matter?'
If it was a case of hypnotism, it was very neatly done.
The conditions were both unusual and trying, the effect
produced seemed all that could be desired,—the change
brought about in half a dozen seconds was quite
remarkable. I began to be aware of a feeling of quasi-
respect for Paul Lessingham's friend. His morals
might be peculiar, and manners he might have none,


118
THE BEETLE
but in this case, at any rate, the end seemed to have
justified the means. He went on.
He sleeps. When he awakes he will remember
nothing that has been. Leave him,—the night is
warm, -all will be well.
As he said, the night was warm,—and it was dry.
Percy would come to little harm by being allowed to
enjoy, for a while, the pleasant breezes. So I acted
on the stranger's advice, and left him lying in the yard,
while I had a little interview with the impromptu
physician.


CHAPTER XVIII
the apotheosis of the beetle
The laboratory door was closed. The stranger was
standing a foot or two away from it. I was further
within the room, and was subjecting him to as keen a
scrutiny as circumstances permitted. Beyond doubt
he was conscious of my observation, yet he bore him-
self with an air of indifference, which was suggestive
of perfect unconcern. The fellow was Oriental to the
finger-tips,—that much was certain ; yet in spite of
a pretty wide personal knowledge of Oriental people I
could not make up my mind as to the exact part of the
east from which he came. He was hardly an Arab, he
was not a fellah,—he was not, unless I erred, a Moham-
medan at all. There was something about him which was
distinctly not Mussulmanic. So far as looks were con-
cerned, he was not a flattering example of his race,
whatever his race might be. The portentous size of
his beak-like nose would have been, in itself,
sufficient to damn him in any court of beauty. His
lips were thick and shapeless, -and this, joined to another
peculiarity in his appearance, seemed to suggest that,
in his veins there ran more than a streak of negro blood.
The peculiarity alluded to was his semblance of great
age. As one eyed him one was reminded of the legends
told of people who have been supposed to have retained
something of their pristine vigour after having lived
for centuries. As, however, one continued to gaze,
one began to wonder if he really was so old as he seemed,
if, indeed, he was exceptionally old at all. Negroes,
and especially negresses, are apt to age with extreme
rapidity. Among coloured folk one sometimes encounters
women whose faces seem to have been lined by the
passage of centuries, yet whose actual tale of years


120
THE BEETLE
would entitle them to regard themselves, here in England,
as in the prime of life. The senility of the fellow's coun-
tenance, besides, was contradicted by the juvenescence
of his eyes. No really old man could have had eyes
like that. They were curiously shaped, reminding me
of the elongated, faceted eyes of some queer creature,
with whose appearance I was familiar, although I could
not, at the instant, recall its name. They glowed not
only with the force and fire, but, also, with the frenzy
of youth. More uncanny-looking eyes I had never en-
countered,—their possessor could not be, in any sense
of the word, a clubable person. Owing, probably, to
some peculiar formation of the optic-nerve one felt, as
one met his gaze, that he was looking right through you.
More obvious danger signals never yet were placed in a
creature's head. The individual who, having once
caught sight of him, still sought to cultivate their owner's
acquaintance, had only himself to thank if the very
worst results of frequenting evil company promptly
ensued.
It happens that I am myself endowed with an unusual
tenacity of vision. I could, for instance, easily outstare
any man I ever met. Yet, as I continued to stare at
this man, I was conscious that it was only by an effort
of will that I was able to resist a baleful something
which seemed to be passing from his eyes to mine. It
might have been imagination, but, in that sense, I
am not an imaginative man; and, if it was, it was
imagination of an unpleasantly vivid kind. I could
understand how, in the case of a nervous, or a sensitive
temperament, the fellow might exercise, by means of
the peculiar quality of his glance alone, an influence of
a most disastrous sort, which given an appropriate
subject in the manifestation of its power might approach
almost the supernatural. If ever man was endowed
with the traditional evil eye, in which Italians among
modern nations, are such profound believers, it was
he.
When we had stared at each other for, I daresay,
quite five minutes, I began to think I had had about
enough of it. So, by way of breaking the ice, I put to
Aim a question.


THE APOTHEOSIS OF THE BEETLE 121
yard ?
May I ask how you found your way into my back
He did not reply in words, but, raising his hands he
lowered them, palms downward, with a gesture, which
was peculiarly Oriental.
'Indeed ?—Is that so ?—Your meaning may be
lucidity itself to you, but, for my benefit, perhaps you
would not mind translating it into words. Once more
I ask, how did you find your way into my back yard ?'
Again nothing but the gesture.
'Possibly you are not sufficiently acquainted with
English manners and customs to be aware that you
have placed yourself within reach of the pains and
penalties of the law. Were I to call in the police you
would find yourself in an awkward situation,—and, unless
you are presently more explanatory, called in they will
be.'
By way of answer he indulged in a distortion of the
countenance which might have been meant for a smile,-
and which seemed to suggest that he regarded the police
with a contempt which was too great for words.
Why do you laugh—do you think that being
threatened with the police is a joke? You are not likely
to find it so.—Have you suddenly been bereft of the use
of your tongue ?'.
He proved that he had not by using it.
'I have still the use of my tongue.
 That, at least, is something. Perhaps, since the
subject of how you got into my back yard seems to
be a delicate one, you will tell me why you got there.'
You know why I have come.'
'Pardon me if I appear to flatly contradict you,
but that is precisely what I do not know.'
• You do know.'
'Do I ?—Then, in that case, I presume that you are
here for the reason which appears upon the surface, -
to commit a felony.
* You call me thief ?'
'What else are you?'
'I am no thief.—You know why I have come.'
He raised his head a little. A look came into his
eyes which I felt that I ought to understand, yet to the


122
THE BEETLE
meaning of which I seemed, for the instant, to have
mislaid the key. I shrugged my shoulders.
I have come because you wanted me.'
Because I wanted you l-On my word l-That's
sublime !'
* All night you have wanted me,—do I not know?
When she talked to you of him, and the blood boiled
in your veins ; when he spoke, and all the people listened,
and you hated him, because he had honour in her eyes.'
I was startled. Either he meant what it appeared
incredible that he could mean, or—there was confusion
somewhere.
'Take my advice, my friend, and don't try to come
the bunco-steerer over me,—I'm a bit in that line myself,
you know.'
This time the score was mine,—he was puzzled.
: 'I know not what you talk of.
''In that case, we're equal,—I know not what you
talk of either.'
His manner, for him, was childlike and bland.
• What is it you do not know ? This morning did
I not say,—if you want me, then I come ?'
'I fancy I have some faint recollection of your being
so good as to say something of the kind, but—where's
the application ?
'Do you not feel for him the same as I ?'
'Who's the him ?'
'Paul Lessingham.'
It was spoken quietly, but with a degree of—to put
it gently—spitefulness which showed that at least the
will to do the Apostle harm would not be lacking.
* And, pray, what is the common feeling which we
have for him ?'
* Hate.
Plainly, with this gentleman, hate meant hate,- in
the solid oriental sense. I should hardly have been
surprised if the mere utterance of the words had seared his
lips.
I am by no means prepared to admit that I have
this feeling which you attribute to me, but, even granting
that I have, what then ?'
• Those who hate are kin.'


THE APOTHEOSIS OF THE BEETLE
123
"That, also, I should be slow to admit ; but—to go a
step farther—what has all this to do with your presence
on my premises at this hour of the night ?'
'You love her. This time I did not ask him to supply
the name,—being unwilling that it should be soiled by
the traffic of his lips. She loves him,—that is not well
If you choose, she shall love you,—that will be well.
Indeed.—And pray how is this consummation which
is so devoutly to be desired to be brought about ? '
'Put your hand into mine. Say that you wish it. It
shall be done.'
Moving a step forward, he stretched out his hand
towards me. I hesitated. There was that in the fellow's
manner, which for the moment, had for me an unwhole-
some fascination. Memories flashed through my mind
of stupid stories which have been told of compacts
made with the devil. I almost felt as if I was standing
in the actual presence of one of the powers of evil. I
thought of my love for Marjorie,—which had revealed
itself after all these years; of the delight of holding her
in my arms, of feeling the pressure of her lips to mine.
As my gaze met his, the lower side of what the conquest
of this fair lady would mean, burned in my brain ;
fierce imaginings blazed before my eyes. To win her,
- only to win her!
What nonsense he was talking! What empty brag
it was! Suppose, just for the sake of the joke, I did
put my hand in his, and did wish, right out, what it was
plain he knew. If I wished, what harm would it do!
It would be the purest jest. Out of his own mouth he
would be confounded, for it was certain that nothing
would come of it. Why should I not do it then ?
I would act on his suggestion, I would carry the
thing right through. Already I was advancing towards
him, when I stopped. I don't know why. On the
instant, my thoughts went off at a tangent.
What sort of a blackguard did I call myself that I
should take a woman's name in vain for the sake of
playing fool's tricks with such scum of the earth as the
hideous vagabond in front of me,—and that the name of
the woinan whom I loved ? Rage took hold of me
 You hound l' I cried.


124
THE BEETLE
In my sudden passage from one mood to another, I
was filled with the desire to shake the life half out of
him. But so soon as I moved a step in his direction,
intending war instead of peace, he altered the position
of his hand, holding it out towards me as if forbidding
my approach. Directly he did so, quite involuntarily,
I pulled up dead, -as if my progress had been stayed by
bars of iron and walls of steel.
For the moment, I was astonished to the verge of
stupefaction. The sensation was peculiar. I was as
incapable of advancing another inch in his direction
as if I had lost the use of my limbs,—I was even incap-
able of attempting to attempt to advance. At first I
could only stare and gape. Presently I began to have
an inkling of what had happened.
The scoundrel had almost succeeded in hypnotising
me.
That was a nice thing to happen to a man of my sort
at my time of life. A shiver went down my back,
what might have occurred if I had not pulled up in
time! What pranks might a creature of that character
not have been disposed to play. It was the old story of
the peril of playing with edged tools ; I had made the
dangerous mistake of underrating the enemy's strength.
Evidently, in his own line, the fellow was altogether
something out of the usual way.
I believe that even as it was he thought he had me.
As I turned away, and leaned against the table at my
back, I fancy that he shivered,—as if this proof of my
being still my own master was unexpected. I was
silent,—it took some seconds to enable me to recover
from the shock of the discovery of the peril in which
I had been standing. Then I resolved that I would
endeavour to do something which should make me equal
to this gentleman of many talents.
'Take my advice, my friend, and don't attempt to
play that hankey pankey off on to me again.'
'I don't know what you talk of.'
. Don't lie to me,—or I'll burn you into ashes.'
Behind me was an electrical machine, giving an
eighteen-inch spark. It was set in motion by a lever
fitted into the table, which I could easily reach from


THE APOTHEOSIS OF THE BEETLE
125
where I sat. As I spoke the visitor was treated to a
ittle exhibition of electricity. The change in his bearing
was amusing. He shook with terror. He salaamed
down to the ground.
My lord !—my lord !—have mercy, oh my lord !'
' Then you be careful, that's all. You may suppose
yourself to be something of a magician, but it happens,
unfortunately for you, that I can do a bit in that line
myself, -perhaps I'm a trifle better at the game than
you are. Especially as you have ventured into my
stronghold, which contains magic enough to make a
show of a hundred thousand such as you.
Taking down a bottle from a shelf, I sprinkled a drop
or two of its contents on the floor. Immediately flames
arose, accompanied by a blinding vapour. It was a
sufficiently simple illustration of one of the qualities of
phosphorous-bromide, but its effect upon my visitor
was as startling as it was unexpected. If I could believe
the evidence of my own eyesight, in the very act of
giving utterance to a scream of terror he disappeared,
how, or why, or whither, there was nothing to show,-
in his place, where he had been standing, there seemed
to be a dim object of some sort in a state of frenzied
agitation on the floor. The phosphorescent vapour
was confusing; the lights appeared to be suddenly
burning low ; before I had sense enough to go and see if
there was anything there, and, if so, what, the flames
had vanished, the man himself had reappeared, and,
prostrated on his knees, was salaaming in a condition
of abject terror.
My lord ! my lord !'he whined. 'I entreat you, my
lord, to use me as your slave!'
I'll use you as my slave!' Whether he or I was the
more agitated it would have been difficult to say,—but,
at least, it would not have done to betray my feelings
as he did his. 'Stand up!'
He stood up. I eyed him as he did with an interest
which, so far as I was concerned, was of a distinctly new
and original sort. Whether or not I had been the victim
of an ocular delusion I could not be sure. It was in-
credible to suppose that he could have disappeared as
he had seemed to disappear,—it was also incredible that


THE APOTHEOSIS OF THE BEETLE
27
perhaps, but vague. If you mean that Mr Lessingham
has been killing someone, your surest and most effectual
revenge would be gained by an appeal to the law.'
'What has the Englishman's law to do with me?'
If you can prove that he has been guilty of murder
it would have a great deal to do with you. I assure
you that at any rate, in that sense, the Englishman's
law is no respecter of persons. Show him to be guilty,
and it would hang Paul Lessingham as indifferently,
and as cheerfully, as it would hang Bill Brown.'
'Is that so ?
'It is so, as, if you choose, you will be easily able to
prove to your own entire satisfaction.'
He had raised his head, and was looking at something
which he seemed to see in front of him with a maleficent
glare in his sensitive eyes which it was not nice to see.
'He would be shamed?'.
'Indeed he would be shamed.'
· Before all men ?'
'Before all men,—and, I take it, before all women too.'
' And he would hang?'.
'If shown to have been guilty of wilful murder.—yes.'
His hideous face was lighted up by a sort of diabolical
exultation which made it, if that were possible, more
hideous still. I had apparently given him a wrinkle
which pleased him most consummately.
Perhaps I will do that in the end,—in the end !'
He opened his eyes to their widest limits, then shut them
tight,—as if to gloat on the picture which his fancy
painted. Then reopened them. In the meantime I
will have vengeance in my own fashion. He knows
already that the avenger is upon him,—he has good
reason to know it. And through the days and the nights
the knowledge shall be with him still, and it shall be
to him as the bitterness of death,—aye, of many deaths.
For he will know that escape there is none, and that
for him there shall be no more sun in the sky, and that
the terror shall be with him by night and by day, at his
rising up and at his lying down, wherever his eyes shall
turn it shall be there, yet, behold, the sap and the
juice of my vengeance is in this, in that though he shall
be very sure that the days that are, are as the days of


THE APOTHEOSIS OF THE BEETLE 129
'Oh yes you do, and, before you go, I mean to
know something too.'
The man was trembling, looking this way and that,
showing signs of marked discomfiture. That there
was something about that ancient scarab, which figures
so largely in the still unravelled tangles of the Egyptian
mythologies, and the effect which the mere sight of its
cartouch—for the drawing had resembled something
of the kind—had had on such a seasoned vessel as
Paul Lessingham, which might be well worth my find-
ing out, I felt convinced,—the man's demeanour, on
my recurring to the matter, told its own plain tale. I
made up my mind, if possible, to probe the business to
the bottom, then and there.
'Listen to me, my friend. I am a plain man, and
I use plain speech,—it's a kind of hobby I have. You
will give me the information I require, and that at once
or I will pit my magic against yours,—in which case
I think it extremely probable that you will come off
worst from the encounter.'
I reached out for the lever, and the exhibition of
electricity recommenced. Immediately his tremors
mere redoubled.
My lord, I know not of what you talk.'
• None of your lies for me.—Tell me why, at the sight
of the thing on that sheet of paper, Paul Lessingham
went green and yellow.'
'Ask him, my lord.'
* Probably, later on, that is what I shall do. In
the meantime, I am asking you. Answer,—or look
out for squalls.'
The electrical exhibition was going on. He was
glaring at it as if he wished that it would stop. As
if ashamed of his cowardice, plainly, on a sudden, he
made a desperate effort to get the better of his fears,—
and succeeded better than I had expected or desired.
He drew himself up with what, in him, amounted to
an air of dignity.
'I am a child of Isis !'
It struck me that he made this remark, not so much
to impress me, as with a view of elevating his own low
spirits.


130
THE BEETLE
• Are you ? Then, in that case, I regret that I am
unable to congratulate the lady on her offspring.'
When I said that, a ring came into his voice which
I had not heard before.
* Silence I-You know not of what you speak 1-1
warn you, as I warned Paul Lessingham, be careful
not to go too far. Be not like him,—heed my warning.'
'What is it I am being warned against,—the beetle?'
* Yes,—the beetle!'
Were I upon oath, and this statement being made, in
the presence of witnesses, say, in a solicitor's office,
I standing in fear of pains and penalties, I think that,
at this point, I should leave the paper blank. No man
likes to own himself a fool, or that he ever was a fool,
and ever since I have been wondering whether, on
that occasion, that 'child of Isis' did, or did not, play
the fool with me. His performance was realistic enough
at the time, heaven knows. But, as it gets farther
and farther away, I ask myself, more and more confi-
dently, as time effluxes, whether, after all, it was not
clever juggling,--superhumanly clever juggling, if you
will ; that, and nothing more. If it was something
more, then, with a vengeance ! there is more in heaven
and earth than is dreamed of in our philosophy. The
mere possibility opens vistas which the sane mind fears
to contemplate.
Since, then, I am not on oath, and, should I fall
short of verbal accuracy, I do not need to fear the engines
of the law, what seemed to happen was this.
He was standing within about ten feet of where I
leaned against the edge of the table. The light was
full on, so that it was difficult to suppose that I could
make a mistake as to what took place in front of me.
As he replied to my mocking allusion to the beetle by
echoing my own words, he vanished, or, rather, I saw
him taking a different shape before my eyes. His loose
draperies all fell off him, and, as they were in the very
act of falling, there issued, or there seemed to issue out
of them, a monstrous creature of the beetle tribe,—the
man himself was gone. On the point of size I wish to
make myself clear. My impression, when I saw it
first, was that it was as large as the man had been, and


THE APOTHEOSIS OF THE BEETLE
131
that it was, in some way, standing up on end, the legs
towards me. But, the moment it came in view, it
began to dwindle, and that so rapidly that, in a couple
of seconds at most, a little heap of drapery was lying
on the floor, on which was a truly astonishing example
of the coleoptera. It appeared to be a beetle. It
was, perhaps six or seven inches high, and about a
foot in length. Its scales were of a vivid golden green.
I could distinctly see where the wings were sheathed
along the back, and, as they seemed to be slightly
agitated, I looked, every moment, to see them opened,
and the thing take wing.
I was so astonished, -as who would not have been ?
--that for an appreciable space of time I was practically
in a state of stupefaction. I could do nothing but stare.
I was acquainted with the legendary transmigrations
of Isis, and with the story of the beetle which issues
from the woman's womb through all eternity, and with
the other pretty tales, but this, of which I was an actual
spectator, was something new, even in legends. If
the man, with whom I had just been speaking, was
gone, where had he gone to ? If this glittering creature
was there, in his stead, whence had it come ?
I do protest this much, that, after the first shock
of surprise had passed, I retained my presence of mind.
I felt as an investigator might feel, who has stumbled,
haphazard, on some astounding, some epoch-making,
discovery. I was conscious that I should have to
make the best use of my mental faculties if I was to
take full advantage of so astonishing an accident. I
kept my glance riveted on the creature, with the idea
of photographing it on my brain. I believe that if it
were possible to take a retinal print—which it some day
will be—you would have a perfect picture of what it
was I saw. Beyond doubt it was a lamellicorn, one
of the copridæ. With the one exception of its monstrous
size, there were the characteristics in plain view ;—the
convex body, the large head, the projecting clypeus.
More, its smooth head and throat seemed to suggest
that it was a female. Equally beyond a doubt, apart
from its size, there were unusual features present too.
The eyes were not only unwontedly conspicuous, they


132
THE BEETLE
gleamed as if they were lighted by internal flames,-
in some indescribable fashion they reminded me of
my vanished visitor. The colouring was superb, and
the creature appeared to have the chameleonlike faculty
of lightening and darkening the shades at will. Its not
least curious feature was its restlessness. It was in
a state of continual agitation ; and, as if it resented
my inspection, the more I looked at it the more its
agitation grew. As I have said, I expected every
moment to see it take wing and circle through the air.
All the while I was casting about in my mind as to
what means I could use to effect its capture. I did
think of killing it, and, on the whole, I rather wish that
I had at anyrate attempted slaughter,—there were
dozens of things, lying ready to my hand, any one of
which would have severely tried its constitution ;-
but, on the spur of the moment, the only method
of taking it alive which occurred to me, was to pop over
it a big tin canister which had contained soda-lime.
This canister was on the floor to my left. 'I moved
towards it, as nonchalantly as I could, keeping an eye
on that shining wonder all the time. Directly I moved.
Its agitation perceptibly increased,—it was, so to speak,
all one whirr of tremblement; it scintillated, as if its
coloured scales had been so many prisms; it began
to unsheath its wings, as if it had finally decided that
it would make use of them. Picking up the tin, dis-
embarrassing it of its lid, I sprang towards my intended
victim. Its wings opened wide; obviously it was
about to rise ; but it was too late. Before it had cleared
the ground, the tin was over it.
It remained over it, however, for an instant only.
I had stumbled, in my haste, and, in my effort to save
myself from falling face foremost on to the floor, I was
compelled to remove my hands from the tin. Before
I was able to replace them, the tin was sent flying, and,
while I was still partially recumbent, within eighteen
inches of me, that beetle swelled and swelled, until it
had assumed its former portentous dimensions, when,
as it seemed, it was enveloped by a human shape, and
in less time than no time, there stood in front of me,
naked from top to toe, my truly versatile Oriental friend.


THE APOTHEOSIS OF THE BEETLE
133
One startling fact nudity revealed,—that I had been
egregiously mistaken on the question of sex. My visitor
was not a man, but a woman, and, judging from the brief
glimpse which I had of her body, by no means old or ill-
shaped either.
If that transformation was not a bewildering one,
then two and two make five. The most level-headed
scientist would temporarily have lost his mental equipoise
on witnessing such a quick change as that within a
span or two of his own nose I was not only witless, I
was breathless too,—I could only gape. And, while
I gaped, the woman, stooping down, picking up her
draperies, began to huddle them on her anyhow,-
and, also, to skeddadle towards the door which led into
the yard. When I observed this last manœuvre, to
some extent I did rise to the requirements of the situation.
Leaping up, I rushed to stay her flight.
1 Stop!' I shouted.
| But she was too quick for me. Ere I could reach her,
she had opened the door, and was through it,—and,
what was more, she had slammed it in my face. In
my excitement, I did some fumbling with the handle.
When, in my turn, I was in the yard, she was out of
sight. I did fancy I saw a dim form disappearing over
the wall at the further side, and I made for it as fast
as I knew how. I clambered on to the wall, looking
this way and that, but there was nothing and no one
to be seen. I listened for the sound of retreating foot-
steps, but all was still. Apparently I had the entire
neighbourhood to my own sweet self. My visitor had
vanished. Time devoted to pursuit I felt would be
time ill-spent.
As I returned across the yard, Woodville, who still
was taking his rest under the open canopy of heaven,
sat up. Seemingly my approach had roused him out of
slumber. At sight of me he rubbed his eyes, and
yawned, and blinked.
'I say,' he remarked, not at all unreasonably,' where
am I?'
You're on holy—or on haunted ground,--hang me
if I quite know which 1-but that's where you are, my
boy.'


134
THE BEETLE
'By Jove !—I am feeling queer I-I have got a head.
ache, don't you know.'
'I shouldn't be in the least surprised at anything you
have, or haven't,—I'm beyond surprise. It's a drop
of whisky you are wanting,—and what I'm wanting too,
-only, for goodness sake, drop me none of your drops !
Mine is a case for a bottle at the least.'
I put my arm through his, and went with him into
the laboratory. And, when we were in, I shut, and
locked, and barred the door.


CHAPTER XIX
the lady rages
Dora Grayling stood in the doorway.
I told your servant he need not trouble to show
me in,—and I've come without my aunt. I hope I'm
not intruding.'
She was confoundedly; and it was on the tip of
my tongue to tell her so. She came into the room,
with twinkling eyes, looking radiantly happy,—that
sort of look which makes even a plain young woman
prepossessing.
Am I intruding ?—I believe I am.'
She held out her hand, while she was still a dozen
feet away, and when I did not at once dash forward
to make a clutch at it, she shook her head and made
a little mouth at me.
'What's the matter with you ?—Aren't you well ?'
I was not well, I was very far from well. I was
as unwell as I could be without being positively ill,
and any person of common discernment would have
perceived it at a glance. At the same time I was not
going to admit anything of the kind to her.
Thank you, I am perfectly well.'
'Then, if I were you, I would endeavour to become
imperfectly well ; a little imperfection in that direction
might make you appear to more advantage.'
'I am afraid that that I am not one of those persons
who ever do appear to much advantage, did I not
tell you so last night ?'
I believe you did say something of the kind, it's
very good of you to remember. Have you forgotten
something else which you said to me last night ?'
You can hardly expect me to keep fresh in my
memory all the follies of which my tongue is guilty.'


136
THE BEETLE
*Thank you.—That is quite enough.—Good-day.'
She turned as if to go.
• Miss Grayling!'
* Mr Atherton ?'
* What's the matter ?—What have I been saying
now?'
Last night you invited me to come and see you this
morning,—is that one of the follies of which your tongue
was guilty ?'
The engagement had escaped my recollection—it
is a fact !--and my face betrayed me.
* You had forgotten?' Her cheeks flamed; her eyes
sparkled. 'You must pardon my stupidity for not
having understood that the invitation was of that
general kind which is never meant to be acted on.'
She was half way to the door before I stopped her,-
I had to take her by the shoulder to do it.
Miss Grayling !—You are hard on me.'
I suppose I am.- Is anything harder than to be
intruded on by an undesired, and unexpected, guest ?'
'Now you are harder still.—If you knew what I have
gone through since our conversation of last night, in
your strength you would be merciful.
'Indeed ?—What have you gone through ?'
I hesitated. What I actually had gone through I
certainly did not propose to tell her. Other reasons
apart I did not desire to seem madder than I admittedly
am-and I lacked sufficient plausibility to enable me
to concoct, on the spur of the moment, a plain tale of
the doings of my midnight visitor which would have
suggested that the narrator was perfectly sane. So I
fenced,—or tried to.
For one thing, I have had no sleep.'
I had not,---not one single wink. When I did get
between the sheets, ' all night I lay in agony,' I suffered
from that worst form of nightmare,—the nightmare of
the man who is wide awake. There was continually
before my fevered eyes the strange figure of that Name-
less Thing. I had often smiled at tales of haunted folk,
-here was I one of them. My feelings were not rendered
more agreeable by a strengthening conviction that if
I had only retained the normal attitude of a scientific


THE LADY RAGES
137
observer I should, in all probability, have solved the
mystery of my Oriental friend, and that his example of
the genus of copridæ might have been pinned,—by a
very large pin !—on a piece—a monstrous piece of
cork. It was galling to reflect that he and I had played
together a game of bluff, -a game at which civilisation
was once more proved to be a failure.
She could not have seen all this in my face ; but she
saw something—because her own look softened.
'You do look tired.' She seemed to be casting about
in her own mind for a cause. You have been worrying.
She glanced round the big laboratory. 'Have you been
spending the night in this—wizard's cave ?'
'Pretty well.'
'Oh!'
The monosyllable, as she uttered it, was big with
meaning. Uninvited, she seated herself in an arm-chair,
a huge old thing, of shagreen leather, which would have
held half a dozen of her. Demure in it she looked, like
an agreeable reminiscence, alive, and a little up-to-date,
of the women of long ago. Her dove grey eyes seemed
to perceive so much more than they cared to show.
How is it that you have forgotten that you asked
me to come ?—didn't you mean it ?!..
'Of course I meant it.'
' Then how is it you've forgotten ?'. .
. 'I didn't forget.
'Don't tell fibs. Something is the matter, tell me
what it is.—Is it that I am too early ?'
Nothing of the sort,--you couldn't be too early.'.
Thank you.—When you pay a compliment, even so
neat an one as that, sometimes, you should look as if
you meant it.—It is early, I know it's early, but after-
wards I want you to come to lunch. I told aunt that
I would bring you back with me.'
'You are much better to me than I deserve.
'Perhaps. A tone came into her voice which was
almost pathetic. 'I think that to some men women
are almost better than they deserve. I don't know why.
I suppose it pleases them. It is odd. There was a
different intonation,—a dryness. Have you forgotten
bat I came for ?"


138
THE BEETLE
'Not a bit of it,—I am not quite the brute I seem.
You came to see an illustration of that pleasant little
fancy of mine for slaughtering my fellows. The fact is,
I'm hardly in a mood for that just now, I've been
illustrating it too much already.'
• What do you mean?'
Well, for one thing it's been murdering Lessingham's
cat.'
Mr Lessingham's cat ?'
' Then it almost murdered Percy Woodville.'
'Mr Atherton !—I wish you wouldn't talk like that.'
It's a fact. It was a question of a little matter in a
wrong place, and, if it hadn't been for something very
like a miracle, he'd be dead.'
I wish you wouldn't have anything to do with such
things I hate them.'
I stared.
• Hate them ?—I thought you'd come to see an illus.
tration.'
'And pray what was your notion of an illustration ?'
'Well, another cat would have had to be killed, at
least.'
* And do you suppose that I would have sat still while
a cat was being killed for my—edification ?
'It needn't necessarily have been a cat, but something
would have had to be killed,—how are you going to
illustrate the death-dealing propensities of a weapon of
that sort without it?'
'Is it possible that you imagine that I came here to
see something killed ?'
• Then for what did you come ?'
I do not know what there was about the question
which was startling, but as soon as it was out, she went
a fiery red.
'Because I was a fool.'
I was bewildered. Either she had got out of the
wrong side of bed, or I had,—or we both had. Here she
was, assailing me, hammer and tongs, so far as I could
see, for absolutely nothing.
You are pleased to be satirical at my expense.'
'I should not dare. Your detection of me would be
so painfully rapid.'


THE LADY RAGES
139
I was in no mood for jangling. I turned a little away
from her. Immediately she was at my elbow.
Mr Atherton ?'
• Miss Grayling.'
• Are you cross with me?'
'Why should I be? If it pleases you to laugh at my
stupidity you are completely justified.'
But you are not stupid.'
'No?—Nor you satirical.'
* You are not stupid,—you know you are not stupid ;
it was only stupidity on my part to pretend that you
were.'
'It is very good of you to say so.—But I fear that I
am an indifferent host. Although you would not care
for an illustration, there may be other things which you
might find amusing.'
Why do you keep on snubbing me?'
I keep on snubbing you !'
* You are always snubbing me, you know you are.
Sometimes I feel as if I hated you.'
'Miss Grayling !'
I do! I do! I do!'.
' After all, it is only natural.'
. That is how you talk,—as if I were a child, and you
were, oh, I don't know what.—Well, Mr Atherton, I
am sorry to be obliged to leave you. I have enjoyed
my visit very much. I only hope I have not seemed too
intrusive.'
She flounced—' flounce' was the only appropriate
word !—out of the room before I could stop her. I
caught her in the passage.
'Miss Grayling, I entreat you—'
'Pray do not entreat me, Mr Atherton.' Standing
still she turned to me. 'I would rather show myself
to the door as I showed myself in, but, if that is
impossible, might I ask you not to speak to me between
this and the street ?'
The hint was broad enough, even for me. I escorted
her through the hall without a word,—in perfect silence
she shook the dust of my abode from off her feet.
I had made a pretty mess of things. I felt it as I
stood on the top of the steps and watched her going,--


CHAPTER XX
a heavy father
Mr Lindon was excited, there is no mistaking it when
he is, because with him excitement means perspiration,
and as soon as he was out of the cab he took off his hat
and began to wipe the lining.
'Atherton, I want to speak to you—most particularly
-somewhere in private.'
I took him into my laboratory. It is my rule to take
no one there ; it is a workshop, not a playroom,—the
place is private ; but, recently, my rules had become
dead letters. Directly he was inside, Lindon began
puffing and stewing, wiping his forehead, throwing out
his chest, as if he were oppressed by a sense of his own
importance. Then he started off talking at the top of
his voice,—and it is not a low one either.
'Atherton, I—I've always looked on you as a—a kind
of a son.'
'That's very kind of you.'
'I've always regarded you as a—a level-headed fellow ;
a man from whom sound advice can be obtained when
sound advice—is—is most to be desired.
'That also is very kind of you.'
' And therefore I make no apology for coming to you at
-at what may be regarded as a—a strictly domestic
crisis ; at a moment in the history of the Lindons when
delicacy and common sense are—are essentially required.'
This time I contented myself with nodding. Already
I perceived what was coming ; somehow, when I am with
a man I feel so much more clear-headed than I do when
I am with a woman,—realise so much better the nature
of the ground on which I am standing.
· What do you know of this man Lessingham ?'
I knew it was coming.
• What all the world knows.'


142
THE BEETLE
“And what does all the world know of him ?—I ask
you that ? A flashy, plausible, shallow-pated, carpet-
bagger,—that is what all the world knows of him. The
man's a political adventurer,—he snatches a precarious,
and criminal, notoriety, by trading on the follies of his
fellow-countrymen. He is devoid of decency, destitute
of principle, and impervious to all the feelings of a
gentleman. What do you know of him besides this?'.
'I am not prepared to admit that I do know that.'
'Oh yes you do !—don't talk nonsense —you choose
to screen the fellow ! I say what I mean, -I always
have said, and I always shall say.—What do you know of
him outside politics,- of his family—of his private life?'
'Well,—not very much.'
• Of course you don't —nor does anybody else! The
man's a mushroom, or a toadstool, rather 1-sprung up
in the course of a single night, apparently out of some
dirty ditch.—Why, sir, not only is he without ordinary
intelligence, he is even without a Brummagen substitute
for manners.'
He had worked himself into a state of heat in which
his countenance presented a not too agreeable assortment
of scarlets and purples. He flung himself into a chair,
threw his coat wide open, and his arms too, and started
off again.
The family of the Lindons is, at this moment, repre-
sented by a—a young woman,—by my daughter, sir.
She represents me, and it's her duty to represent me
adequately—adequately, sir ! And what's more, between
ourselves, sir, it's her duty to marry. My property's
my own, and I wouldn't have it pass to either of my con-
founded brothers on any account. They're next door
to fools, and—and they don't represent me in any
possible sense of the word. My daughter, sir, can marry
whom she pleases,—whom she pleases ! There's no
one in England, peer or commoner, who would not
esteem it an honour to have her for his wife I've told
her so,—yes, sir, I've told her, though you—you'd think
that she, of all people in the world, wouldn't require
telling. Yet what do you think she does ? She—she
actually carries on what I—I can't help calling a—a
compromising acquaintance with this man Lessingham !


A HEAVY FATHER
143
"No!
' But I say yes 1-and I wish to heaven I didn't. 1-
I've warned her against the scoundrel more than once ;
I—I've told her to cut him dead. And yet, asas you
saw yourself, last night, in—in the face of the assembled
House of Commons, after that twaddling clap-trap speech
of his, in which there was not one sound sentiment,
nor an idea which—which would hold water, she posi-
tively went away with him, in—in the most ostentatious
and and disgraceful fashion, on—on his arm, and
and actually snubbed her father.—It is monstrous that
a parent—a father —should be subjected to such treat-
ment by his child.'
The poor old boy polished his brow with his pocket-
handkerchief.
When I got home I—I told her what I thought of
her, I promise you that, -and I told her what I thought
of him,—I didn't mince my words with her. There
are occasions when plain speaking is demanded,--and
that was one. I positively forbade her to speak to
the fellow again, or to recognise him if she met him in
the street. I pointed out to her, with perfect candour,
that the fellow was an infernal scoundrel,—that and
nothing else —and that he would bring disgrace on
whoever came into contact with him, even with the end
of a barge pole.—And what do you think she said ?'
'She promised to obey you, I make no doubt.'
'Did she, sir !—By gad, did she —That shows how
much you know her 1-She said, and, by gad, by her
manner, and—and the way she went on, you'd—you'd
have thought that she was the parent and I was the
child—she said that I—I grieved her, that she was
disappointed in me, that times have changed,—yes,
sir, she said that times have changed that, nowadays,
parents weren't Russian autocrats—no, sir, not Russian
autocrats 1-that—that she was sorry she couldn't
oblige me,—yes, sir, that was how she put it,—she was
sorry she couldn't oblige me, but it was altogether out
of the question to suppose that she could put a period
to a friendship which she valued, simply on account
of—of my unreasonable prejudices,—and—and—and,
in short, she—she told me to go the devil, sir !


144
THE BEETLE
* And did you—'
I was on the point of asking him if he went, but I
checked myself in time.
'Let us look at the matter as men of the world. What
do you know against Lessingham,apart from his politics ?'
That's just it, -I know nothing.'
'In a sense, isn't that in his favour?'
'I don't see how you make that out. I—I don't
mind telling you that I—I've had inquiries made. He's
not been in the House six years—this is his second
Parliament—he's jumped up like a Jack-in-the-box.
His first constituency was Harwich—they've got him
still, and much good may he do 'em !—but how he
came to stand for the place,—or who, or what, or
where he was before he stood for the place, no one
seems to have the faintest notion.
'Hasn't he been a great traveller?'
'I never heard of it.'
'Not in the East ?'
'Has he told you so ?
No,—I was only wondering. Well, it seems to me
that to find out that nothing is known against him is
something in his favour
'My dear Sydney, don't talk nonsense. What it
proves is simply,—that he's a nothing and a nobody.
Had he been anything or anyone, something would have
been known about him, either for or against. I don't
want my daughter to marry a man who—who—who's
shot up through a trap, simply because nothing is
known against him. Ha-hang me, if I wouldn't ten
times sooner she should marry you.
When he said that, my heart leaped in my bosom.
I had to turn away.
'I am afraid that is out of the question.'
He stopped in his tramping, and looked at me askance.
'Why?'
I felt that, if I was not careful, I should be done
for,—and, probably, in his present mood, Marjorie too.
'My dear Lindon, I cannot tell you how grateful
I am to you for your suggestion, but I can only repeat
that—unfortunately, anything of the kind is out of
the question.


A HEAVY FATHER
145
'I don't see why.'
• Perhaps not.'
* You—you're a pretty lot, upon my word !'
'I'm afraid we are.'
'I—I want you to tell her that Lessingham is a
damned scoundrel.'
I see. But I would suggest that if I am to use the
influence with which you credit me to the best ad-
vantage, or to preserve a shred of it, I had hardly
better state the fact quite so bluntly as that.'
'I don't care how you state it, -state it as you like.
Only—only I want you to soak her mind with a loathing
of the fellow; I—I—I want you to paint him in his
true colours ; in—in—in fact, I—I want you to choke
him off.'
While he still struggled with his words, and with
the perspiration on his brow, Edwards entered. I
turned to him.
• What is it?'
'Miss Lindon, sir, wishes to see you particularly,
and at once.'
At that moment I found the announcement a trifle
perplexing,—it delighted Lindon. He began to stutter
and to stammer.
'T-the very thing !—c-couldn't have been better !
show her in here! H-hide me somewhere,—I don't
care where,—behind that screen! Y-you use your
influence with her ;—g-give her a good talking to ;
-t-tell her what I've told you ; and at—at the critical
moment I'll come in, and then—then if we can't manage
her between us, it'll be a wonder.'
The proposition staggered me.
'But, my dear Mr Lindon, I fear that I cannot—'
He cut me short.
* Here she comes !
Ere I could stop him he was behind the screen,—I
had not seen him move with such agility before !
and before I could expostulate Marjorie was in the
room Something which was in her bearing, in her
face, in her eyes, quickened the beating of my pulses,
- she looked as if something had come into her life,
and taken the joy clean out of it.


CHAPTER XXI
the terror in the night
' ydney!'she cried, “I'm so glad that I can see you !'
She might be,—but, at that moment, I could scarcely
assert that I was a sharer of her joy.
'I told you that if trouble overtook me I should come
to you, and—I'm in trouble now. Such strange trouble.'
So was I, -and in perplexity as well. An idea occurred
to me,- I would outwit her eavesdropping father.
'Come with me into the house, tell me all about it
there.'
She refused to budge.
'No,—I will tell you all about it here.' She looked
about her,—as it struck me queerly. 'This is just the
sort of place in which to unfold a tale like mine. It
looks uncanny.'
'But-
"" But me no buts 1" Sydney, don't torture me,
- let me stop here where I am,—don't you see I'm
haunted ?'
She had seated herself. Now she stood up, holding
her hands out in front of her in a state of extraordinary
agitation, her manner as wild as her words.
Why are you staring at me like that? Do you
think I'm mad ?-- I wonder if I'm going mad. Sydney,
do people suddenly go mad? You're a bit of every-
thing, you're a bit of a doctor too, feel my pulse,
there it is 1-tell me if I'm ill!'
, I felt her pulse,—it did not need its swift beating
to inform me that fever of some sort was in her veins.
I gave her something in a glass. She held it up to the
level of her eyes.
1 “What's this ? '
: 'It's a decoction of my own. You might not think


THE TERROR IN THE NIGHT
27
it, but my brain sometimes gets into a whirl. I use
it as a sedative. It will do you good.'
She drained the glass.
'It's done me good already,—I believe it has ; that's
being something like a doctor.—Well, Sydney, the
storm has almost burst. Last night papa forbade me
to speak to Paul Lessingham—by way of a prelude.'
Exactly. Mr Lindon—'
'Yes, Mr Lindon,—that's papa. I fancy we almost
quarrelled. I know papa said some surprising things,
-but it's a way he has,—he's apt to say surprising
things. He's the best father in the world, but- it's
not in his nature to like a really clever person ; your
good high dried old Tory never can ;—I've always
thought that that's why he's so fond of you.'
' Thank you. I presume that is the reason, though
it had not occurred to me before.
Since her entry, I had, to the best of my ability, been
turning the position over in my mind. I came to the
conclusion that, all things considered, her father had
probably as much right to be a sharer of his daughter's
confidence as I had, even from the vantage of the
screen,--and that for him to hear a few home truths
proceeding from her lips might serve to clear the air.
From such a clearance the lady would not be likely
to come off worst. I had not the faintest inkling of
what was the actual purport of her visit.
She started off, as it seemed to me, at a tangent.
' Did I tell you last night about what took place
yesterday morning,—about the adventure of my find-
ing the man ?'
Not a word.'
I believe I meant to,—I'm half disposed to think
he's brought me trouble. Isn't there some superstition
about evil befalling whoever shelters a homeless
stranger?'
'We'll hope not, for humanity's sake.'
I fancy there is, I feel sure there is.—Anyhow,
listen to my story. Yesterday morning, before break-
fast, -to be accurate, between eight and nine, I looked
out of the window, and I saw a crowd in the street.
I sent Peter out to see what was the matter. He came


148
THE BEETLE
back and said there was a man in a fit. I went out
to look at the man in the fit. I found, lying on the
ground, in the centre of the crowd, a man who, but
for the tattered remnants of what had apparently once
been a cloak, would have been stark naked. He was
covered with dust, and dirt, and blood,—a dreadful
sight. As you know, I have had my smattering of
instruction in First Aid to the Injured, and that kind
of thing, so, as no one else seemed to have any sense,
and the man seemed as good as dead, I thought I would
try my hand. Directly I knelt down beside him,
what do you think he said ?'
'Thank you.
Nonsense.--He said, in such a queer, hollow, croak-
ing voice. "Paul Lessingham." I was dreadfully
startled. To hear a perfect stranger, a man in his
condition, utter that name in such a fashion—to me,
of all people in the world !—took me aback. The
policeman who was holding his head remarked, “ That's
the first time he's opened his mouth. I thought he
was dead." He opened his mouth a second time. A
convulsive movement went all over him, and he ex-
claimed, with the strangest earnestness, and so loudly
that you might have heard him at the other end of the
street,“ Be warned, Paul Lessingham, be warned!"
It was very silly of me, perhaps, but I cannot tell you
how his words, and his manner—the two together-
affected me.—Well, the long and the short of it was,
that I had him taken into the house, and washed, and
put to bed,—and I had the doctor sent for. The doctor
could make nothing of it at all. He reported that the
man seemed to be suffering from some sort of cataleptic
seizure,- I could see that he thought it likely to turn
out almost an interesting a case as I did.'
'Did you acquaint your father with the addition to
his household ?'
She looked at me, quizzically.
• You see, when one has such a father as mine one
cannot tell him everything, at once. There are occasions
on which one requires time.'
I felt that this would be wholesoine hearing for old
Lindon,


THE TERROR IN THE NIGHT
149
* Last night, after papa and I had exchanged our
little courtesies,—which, it is to be hoped, were to
papa's satisfaction, since they were not to be mine
I went to see the patient. I was told that he had neither
eaten nor drunk, moved nor spoken. But, so soon as
I approached his bed, he showed signs of agitation.
He half raised himself upon his pillow, and he called
out, as if he had been addressing some large assembly
- I can't describe to you the dreadful something which
was in his voice, and on his face,—" Paul Lessinghamn!
-Beware --The Beetle!"
When she said that, I was startled.
' Are you sure those were the words he used ?'
Quite sure. Do you think I could mistake them,
• especially after what has happened since ? I hear
them singing in my ears,—they haunt me all the time.'
She put her hands up to her face, as if to veil some-
thing from her eyes. I was becoming more and more
convinced that there was something about the Apostle's
connection with his Oriental friend which needed probing
to the bottom.
'What sort of a man is he to look at, this patient of
yours?'
I had my doubts as to the gentleman's identity,
which her words dissolved ; only, however, to increase
my mystification in another direction.
. He seems to be between thirty and forty. He
has light hair, and straggling sandy whiskers. He is
so thin as to be nothing but skin and bone,—the doctor
says it's a case of starvation.'
You say he has light hair, and sandy whiskers.
Are you sure the whiskers are real ?'
She opened her eyes.
'Of course they're real. Why shouldn't they be
real ? '
'Does he strike you as being a—foreigner?'.
'Certainly not. He looks like an Englishman, and
he speaks like one, and not, I should say, of the lowest
class. It is true that there is a very curious, a weird,
quality in his voice, what I have heard of it, but it is
not un-English. If it is catalepsy he is suffering from,
then it is a kind of catalepsy I never heard of. Have


'150
THE BEETLE
you ever seen a clairvoyant ?' I nodded. 'He seems
to me to be in a state of clairvoyance. Of course the
doctor laughed when I told him so, but we know what
doctors are, and I still believe that he is in some
condition of the kind. When he said that last night he
struck me as being under what those sort of people call
“ influence," and that whoever had him under influence
was forcing him to speak against his will, for the words
came from his lips as if they had been wrung from him
in agony.
Knowing what I did know, that struck me as being
rather a remarkable conclusion for her to have reached,
by the exercise of her own unaided powers of intuition,
- but I did not choose to let her know I thought so.
'My dear Marjorie 1-you who pride yourself on having
your imagination so strictly under control on suffering
it to take no errant flights !'
'Is not the fact that I do so pride myself proof that I
am not likely to make assertions wildly,—proof, at any
rate, to you? Listen to me. When I left that unfortu-
nate creature's room,—I had had a nurse sent for, I
left him in her charge and reached my own bedroom,
I was possessed by a profound conviction that some
appalling, intangible, but very real danger, was at that
moment threatening Paul.'
'Remember, you had had an exciting evening; and
a discussion with your father. Your patient's words
came as a climax.'
'That is what I told myself,—or, rather, that was
what I tried to tell myself ; because, in some extra-
ordinary fashion, I had lost the command of my powers
of reflection.'
'Precisely.'
'It was not precisely,—or, at least, it was not precisely
in the sense you mean. You may laugh at me, Sydney,
but I had an altogether indescribable feeling, a feeling
which amounted to knowledge, that I was in the presence
of the supernatural.'
Nonsense l'
'It was not nonsense, -I wish it had been nonsense.
As I have said, I was conscious, completely conscious,
that some frightful peril was assailing Paul. I did not


THE TERROR IN THE NIGHT
151
know what it was, but I did know that it was something
altogether awful, of which merely to think was to shudder
I wanted to go to his assistance, I tried to, more than
once; but I couldn't, and I knew that I couldn't,-
I knew that I couldn't move as much as a finger to help
him.—Stop, let me finish --I told myself that it was
absurd, but it wouldn't do ; absurd or not, there was
the terror with me in the room. I knelt down, and I
prayed, but the words wouldn't come. I tried to ask
God to remove this burden from my brain, but my
longings wouldn't shape themselves into words, and my
tongue was palsied. I don't know how long I struggled,
but, at last, I came to understand that for some cause,
God had chosen to leave me to fight the fight alone.
So I got up, and undressed, and went to bed, -and that
was the worst of all. I had sent my maid away in the
first rush of my terror, afraid, and, I think, ashamed,
to let her see my fear. Now I would have given anything
to summon her back again, but I couldn't do it, I couldn't
even ring the bell. So, as I say, I got into bed.'
She paused, as if to collect her thoughts. To listen
to her words, and to think of the suffering which they
meant to her, was almost more than I could endure,
I would have thrown away the world to have been able
to take her in my arms, and soothe her fears. I knew
her to be, in general, the least hysterical of young women ;
little wont to become the prey of mere delusions ; and,
incredible though it sounded, I had an innate conviction
that, even in its wildest periods, her story had some sort
of basis in solid fact. What that basis amounted to,
it would be my business, at any and every cost, quickly
to determine.
'You know how you have always laughed at me
because of my objection to—cockroaches, and how, in
spring, the neighbourhood of May-bugs has always made
me uneasy. As soon as I got into bed I felt that some-
thing of the kind was in the room.'
'Something of what kind ?
Some kind of—beetle. I could hear the whirring
of its wings ; I could hear its droning in the air ; I knew
that it was hovering above my head ; that it was coming
lower and lower, nearer and nearer. I hid myself ; I


152
THE BEETLE
covered myself all over with the clothes,—then I felt
it bumping against the coverlet. And, Sydney!' She
drew closer. Her blanched cheeks and frightened eyes
made my heart bleed. Her voice became but an echo
of itself. 'It followed me.'
Marjorie !
'It got into the bed.'
'You imagined it.'
I didn't imagine it. I heard it crawl along the
sheets, till it found a way between them, and then it
crawled towards me. And I felt it—against my face.
-And it's there now.'
'Where?'
She raised the forefinger of her left hand.
'There !--Can't you hear it droning?'
She listened, intently. I listened too. Oddly enough,
at that instant the droning of an insect did become
audible.
It's only a bee, child, which has found its way
through the open window.'
I wish it were only a bee, I wish it were.—Sydney,
don't you feel as if you were in the presence of evil ?
Dont' you want to get away from it, back into the
presence of God ?'
Marjorie !'
'Pray, Sydney, pray! I can't !—I don't know why,
but I can't!'
She flung her arms about my neck, and pressed herself
against me in paroxysmal agitation. The violence of
her emotion bade fair to unman me too. It was so
unlike Marjorie,--and I would have given my life to
save her from a toothache. She kept repeating her own
words, -as if she could not help it.
'Pray, Sydney, pray!' .
At last I did as she wished me. At least, there is no
harm in praying,—I never heard of its bringing hurt to
anyone. I repeated aloud the Lord's Prayer,—the first
time for I know not how long. As the divine sentences
came from my lips, hesitatingly enough, I make no doubt,
her tremors ceased. She became calmer. Until, as I
reached the last great petition, 'Deliver us from evil,'
she loosed her arms from about my neck, and dropped


THE TERROR IN THE NIGHT
153
upon her knees, close to my feet. And she joined me
in the closing words, as a sort of chorus.
'For Thine is the Kingdom, the Power, and the
Glory, for ever and ever. Amen.'
When the prayer was ended, we both of us were still.
She with her head bowed, and her hands clasped; and
I with something tugging at my heart-strings which I
had not felt there for many and many a year, almost
as if it had been my mother's hand;I daresay that
sometimes she does stretch out her hand, from her place
among the angels, to touch my heart-strings, and I
know nothing of it all the while.
As the silence still continued, I chanced to glance up,
and there was old Lindon peeping at us from his hiding-
place behind the screen. The look of amazed perplexity
which was on his big red face struck me with such a
keen sense of the incongruous that it was all I could do
to keep from laughter. Apparently the sight of us did
nothing to lighten the fog which was in his brain, for he
stammered out, in what was possibly intended for a
whisper,
Is—is she m-mad ?'
The whisper,—if it was meant for a whisper—was more
than sufficiently audible to catch his daughter's ears.
She started—raised her head—sprang to her feet-
turned—and saw her father.
'Papa !
Immediately her sire was seized with an access of
stuttering.
'W-w-what the d-devil's the—the m-m-meaning of
this ?'
Her utterance was clear enough,—I fancy her parent
found it almost painfully clear.
'Rather it is for me to ask. what is the meaning of
this ! Is it possible, that, all the time, you have actually
been concealed behind that—screen ?'
Unless I am mistaken the old gentleman cowered
before the directness of his daughter's gaze,—and
endeavoured to conceal the fact by an explosion of
passion.
' Do-don't you s-speak to me li-like that, you un-
, undutiful girl! I—I'm your father l'


THE TERROR IN THE NIGHT
155
What would you have thought—and said if I had
attempted to play the spy on you? And I have always
understood that men were so particular on points of
honour.
Old Lindon was still hardly fit to do much else than
splutter, certainly not qualified to chop phrases with
this sharp-tongued maiden.
'D-don't talk to me li-like that, girl I-I—I believe
you're s-stark mad !' He turned to me. 'W-what was
that tomfoolery she was talking to you about ?'
'To what do you allude ?'.
About a rub-rubbishing b-beetle, and g-goodness
alone knows what,—d-diseased and m-morbid imagina-
tion,—r-reared on the literature of the gutter —I never
thought that a child of mine could have s-sunk to such a
depth !—Now, Atherton, I ask you to t-tell me frankly,
-what do you think of a child who behaves as she has
done ? who t-takes a nameless vagabond into the house
and con-conceals his presence from her father! And
m-mark the sequel even the vagabond warns her against
the r-rascal Lessingham 1-Now, Atherton, tell me what
you think of a girl who behaves like that?' I shrugged
my shoulders. 1-I know very well what you d-do
think of her, don't be afraid to say it out because she's
present.'
'No; Sydney, don't be afraid.
I saw that her eyes were dancing,—in a manner of
speaking, her looks brightened under the sunshine of
her father's displeasure.
'Let's hear what you think of her as a—as a m-man of
the world !'
Pray, Sydney, do !'
'What you feel for her in your—your heart of hearts !'
'Yes, Sydney, what do you feel for me in your heart
of hearts?
The baggage beamed with heartless sweetness,—she
was making a mock of me. Her father turned as if he
would have rent her.
'D-don't you speak until you're spoken to! Ather-
ton, I—I hope I'm not deceived in you; I—I hope
you're the man I—I took you for ; that you're willing
and and ready to play the part of a-a-an honest friend
the pravite you ley, wb


156
THE BEETLE
to this mis-misguided simpleton. T-this is not the time
for mincing words, it—it's the time for candid speech.
Tell this—this weakminded young woman, right out,
whether this pian Lessingham is, or is not, a damned
scoundrel.'
'Papa !—Do you really think that Sydney's opinion,
or your opinion, is likely to alter facts ? '
'Do you hear, Atherton, tell this wretched girl the
truth!'
'My dear Mr Lindon, I have already told you that I
know nothing either for or against Mr Lessingham
except what is known to all the world.'
Exactly,—and all the world knows him to be a
miserable adventurer who is scheming to entrap my
daughter.'
'I am bound to say, since you press me, that your
language appears to me to be unnecessarily strong.'
Atherton, I—I'm ashamed of you!'
'You see, Sydney, even papa is ashamed of you ;
now you are outside the pale.--My dear papa, if you
will allow me to speak, I will tell you what I know to
be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the
truth.—That Mr Lessingham is a man with great
gifts goes without saying,- permit me, papa! He is
a man of genius. He is a man of honour. He is a
man of the loftiest ambitions, of the highest aims.
He has dedicated his whole life to the improvement
of the conditions amidst which the less fortunate of
his fellow countrymen are at present compelled to
exist. That seems to me to be an object well worth
having. He has asked me to share his life-work, and
I have told him that I will ; when, and where, and
how, he wants me to. And I will. I do not suppose
his life has been free from peccadilloes. I have no
delusion on the point. What man's life has ? Who
among men can claim to be without sin ? Even the
members of our highest families sometimes hide be-
hind screens. But I know that he is, at least, as good
a man as I ever met, I am persuaded that I shall never
meet a better; and I thank God that I have found
favour in his eyes.—Good-bye, Sydney.—I suppose
I shall see you again, papa.


THE TERROR IN THE NIGHT
157
With the merest inclination of her head to both of
us she straightway left the room. Lindon would
have stopped her.
'S-stay, y-y-y-you- he stuttered.
But I caught him by the arm.
'If you will be advised by me, you will let her go.
No good purpose will be served by a multiplication of
words.'
'Atherton, I—I'm disappointed in you. You—you
haven't behaved as I expected. I—I haven't received
from you the assistance which I looked for.'
My dear Lindon, it seems to me that your method
of diverting the young lady from the path which she
has set herself to tread is calculated to send her furiously
along it.'
C-confound the women ! c-confound the women !
I don't mind telling you, in c-confidence, that at-
at times, her mother was the devil, and I'll be I'll
be hanged if her daughter isn't worse.—What was the
tomfoolery she was talking to you about? Is she mad ?'
'No,—I don't think she's mad.'
I never heard such stuff, it made my blood run cold
to hear her. What's the matter with the girl ?'
'Well, you must excuse my saying that I don't
fancy you quite understand women.'
I—I don't,—and I—I—I don't want to either.'
I hesitated; then resolved on a taradiddle,—in
Marjorie's interest.
Marjorie is high-strung, extremely sensitive. Her
imagination is quickly aflame. Perhaps, last night,
you drove her as far as was safe. You heard for your-
self how, in consequence, she suffered. You don't
want people to say you have driven her into a lunatic
asylum.'
1-good heavens, no! I—I'll send for the doctor
directly I get home,—I—I'll have the best opinion in
town.
 You'll do nothing of the kind,—you'll only make
her worse. What you have to do is to be patient with
her, and let her have peace. As for this affair of Less-
ingham's, I have a suspicion that it may not be all such
plain sailing as she supposes.'


: 158
THE BEETLE
. What do you mean?'
'I mean nothing. I only wish you to understand
that until you hear from me again you had better let
matters slide. Give the girl her head.'
'Give the girl her head! H-haven't I—I g-given
the g-girl her h-head all her l-life !' He looked at his
watch. 'Why, the day's half gone!' He began
scurrying towards the front door, I following at his
neels. I've got a committee meeting on at the club,
-m-most important! For weeks they've been giving
us the worst food you ever tasted in your life,—p-played
havoc with my digestion, and I—I'm going to tell
them if—things aren't changed, they—they'll have to
pay my doctor's bills.—As for that man, Lessingham-
; As he spoke, he himself opened the hall door, and
there, standing on the step was ' that man Lessingham'
himself. Lindon was a picture. The Apostle was
as cool as a cucumber. He held out his hand.
'Good morning, Mr Lindon. What delightful
weather we are having.'
Lindon put his hand behind his back,—and behaved
as stupidly as he very well could have done.
''You will understand, Mr Lessingham, that, in
future, I don't know you, and that I shall decline to
recognise you anywhere ; and that what I say applies
equally to any member of my family.
With his hat very much on the back of his head he
went down the steps like an inflated turkeycock.


CHAPTER XXII
the haunted man
To have received the cut discourteous from his future
father-in-law might have been the most commonplace
of incidents,—Lessingham evinced not a trace of dis-
composure. So far as I could judge, he took no notice
of the episode whatever, behaving exactly as if nothing
had happened. He merely waited till Mr Lindon was
well off the steps; then, turning to me, he placidly
observed.
' Interrupting you again, you see.—May I ?'
The sight of him had set up such a turmoil in my
veins, that, for the moment, I could not trust myself
to speak. I felt, acutely, that an explanation with
him was, of all things, the thing most to be desired,-
and that quickly. Providence could not have thrown
him more opportunely in the way. If, before he went
away, we did not understand each other a good deal
more clearly, upon certain points, the fault should
not be mine. Without a responsive word, turning on
my heels, I led the way into the laboratory.
Whether he noticed anything peculiar in my demean-
our, I could not tell. Within he looked about him
with that purely facial smile, the sight of which had
always engendered in me a certain distrust of him.
'Do you always receive visitors in here?'
. By no means.'
'What is this?'
Stooping down, he picked up something from the
floor. It was a lady's purse,—a gorgeous affair, of
crimson leather and gleaming gold. Whether it was
Marjorie's or Miss Grayling's I could not tell. He
watched me as I examined it.
• Is it yours?'


160
THE BEETLE
No. It is not mine.'
Placing his hat and umbrella on one chair, he placed
himself upon another,—very leisurely. Crossing his
legs, laying his folded hands upon his knees, he sat and
looked at me. I was quite conscious of his observation ;
but endured it in silence, being a little wishful that
he should begin.
Presently he had, as I suppose, enough of looking
at me, and spoke.
'Atherton, what is the matter with you ?—Have
I done something to offend you too?'.
Why do you ask?'
'Your manner seems a little singular.'
• You think so ?'
'I do.'
What have you come to see me about ?'
' Just now, nothing.—I like to know where I stand.'
His manner was courteous, easy, even graceful. I
was outmanœuvred. I understood the man sufficiently
well to be aware that when once he was on the defensive,
the first blow would have to come from me. So I
struck it.
'I, also, like to know where I stand.—Lessingham,
I am aware, and you know that I am aware, that you
have made certain overtures to Miss Lindon. That is
a fact in which I am keenly interested.'
• As—how?'
• The Lindons and the Athertons are not the acquain-
tances of one generation only. Marjorie Lindon and
I have been friends since childhood. She looks upon
me as a brother-
* As a brother?'
'As a brother.
 Yes.'
Mr Lindon regards me as a son. He has given me
his confidence; as I believe you are aware, Marjorie
has given me hers; and now I want you to give me
yours.'
'What do you want to know?'.
'I wish to explain my position before I say what I
have to say, because I want you to understand me
clearly.—I believe, honestly, that the thing I most


THE HAUNTED MAN
16I
desire in this world is to see Marjorie Lindon happy.
If I thought she would be happy with you, I should
say, God speed you both! and I should congratulate
you with all my heart, because I think that you would
have won the best girl in the whole world to be your
wife.
'I think so too.'
'But, before I did that, I should have to see, at least,
some reasonable probability that she would be happy
with you.'
'Why should she not?'
' Will you answer a question ?'
'What is the question ?'
• What is the story in your life of which you stand in
such hideous terror ?
There was a perceptible pause before he answered.
'Explain yourself.'
'No explanation is needed, you know perfectly
well what I mean.
You credit me with miraculous acumen.'
'Don't juggle, Lessingham,—be frank !
'The frankness should not be all on one side.-
There is that in your frankness, although you may be
unconscious of it, which some men might not unreason.
ably resent.'
Do you resent it?'
'That depends. If you are arrogating to yourself
the right to place yourself between Miss Lindon and
me, I do resent it, strongly
' Answer my question !
'I answer no question which is addressed to me in
such a tone.'
He was as calm as you please. I recognised that
already I was in peril of losing my temper,—which
was not at all what I desired. I eyed him intently,
he returning me look for look. His countenance be-
trayed no sign of a guilty conscience ; I had not seen
him more completely at his ease. He smiled.--facially,
and also, as it seemed to me, a little derisively. I am
bound to admit that his bearing showed not the faintest
shadow of resentment, and that in his eyes there was
a gentleness, a softness, which I had not observed in


168
THE BEETLE
them before,—I could almost have suspected him of
being sympathetic.
' In this matter, you must know, I stand in the place
of Mr Lindon.
Well ?'
'Surely you must understand that before anyone is
allowed to think of marriage with Marjorie Lindon he
will have to show that his past, as the advertisements
have it, will bear the fullest investigation.'
'Is that so? Will your past bear the fullest in-
vestigation ?
I winced.
• At any rate, it is known to all the world.'
• Is it ?—Forgive me if I say, I doubt it. I doubt
if, of any wise man, that can be said with truth. In
all our lives there are episodes which we keep to our-
selves.'
I felt that that was so true that, for the instant, I
hardly knew what to say.
' But there are episodes and episodes, and when it
comes to a man being haunted one draws the line.'
* Haunted ?'
'As you are.'
He got up.
'Atherton, I think that I understand you, but I fear
that you do not understand me.' He went to where
a self-acting mercurial air-pump was standing on a
shelf. 'What is this curious arrangement of glass
tubes and bulbs ?'
'I do not think that you do understand me, or you
would know that I am in no mood to be trifled with.
 Is it some kind of an exhauster?'
My dear Lessingham, I am entirely at your service.
I intend to have an answer to my question before you
leave this room, but, in the meanwhile, your convenience
is mine. There are some very interesting things here
which you might care to see.'
Marvellous, is it not, how the human intellect
progresses,- from conquest unto conquest.'
Among the ancients the progression had proceeded
farther than with us.'
* In what respect ».


THE HAUNTED MAN
163
'For instance, in the affair of the Apotheosis of the
Beetle ;—I saw it take place last night.
Where?'
• Here,—within a few feet of where you are standing.'
'Are you serious ?'.
• Perfectly.'
• What did you see?'
'I saw the legendary Apotheosis of the Beetle per.
formed, last night, before my eyes, with a gaudy magnifi.
cence at which the legends never hinted.'
'That is odd. I once thought that I saw something
of the kind myself.'
So I understand.'
* From whom?'
From a friend of yours.'
'From a friend of mine ?- Are you sure it was from
a friend of mine ?'
The man's attempt at coolness did him credit,—but it
did not deceive me. That he thought I was endeavour-
ing to bluff him out of his secret I perceived quite clearly ;
that it was a secret which he would only render with
his life I was beginning to suspect. Had it not been for
Marjorie, I should have cared nothing,—his affairs were
his affairs; though I realised perfectly well that there
was something about the man which, from the scientific
explorer's point of view, might be well worth finding
out. Still, as I say, if it had not been for Marjorie, I
should have let it go; but, since she was so intimately
concerned in it, I wondered more and more what it
could be.
My attitude towards what is called the supernatural
is an open one. That all things are possible I
unhesitatingly believe, I have, even in my short time,
seen so many so-called impossibilities proved possible.
That we know everything, I doubt ;—that our great-
great-great-great-grandsires, our forebears of thousands
of years ago, of the extinct civilisations, knew more on
some subjects than we do, I think is, at least, probable.
All the legends can hardly be false.
Because men claimed to be able to do things in those
days which we cannot do, and which we do not know
how they did, we profess to think that their claims are


THE HAUNTED MAN
165
you call your politics, one fig. I do not care if you are
as other men are, as I am,—not unspotted from the
world! But I do care if you are leprous. And I
believe you are.'
'Atherton !'
'Ever since I have known you I have been conscious
of there being something about you which I found it
difficult to diagnose ;—in an unwholesome sense, some-
thing out of the common, non-natural ; an atmosphere
of your own. Events, so far as you are concerned,
have, during the last few days moved quickly. They
have thrown an uncomfortably lurid light on that
peculiarity of yours which I have noticed. Unless you
can explain them to my satisfaction, you will withdraw
your pretensions to Miss Lindon's hand, or I shall
place certain facts before that lady, and, if necessary,
publish them to the world.'
He grew visibly paler but he smiled—facially.
You have your own way of conducting a conversa-
tion, Mr Atherton.—What are the events to whose rapid
transit you are alluding?'.
'Who was the individual, practically stark naked,
who came out of your house, in such singular fashion,
at dead of night?
'Is that one of the facts with which you propose to
tickle the public ear?'.
• Is that the only explanation which you have to offer ?'
* Proceed, for the present, with your indictment.'
'I am not so unobservant as you appear to imagine.
There were features about the episode which struck me
forcibly at the time, and which have struck me more
forcibly since. To suggest, as you did yesterday
morning, that it was an ordinary case of burglary, or
that the man was a lunatic, is an absurdity.'
' Pardon me,—I did nothing of the kind.'
'Then what do you suggest ?'
'I suggested, and do suggest, nothing. All the
suggestions come from you.'
You went very much out of your way to beg me to
keep the matter quiet. There is an appearance of
suggestion about that.'
* You take a jaundiced view of all my actions, Mr


166
THE BEETLE
Atherton. Nothing, to me, could seem more natural.-
However,—proceed.'
He had his hands behind his back, and rested them on
the edge of the table against which he was leaning. He
was undoubtedly ill at ease ; but so far I had not made
the impression on him, either mentally or morally, which
I desired.
Who is your Oriental friend ?'
'I do not follow you.'
'Are you sure?"
'I am certain. Repeat your question.'
'Who is your Oriental friend
'I was not aware that I had one.'
Do you swear that?'
He laughed, a strange laugh.
'Do you seek to catch me tripping ? You conduct
your case with too much animus. You must allow me
to grasp the exact purport of your inquiry before I can
undertake to reply to it on oath.
Are you not aware that at present there is in London
an individual who claims to have had a very close, and
a very curious, acquaintance with you in the East ?'
'I am not.'
'That you swear?'
' That I do swear.'
. That is singular.'
• Why is it singular ?'
'Because I fancy that that individual haunts you.'
'Haunts me?'
· Haunts you.
 You jest.'
* You think so ?—You remember that picture of the
scarabæus which, yesterday morning, frightened you into
a state of semi-idiocy.'
You use strong language.—I know what you allude
to.'
'Do you mean to say that you don't know that you
were indebted for that to your Oriental friend ?'
'I don't understand you.'
• Are you sure?'
'Certainly I am sure. It occurs to me, Mr Atherton,
that an explanation is demanded from you rather than


THE HAUNTED MAN
167
from me. Are you aware that the purport of my
presence here is to ask you how that picture found its
way into your room?'
It was projected by the Lord of the Beetle.'
The words were chance ones, but they struck a mark.
'The Lord ' He faltered,—and stopped. He
showed signs of discomposure. 'I will be frank with
you,—since frankness is what you ask.' His smile,
that time, was obviously forced. Recently I have been
the victim of delusions ;' there was a pause before the
word,' of a singular kind. I have feared that they were
the result of mental overstrain. Is it possible that you
can enlighten me as to their source ?'
I was silent. He was putting a great strain upon him-
self, but the twitching of his lips betrayed him. A little
more, and I should reach the other side of Mr Lessingham,
-the side which he kept hidden from the world.
• Who is this individual whom you speak of as my
-Oriental friend ?'
'Being your friend, you should know better than I
do.'
What sort of man is he to look at ?'
• I did not say it was a man.
' But I presume it is a man.'
I did not say so.'
He seemed, for a moment, to hold his breath,--and he
looked at me with eyes which were not friendly. Then,
with a display of self-command which did him credit,
he drew himself upright, with an air of dignity which
well became him.
'Atherton, consciously, or unconsciously, you are
doing me a serious injustice. I do not know what
conception it is which you have formed of me, or on
what the conception is founded, but I protest that, to
the best of my knowledge and belief, I am as reputable,
as honest, and as clean a man as you are.'
' But you're haunted.'
* Haunted ?' He held himself erect, looking me
straight in the face. Then a shiver went all over him;
the muscles of his mouth twitched; and, in an instant,
he was livid. He staggered against the table. 'Yes,
God knows it's true,- I'm haunted.'


168
THE BEETLE
So either you're mad, and therefore unfit to marry ;
or else you've done something which places you outside
the tolerably generous boundaries of civilised society,
and are therefore still more unfit to marry. You're on
the horns of a dilemma.'
'I I'm the victim of a delusion.'
'What is the nature of the delusion? Does it take
the shape of a—beetle ?'
' Atherton !'
Without the slightest warning, he collapsed,—was
transformned ; I can describe the change which took place
in him in no other way. He sank in a heap on the floor;
he held up his hands above his head; and he gibbered,
like some frenzied animal. A more uncomfortable
spectacle than he presented it would be difficult to find.
I have seen it matched in the padded rooms of lunatic
asylums, but nowhere else. The sight of him set every
nerve of my body on edge.
In Heaven's name, what is the matter with you,
man ? Are you stark, staring mad ? Here,—drink
this!'
Filling a tumbler with brandy, I forced it between his
quivering fingers. Then it was some moments before. I
could get him to understand what it was I wanted him
to do. When he did get the glass to his lips, he swallowed
its contents as if they were so much water. By degrees
his senses returned to him. He stood up. He looked
about him, with a smile which was positively ghastly.
'It's --it's a delusion.'
It's a very queer kind of a delusion, if it is.'
I eyed him, curiously. He was evidently making the
most strenuous efforts to regain his self-control, all
the while with that horrible smile about his lips.
'Atherton, you—you take me at an advantage.'
I was still. 'Who—who's your Oriental friend ?'
'My Oriental friend ?—you mean yours. I supposed,
at first, that the individual in question was a man ;
but it appears that she's a woman.'
A woman ?—Oh.—How do you mean?'
'Well, the face is a man's—of an uncommonly
disagreeable type, of which the powers forbid that
there are many and the voice is a man's,also of


170
THE BEETLE
before you leave this room, to terminate your engage
ment with her before to-night.'
His back was towards me.
'There will come a time when your conscience will
prick you because of your treatment of me; when you
will realise that I am the most unfortunate of men.'
I realise that now. It is because I realise it that I
am so desirous that the shadow of your evil fortune
shall not fall upon an innocent girl.'
He turned.
• Atherton, what is your actual position with reference
to Marjorie Lindon ?
She regards me as a brother.'
' And do you regard her as a sister? Are your
sentiments towards her purely fraternal ? '.
* You know that I love her.'
' And do you suppose that my removal will clear
the path for you?'
'I suppose nothing of the kind. You may believe
me or not, but my one desire is for her happiness, and
surely, if you love her, that is your desire too.'
That is so.' He paused. An expression of sadness
stole over his face of which I had not thought it capable.
. That is so to an extent of which you do not dream.
No man likes to have his hand forced, especially by
one whom he regards—may I say it ?—as a possible
rival. But I will tell you this much. If the blight
which has fallen on my life is likely to continue, I would
not wish,God forbid that I should wish to join her
fate with mine,—not for all that the world could offer
me.'
He stopped. And I was still. Presently he con-
tinued.
When I was younger I was subject to a similar
delusion. But it vanished, -I saw no trace of it for
years,—I thought that I had done with it for good.
Recently, however, it has returned,—as you have
witnessed. I shall institute inquiries into the cause of
its reappearance ; if it seems likely to be irremovable,
or even if it bids fair to be prolonged, I shall not only,
as you phrase it, withdraw my pretensions to Miss
Lindon's hand, but to all my other ambitions. In


THE HAUNTED MAN
171
the interim, as regards Miss Lindon I shall be careful
to hold myself on the footing of a mere acquaintance.'
You promise me?
'I do.—And on your side, Atherton, in the meantime,
deal with me more gently. Judgment in my case has
still to be given. You will find that I am not the guilty
wretch you apparently imagine. And there are few
things more disagreeable to one's self-esteem than to
learn, too late, that one has persisted in judging another
man too harshly. Think of all that the world has, at
this moment, to offer me, and what it will mean if I
have to turn my back on it,- owing to a mischievous
twist of fortune's wheel.'
He turned, as if to go. Then stopped, and looked
round, in an attitude of listening.
What's that ?'
There was a sound of droning,—I recalled what
Marjorie had said of her experiences of the night before,
it was like the droning of a beetle. The instant the
Apostle heard it, the fashion of his countenance began
to change,—it was pitiable to witness. I rushed to him.
'Lessingham don't be a fool I-play the man!'
He gripped my left arm with his right hand till it
felt as if it were being compressed in a vice.
* Then—I shall have to have some more brandy.'
Fortunately the bottle was within reach from where
I stood, otherwise I doubt if he would have released
my arm to let me get at it. I gave him the decanter
and the glass. He helped himself to a copious libation.
By the time that he had swallowed it the droning sound
had gone. He put down the empty tumbler.
'When a man has to resort to alcohol to keep his
nerves up to concert pitch, things are in a bad way
with him, you may be sure of that,—but then you
have never known what it is to stand in momentary
expectation of a tête-à-tête with the devil.
Again he turned to leave the room, and this time
he actually went. I let him go alone. I heard his
footsteps passing along the passage, and the hall-door
close. Then I sat in an arm-chair, stretched my legs
out in front of me, thrust my hands in my trouser
pockets, and—I wondered.


BOOK III
THE TERROR BY NIGHT AND THE TERROR
BY DAY
Miss Marjorie Lindon tells the Tale
CHAPTER XXIII
the way he told her
I am the happiest woman in the world! I wonder
how many women have said that of themselves in
their time,—but I am. Paul has told me that he
loves me. How long I have made inward confession
of my love for him, I should be ashamed to say. It
sounds prosaic, but I believe it is a fact that the first
stirring of my pulses was caused by the report of a
speech of his which I read in the Times. It was on
the Eight Hours' Bill. Papa was most unflattering.
He said that he was an oily spouter, an ignorant agitator,
an irresponsible firebrand, and a good deal more to the
same effect. I remember very well how papa fidgeted
with the paper, declaring that it read even worse than it
had sounded, and goodness knew that it had sounded
bad enough. He was so very emphatic that when he
had gone I thought I would see what all the pother
was about, and read the speech for myself. So I read
it. It affected me quite differently. The speaker's
words showed such knowledge, charity, and sympathy
that they went straight to my heart.
1 After that I read everything of Paul Lessingham's


174
THE BEETLE
which I came across. And the more I read the more
I was impressed. But it was some time before we
met. Considering what papa's opinions were, it was
not likely that he would go out of his way to facilitate
a meeting. To him, the mere mention of the name
was like a red rag to a bull. But at last we did meet.
And then I knew that he was stronger, greater, better
even than his words. It is so often the other way; one
finds that men, and women too, are so apt to put their
best, as it were, into their shop windows, that the dis-
covery was as novel as it was delightful.
When the ice was once broken, we often met. I do
not know how it was. We did not plan our meetings,
-at first, at any rate. Yet we seemed always meeting.
Seldom a day passed on which we did not meet, -
sometimes twice or thrice. It was odd how we were
always coming across each other in the most unlikely
places. I believe we did not notice it at the time, but
looking back I can see that we must have managed
our engagements so that somewhere, somehow, we
should be certain to have an opportunity of exchanging
half a dozen words. Those constant encounters could
not have all been chance ones.
But I never supposed he loved me,—never. I
am not even sure that, for some time, I was aware that
I loved him. We were great on friendship, both of us.
-I was quite aware that I was his friend,—that he
regarded me as his friend; he told me so more than
once.
'I tell you this,' he would say, referring to this, that,
or the other, ' because I know that, in speaking to you,
I am speaking to a friend.'
! With him those were not empty words. All kinds
of people talk to one like that,—especially men; it
is a kind of formula which they use with every woman
who shows herself disposed to listen. But Paul is not
like that. He is chary of speech ; not by any means
a woman's man. I tell him that is his weakest point.
If legend does not lie more even than is common, few
politicians have achieved prosperity without the aid
of women. He replies that he is not a politician ;
that he never means to be a politician. He simply


THE WAY HE TOLD HER
175
wishes to work for his country; if his country does
not need his services—well, let it be. Papa's political
friends have always so many axes of their own to grind,
that, at first, to hear a member of Parliament talk like
that was almost disquieting. I had dreamed of men
like that ; but I never encountered one till I met Paul
Lessinghain.
Our friendship was a pleasant one. It became
pleasanter and pleasanter. Until there came a time
when he told me everything ; the dreams he dreamed ;
the plans which he had planned ; the great purposes
which, if health and strength were given him, he
intended to carry to a great fulfilment. And, at last,
he told me something else.
It was after a meeting at a Working Women's Club
in Westininster. He had spoken, and I had spoken
too. I don't know what papa would have said, if
he had known, but I had. A formal resolution had
been proposed, and I seconded it,—in perhaps a couple
of hundred words; but that would have been quite
enough for papa to have regarded me as an Abandoned
Wretch,--papa always puts those sort of words into
capitals. Papa regards a speechifying woman as a
thing of horror, I have known him look askance at
a Primrose Dame.
The night was fine. Paul proposed that I should walk
with him down the Westminster Bridge Road, until we
reached the House, and then he would see me into a cab.
I did as he suggested. It was still early, not yet ten,
and the streets were alive with people. Our conversa-
tion, as we went, was entirely political. The Agricul-
tural Amendment Act was then before the Commons
and Paul felt very strongly that it was one of those
measures which give with one hand, while taking with
the other. The committee stage was at hand, and
already several amendments were threatened, the effect
of which would be to strengthen the landlord at the
expense of the tenant. More than one of these, and
they not the most moderate, were to be proposed by
papa. Paul was pointing out how it would be his duty
to oppose these tooth and nail, when, all at once, he
stopped.


THE BEETLE
'I sometimes wonder how you really feel upon this
matter.'
• What matter?'
'On the difference of opinion, in political matters,
which exists between your father and myself. I am
conscious that Mr Lindon regards my action as a personal
question, and resents it so keenly, that I am sometimes
moved to wonder if at least a portion of his resentment
is not shared by you.'
'I have explained ; I consider papa the politician as
one person, and papa the father as quite another.'
'You are his daughter.
'Certainly I am ;—but would you, on that account,
wish me to share his political opinions, even though I
believe them to be wrong?'.
• You love him.'
Of course I do,—he is the best of fathers.'
* Your defection will be a grievous disappointment.'
I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. I
wondered what was passing through his mind. The
subject of my relations with papa was one which,
without saying anything at all about it, we had consented
to taboo.
'I am not so sure. I am permeated with a suspicion
that papa has no politics.'
'Miss Lindon !--I fancy that I can adduce proof to
the contrary.
'I believe that if papa were to marry again, say, a
Home Ruler, within three weeks his wife's politics would
be his own.'
Paul thought before he spoke ; then he smiled.
'I suppose that men sometimes do change their coats
to please their wives,—even their political ones.'
'Papa's opinions are the opinions of those with whom
he mixes. The reason why he consorts with Tories of
the crusted school is because he fears that if he associated
with anybody else—with Radicals, say,—before he knew
it, he would be a Radical too. With him, association
is synonymous with logic.'
Paul laughed outright. By this time we had reached
Westminster Bridge. Standing, we looked down upon


THE WAY HE TOLD HER 577
the river. A long line of lanterns was gliding mysteri-
ously over the waters ; it was a tug towing a string of
barges. For some moments neither spoke. Then Paul
recurred to what I had just been saying.
' And you, do you think marriage would colour your
convictions ?'
'Would it yours?'
'That depends. He was silent. Then he said, in
that tone which I had learned to look for when he was
most in earnest, 'It depends on whether you would
marry me.'
I was still. His words were so unexpected that they
took my breath away. I knew not what to make of
them. My head was in a whirl. Then he addressed
to me a monosyllabic interrogation.
• Well ?'
I found my voice, or a part of it.
* Well ?—to what?'
He came a little closer.
• Will you be my wife ?
The part of my voice which I had found, was lost
again. Tears came into my eyes. I shivered. I had
not thought that I could be so absurd. Just then the
moon came from behind a cloud; the rippling waters
were tipped with silver. He spoke again, so gently that
his words just reached my ears.
You know that I love you.'
Then I knew that I loved him too. That what I had
fancied was a feeling of friendship was something very
different. It was as if somebody, in tearing a veil from
before my eyes, had revealed a spectacle which dazzled
me. I was speechless. He misconstrued my silence.
' Have I offended you ?'
'No.'
I fancy that he noted the tremor which was in my
voice, and read it rightly. For he too was still. Pres-
ently his hand stole along the parapet, and fastened upon
mine, and held it tight.
And that was how it came about. Other things were
said ; but they were hardly of the first importance.
Though I believe we took some time in saying them.
Of myself I can say with truth, that my heart was too


178
THE BEETLE
full for copious speech ; I was dumb with a great happi-
ness. And, I believe, I can say the same of Paul. He
told me as much when we were parting.
It seemed that we had only just come there when Paul
started. Turning, he stared up at Big Ben.
Midnight !—The House up !—Impossible !'
But it was more than possible, it was fact. We had
actually been on the Bridge two hours, and it had not
seemed ten minutes. Never had I supposed that the
flight of time could have been so entirely unnoticed.
Paul was considerably taken aback. His legislative
conscience pricked him. He excused himself—in his
own fashion.
• Fortunately, for once in a way, my business in the
House was not so important as my business out of it.'
He had his arm through mine. We were standing
face to face.
So you call this business I'.
He laughed.
He not only saw me into a cab, but he saw me home
in it. And in the cab he kissed me. I fancy I was a
little out of sorts that night. My nervous system was,
perhaps, demoralised. Because, when he kissed me,
I did a thing which I never do,—I have my own standard
of behaviour, and that sort of thing is quite outside of
it; I behaved like a sentimental chit. I cried. And it
took him all the way to my father's door to comfort me.
I can only hope that, perceiving the singularity of the
occasion, he consented to excuse me.


CHAPTER XXIV
a WOMAN'S VIEW
atmosphere
They are eat with electricity
SYDNEY ATHERTON has asked me to be his wife. It is
not only annoying ; worse, it is absurd.
This is the result of Paul's wish that our engagement
should not be announced. He is afraid of papa ;—not
really, but for the moment. The atmosphere of the
House is charged with electricity. Party feeling runs
high. They are at each other, hammer and tongs, about
this Agricultural Amendment Act. The strain on Paul
is tremendous. I am beginning to feel positively
concerned. Little things which I have noticed about
him lately convince me that he is being overwrought. I
suspect him of having sleepless nights. The amount
of work which he has been getting through lately has
been too much for any single human being, I care not
who he is. He himself admits that he shall be glad
when the session is at an end. So shall I.
In the meantime, it is his desire that nothing shall be
said about our engagement until the House rises. It
is reasonable enough. Papa is sure to be violent,
lately, the barest allusion to Paul's name has been enough
to make him explode. When the discovery does come,
he will be unmanageable,—I foresee it clearly. From
little incidents which have happened recently I predict
the worst. He will be capable of making a scene
within the precincts of the House. And, as Paul says,
there is some truth in the saying that the last straw
breaks the camel's back. He will be better able to
face papa's wild wrath when the House has risen.
So the news is to bide a wee. Of course Paul is right.
And what he wishes I wish too. Still, it is not all such
plain sailing for me as he perhaps thinks. The domestic
atmosphere is almost as electrical as that in the House.


180
THE BEETLE
Papa is like the terrier who scents a rat,—he is always
sniffing the air. He has not actually forbidden me to
speak to Paul,--his courage is not quite at the sticking
point; but he is constantly making uncomfortable
allusions to persons who number among their acquaint-
ance 'political adventurers,' 'grasping carpet-baggers,'
'Radical riff-raff,' and that kind of thing. Sometimes
I venture to call my soul my own ; but such a tempest
invariably follows that I become discreet again as
soon as I possibly can. So, as a rule, I suffer in
silence.
Still, I would with all my heart that the concealment
were at an end. No one need imagine that I am ashamed
of being about to marry Paul,—papa least of all. On
the contrary, I am as proud of it as a woman can be.
Sometimes, when he has said or done something unusu-
ally wonderful, I fear that my pride will out,—I do feel
it so strong within me. I should be delighted to have
a trial of strength with papa ; anywhere, at any time,-
I should not be so rude to him as he would be to me.
At the bottom of his heart papa knows that I am the
more sensible of the two; after a pitched battle or so
he would understand it better still. I know papa! I
have not been his daughter for all these years in vain.
I feel like hot-blooded soldiers must feel, who, burning
to attack the enemy in the open field, are ordered to
skulk behind hedges, and be shot at.
One result is that Sydney has actually made a pro-
posal of marriage,—he of all people! It is too comical.
The best of it was that he took himself quite seriously.
I do not know how many times he has confided to me
the sufferings which he has endured for love of other
women—some of them, I am sorry to say, decent
married women too ; but this is the first occasion on
which the theme has been a personal one. He was so
frantic, as he is wont to be, that, to calm him, I told
him about Paul,- which, under the circumstances, to
him I felt myself at liberty to do. In return, he was
melodramatic; hinting darkly at I know not what.
I was almost cross with him.
He is a curious person, Sydney Atherton. I suppose
it is because I have known him all my life, and have


A WOMAN'S VIEW
181
always looked upon him, in cases of necessity, as a capital
substitute for a brother, that I criticise him with so much
frankness. In some respects, he is a genius ; in others
- I will not write fool, for that he never is, though he
has often done some extremely foolish things. The fame
of his inventions is in the mouths of all men; though
the half of them has never been told. He is the most
extraordinary mixture. The things which most people
would like to have proclaimed in the street, he keeps
tightly locked in his own bosom ; while those which the
same persons would be only too glad to conceal, he shouts
from the roofs. A very famous man once told me that
if Mr Atherton chose to become a pecialist, to take up
one branch of inquiry, and devote his life to it, his fame,
before he died, would bridge the spheres. But sticking
to one thing is not in Sydney's line at all. He prefers,
like the bee, to roam from flower to flower.
As for his being in love with me; it is ridiculous. He
is as much in love with the moon. I cannot think what
has put the idea into his head. Some girl must have
been ill-using him, or he imagines that she has. The
girl whom he ought to marry, and whom he ultimately
will marry, is Dora Grayling. She is young, charming,
immensely rich, and over head and ears in love with him ;
--if she were not, then he would be over head and ears
in love with her. I believe he is very near it as it is,-
sometimes he is so very rude to her. It is a character-
istic of Sydney's, that he is apt to be rude to a girl whom
he really likes. As for Dora, I suspect she dreams of
him. He is tall, straight, very handsome, with a big
moustache, and the most extraordinary eyes ;—I fancy
that those eyes of his have as much to do with Dora's
state as anything. I have heard it said that he possesses
the hypnotic power to an unusual degree, and that, if
he chose to exercise it, he might become a danger to
society. I believe he has hypnotised Dora.
He makes an excellent brother. I have gone to him,
many and many a time, for help,—and some excellent
advice I have received. I daresay I shall consult him
still. There are matters of which one would hardly dare
to talk to Paul. In all things he is the great man. He
could hardly condescend to chiffons. Now Sydney can


182
THE BEETLE
and does. When he is in the mood, on the vital subject
of trimmings, a woman could not appeal to a sounder
authority. I tell him, if he had been a dressmaker, he
would have been magnificent. I am sure he would.


CHAPTER XXV.
THE MAN IN THE STREET
This morning I had an adventure.
I was in the breakfast-room. Papa, as usual, was
late for breakfast, and I was wondering whether I
should begin without him, when, chancing to look round,
something caught my eye in the street. I went to
the window to see what it was. A small crowd of people
was in the middle of the road, and they were all staring
at something which, apparently, was lying on the
ground. What it was I could not see.
The butler happened to be in the room. I spoke to
him.
'Peter, what is the matter in the street ? Go and
see.'
He went and saw; and, presently, he returned. Peter
is an excellent servant ; but the fashion of his speech,
even when conveying the most trivial information, is
slightly sesquipedalian. He would have made a capital
cabinet minister at question time,—he wraps up the
smallest portions of meaning in the largest possible
words.
An unfortunate individual appears to have been
the victim of a catastrophe. I am informed that he
is dead. The constable asserts that he is drunk.'
'Drunk ?—dead? Do you mean that he is dead
drunk ?—at this hour!'.
'He is either one or the other. I did not behold the
individual myself. I derived my information from a
bystander.'
That was not sufficiently explicit for me. I gave
way to a, seemingly, quite causeless impulse of curiosity,
I went out into the street, just as I was, to see for my-
self. It was, perhaps not the most sensible thing I


184
THE BEETLE
could have done, and papa would have been shocked ;
but I am always shocking papa. It had been raining
in the night, and the shoes which I had on were not
so well suited as they might have been for an encounter
with the mud.
I made my way to the point of interest.
'What's the matter?' I asked.
A workman, with a bag of tools over his shoulder,
answered me.
• There's something wrong with someone. Police-
man says he's drunk, but he looks to me as if he was
something worse.'
'Will you let me pass, please ?'
When they saw I was a woman, they permitted me
to reach the centre of the crowd.
A man was lying on his back, in the grease and dirt
of the road. He was so plastered with mud, that it
was difficult, at first, to be sure that he really was a
man. His head and feet were bare. His body was
partially covered by a long ragged cloak. It was
obvious that that one wretched, dirt-stained, sopping
wet rag was all the clothing he had on. A huge constable
was holding his shoulders in his hands, and was re-
garding him as if he could not make him out at all.
He seemed uncertain as to whether it was or was not
a case of shamming.
He spoke to him as if he had been some refractory
child.
'Come, my lad, this won't do I-Wake up I-What's
the matter?
But he neither woke up, nor explained what was
the matter. I took hold of his hand. It was icy cold.
Apparently the wrist was pulseless. Clearly this was
no ordinary case of drunkenness.
* There is something seriously wrong, officer. Medical
assistance ought to be had at once.'
'Do you think he's in a fit, miss ?'
'That a doctor should be able to tell you better
than I can. There seems to be no pulse. I should
not be surprised to find that he was
The word 'dead' was actually on my lips, when
the stranger saved me from making a glaring exposure


THE MAN IN THE STREET
185
of my ignorance by snatching his wrist away from me,
and sitting up in the mud. He held out his hands
in front of him, opened his eyes, and exclaimed, in a
loud, but painfully raucous tone of voice, as if he was
suffering from a very bad cold.
Paul Lessingham I'
I was so surprised that I all but sat down in the
mud. To hear Paul—my Paul —apostrophised by
an individual of his appearance, in that fashion, was
something which I had not expected. Directly the
words were uttered, he closed his eyes again, sank
backward, and seemingly relapsed into unconsciousness,
-the constable gripping him by the shoulder just in
time to prevent him banging the back of his head against
the road.
The officer shook him,--scarcely gently.
'Now, my lad, it's plain that you're not dead
What's the meaning of this ?—Move yourself I'.
Looking round I found that Peter was close behind.
Apparently he had been struck by the singularity
of his mistress' behaviour, and had followed to see that
it did not meet with the reward which it deserved.
I spoke to him.
Peter, let someone go at once for Dr Cotes !'
Dr Cotes lives just round the corner, and since it was
evident that the man's lapse into consciousness had
made the policeman sceptical as to his case being so
serious as it seemed, I thought it might be advisable
that a competent opinion should be obtained without
delay.
Peter was starting, when again the stranger returned
to consciousness,--that is, if it really was consciousness,
as to which I was more than a little in doubt. He
repeated his previous pantomime : sat up in the mud,
stretched out his arms, opened his eyes unnaturally
wide,—and yet they appeared unseeing !—a sort of
convulsion went all over him, and he shrieked—it
really amounted to shrieking—as a man might shriek
who was in mortal terror.
' Be warned, Paul Lessingham—be warned!'
For my part, that settled it. There was a mystery
here which needed to be unravelled. Twice had be


186
THE BEETLE
called upon Paul's name,—and in the strangest fashion !
It was for me to learn the why and the wherefore ; to
ascertain what connection there was between this
lifeless creature and Paul Lessingham. Providence
might have cast him there before my door. I might
be entertaining an angel unawares. My mind was
made up on the instant.
'Peter, hasten for Dr Cotes.' Peter passed the word,
and immediately a footman started running as fast
as his legs would carry him. 'Officer, I will have this
man taken into my father's house. --Will some of you
men help to carry him ?'
There were volunteers enough, and to spare. I spoke
to Peter in the hall.
is papa down yet?'
'Mr Lindon has sent down to say that you will please
not wait for him for breakfast. He has issued instructions
to have his breakfast conveyed to him upstairs.
'That's all right.' I nodded towards the poor
wretch who was being carried through the hall. You
will say nothing to him about this unless he particularly
asks. You understand ?'
Peter bowed. He is discretion itself. He knows
I have my vagaries, and it is not his fault if the savour
of them travels to papa.
The doctor was in the house almost as soon as the
stranger.
Wants washing,' he remarked, directly he saw him.
And that certainly was true, -I never saw a man
who stood more obviously in need of the good offices
of soap and water. Then he went through the usual
medical formula, I watching all the while. So far as
I could see the man showed not the slightest sign of
life.
Is he dead ?'
He will be soon, if he doesn't have something to
eat. The fellow's starving.'
The doctor asked the policeman what he knew of
him.
That sagacious officer's reply was vague. A boy
had run up to him crying that a man was lying dead


THE MAN IN THE STREET
187
in the street. He had straightway followed the boy,
and discovered the stranger. That was all he knew.
What is the matter with the man?' I inquired
of the doctor, when the constable had gone.
Don't know.—It may be catalepsy, and it mayn't.
-When I do know, you may ask again.'
Dr Cotes' manner was a trifle brusque,—particularly,
I believe, to me. I remember that once he threatened
to box my ears. When I was a small child I used to
think nothing of boxing his.
Realising that no satisfaction was to be got out of
a speechless man—particularly as regards his mysterious
references to Paul I went upstairs. I found that
papa was under the impression that he was suffering
from a severe attack of gout. But as he was eating
a capital breakfast, and apparently enjoying it,—while
I was still fasting—I ventured to hope that the matter
was not so serious as he feared.
I mentioned nothing to him about the person whom
I had found in the street,—lest it should aggravate his
gout. When he is like that, the slightest thing does.


CHAPTER XXVI
a father's no
Paul has stormed the House of Commons with one
of the greatest speeches which even he has delivered,
and I have quarrelled with papa. And, also, I have
very nearly quarrelled with Sydney.
Sydney's little affair is nothing. He actually still
persists in thinking himself in love with me,—as if,
since last night, when he what he calls 'proposed'
to me, he has not time to fall out of love, and in again,
half a dozen times ; and, on the strength of it, he seems
to consider himself entitled to make himself as disagree-
able as he can. That I should not mind,—for Sydney
disagreeable is about as nice as Sydney any other way;
but when it comes to his shooting poisoned shafts at
Paul, I object. If he imagines that anything he can
say, or hint, will lessen my estimation of Paul Lessing-
ham by one hair's breadth, he has less wisdom even
than I gave him credit for. By the way, Percy Wood-
ville asked me to be his wife to-night,--which, also,
is nothing ; he has been trying to do it for the last three
years,—though, under the circumstances, it is a little
trying ; but he would not spit venom merely because
I preferred another man, and he, I believe, does care
for me.
Papa's affair is serious. It is the first clashing of
the foils,—and this time, I imagine, the buttons are
really off. This morning he said a few words, not so
much to, as at me. He informed me that Paul was
expected to speak to-night,—as if I did not know it !
-and availed himself of the opening to load him with the
abuse which, in his case, he thinks is not unbecoming
to a gentleman. I don't know—or, rather, I do know
what he would think, if he heard another man use, in


A FATHER'S NO
189
the presence of a woman, the kind of language which
he habitually employs. However, I said nothing. I
had a motive for allowing the chaff to fly before the
wind.
But, to-night, issue was joined.
I, of course, went to hear Paul speak, -as I have
done over and over again before. Afterwards, Paul
came and fetched me from the cage. He had to leave
me for a moment, while he gave somebody a message ;
and in the lobby, there was Sydney,--all sneers! I
could have pinched him. Just as I was coming to the
conclusion that I should have to stick a pin into his
arm, Paul returned,—and, positively, Sydney was rude
to hiin. I was ashamed, if Mr Atherton was not. As
if it was not enough that he should be insulted by a
mere popinjay, at the very moment when he had been
adding another stone to the fabric of his country's
glory,—papa came up. He actually wanted to take
me away from Paul. I should have liked to see him
do it. Of course I went down with Paul to the carriage,
leaving papa to follow if he chose. He did not choose,
-but, none the less, he managed to be home within
three minutes after I had myself returned.
Then the battle began.
It is impossible for me to give an idea of papa in a
rage. There may be men who look well when they
lose their temper, but, if there are, papa is certainly not
one. He is always talking about the magnificence,
and the high breeding of the Lindons, but anything less
high-bred than the head of the Lindons, in his moments
of wrath, it would be hard to conceive.His language
I will not attempt to portray,—but his observations
consisted, mainly, of abuse of Paul, glorification of the
Lindons, and orders to me.
I forbid you—I forbid you—' when papa wishes
to be impressive he repeats his own words three or four
times over ; I don't know if he imagines that they are
improved by repetition ; if he does, he is wrong— I
forbid you ever again to speak to that—that—that-
Here followed language.
I was silent.
My cue was to keep cool. I believe that, with the


190
THE BEETLE
exception, perhaps, of being a little white, and exceed-
ingly sorry that papa should so forget himself, I was
about the same as I generally am.
'Do you hear me?—do you hear what I say ?—do
you hear me, miss ?'
· Yes, papa ; I hear you.'
Then—then—then promise me —promise that you
will do as I tell you !—mark my words, my girl, you
shall promise before you leave this room!'
'My dear papa !-do you intend me to spend the
remainder of my life in the drawing-room?'
'Don't you be impertinent !—do-do-don't you speak
to me like that I-I-1-I won't have it !'.
I tell you what it is, papa, if you don't take care
you'll have another attack of gout.'
'Damn gout.'
That was the most sensible thing he said ; if such
a tormentor as gout can be consigned to the nether
regions by the mere utterance of a word, by all means
let the word be uttered. Off he went again.
The man's a ruffianly, rascally,—' and so on.
'There's not such a villainous vagabond- and all
the rest of it. 'And I order you, I'm a Lindon, and
I order you! I'm your father, and I order you l-I
order you never to speak to such a—such a '—various
vain repetitions—' again, and—and—and I order you
never to look at him!'
'Listen to me, papa. I will promise you never to
speak to Paul Lessingham again, if you will promise
me never to speak to Lord Cantilever again, or to
recognise him if you meet him in the street.
You should have seen how papa glared. Lord Canti-
lever is the head of his party. Its august, and, I persume,
reverenced leader. He is papa's particular fetish.
I am not sure that he does regard him as being any lower
than the angels, but if he does it is certainly something
in decimals. My suggestion seemed as outrageous to
him as his suggestion seemed to me. But it is papa's
misfortune that he can only see one side of a question,
-and that's his own.
'You—you dare to compare Lord Cantilever tom
to that—that—that--- !'


CHAPTER XXVII
the terror by night
When I left papa,—or, rather, when papa had driven
me from him—I went straight to the man whom I had
found in the street. It was late, and I was feeling both
tired and worried, so that I only thought of seeing for
myself how he was. In some way, he seemed to be a
link between Paul and myself, and as, at that moment,
links of that kind were precious, I could not have gone
to bed without learning something of his condition.
The nurse received me at the door.
'Well, nurse, how's the patient ?
Nurse was a plump, motherly woman, who had
attended more than one odd protégé of mine, and
whom I kept pretty constantly at my beck and call.
She held out her hands.
It's hard to tell. He hasn't moved since I came.'
Not moved ?—Is he still insensible ?'.
He seems to me to be in some sort of trance. He
does not appear to breathe, and I can detect no pulsation,
but the doctor says he's still alive,—it's the queerest
case I ever saw.'
I went farther into the room. Directly I did so the
man in the bed gave signs of life which were sufficiently
unmistakable. Nurse hastened to him.
'Why,' she exclaimed, he's moving !—he might
have heard you enter !
He not only might have done, but it seemed possible
that that was what he actually had done. As I
approached the bed, he raised himself to a sitting
posture, as, in the morning, he had done in the street,
and he exclaimed, as if he addressed himself to someone
whom he saw in front of him, I cannot describe the
almost more than human agony which was in his voice.


THE TERROR BY NIGHT
193
• Paul Lessingham !—Beware !—The Beetle '
What he meant I had not the slightest notion. Pro-
bably that was why what seemed more like a pro-
nouncement of delirium than anything else had such an
extraordinary effect upon my nerves. No sooner had
he spoken than a sort of blank horror seemed to settle
down upon my mind. I actually found myself tremb-
ling at the knees. I felt, all at once, as if I was standing
in the immediate presence of something awful yet
unseen.
As for the speaker, no sooner were the words out of
his lips, than, as was the case in the morning, he relapsed
into a condition of trance. Nurse, bending over him,
announced the fact.
He's gone off again !—What an extraordinary
thing !—I suppose it is real.' It was clear, from the
tone of her voice, that she shared the doubt which had
troubled the policeman. There's not a trace of a
pulse. From the look of things he might be dead.
Of one thing I'm sure, that there's something unnatural
about the man. No natural illness I ever heard of,
takes hold of a man like this.'
Glancing up, she saw that there was something un-
usual in my face ; an appearance which startled her.
Why, Miss Marjorie, what's the matter !—You
look quite ill !'
I felt ill, and worse than ill ; but, at the same time, I
was quite incapable of describing what I felt to nurse.
For some inscrutable reason I had even lost the control
of my tongue, -I stammered.
1-1-I'm not feeling very well, nurse; I—I—I
think I'll be better in bed.'
: As I spoke, I staggered towards the door, conscious,
all the while, that nurse was staring at me with eyes
wide open. When I got out of the room, it seemed,
in some incomprehensible fashion, as if something
had left it with me, and that It and I were alone together
in the corridor. So overcome was I by the conscious-
ness of its immediate propinquity, that, all at once,
I found myself cowering against the wall,--as if I
expected something or someone to strike me.
How I reached my bedroom I do not know. I


THE TERROR BY NIGHT
195
was sheer absurdity, and that I should be thoroughly
ashamed of my own conduct when the morning caine.
If you don't want to be self-branded as a contemp-
tible idiot, Marjorie Lindon, you will call up your
courage, and these foolish fears will fly.
But it would not do. Instead of flying, they grew
worse. I became convinced,—and the process of
conviction was terrible beyond words !—that there
actually was something with me in the room, some
invisible horror,—which, at any moment, might become
visible. I seemed to understand with a sense of
agony which nothing can describe !—that this thing
which was with me was with Paul. That we were
linked together by the bond of a common, and a dread-
ful terror. That, at that moment, that same awful
peril which was threatening me, was threatening him,
and that I was powerless to move a finger in his aid.
As with a sort of second sight, I saw out of the room
in which I was, into another, in which Paul was crouch-
ing on the floor, covering his face with his hands, and
shrieking. The vision came again and again with a
degree of vividness of which I cannot give the least
conception. At last the horror, and the reality of it,
goaded me to frenzy.
Paul ! Paul !’I screamed.
As soon as I found my voice, the vision faded. Once
more I understood that, as a matter of simple fact, I
was standing in my own bedroom ; that the lights were
burning brightly ; that I had not yet commenced to
remove a particle of dress.
'Am I going mad ? 'I wondered.
I had heard of insanity taking extraordinary forms,
but what could have caused softening of the brain in
me I had not the faintest notion. Surely that sort
of thing does not come on one—in such a wholly un-
mitigated form !—without the slightest notice, --and
that my mental faculties were sound enough a few
minutes back I was certain. The first premonition
of anything of the kind had come upon me with the
melodramatic utterance of the man I had found in the
street.
'Paul Lessingham 1-Beware 1—The Beetle!


196
THE BEETLE
The words were ringing in my ears.- What was that ?
-There was a buzzing sound behind me. I turned
to see what it was. It moved as I moved, so that it
was still at my back. I swung, swiftly, right round
on my heels. It still eluded me, -it was still behind.
I stood and listened, what was it that hovered so
persistently at my back ?
The buzzing was distinctly audible. It was like the
humming of a bee. Or—could it be a beetle ?
My whole life long I have had an antipathy to beetles,
--of any sort or kind. I have objected neither to rats
nor mice, nor cows, nor bulls, nor snakes, nor spiders,
nor toads, nor lizards, nor any of the thousand and one
other creatures, animate or otherwise, to which so many
people have a rooted, and, apparently, illogical dislike.
My pet—and only—horror has been beetles. The
mere suspicion of a harmless, and. I am told, necessary
cockroach, being within several feet has always made
me seriously uneasy. The thought that a great, winged
beetle—to me, a flying beetle is the horror of horrors -
was with me in my bedroom,—goodness alone knew
how it had got there !—was unendurable. Anyone
who had beheld me during the next few moments
would certainly have supposed I was deranged. I
turned and twisted, sprang from side to side, screwed
myself into impossible positions, in order to obtain a
glimpse of the detested visitant,—but in vain. I could
hear it all the time ; but see it--never! The buzzing
round was continually behind.
The terror returned,—I began to think that my
brain must be softening. I dashed to the bed. Flinging
myself on my knees, I tried to pray. But I was speech-
less,—words would not come ; my thoughts would not
take shape. I all at once became conscious, as I struggled
to ask help of God, that I was wrestling with soinething
evil,--that if I only could ask help of Him, evil would
flee. But I could not. I was helpless,—overmastered.
I hid my face in the bedclothes, cramming my fingers
into my ears. But the buzzing was behind me all the
time.
I sprang up, striking out, blindly, wildly, right and
left, hitting nothing,—the buzzing always came


THE TERROR BY NIGHT 197
from a point at which, at the moment, I was not
aiming.
I tore off my clothes. I had on a lovely frock which
I had worn for the first time that night; I had had it
specially made for the occasion of the Duchess' ball,
and—more especially—in honour of Paul's great speech.
I had said to myself, when I saw my image in a mirror,
that it was the most exquisite gown I had ever had,
that it suited me to perfection, and that it should con-
tinue in my wardrobe for many a day, if only as a
souvenir of a memorable night. Now, in the madness
of my terror, all reflections of that sort were forgotten.
My only desire was to away with it. I tore it off anyhow,
letting it fall in rags on the floor at my feet. All else
that I had on I flung in the same way after it ; it was a
veritable holocaust of dainty garments,—I acting as
relentless executioner who am, as a rule, so tender with
my things. I leaped upon the bed, switched off the
electric light, hurried into bed, burying myself, over
head and all, deep down between the sheets.
I had hoped that by shutting out the light, I might
regain my senses. That in the darkness I might have
opportunity for sane reflection. But I had made a
grievous error. I had exchanged bad for worse. The
darkness lent added terrors. The light had not been
out five seconds before I would have given all that I
was worth to be able to switch it on again.
As I cowered beneath the bedclothes I heard the
buzzing sound above my head, -the sudden silence of
the darkness had rendered it more audible than it
had been before. The thing, whatever it was, was
hovering above the bed. It came nearer and nearer ;
it grew clearer and clearer. I felt it alight upon the
coverlet ;—shall I ever forget the sensations with which
I did feel it? It weighed upon me like a ton of lead.
How much of the seeming weight was real, and how
much imaginary, I cannot pretend to say ; but that it
was much heavier than any beetle I have ever seen
or heard of, I am sure.
For a time it was still,--and during that tiine I doubt
if I even drew my breath. Then I felt it begin to move,
in wobbling fashion, with awkward, ungainly gait,


198
THE BEETLE
stopping every now and then, as if for rest. I was
conscious that it was progressing, slowly, yet surely,
towards the head of the bed. The emotion of horror
with which I realised what this progression might mean,
will be, I fear, with me to the end of my life, -not only
in dreams, but too often, also, in my waking hours.
My heart, as the Psalmist has it, melted like wax with-
in me. I was incapable of movement,—dominated
by something as hideous as, and infinitely more powerful
than, the fascination of the serpent.
When it reached the head of the bed, what I feared
-with what a fear !—would happen, did happen. It
began to find its way inside,—to creep between the
sheets; the wonder is I did not die! I felt it coming
nearer and nearer, inch by inch ; I knew that it was
upon me, that escape there was none; I felt something
touch my hair.
And then oblivion did come to my aid. For the
first time in my life I swooned.


THE MAN IN THE STREET
203
Thus encouraged, Mr Holt repeated the tale which
he had told ine, only in more connected fashion than
before. I fancy that Sydney's glances exercised on
him a sort of hypnotic effect, and this kept him to
the point,—he scarcely needed a word of prompting
from the first syllable to the last.
He told how, tired, wet, hungry, desperate, despairing,
he had been refused admittance to the casual ward,
that unfailing resource, as one would have supposed,
of those who had abandoned even hope. How he had
come upon an open window in an apparently empty
house, and, thinking of nothing but shelter from the
inclement night, he had clambered through it. How
he had found hiinself in the presence of an extraordinary
being, who, in his debilitated and nervous state, had
seemed to him to be only half human. How this dread-
ful creature had given utterance to wild sentiments of
hatred towards Paul Lessingham,- ny Paul! How
he had taken advantage of Holt's enfeebled state to
gain over him the most complete, horrible, and, indeed,
almost incredible ascendency. How he actually had
sent Holt, practically naked, into the storm-driven
streets, to commit burglary at Paul's house,—and
how he,--Holt,—had actually gone without being able
to offer even a shadow of opposition. How Paul,
suddenly returning home, had come upon Holt engaged
in the very act of committing burglary, and how, on
his hearing Holt make a cabalistic reference to some
mysterious beetle, the manhood had gone out of him,
and he had suffered the intruder to make good his
escape without an effort to detain him.
The story had seemed sufficiently astonishing the
first time, it seemed still more astonishing the second
-but, as I watched Sydney listening, what struck me
chiefly was the conviction that he had heard it all
before. I charged him with it directly Holt had finished.
• This is not the first time you have been told this
tale.'
'Pardon me,—but it is. Do you suppose I live in an
atmosphere of fairy tales ? '
Something in his manner made me feel sure he was
deceiving me.


THE MAN IN THE STREET
205
suspected. He put a question which seemed uncalled
for by anything which Mr Holt had said.
• You are sure this thing of beauty was a man ?'
• No, sir, that is exactly what I am not sure.'
There was a note in Sydney's voice which suggested
that he had received precisely the answer which he had
expected.
Did you think it was a woman?'.
'I did think so, more than once. Though I can
hardly explain what made me think so. There was
certainly nothing womanly about the face.' He paused,
as if to reflect. Then added, I suppose it was a question
of instinct.'
'I see. Just so.—It occurs to me, Mr Holt, that
you are rather strong on questions of instinct.' Sydney
got off the bed. He stretched himself, as if fatigued,
which is a way he has. 'I will not do you the injustice
to hint that I do not believe a word of your charming,
and simple, narrative. On the contrary, I will demon-
strate my perfect credence by remarking that I have
not the slightest doubt that you will be able to point
out to me, for my particular satisfaction, the delightful
residence on which the whole is founded.'
Mr Holt coloured.—Sydney's tone could scarcely
have been more significant.
You must remember, sir, that it was a dark night,
that I had never been in that neighbourhood before,
and that I was not in a condition to pay much attention
to locality.'
'All of which is granted, but—how far was it from
Hammersmith Workhouse?'
Possibly under half a mile.'
'Then, in that case, surely you can remember which
turning you took on leaving Hammersmith Workhouse,
- I suppose there are not many turnings you could
have taken.'
'I think I could remember.'
Then you shall have an opportunity to try. It isn't
a very far cry to Hammersmith,—don't you think you
are well enough to drive there now, just you and I
together in a cab ?'


THE MAN IN THE STREET
207
•Deceiving you ?—I!
 Yes,—you! Do you think I'm quite an idiot?'
'My dear Marjorie l'
'Do you think I can't see that you know all about
what Mr Holt has been telling us,- perhaps more
about it than he knows himself ?
'On my word — With what an amount of knowledge
you do credit me.'
'Yes, I do, or discredit you, rather. If I were to
trust you, you would tell me just as much as you chose,
—which would be nothing. I'm coming with you,-
so there's an end.'
Very well.—Do you happen to know if there are
any revolvers in the house ?
Revolvers ?—whatever for ?'.
' Because I should like to borrow one. I will not
conceal from you—since you press me—that this is a
case in which a revolver is quite likely to be required.'
'You are trying to frighten me.'
'I am doing nothing of the kind, only, under the
circumstances, I am bound to point out to you what
it is you may expect.
'Oh, you think that you're bound to point that out,
do you,—then now your bounden duty's done. As
for there being any revolvers in the house, papa has a
perfect arsenal,—would you like to take them all ? '
'Thanks, but I daresay I shall be able to manage
with one,—unless you would like one too. You may
find yourself in need of it.'
I am obliged to you, but, on this occasion, I don't
think I'll trouble. I'll run the risk.—Oh, Sydney,
what a hypocrite you are !'.
'It's for your sake, if I seem to be. I tell you most
seriously, that I earnestly advise you to allow Mr Holt
and I to manage this affair alone. I don't mind going
so far as to say that this is a matter with which, in
days to come, you will wish that you had not allowed
yourself to be associated.'
• What do you mean by that? Do you dare to in-
sinuate anything against—Paul ?'.
'I insinuate nothing. What I mean, I say right
out; and, my dear Marjorie, what I actually do mean


208
THE BEETLE
is this,—that if, in spite of my urgent solicitations, you
will persist in accompanying us, the expedition, so
far as I am concerned, will be postponed.'
'That is what you do mean, is it? Then that's
settled.' I rang the bell. The servant came. 'Order
a four-wheeled cab at once. And let me know the
moment Mr Holt is ready. The servant went. I
turned to Sydney. 'If you will excuse me, I will go
and put my hat on. You are, of course, at liberty
to please yourself as to whether you will or will not
go, but, if you don't, then I shall go with Mr Holt alone.'
I moved to the door. He stopped me.
'My dear Marjorie, why will you persist in treating
me with such injustice ? Believe me, you have no
idea what sort of adventure this is which you are setting
out upon,—or you would hear reason. I assure you
that you are gratuitously proposing to thrust yourself
into imininent peril.'
'What sort of peril ? Why do you beat about the
bush,—why don't you speak right out ?'
I can't speak right out, there are circumstances
which render it practically impossible--and that's the
plain truth,—but the danger is none the less real on
that account. I am not jesting, -I am in earnest ;
won't you take my word for it?'
'It is not a question of taking your word only,—it
is a question of something else beside. I have not
forgotten my adventures of last night,—and Mr Holt's
story is mysterious enough in itself; but there is some-
thing more mysterious still at the back of it,—something
which you appear to suggest points unpleasantly at
Paul. My duty is clear, and nothing you can say will
turn me from it. Paul, as you are very well aware,
is already overweighted with affairs of state, pretty
nearly borne down by them,—or I would take the tale
to him, and he would talk to you after a fashion of his
own. Things being as they are, I propose to show
you that, although I am not yet Paul's wife, I can make
his interests my own as completely as though I were.
I can, therefore, only repeat that it is for you to decide
what you intend to do; but, if you prefer to stay, I
shall go with Mr Holt,—alone.'


THE MAN IN THE STREET
209
Understand that, when the time for regret comes
-as it will come !--you are not to blame me for having
done what I advised you not to do.'
'My dear Mr Atherton, I will undertake to do my
utmost to guard your spotless reputation; I should be
sorry that anyone should hold you responsible for
anything I either said or did.'
Very well !—Your blood be on your own head!'
'My blood ?'
'Yes,—your blood. I shouldn't be surprised if it
comes to blood before we're through.—Perhaps you'll
oblige me with the loan of one of that arsenal of revolvers
of which you spoke.
I let him have his old revolver,—or, rather, I let him
have one of papa's new ones. He put it in the hip
pocket in his trousers. And the expedition started, -
in a four-wheeled cab.


CHAPTER XXIX
the house on the road from the workhouse
Mr Holt looked as if he was in somebody else's garments.
He was so thin, and worn, and wasted, that the suit of
clothes which one of the men had lent him hung upon
him as on a scarecrow. I was almost ashamed of myself
for having incurred a share of the responsibility of
taking him out of bed. He seemed so weak and bloodless
that I should not have been surprised if he had fainted
on the road. I had taken care that he should eat as
much as he could eat before we started—the suggestion
of starvation which he had conveyed to one's mind
was dreadful !—and I had brought a flask of brandy in
case of accidents, but, in spite of everything, I could not
conceal from myself that he would be more at home
in a sick-bed than in a jolting cab.
It was not a cheerful drive. There was in Sydney's
manner towards me an air of protection which I
instinctively resented,—he appeared to be regarding
me as a careful, and anxious, nurse might regard a
wrong-headed and disobedient child Conversation
distinctly languished. Since Sydney seemed disposed
to patronise me, I was bent on snubbing him. The
result was, that the majority of the remarks which
were uttered were addressed to Mr Holt.
The cab stopped,—after what had appeared to me
to be an interminable journey. I was rejoiced at the
prospect of its being at an end. Sydney put his head
out of the window. A short parley with the driver ensued.
This is 'Ammersmith Workhouse, it's a large place,
sir,—which part of it might you be wanting?'
Sydney appealed to Mr Holt. He put his head out
of the window in his turn,—he did not seem to recognise
our surroundings at all.


THE HOUSE ON THE ROAD
211
'We have come a different way,—this is not the way
I went; I went through Hammersmith,—and to the
casual ward; I don't see that here.'
Sydney spoke to the cabman.
'Driver, where's the casual ward ?'
• That's the other end, sir.'
'Then take us there.'
He took us there. Then Sydney appealed again to
Mr Holt.
Shall I dismiss the cabman,—or don't you feel equal
to walking ?
 Thank you, I feel quite equal to walking, I think
the exercise will do me good.'
So the cabman was dismissed,—a step which we-
and I, in particular—had subsequent cause to regret.
Mr Holt took his bearings. He pointed to a door which
was just in front of us.
'That's the entrance to the casual ward, and that,
over it, is the window through which the other man
threw a stone. I went to the right,- back the way
I had come. We went to the right. I reached this
corner.' We had reached a corner. Mr Holt looked
about him, endeavouring to recall the way he had gone.
A good many roads appeared to converge at that point,
so that he might have wandered in either of several
directions.
Presently he arrived at something like a decision.
'I think this is the way I went,—I am nearly sure
it is.'
He led the way, with something of an air of dubitation,
and we followed. The road he had chosen seemed to
lead to nothing and nowhere. We had not gone many
yards from the workhouse gates before we were con-
fronted by something like chaos. In front and on
either side of us were large spaces of waste land. At
some more or less remote period attempts appeared to
have been made at brickmaking,—there were untidy
stacks of bilious-looking bricks in evidence. Here
and there enormous weather-stained boards announced
that 'This Desirable Land was to be Let for Building
Purposes. The road itself was unfinished. There
was no pavement, and we had the bare uneven ground


212
THE BEETLE
for sidewalk. It seemed, so far as I could judge, to
lose itself in space, and to be swallowed up by the
wilderness of 'Desirable Land' which lay beyond.
In the near distance there were houses enough, and to
spare—of a kind. But they were in other roads. In
the one in which we actually were, on the right, at the
end, there was a row of unfurnished carcases, but only
two buildings which were in anything like a fit state for
occupation. One stood on either side, not facing each
other,--there was a distance between them of perhaps
fifty yards. The sight of them had a more exciting
effect on Mr Holt than it had on me. He moved rapidly
forward,—coming to a standstill in front of the one
upon our left, which was the nearer of the pair.
* This is the house !'he exclaimed.
He seemed almost exhilarated, I confess that I
was depressed. A more dismal-looking habitation one
could hardly imagine. It was one of those dreadful
jerry-built houses which, while they are still new, look
old. It had quite possibly only been built a year or
two, and yet, owing to neglect, or to poverty of con-
struction, or to a combination of the two, it was already
threatening to tumble down. It was a small place, a
couple of storeys high, and would have been dear—I
should think !—at thirty pounds a year. The windows
had surely never been washed since the house was built,
-those on the upper floor seemed all either cracked or
broken. The only sign of occupancy consisted in the
fact that a blind was down behind the window of the
room on the ground floor. Curtains there were none.
A low wall ran in front, which had apparently at one
time been surmounted by something in the shape of
an iron railing,—a rusty piece of metal still remained on
one end ; but, since there was only about a foot between
it and the building, which was practically built upon
the road,—whether the wall was intended to ensure
privacy, or was merely for ornament, was not clear.
* This is the house l' repeated Mr Holt, showing
more signs of life than I had hitherto seen in him.
Sydney looked it up and down,—it apparently appealed
to his æsthetic sense as little as it did to mine.
'Are you sure?'


THE HOUSE ON THE ROAD
213
'I am certain.'
'It seems empty.'
' It seemed empty to me that night,--that is why I
got into it in search of shelter.'
'Which is the window which served you as a door?'
'This one.' Mr Holt pointed to the window on the
ground floor,—the one which was screened by a blind.
There was no sign of a blind when I first saw it, and
the sash was up-it was that which caught my eye.'
Once more Sydney surveyed the place, in compre-
hensive fashion, from roof to basement,- then he scru-
tinisingly regarded Mr Holt.
'You are quite sure this is the house ? It might be
awkward if you proved mistaken. I am going to knock
at the door, and if it turns out that that mysterious
acquaintance of yours does not, and never has lived
here, we might find an explanation difficult.
I am sure it is the house,—certain! I know it,-
I feel it here,—and here.'
Mr Holt touched his breast, and his forehead. His
manner was distinctly odd. He was trembling, and a
fevered expression had coine into his eyes. Sydney
glanced at him, for a moment, in silence. Then he
bestowed his attention upon me.
'May I ask if I may rely upon your preserving your
presence of mind ?'
The mere question ruffled my plumes.
'What do you mean?'
'What I say. I am going to knock at that door, and
I am going to get through it, somehow. It is quite
within the range of possibility that, when I am through,
there will be some strange happenings,—as you have
heard from Mr Holt. The house is commonplace
enough without ; you may not find it so commonplace
within. You may find yourself in a position in which
it will be in the highest degree essential that you should
keep your wits about you.
'I am not likely to let them stray.'
* Then that's all right.—Do I understand that you
propose to come in with me?'
'Of course I do,—what do you suppose I've come for ?
What nonsense you are talking.'


THE HOUSE ON THE ROAD
217
i 'Listen to me, my lad. Don't think you can deceive
me by playing any of your fool tricks, and don't delude
yourself into supposing that I shall treat you as anything
but dangerous if you do. I've got this. He showed
the revolver of papa's which I had lent him. 'Don't
imagine that Miss Lindon's presence will deter me from
using it.'
Why he addressed Mr Holt in such a strain surpassed
my comprehension. Mr Holt, however, evinced not
the faintest symptoms of resentment,—he had become,
on a sudden, more like an automaton than a man.
Sydney continued to gaze at him as if he would have
liked his glance to penetrate to his inmost soul.
'Keep in front of me, if you please, Mr Holt, and
lead the way to this mysterious apartment in which
you claim to have had such a remarkable experience.'
Of me he asked in a whisper,
'Did you bring a revolver ?'
I was startled.
'A revolver ? — The idea !—How absurd you are!'
Sydney said something which was so rude—and so
uncalled for !—that it was worthy of papa in his most
violent moments.
I'd sooner be absurd than a fool in petticoats.' I
was so angry that I did not know what to say,—and
before I could say it he went on. Keep your eyes
and ears well open ; be surprised at nothing you see or
hear. Stick close to me. And for goodness sake remain
mistress of as many of your senses as you conveniently can.'
I had not the least idea what was the meaning of it
all. To me there seemed nothing to make such a pother
about. And yet I was conscious of a fluttering of the
heart as if there soon might be something. I knew
Sydney sufficiently well to be aware that he was one
of the last men in the world to make a fuss without
reason,—and that he was as little likely to suppose
that there was a reason when as a matter of fact there
was none.
Mr Holt led the way, as Sydney desired—or, rather,
commanded, to the door of the room which was in front
of the house. The door was closed. Sydney tapped
on a panel. All was silence. He tapped again.


218
THE BEETLE
• Anyone in there ? 'he demanded.
As there was still no answer, he tried the handle.
The door was locked.
'The first sign of the presence of a human being we
have had,--doors don't lock themselves. It's just
possible that there may have been someone or some-
thing about the place, at some time or other, after
all.'
Grasping the handle firmly, he shook it with all his
might, -as he had done with the door at the back.
So flimsily was the place constructed that he made
even the walls to tremble.
' Within there !—if anyone is in there !—if you don't
open this door, I shall.'
There was no response.
So be it !- I'm going to pursue my wild career of
defiance of established law and order, and gain admission
in one way, if I can't in another.'
Putting his right shoulder against the door, he pushed
with his whole force. Sydney is a big man, and very
strong, and the door was weak. Shortly, the lock
yielded before the continuous pressure, and the door
Äew open. Sydney whistled.
'So !—It begins to occur to me, Mr Holt, that that
story of yours may not have been such pure romance
as it seemed.'
It was plain enough that, at any rate, this room had
been occupied, and that recently,—and, if his taste in
furniture could be taken as a test, by an eccentric
occupant to boot. My own first impression was that
there was someone, or something, living in it still,
an uncomfortable odour greeted our nostrils, which
was suggestive of some evil-smelling animal. Sydney
seemed to share my thought.
'A pretty perfume, on my word! Let's shed a little
more light on the subject, and see what causes it. Mar-
jorie, stop where you are until I tell you.
I had noticed nothing, from without, peculiar about
the appearance of the blind which screened the window,
but it must have been made of some unusually thick
material, for, within, the room was strangely dark.
Sydney entered, with the intention of drawing up the


THE HOUSE ON THE ROAD 219
blind, but he had scarcely taken a couple of steps when
he stopped.
What's that ?'
' It's it,' said Mr Holt, in a voice which was so unlike
his own that it was scarcely recognisable.
'It ?—What do you mean by it ?'
'The Beetle!
Judging from the sound of his voice Sydney was all
at once in a state of odd excitement.
Oh, is it !—Then, if this time I don't find out the
how and the why and the wherefore of that charming
conjuring trick, I'll give you leave to write me down an
ass, with a great, big A.'
He rushed farther into the room,—apparently his
efforts to lighten it did not meet with the immediate
success which he desired.
'What's the matter with this confounded blind ?
There's no cord! How do you pull it up ?—What the
In the middle of his sentence Sydney ceased speaking.
Suddenly Mr Holt, who was standing by my side on
the threshold of the door, was seized with such a fit
of trembling, that, fearing he was going to fall, I caught
him by the arm. A most extraordinary look was on
his face. His eyes were distended to their fullest width,
as if with horror at what they saw in front of them.
Great beads of perspiration were on his forehead.
'It's coming !'he screamed.
Exactly what happened I do not know. But, as he
spoke, I heard, proceeding from the room, the sound
of the buzzing of wings. Instantly it recalled my ex-
periences of the night before,—as it did so I was conscious
of a most unpleasant qualm. Sydney swore a great
oath, as if he were beside himself with rage.
'If you won't go up, you shall come down.'
I suppose, failing to find a cord, he seized the blind
from below, and dragged it down,—it came, roller and
all, clattering to the floor. The room was all in light.
I hurried in Sydney was standing by the window,
with a look of perplexity upon his face which, under any
other circumstances, would have been comical. He
was holding papa's revolver in his hand, and was glaring
round and round the room, as if wholly at a loss to


220
THE BEETLE
understand how it was he did not see what he was look-
ing for.
Marjorie !' he exclaimed. 'Did you hear any-
thing?
Of course I did. It was that which I heard last
night,—which so frightened me.'
Oh, was it? Then, by—' in his excitement he
must have been completely oblivious of my presence
for he used the most terrible language, 'when I find
it there'll be a small discussion. It can't have got out
of the room, -I know the creature's here ; I not only
heard it, I felt it brush against my face.—Holt, come
inside and shut that door.'
Mr Holt raised his arms, as if he were exerting himself
to make a forward movement,—but he remained rooted
to the spot on which he stood.
I can't !'he cried.
* You can't !—Why?'.
'It won't let me.'
• What won't let you ?'
'The Beetle!
Sydney moved till he was close in front of him. He
surveyed him with eager eyes. I was just at his back.
I heard him murmur,—possibly to me.
'By George !—It's just as I thought !—The beggar's
hypnotised
Then he said aloud,
Can you see it now?'
• Yes.'
'Where?'
'Behind you.'
As Mr Holt spoke, I again heard, quite close to me,
that buzzing sound. Sydney seemed to hear it too,
it caused him to swing round so quickly that he all but
whirled me off my feet.
'I beg your pardon, Marjorie, but this is of the nature
of an unparalleled experience,—didn't you hear some-
thing then ?'
I did,distinctly ; it was close to me,—within an
inch or two of my face.'
We stared about us, then back at each other, there


THE HOUSE ON THE ROAD
221
was nothing else to be seen. Sydney laughed, doubt-
fully.
'It's uncommonly queer. I don't want to suggest
there are visions about, or I might suspect myself
of softening of the brain. But—it's queer. There's
a trick about it somewhere, I am convinced ; and no
doubt it's simple enough when you know how it's done
-but the difficulty is to find that out. -Do you think
our friend over there is acting ?'
He looks to me as if he were ill.'
'He does look ill. He also looks as if he were hypno-
tised. If he is, it must be by suggestion,—and that's
what makes me doubtful, because it will be the first
plainly established case of hypnotism by suggestion
I've encountered.—Holt?'
Yes.'
'That,' said Sydney in my ear, 'is the voice and that
is the manner of a hypnotised man, but, on the other
hand, a person under influence generally responds
only to the hypnotist,—which is another feature about
our peculiar friend which arouses my suspicions.' Then,
aloud, ‘Don't stand there like an idiot,—come inside.'
Again Mr Holt made an apparently futile effort to
do as he was bid. It was painful to look at him,—he
was like a feeble, frightened, tottering child, who would
come on, but cannot.
'I can't.'
'No nonsense, my man! Do you think that this
is a performance in a booth, and that I am to be taken
in by all the humbug of the professional mesmerist?
Do as I tell you,— come into the room.'
There was a repetition, on Mr Holt's part, of his
previous pitiful struggle; this time it was longer sustained
than before,—but the result was the same.
'I can't !’he wailed.
'Then I say you can,—and shall ! If I pick you
up, and carry you, perhaps you will not find yourself
so helpless as you wish me to suppose.'
Sydney moved forward to put his threat into execution.
As he did so, a strange alteration took place in Mr Holt's
demeanour.


BEHAVIOUR OF MR HOLT
223
He said, in the same dreamy, faraway, unnatural tone
of voice,and he kept his unwavering gaze fixed on
what was apparently some distant object which was
visible only to himself.
'I am going to him. He calls me.'
'Who calls you ?'
'The Lord of the Beetle.'
Whether Sydney released his arm or not I cannot
say. As he spoke, he seemed to me to slip away from
Sydney's grasp. Passing through the gateway, turning
to the right, he commenced to retrace his steps in the
direction we had come. Sydney stared after him in
unequivocal amazement. Then he looked at me.
'Well 1-this is a pretty fix !—now what's to be
done ?'
What's the matter with him?' I inquired. 'Is
he mad ?'
There's method in his madness, if he is. He's in
the same condition in which he was that night I saw
him come out of the Apostle's window. Sydney has
a horrible habit of calling Paul 'the Apostle'; I have
spoken to him about it over and over again,--but my
words have not made much impression. 'He ought
to be followed,—he may be sailing off to that mysterious
friend of his this instant.—But, on the other hand, he
mayn't, and it may be nothing but a trick of our friend
the conjurer's to get us away from this elegant abode
of his. He's done me twice already, I don't want to be
done again,—and I distinctly do not want him to return
and find me missing. He's quite capable of taking
the hint, and removing himself into the Ewigkeit,-
when the clue to as pretty a mystery as ever I came
across will have vanished.'
I can stay,' I said.
'You ?—Alone ?'.
He eyed me doubtingly, evidently not altogether
relishing the proposition.
'Why not? You might send the first person you
meet,—policeman, cabman, or whoever it is to keep
me company. It seems a pity now that we dismissed
that cab.


224
THE BEETLE
* Yes, it does seem a pity.' Sydney was biting his
lip. Confound that fellow ! how fast he moves.'
Mr Holt was already nearing the end of the road.
'If you think it necessary, by all means follow to
see where he goes,—you are sure to meet somebody
whom you will be able to send before you have gone
very far.'
I suppose I shall.—You won't mind being left alone ?'
· Why should I ?—I'm not a child.'
Mr Holt, reaching the corner, turned it, and vanished
out of sight. Sydney gave an exclamation of impatience.
'If I don't make haste I shall lose him. I'll do as
you suggest---dispatch the first individual I come across
to hold watch and ward with you.'
'That'll be all right.
He started off at a run,—shouting to me as he went.
• It won't be five minutes before somebody comes !'
I waved my hand to him. I watched him till he
reached the end of the road. Turning, he waved his
hand to me. Then he vanished, as Mr Holt had done.
And I was alone.


CHAPTER XXXI
the terror by day
My first impulse, after Sydney's disappearance, was
to laugh. Why should he display anxiety on my
behalf merely because I was to be the sole occupant of
an otherwise empty house for a few minutes more or
less,—and in broad daylight too! To say the least,
the anxiety seemed unwarranted.
I lingered at the gate, for a moment or two, wondering
what was at the bottom of Mr Holt's singular proceedings,
and what Sydney really proposed to gain by acting as
a spy upon his wanderings. Then I turned to re-enter
the house. As I did so, another problem suggested
itself to my mind,—what connection, of the slightest
importance, could a man in Paul Lessingham's position
have with the eccentric being who had established
himself in such an unsatisfactory dwelling-place ? Mr
Holt's story I had only dimly understood,—it struck
me that it would require a deal of understanding. It
was more like a farrago of nonsense, an outcome of
delirium, than a plain statement of solid facts. To
tell the truth, Sydney had taken it more seriously than
I expected. He seemed to see something in it which I
emphatically did not. What was double Dutch to
me, seemed clear as print to him. So far as I could
judge, he actually had the presumption to imagine
that Paul—my Paul K-Paul Lessingham !—the great
Paul Lessingham was mixed up in the very mysterious
adventures of poor, weak-minded, hysterical Mr Holt,
in a manner which was hardly to his credit.
Of course, any idea of the kind was purely and simply
balderdash. Exactly what bee Sydney had got in his
bonnet, I could not guess. But I did know Paul. Only
let me find myself face to face with the fantastic author


226
THE BEETLE
of Mr Holt's weird tribulations, and I, a woman, single-
handed, would do my best to show him that whoever
played pranks with Paul Lessingham trifled with edged
tools.
I had returned to that historical front room which,
according to Mr Holt, had been the scene of his most
disastrous burglarious entry. Whoever had furnished
it had had original notions of the resources of modern
upholstery. There was not a table in the place,--no
chair or couch, nothing to sit down upon except the
bed. On the floor there was a marvellous carpet which
was apparently of eastern manufacture. It was so
thick, and so pliant to the tread, that moving over it
was like walking on thousand-year-old turf. It was
woven in gorgeous colours, and covered with-
When I discovered what it actually was covered with,
I was conscious of a disagreeable sense of surprise.
It was covered with beetles !
All over it, with only a few inches of space between
each, were representations of some peculiar kind of
beetle,—it was the same beetle, over, and over, and
over. The artist had woven his undesirable subject
into the warp and woof of the material with such cunning
skill that, as one continued to gaze, one began to wonder
if by any possibility the creatures could be alive.
In spite of the softness of the texture, and the art-
of a kind !—which had been displayed in the workman-
ship, I rapidly arrived at the conclusion that it was
the most uncomfortable carpet I had ever seen. I
wagged my finger at the repeated portrayals of the
to me l-unspeakable insect.
'If I had discovered that you were there before
Sydney went I think it just possible that I should
have hesitated before I let him go.'
Then there came a revulsion of feeling. I shook
myself.
* You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Marjorie
Lindon, to even think such nonsense. Are you
all nerves and morbid imaginings,—you who have
prided yourself on being so strong-minded! A pretty
sort you are to do battle for anyone.- Why, they're
only make-believes l'


THE TERROR BY DAY
Half involuntarily, I drew my foot over one of the
creatures. Of course, it was nothing but imagination ;
but I seemed to feel it squelch beneath my shoe. It
was disgusting.
Come l' I cried. This won't do! As Sydney
would phrase it,—am I going to makeanidiot of myself ?
I turned to the window,—looking at my watch.
'It's more than five minutes ago since Sydney went.
That companion of mine ought to be already on the
way. I'll go and see if he is coming.'
I went to the gate. There was not a soul in sight.
It was with such a distinct sense of disappointment
that I perceived this was so, that I was in two minds
what to do. To remain where I was, looking, with
gaping eyes, for the policeman, or the cabman, or
whoever it was Sydney was dispatching to act as my
temporary associate, was tantamount to acknowledging
myself a simpleton,—while I was conscious of a most
unmistakable reluctance to return within the house.
Common sense, or what I took for common sense,
however, triumphed, and, after loitering for another
five minutes, I did go in again.
This time, ignoring, to the best of my ability, the
beetles on the floor, I proceeded to expend my curiosity
-and occupy my thoughts in an examination of the
bed. It only needed a very cursory examination, how-
ever, to show that the seeming bed was, in reality, none
at all, or if it was a bed after the manner of the Easterns
it certainly was not after the fashion of the Britons.
There was no framework,—nothing to represent the
bedstead. It was simply a heap of rugs piled apparently
indiscriminately upon the floor. A huge mass of them
there seemed to be ; of all sorts, and shapes, and sizes,
-and materials too.
1 The top one was of white silk,—in quality, exquisite.
It was of huge size, yet, with a little compression, one
might almost have passed it through the proverbial
wedding ring. So far as space admitted I spread it out
in front of me. In the middle was a picture,—whether
it was embroidered on the substance or woven in it,
I could not quite make out. Nor, at first, could I
gather what it was the artist had intended to depict,


228
THE BEETLE
there was a brilliancy about it which was rather dazz-
ling. By degrees, I realised that the lurid hues were
meant for flames,—and, when one had got so far, one
perceived that they were by no means badly imitated
either. Then the meaning of the thing dawned on me,
-it was a representation of a human sacrifice. In
its way, as ghastly a piece of realism as one could see.
On the right was the majestic seated figure of a goddess.
Her hands were crossed upon her knees, and she was
naked from her waist upwards. I fancied it was meant
for Isis. On her brow was perched a gaily-apparelled
beetle--that ubiquitous beetle !—forming a bright
spot of colour against her coppery skin,—it was an
exact reproduction of the creatures which were imaged
on the carpet. In front of the idol was an enormous
fiery furnace. In the very heart of the flames was an
altar. On the altar was a naked white woman being
burned alive. There could be no doubt as to her being
alive, for she was secured by chains in such a fashion
that she was permitted a certain amount of freedom, of
which she was availing herself to contort and twist
her body into shapes which were horribly suggestive
of the agony which she was enduring,—the artist, in-
deed, seemed to have exhausted his powers in his efforts
to convey a vivid impression of the pains which were
tormenting her.
'A pretty picture, on my word! A pleasant taste
in art the garnitures of this establishment suggest !
The person who likes to live with this kind of thing,
especially as a covering to his bed, must have his own
notions as to what constitute agreeable surroundings.'
As I continued staring at the thing, all at once it
seemed as if the woman on the altar moved. It was
preposterous, but she appeared to gather her limbs
together, and turn half over.
What can be the matter with me? Am I going
mad ? She can't be moving !'
If she wasn't, then certainly something was, she
was lifted right into the air. An idea occurred to me.
I snatched the rug aside.
The mystery was explained !
A thin, yellow, wrinkled hand was protruding from


THE TERROR BY DAY
229
amidst the heap of rugs,—it was its action which had
caused the seeming movement of the figure on the
altar. I stared, confounded. The hand was followed
by an arm; the arm by a shoulder ; the shoulder by a
head,—and the most awful, hideous, wicked-looking
face I had ever pictured even in my most dreadful
dreams. A pair of baleful eyes were glaring up at mine.
I understood the position in a flash of startled amaze-
ment.
Sydney, in following Mr Holt, had started on a wild
goose chase after all. I was alone with the occupant
of that mysterious house,--the chief actor in Mr Holt's
astounding tale. He had been hidden in the heap of
rugs all the while.


A NEW CLIENT
-31
respect once asserted that youth is not of necessity a
crime.'
And you have chosen a singular profession, one
in which one hardly looks for juvenility
* You yourself, Mr Lessingham, are not old. In a
statesman one expects grey hairs.—I trust that I am
sufficiently ancient to be able to do you service.'
He smiled.
'I think it possible. I have heard of you more than
once, Mr Champnell, always to your advantage. My
friend, Sir John Seymour, was telling me, only the
other day, that you have recently conducted for him
some business, of a very delicate nature, with much
skill and tact; and he warmly advised me, if ever I
found myself in a predicament, to come to you. I
find myself in a predicament now.'
Again I bowed.
'A predicament, I fancy, of an altogether unparalleled
sort. I take it that anything I may say to you will
be as though it were said to a father confessor.'
You may rest assured of that.'
'Good.—Then, to make the matter clear to you I
must begin by telling you a story,- if I may trespass
on your patience to that extent. I will endeavour
not to be more verbose than the occasion requires.'
I offered him a chair, placing it in such a position that
the light from the window would have shone full upon
his face. With the calmest possible air, as if uncon-
scious of my design, he carried the chair to the other
side of my desk, twisting it right round before he sat
on it,--so that now the light was at his back and on
my face. Crossing his legs, clasping his hands about
his knee, he sat in silence for some moments, as if turn-
ing something over in his mind. He glanced round
the room.
I suppose, Mr Champnell, that some singular tales
have been told in here.'
'Some very singular tales indeed. I am never
appalled by singularity. It is my normal atmosphere.'
And yet I should be disposed to wager that you
have never listened to so strange a story as that which
I am about to tell you now. So astonishing, indeed,


232
THE BEETLE
is the chapter in my life which I am about to open out
to you, that I have more than once had to take myself
to task, and fit the incidents together with mathematical
accuracy in order to assure myself of its perfect truth.'
He paused. There was about his demeanour that
suggestion of reluctance which I not uncommonly dis-
cover in individuals who are about to take the skeletons
from their cupboards and parade them before my eyes.
His next remark seemed to point to the fact that he
perceived what was passing through my thoughts.
My position is not rendered easier by the circum-
stance that I am not of a communicative nature. I
am not in sympathy with the spirit of the age which
craves for personal advertisement. I hold that the
private life even of a public man should be held inviolate.
I resent, with peculiar bitterness, the attempts of
prying eyes to peer into matters which, as it seems to
me, concern myself alone. You must, therefore, bear
with me, Mr Champnell, if I seem awkward in disclosing
to you certain incidents in my career which I had hoped
would continue locked in the secret depository of my own
bosom, at any rate till I was carried to the grave. I
am sure you will suffer me to stand excused if I frankly
admit that it is only an irresistible chain of incidents,
which has constrained me to make of you a confidant.'
My experience tells me, Mr Lessingham, that no
one ever does come to me until they are compelled.
In that respect I am regarded as something worse even
than a medical man.'
A wintry smile fitted across his features,—it was
clear that he regarded me as a good deal worse than a
medical man. Presently he began to tell me one of
the most remarkable tales which even I had heard.
As he proceeded I understood how strong, and how
natural, had been his desire for reticence. On the mere
score of credibility he must have greatly preferred to
have kept his own counsel. For my part I own, unreser-
vedly, that I should have deemed the tale incredible
had it been told me by Tom, Dick, or Harry, instead
of by Paul Lessingham.


CHAPTER XXXIII
what came of looking through a lattice
He began in accents which halted not a little. By
degrees his voice grew firmer. Words came from him
with greater fluency.
I am not yet forty. So when I tell you that twenty
years ago I was a mere youth I am stating what is a
sufficiently obvious truth. It is twenty years ago
since the events of which I am going to speak transpired.
I lost both my parents when I was quite a lad,
and by their death I was left in a position in which I
was, to an unusual extent in one so young, my own
master. I was ever of a rambling turn of mind, and
when, at the mature age of eighteen, I left school, I
decided that I should learn more from travel than from
sojourn at a university. So, since there was no one
to say me nay, instead of going either to Oxford or
Cambridge, I went abroad. After a few months I found
myself in Egypt,—I was down with fever at Shepheard's
Hotel in Cairo. I had caught it by drinking polluted
water during an excursion with some Bedouins to
Palmyra.
'When the fever had left me I went out one night
into the town in search of amusement. I went,
unaccompanied, into the native quarter, not a wise thing
to do, especially at night, but at eighteen one is not
always wise, and I was weary of the monotony of the
sick-room, and eager for something which had in it a
spice of adventure. I found myself in a street which
I have reason to believe is no longer existing. It had
a French name, and was called the Rue de Rabagas,-
I saw the name on the corner as I turned into it, and
it has left an impress on the tablets of my memory
which is never likely to be obliterated.


234
THE BEETLE
'It was a narrow street, and, of course, a dirty one,
ill-lit, and, apparently, at the moment of my appearance,
deserted. I had gone, perhaps, half-way down its
tortuous length, blundering more than once into the
kennel, wondering what fantastic whim had brought me
into such unsavoury quarters, and what would happen
to me, if, as seemed extremely possible, I lost my way.
On a sudden my ears were saluted by sounds which
proceeded from a house which I was passing,—sounds
of music and of singing.
'I paused. I stood awhile to listen.
'There was an open window on my right, which was
screened by latticed blinds. From the room which was
behind these blinds the sounds were coming. Some-
one was singing, accompanied by an instrument
resembling a guitar,—singing uncommonly well.'
Mr Lessingham stopped. A stream of recollection
seemed to come flooding over him. A dreamy look
came into his eyes.
"I remember it all as clearly as if it were yesterday.
How it all comes back,—the dirty street, the evil smells,
the imperfect light, the girl's voice filling all at once
the air. It was a girl's voice—full, and round, and
sweet ; an organ seldom met with, especially in such
a place as that. She sang a little chansonnette, which,
just then, half Europe was humming,—it occurred in
an opera which they were acting at one of the Boule-
vard theatres,—" La P'tite Voyageuse." The effect,
coming so unexpectedly, was startling. I stood and
heard her to an end.
'Inspired by I know not what impulse of curiosity,
when the song was finished, I moved one of the lattice
blinds a little aside, so as to enable me to get a glimpse
of the singer. I found myself looking into what seemed
to be a sort of café,- one of those places which are
found all over the Continent, in which women sing
in order to attract custom. There was a low platform
at one end of the room, and on it were seated three
women. One of them had evidently just been accom-
panying her own song,—she still had an instrument of
music in her hands, and was striking a few idle notes.
The other two had been acting as audience. They were


LOOKING THROUGH A LATTICE
235
attired in the fantastic apparel which the women who
are found in such places generally wear. An old woman
was sitting knitting in a corner, whom I took to be
the inevitable patronne. With the exception of these
four the place was empty.
They must have heard me touch the lattice, or seen
it moving, for no sooner did I glance within than the
three pairs of eyes on the platform were raised and
fixed on mine. The old woman in the corner alone
showed no consciousness of my neighbourhood. We
eyed one another in silence for a second or two. Then
the girl with the harp,—the instrument she was man-
ipulating proved to be fashioned more like a harp than
a guitar—called out to me.
' Entrez, monsieur !—Soyez le bienvenu !"
"I was a little tired. Rather curious as to where-
abouts I was,—the place struck me, even at that first
momentary glimpse, as hardly in the ordinary line of
that kind of thing. And not unwilling to listen to a
repetition of the former song, or to another sung by
the same singer.
""On condition," I replied, " that you sing me
another song."
("Ah, monsieur, with the greatest pleasure in the
world I will sing you twenty."
She was almost, if not quite, as good as her word.
She entertained me with song after song. I may safely
say that I have seldom if ever heard melody more
enchanting. All languages seemed to be the same to
her. She sang in French and Italian, German and
English,—in tongues with which I was unfamiliar.
It was in these Eastern harmonies that she was most
successful. They were indescribably weird and thrilling,
and she delivered them with a verve and sweetness
which was amazing. I sat at one of the little tables
with which the room was dotted, listening entranced.
'Time passed more rapidly than I supposed. While
she sang I sipped the liquor with which the old woman
had supplied me. So enthralled was I by the display
of the girl's astonishing gifts that I did not notice what
it was I was drinking. Looking back I can only sur-
mise that it was some poisonous concoction of the


236
THE BEETLE
creature's own. That one small glass had on me the
strangest effect. I was still weak from the fever which
I had only just succeeded in shaking off, and that, no
doubt, had something to do with the result. But, as
I continued to sit, I was conscious that I was sinking
into a lethargic condition, against which I was incapable
of struggling.
'After a while the original performer ceased her efforts,
and, her companions taking her place, she came and
joined me at the little table. Looking at my watch I
was surprised to perceive the latenesss of the hour. I
rose to leave. She caught me by the wrist.
""Do not go," she said ;—she spoke English of a
sort, and with the queerest accent. "All is well with
you. Rest awhile."
You will smile,—I should smile, perhaps, were I
the listener instead of you, but it is the simple truth
that her touch had on me what I can only describe
as a magnetic influence. As her fingers closed upon
my wrist, I felt as powerless in her grasp as if she held
me with bands of steel. What seemed an invitation
was virtually a command. I had to say whether
I would or wouldn't. She called for more liquor, and
at what again was really her command I drank of it.
I do not think that after she touched my wrist I uttered
a word. She did all the talking. And, while she talked,
she kept her eyes fixed on my face. Those eyes of
hers ! They were a devil's. I can positively affirm
that they had on me a diabolical effect. They robbed
me of my consciousness, of my power of volition, of my
capacity to think,—they made me as wax in her hands.
My last recollection of that fatal night is of her sitting
in front of me, bending over the table, stroking my
wrist with her extended fingers, staring at me with
her awful eyes. After that, a curtain seems to descend.
There comes a period of oblivion.'
Mr Lessingham ceased. His manner was calm and
self-contained eno'lgh ; but, in spite of that I could see
that the mere recollection of the things which he
told me moved his nature to its foundations. There
was eloquence in the drawn lines about his mouth, and
in the strained expression of his eyes.


LOOKING THROUGH A LATTICE
237
So far his tale was sufficiently commonplace. Places
such as the one which he described abound in the Cairo
of to-day; and many are the Englishmen who have
entered them to their exceeding bitter cost. With
that keen intuition which has done him yeoman's service
in the political arena, Jlr Lessingham at once perceived
the direction my thoughts were taking.
You have heard this tale before ?- No doubt. And
often. The traps are many, and the fools and the
unwary are not a few. The singularity of my experience
is still to come. You must forgive me if I seem to
stumble in the telling. I am anxious to present my
case as baldly, and with as little appearance of exagger-
ation as possible. I say with as little appearance, for
some appearance of exaggeration I fear is unavoidable.
My case is so unique, and so out of the common run of
our every-day experience, that the plainest possible
statement must smack of the sensational.
'As, I fancy, you have guessed, when understanding
returned to me, I found myself in an apartment with
which I was unfamiliar. I was lying, undressed, on a
heap of rugs in a corner of a low-pitched room which
was furnished in a fashion which, when I grasped the
details, filled me with amazement. By my side knelt
the Woman of the Songs. Leaning over, she wooed my
mouth with kisses. I cannot describe to you the sense
of horror and of loathing with which the contact of her
lips oppressed me. There was about her something so
unnatural, so inhuman, that I believe even then I could
have destroyed her with as little sense of mortal turpitude
as if she had been some noxious insect.
"" Where am I?" I exclaimed.
"" You are with the children of Isis," she replied.
What she meant I did not know, and do not to this hour.
“ You are in the hands of the great goddess, of the
mother of men."
""How did I come here?”.
"By the loving kindness of the great mother."
'I do not, of course, pretend to give you the exact
text of her words, but they were to that effect.
* Half raising myself on the heap of rugs, I gazed about
me, and was astounded at what I saw.


238
THE BEETLE
'The place in which I was, though the reverse of
lofty, was of considerable size,- I could not conceive
whereabouts it could be. The walls and roof were of
bare stone,—as though the whole had been hewed out
of the solid rock. It seemed to be some sort of temple,
and was redolent with the most extraordinary odour.
An altar stood about the centre, fashioned out of a
single block of stone. On it a fire burned with a faint
blue flame—the fumes which rose from it were no doubt
chiefly responsible for the prevailing perfumes. Behind
it was a huge bronze figure, more than life size. It
was in a sitting posture, and represented a woman.
Although it resembled no portrayal of her I have seen
either before or since, I came afterwards to understand
that it was meant for Isis. On the idol's brow was
poised a beetle. That the creature was alive seemed
clear, for, as I looked at it, it opened and shut its wings.
'If the one on the forehead of the goddess was the
only live beetle which the place contained, it was not
the only representation. It was modelled in the solid
stone of the roof, and depicted in flaming colours on
hangings which here and there were hung against the
walls. Wherever the eye turned it rested on a scarab.
The effect was bewildering. It was as though one
saw things through the distorted glamour of a nightmare.
I asked myself if I were not still dreaming ; if my appear-
ance of consciousness were not after all a mere delusion :
if I had really regained my senses.
'And, here, Mr Champnell, I wish to point out, and to
emphasise the fact, that I am not prepared to positively
affirm what portion of my adventures in that extraor-
dinary, and horrible place, was actuality, and what the
product of a feverish imagination. Had I been per-
suaded that all I thought I saw, I really did see, I
should have opened my lips long ago, let the consequences
to myself have been what they might. But there is
the crux. The happenings were of such an incredible
character, and my condition was such an abnormal
one,—I was never really myself from the first moment
to the last—that I have hesitated, and still do hesitate,
to assert where, precisely, fiction ended and fact
began.


LOOKING THROUGH A LATTICE
239
'With some misty notion of testing my actual con-
dition I endeavoured to get off the heap of rugs on which
I reclined. As I did so the woman at my side laid her
hand against my chest, lightly. But, had her gentle
pressure been the equivalent of a ton of iron, it could
not have been more effectual. I collapsed, sank back
upon the rugs, and lay there, panting for breath, won-
dering if I had crossed the border line which divides
madness from sanity.
““ Let me get up .- let me go !" I gasped.
""Nay," she murmured, " stay with me yet awhile,
O my beloved.”
* Ănd again she kissed me.'
Once more Mr Lessingham paused. An involuntary
shudder went all over him. In spite of the evidently
great effort which he was making to retain his self-
control his features were contorted by an anguished
spasm. For some seconds he seemed at a loss to find
words to enable him to continue.
When he did go on, his voice was harsh and strained.
'I am altogether incapable of even hinting to you
the nauseous nature of that woman's kisses. They
filled me with an indescribable repulsion. I look back
at them with a feeling of physical, mental, and moral
horror, across an interval of twenty years. The most
dreadful part of it was that I was wholly incapable of
offering even the faintest resistance to her caresses.
I lay there like a log. She did with me as she would,
and in dumb agony I endured."
He took his handkerchief from his pocket, and,
although the day was cool, with it he wiped the per-
spiration from his brow.
To dwell in detail on what occurred during my
involuntary sojourn in that fearful place is beyond my
power. I cannot even venture to attempt it. The
attempt, were it made, would be futile, and, to me,
painful beyond measure. I seem to have seen all that
happened as in a glass darkly,—with about it all an
element of unreality. As I have already remarked,
the things which revealed themselves, dimly, to my
perception, seemed too bizarre, too hideous, to be
true.


240
THE BEETLE
* It was only afterwards, when I was in a position to
compare dates, that I was enabled to determine what
had been the length of my imprisonment. It appears
that I was in that horrible den more than two months,
-two unspeakable months. And the whole time there
were comings and goings, a phantasmagoric array of
eerie figures continually passed to and fro before my
hazy eyes. What I judge to have been religious services
took place; in which the altar, the bronze image, and
the beetle on its brow, figure largely. Not only were
they conducted with a bewildering confusion of myster-
ious rites, but, if my memory is in the least degree trust-
worthy, they were orgies of nameless horrors. I seem
to have seen things take place at them at the mere
thought of which the brain reels and trembles.
'Indeed it is in connection with the cult of the obscene
deity to whom these wretched creatures paid their
scandalous vows that my most awful memories seem
to have been associated. It may have been, I hope
it was, a mirage born of my half delirious state, but
it seemed to me that they offered human sacrifices.'
When Mr Lessingham said this, I pricked up my ears.
For reasons of my own, which will immediately tran-
spire, I had been wondering if he would make any
reference to a human sacrifice. He noted my display
'I see you start, I do not wonder. But I repeat that
unless I was the victim of some extraordinary species
of double sight—in which case the whole business would
resolve itself into the fabric of a dream, and I should
indeed thank God !—I saw, on more than one occasion,
a human sacrifice offered on that stone altar, presumably
to the grim image which looked down on it. And, unless
I err, in each case the sacrificial object was a woman,
stripped to the skin, as white as you or I,—and before
they burned her they subjected her to every variety
of outrage of which even the minds of demons could
conceive. More than once since then I have seemed
to hear the shrieks of the victims ringing through the
air, mingled with the triumphant cries of her frenzied
murderers, and the music of their harps.
* It was the cumulative horrors of such a scene which


LOOKING THROUGH A LATTICE
241
*
gave me the strength, or the courage, or the madness,
I know not which it was, to burst the bonds which bound
me, and which, even in the bursting, made of me, even
to this hour, a haunted man.
i 'There had been a sacrifice,—unless, as I have
repeatedly observed, the whole was nothing but a dream.
A woman—a young and lovely Englishwoman, if I
could believe the evidence of my own eyes, had been
outraged, and burnt alive, while I lay there helpless,
looking on. The business was concluded. The ashes
of the victim had been consumed by the participants.
The worshippers had departed. I was left alone with
the woman of the songs, who apparently acted as the
guardian of that worse than slaughterhouse. She was,
as usual after such an orgie, rather a devil than a human
being, drunk with an insensate frenzy, delirious with
inhuman longings. As she approached to offer to me.
her loathed caresses, I was on a sudden conscious of
something which I had not felt before when in her
company. It was as though something had slipped
away from me, some weight which had oppressed me,
some bond by which I had been bound. I was aroused,
all at once, to a sense of freedom; to a knowledge that
the blood which coursed through my veins was after
(all my own, that I was master of my own honour.
| 'I can only suppose that through all those weeks
she had kept me there in a state of mesmeric stupor.
That, taking advantage of the weakness which the fever
had left behind, by the exercise of her diabolical arts,
she had not allowed me to pass out of a condition of
hypnotic trance. Now, for some reason, the cord was
loosed. Possibly her absorption in her religious duties
had caused her to forget to tighten it. Anyhow, as she
approached me, she approached a man, and one who,
for the first time for many a day, was his own man.
She herself seemed wholly unconscious of anything of
the kind. As she drew nearer to me, and nearer, she
'appeared to be entirely oblivious of the fact that I
was anything but the fibreless, emasculated creature
which, up to that moment, she had made of me.
'But she knew it when she touched me,—when she
stooped to press her lips to mine. At that instant the


CHAPTER XXXIV
AFTER TWENTY YEARS
How I reached the open air I cannot tell you, I do
not know. I have a confused recollection of rushing
through vaulted passages, through endless corridors,
of trampling over people who tried to arrest my
passage, and the rest is blank.
When I again came to myself I was lying in the
house of an American missionary named Clements.
I had been found, at early dawn, stark naked, in a
Cairo street, and picked up for dead. Judging from
appearances I must have wandered for miles, all through
the night. Whence I had come, or whither I was
going, none could tell,—I could not tell myself. For
weeks I hovered between life and death. The kindness
of Mr and Mrs Clements was not to be measured by
words. I was brought to their house a penniless,
helpless, battered stranger, and they gave me all they
had to offer, without money and without price,—with no
expectation of an earthly reward. Let no one pretend
that there is no Christian charity under the sun. The
debt I owed that man and woman I was never able to
repay. Before I was properly myself again, and in a
position to offer some adequate testimony of the gratitude
I felt, Mrs Clements was dead, drowned during an
excursion on the Nile and her husband had departed on
a missionary expedition into Central Africa, from which
he never returned.
'Although, in a measure, my physical health returned,
for months after I had left the roof of my hospitable
hosts, I was in a state of semi-imbecility. I suffered
from a species of aphasia. For days together I was
speechless, and could remember nothing,—not even
my own name. And, when that stage had passed, and


244
THE BEETLE
I began to move more freely among my fellows, for
years I was but a wreck of my former self. I was visited
at all hours of the day and night, by frightful I know
not whether to call them visions, they were real enough
to me, but since they were visible to no one but myself,
perhaps that is the word which best describes them.
Their presence invariably plunged me into a state of
abject terror, against which I was unable to even make
a show of fighting. To such an extent did they embitter
my existence, that I voluntarily placed myself under
the treatment of an expert in mental pathology. For
a considerable period of time I was under his constant
supervision, but the visitations were as inexplicable
to him as they were to me.
'By degrees, however, they became rarer and rarer,
until at last I flattered myself that I had once more
become as other men. After an interval, to make
sure, I devoted myself to politics. Thenceforward [.
have lived, as they phrase it, in the public eye. Private
life, in any peculiar sense of the term, I have had none.'
Mr Lessingham ceased. His tale was not uninterest-
ing, and, to say the least of it, was curious. But I still
was at a loss to understand what it had to do with me,
or what was the purport of his presence in my room.
Since he remained silent, as if the matter, so far as he
was concerned, was at an end, I told him so.
'I presume, Mr Lessingham, that all this is but a
prelude to the play. At present I do not see where
it is that I come in."
Still for some seconds he was silent. When he spoke
his voice was grave and sombre, as if he were burdened
by a weight of woe.
Unfortunately, as you put it, all this has been but a
prelude to the play. Were it not so I should not now
stand in such pressing want of the services of a con-
fidential agent, -that is, of an experienced man of the
world, who has been endowed by nature with phen-
omenal perceptive faculties, and in whose capacity
and honour I can place the completest confidence."
I smiled,—the compliment was a pointed one.
'I hope your estimate of me is not too high.'
'I hope not for my sake, as well as for your own.


AFTER TWENTY YEARS
245
I have heard great things of you. If ever man stood
in need of all that human skill and acumen can do for
him, I certainly am he.
His words aroused my curiosity. I was conscious
of feeling more interested than heretofore.
I will do my best for you. . Man can do no more.
Only give my best a trial."
'I will. At once.'
He looked at me long and earnestly. Then, leaning
forward, he said, lowering his voice perhaps uncon-
sciously.
'The fact is, Mr Champnell, that quite recently events
have happened which threaten to bridge the chasm of
twenty years, and to place me face to face with that
plague spot of the past. At this moment I stand in
imminent peril of becoming again the wretched thing
I was when I fled from that den of all the devils. It
is to guard me against this that I have come to you.
I want you to unravel the tangled thread which threatens
to drag me to my doom-and, when unravelled to
sunder it—for ever, if God wills !—in twain.'
'Explain.'
To be frank, for the moment I thought him mad. He
went on.
Three weeks ago, when I returned late one night
from a sitting in the House of Commons, I found, on
my study table, a sheet of paper on which there was
a representation—marvellously like !—of the creature
into which, as it seemed to me, the woman of the songs
was transformed as I clutched her throat between my
hands. The mere sight of it brought back one of those
visitations of which I have told you, and which I thought
I had done with for ever, I was convulsed by an agony
of fear, thrown into a state approximating to a paraly-
sis both of mind and body."
'But why?'
'I cannot tell you. I only know that I have never
dared to allow my thoughts to recur to that last dread
scene, lest the mere recurrence should drive me mad."
'What was this you found upon your study table,-
merely a drawing ?"
* It was a representation, produced by what process


240
THE BEETLE
I cannot say, which was so wonderfully, so diabolically,
like the original, that for a moment I thought the thing
itself was on my table.'
• Who put it there ?'
'That is precisely what I wish you to find out,—what
I wish you to make it your instant business to ascertain.
I have found the thing, under similar circumstances,
on three separate occasions, on my study table,--and
each time it has had on me the same hideous effect.'
'Each time after you have returned from a late sitting
in the House of Commons ?'
'Exactly.'
• Where are these—what shall I call them delinea-
tions?'
'That, again, I cannot tell you.'
'What do you mean?'.
'What I say. Each time, when I recovered, the
thing had vanished.'
Sheet of paper and all ? '
' 'Apparently,—though on that point I could not be
positive. You will understand that my study table
is apt to be littered with sheets of paper, and I could
not absolutely determine that the thing had not stared
at me from one of those. The delineation itself, to use
your word, certainly had vanished.'
I began to suspect that this was a case rather for a
doctor than for a man of my profession. And hinted
as much.
'Don't you think it is possible, Mr Lessingham, that
you have been overworking yourself—that you have
been driving your brain too hard, and that you have
been the victim of an optical delusion ?'
I thought so myself; I may say that I almost hoped
so. But wait till I have finished. You will find that
there is no loophole in that direction.
He appeared to be recalling events in their due order.
His manner was studiously cold,—as if he were
endeavouring, despite the strangeness of his story, to
impress me with the literal accuracy of each syllable
he uttered.
The night before last, on returning home, I found
In my study a stranger.'


AFTER TWENTY YEARS
847
'A stranger ? '
'Yes.—In other words, a burglar.
'A burglar ?—I see.—Go on.'
He had paused. His demeanour was becoming odder
and odder.
On my entry he was engaged in forcing an entry into
my bureau. I need hardly say that I advanced to seize
him. But I could not.'
' You could not ?—How do you mean you could not ?'
I mean simply what I say. You must understand
that this was no ordinary felon. Of what nationality
he was I cannot tell you. He only uttered two words,
and they were certainly in English, but apart from that
he was dumb. He wore no covering on his head or feet.
Indeed, his only garment was a long dark flowing cloak
which, as it fluttered about him, revealed that his limbs
were bare.'
An unique costume for a burglar.'
'The instant I saw him I realised that he was in some
way connected with that adventure in the Rue de
Rabagas. What he said and did, proved it to the hilt.'
'What did he say and do ?'
'As I approached to effect his capture, he pronounced
aloud two words which recalled that awful scene the
recollection of which always lingers in my brain, and of
which I never dare to permit myself to think. Their
very utterance threw me into a sort of convulsion.'
What were the words ? '
Mr Lessingham opened his mouth,—and shut it. A
marked change took place in the expression of his
countenance. His eyes became fixed and staring,-
resembling the glassy orbs of the somnambulist. For a
moment I feared that he was going to give me an object
lesson in the' visitations' of which I had heard so much.
I rose, with a view of offering him assistance. He
motioned me back.
' Thank you. It will pass away.'
His voice was dry and husky,—unlike his usual silvern
tones. After an uncomfortable interval he managed to
continue.
* You see for yourself, Mr Champnell, what a miserable
weakling, when this subject is broached, I still remain.


248
THE BEETLE
I cannot utter the words the stranger uttered, I cannot
even write them down. For some inscrutable reason
they have on me an effect similar to that which spells
and incantations had on people in tales of witchcraft.'
'I suppose, Mr Lessingham, that there is no doubt
that this mysterious stranger was not himself an optical
delusion?'
'Scarcely. There is the evidence of my servants to
prove the contrary.'
Did your servants see him ?'
'Some of them,—yes. Then there is the evidence of
the bureau. The fellow had smashed the top right in
two. When I came to examine the contents I learned
that a packet of letters was missing. They were letters
which I had received from Miss Lindon, a lady whom
I hope to make my wife. This, also, I state to you in
confidence.'
• What use would he be likely to make of them ?'
'If matters stand as I fear they do, he might make a
very serious misuse of them. If the object of these
wretches, after all these years, is a wild revenge, they
would be capable, having discovered what she is to me,
of working Miss Lindon a fatal mischief, or, at the
very least, of poisoning her mind.'
'I see.—How did the thief escape, did he, like the
delineation, vanish into air ?'
• He escaped by the much more prosaic method of
dashing through the drawing-room window, and clamber-
ing down from the verandah into the street, where he
ran right into someone's arms.'
Into whose arms,—a constable's?'
'No; into Mr. Atherton's,—Sydney Atherton's.'
'The inventor?'
'The same.—Do you know him?'
'I do. Sydney Atherton and I are friends of a good
many years' standing.—But Atherton must have seen
where he came from ;—and, anyhow, if he was in the
state of undress which you have described, why didn't
he stop him ?'
* Mr. Atherton's reasons were his own. He did not
stop him, and, so far as I can learn, he did not attempt
to stop him. Instead, he knocked at my hall door to


AFTER TWENTY YEARS 249
inform me that he had seen a man climb out of my
window.'
'I happen to know that, at certain seasons, Atherton
is a queer fish, but that sounds very queer indeed.'
The truth is, Mr Champnell, that, if it were not for
Mr Atherton, I doubt if I should have troubled you even
now. The accident of his being an acquaintance of
yours makes my task easier.'
He drew his chair closer to me with an air of briskness
which had been foreign to him before. For some
reason, which I was unable to fathom, the introduction
of Atherton's name seemed to have enlivened him.
However, I was not long to remain in darkness. In half
a dozen sentences he threw more light on the real cause
of his visit to me than he had done in all that had gone
before. His bearing, too, was more businesslike and to
the point. For the first time I had some glimmerings
of the politician,—alert, keen, eager,—as he is known
to all the world.
Mr Atherton, like myself, has been a postulant for
Miss Lindon's hand. Because I have succeeded where
he has failed, he has chosen to be angry. It seems that
he has had dealings, either with my visitor of Tuesday
night, or with some other his acquaintance, and he
proposes to use what he has gleaned from him to the
disadvantage of my character. I have just come from
Mr Atherton. From hints he dropped I conclude that,
probably during the last few hours, he has had an
interview with someone who was connected in some
way with that lurid patch in my career ; that this person
made so-called revelations which were nothing but a
series of monstrous lies; and these so-called revelations
Mr Atherton has threatened, in so many words, to
place before Miss Lindon. That is an eventuality which
I wish to avoid. My own conviction is that there is at
this moment in London an emissary from that den in the
whilom Rue de Rabagas—for all I know it may be the
Woman of the Songs herself. Whether the sole purport
of this individual's presence is to do me injury, I am,
as yet, in no position to say, but that it is proposed to
work me mischief, at any rate, by the way, is plain.
I believe that Mr Atherton knows more about this


250
THE BEETLE
person's individuality and whereabouts than he has
been willing, so far, to admit. I want you, therefore, to
ascertain these things on my behalf ; to find out what,
and where, this person is, to drag her ! or him ;—out
into the light of day. In short, I want you to effectually
protect me from the terrorism which threatens once
more to overwhelm my mental and my physical powers
-which bids fair to destroy my intellect, my career,
my life, my all.'
What reason have you for suspecting that Mr
Atherton has seen this individual of whom you speak,
has he told you so ?'
'Practically,—yes.'
'I know Atherton well. In his not infrequent
moments of excitement he is apt to use strong language,
but it goes no further. I believe him to be the last
person in the world to do anyone an intentional injustice,
under any circumstances whatever. If I go to him,
armed with credentials from you, when he understands
the real gravity of the situation,—which it will be my
business to make him do, I believe that, spontaneously,
of his own accord, he will tell me as much about this
mysterious individual as he knows himself.'
'Then go to him at once.'
'Good. I will. The result I will communicate to
you.'
I rose from my seat. As I did so, someone rushed
into the outer office with a din and a clatter. Andrews'
voice, and another, became distinctly audible,-
Andrews' apparently raised in vigorous expostulation.
Raised, seemingly, in vain, for presently the door of my
own particular sanctum was thrown open with a crash,
and Mr Sydney Atherton himself came dashing in,
evidently conspicuously under the influence of one
of those not infrequent moments of excitement' of
which I had just been speaking.


CHAPTER XXXV
a bringer of tidings
Atherton did not wait to see who might or might not be
present, but, without even pausing to take breath, he
broke into full cry on the instant—as is occasionally his
wont.
Champnell —Thank goodness I've found you in
I want you !—At once !—Don't stop to talk, but stick
your hat on, and put your best foot forward,—I'll tell
you all about it in the cab.'
I endeavoured to call his attention to Mr. Lessingham's
presence—but without success.
'My dear fellow--'
When I had got as far as that he cut me short.
'Don't “ dear fellow ” me !—None of your jabber!
And none of your excuses either! I don't care if you've
got an engagement with the Queen, you'll have to chuck
it. Where's that dashed hat of yours, or are you
going without it? Don't I tell you that every second
cut to waste may mean the difference between life and
death ?—Do you want me to drag you down to the cab
by the hair of your head ?'
I will try not to constrain you to quite so drastic a
resource, and I was coming to you at once in any case.
I only want to call your attention to the fact that I am
not alone.—Here is Mr Lessingham.'
In his harum-scarum haste Mr Lessingham had gone
unnoticed. Now that his observation was particularly
directed to him, Atherton started, turned and glared at
my latest client in a fashion which was scarcely
flattering.
Oh l-It's you, is it ?—What the deuce are you doing
here?"
Before Lessingham could reply to this most


AFTER TWENTY YEARS
253
might have stood for a materialistic conception of human
retribution.
Sydney, I take it, was rather surprised than hurt. For
a moment or two he lay quite still. Then, lifting his
head, he looked up at his assailant. Then, raising himself
to his feet, he shook himself, -as if with a view of learning
if all his bones were whole. Putting his hands up to his
neck, he rubbed it gently. And he grinned
'By God, Lessingham, there's more in you than I
thought. After all, you are a man. There's some
holding power in those wrists of yours,—they've nearly
broken my neck. When this business is finished, I
should like to put on the gloves with you, and fight it
out. You're clean wasted upon politics.—Damn it, man,
give me your hand !'
Mr Lessingham did not give him his hand. Atherton
took it,—and gave it a hearty shake with both of his.
If the first paroxysm of his passion had passed, Les-
singham was still sufficiently stern.
' Be so good as not to trifle, Mr Atherton. If what
you say is correct, and the wretch to whom you allude
really has Miss Lindon at her mercy, then the woman I
love—and whom you also pretend to love I-stands
in imminent peril not only of a ghastly death, but of
what is infinitely worse than death.
'The deuce she does !' Atherton wheeled round
towards me. Champnell, haven't you got that dashed
hat of yours yet ? Don't stand there like a tailor's
dummy, keeping me on tenter-hooks,—move yourself!
I'll tell you all about it in the cab.—And, Lessingham,
if you'll come with us I'll tell you too.'


CHAPTER XXXVI
what the tidings were
Three in a hansom cab is not, under all circumstances
the most comfortable method of conveyance,—when
one of the trio happens to be Sydney Atherton in one
of his ' moments of excitement' it is distinctly the
opposite ; as, on that occasion, Mr Lessingham and
I both quickly found. Sometimes he sat on my knees,
sometimes on Lessingham's, and frequently, when he
unexpectedly stood up, and all but precipitated himself
on to the horse's back, on nobody's. In the eagerness
of his gesticulations, first he knocked off my hat, then
he knocked off Lessingham's, then his own, then all
three together, once, his own hat rolling into the mud,
he sprang into the road, without previously going through
the empty form of advising the driver of his intention,
to pick it up. When he turned to speak to Lessingham,
he thrust his elbow into my eye; and when he turned
to speak to me, he thrust it into Lessingham's. Never,
for one solitary instant, was he at rest, or either of us
at ease. The wonder is that the gymnastics in which
he incessantly indulged did not sufficiently attract
public notice to induce a policeman to put at least a
momentary period to our progress. Had speed not
been of primary importance I should have insisted on
the transference of the expedition to the somewhat
wider limits of a four-wheeler.
His elucidation of the causes of his agitation was
apparently more comprehensible to Lessingham than
it was to me. I had to piece this and that together
under considerable difficulties. By degrees I did arrive
at something like a clear notion of what had actually
taken place.
He commenced by addressing Lessingham, and
thrusting his elbow into my eye.


WHAT THE TIDINGS WERE 255
'Did Marjorie tell you about the fellow she found in
the street ?' Up went his arm to force the trap-door
open overhead, -and off went my hat. Now then,
William Henry 1-let her go h-if you kill the horse I'll
buy you another !'.
We were already going much faster than, legally,
we ought to have done,—but that, seemingly to him
was not a matter of the slightest consequence. Less-
ingham replied to his inquiry.
She did not.'
'You know the fellow I saw coming out of your
drawing-room window ?'
'Yes.'
'Well, Marjorie found him in the morning after in
front of her breakfast-room window—in the middle
of the street. Seems he had been wandering about all
night, unclothed,—in the rain and the mud, and all
the rest of it,—in a condition of hypnotic trance.'
• Who is the gentleman you are alluding to?'
'Says his name's Holt, Robert Holt.'
• Holt ?- Is he an Englishman ?'.
* Very much so,—City quilldriver out of a shop,-
stony broke absolutely! Got the chuck from the
casual ward,—wouldn't let him in-house full, and
that sort of thing,—poor devil | Pretty passes you
politicians bring men to l'
'Are you sure?'
Of what?'
' Are you sure that this man, Robert Holt, is the same
person whom, as you put it, you saw coming out of my
drawing-room window?'.
'Sure Of course I'm sure !—Think I didn't rec-
ognise him ?—Besides, there was the man's own tale,
-owned to it himself,—besides all the rest, which sent
one rushing Fulham way.'
* You must remember, Mr Atherton, that I am wholly
in the dark as to what has happened. What has the
man. Holt, to do with the errand on which we are
bound ?'
'Am I not coming to it? If you would let me tell
the tale in my own way I should get there in less than
no time, but you will keep on cutting in,—how the


756
THE BEETLE
deuce do you suppose Champnell is to make head or
tail of the business if you will persist in interrupting ?
--Marjorie took the beggar in, -he told his. tale to her
-she sent for me that was just now; caught me on
the steps after I had been lunching with Dora Grayling.
Holt re-dished his yarn—I smelt a rat—saw that a
connection possibly existed between the thief who'd
been playing confounded conjuring tricks off on to
me and this interesting party down Fulham way—'.
'What party down Fulham way?'
'This friend of Holt's—am I not telling you ? There
you are, you see,—won't let me finish! When Holt
slipped through the window—which is the most sensible
thing he seems to have done ; if I'd been in his shoes
I'd have slipped through forty windows !—dusky
coloured charmer caught him on the hop,doctored
him—sent him out to commit burglary by deputy.
I said to Holt, "Show us this agreeable little crib,
young man." Holt was game—then Marjorie chipped
in—she wanted to go and see it too. I said, “ You'll
be sorry if you do,"—that settled it! After that she'd
have gone if she'd died,—I never did have a persuasive
way with women. So off we toddled, Marjorie, Holt,
and I, in a growler,--spotted the crib in less than no
time,—invited ourselves in by the kitchen window-
house seemed empty. Presently Holt became hypnotised
before my eyes,—the best established case of hypnotism
by suggestion I ever yet encountered—started off on
a pilgrimage of one. Like an idiot I followed, leaving
Marjorie to wait for me
• Álone ?
'Alone !—Am I not telling you ? — Great Scott,
Lessingham, in the House of Commons they must be
hazy to think you smart! I said, “I'll send the first
sane soul I meet to keep you company." As luck would
have it, I never met one,—only kids, and a baker,
who wouldn't leave his cart, or take it with him either.
I'd covered pretty nearly two miles before I came across
a peeler,--and when I did the man was cracked—and
he thought me mad, or drunk, or both. By the time
I'd got myself within nodding distance of being run in
for obstructing the police in the execution of their duty,


WHAT THE TIDINGS WERE
257
without inducing him to move a single one of his twenty-
four-inch feet. Holt was out of sight. So, since all my
pains in his direction were clean thrown away, there
was nothing left for me but to scurry back to Marjorie,
-So I scurried, and I found the house empty, no one
there, and Marjorie gone.'
• But, I don't quite follow—'
Atherton impetuously declined to allow Mr Lessing.
ham to conclude.
Of course you don't quite follow, and you'll follow
still less if you will keep getting in front. I went up-
stairs and downstairs, inside and out--shouted myself
hoarse as a crow—nothing was to be seen of Marjorie,
or heard ; until, as I was coming down the stairs for about
the five-and-fiftieth time, I stepped on something hard
which was lying in the passage. I picked it up-it
was a ring; this ring. Its shape is not just what it
was, I'm not as light as gossamer, especially when I
come jumping downstairs six at a tiine,- but what's
left of it is here.'
Sydney held something in front of him. Mr Lessing-
ham wriggled to one side to enable him to see. Then
he made a snatch at it.
It's mine!'
Sydney dodged it out of his reach.
'What do you mean, it's yours ?'
* It's the ring I gave Marjorie for an engagement ring.
Give it me, you hound —unless you wish me to do you
violence in the cab.'
With complete disregard of the limitations of space,
-or of my comfort,—I essingham thrust him vigorously
aside. Then gripping Sydney by the wrist, he seized the
gaud, -Sydney yielding it just in time to save himself
from being precipitated into the street. Ravished of
his treasure, Sydney turned and surveyed the ravisher
with something like a glance of admiration.
'Hang me, Lessingham, if I don't believe there is
some warm blood in those fishlike veins of yours. Please
the piper, I'll live to tight you after all, with the bare
ones, sir, as a gentleman should do.'
Lessingham seemed to pay no attention to him what.
ever. He was surveying the ring which Sydney had


CHAPTER XXXVII
what was hidden under the floor
The cab pulled up in front of a tumbledown cheap
'villa' in an unfinished cheap neighbourhood,—the
whole place a living monument of the defeat of the
speculative builder.
Atherton leaped out on to the grass-grown rubble
which was meant for a footpath.
I don't see Marjorie looking for me on the door-
step.'
Nor did I,--I saw nothing but what appeared to be
an unoccupied ramshackle brick abomination. Suddenly
Sydney gave an exclamation.
'Hullo 1-The front door's closed !'
I was hard at his heels.
'What do you mean?'
'Why, when I went I left the front door open. It
looks as if I've made an idiot of myself after all, and
Marjorie's returned,- let's hope to goodness that I
have.'
He knocked. While we waited for a response I
questioned him.
Why did you leave the door open when you went ?'
'I hardly know,—I imagine that it was with some
dim idea of Marjorie's being able to get in if she returned
while I was absent,—but the truth is I was in such a
condition of helter skelter that I am not prepared to
swear that I had any reasonable reason.'
'I suppose there is no doubt that you did leave it
open ?'
Absolutely none, -on that I'll stake my life.'
'Was it open when you returned from your pursuit
of Holt?'
Wide open, I walked straight in. expecting to


260
THE BEETLE
find her waiting for me in the front room, --iwas struck
all of a heap when I found she wasn't there.'
'Were there any signs of a struggle?'
'None,—there were no signs of anything. Everything
was just as I had left it, with the exception of the ring
which I trod on in the passage, and which Lessingham
has.'
* If Miss Lindon has returned, it does not look as if she
were in the house at present.'
It did not,—unless silence had such meaning. Atherton
had knocked loudly three times without succeeding in
attracting the slightest notice from within.
It strikes me that this is another case of seeking
admission through that hospitable window at the back.'
Atherton led the way to the rear. Lessingham and I
followed. There was not even an apology for a yard,
still less a garden,—there was not even a fence of any
sort, to serve as an enclosure, and to shut off the house
from the wilderness of waste land. The kitchen window
was open. I asked Sydney if he had left it so.
I don't know,—I dare say we did ; I don't fancy that
either of us stood on the orrier o his coining.'
While he spoke, he scrambled over the sill. We
followed. When he was in, he shouted at the top of his
voice,
'Marjorie ! Marjorie ! Speak to me, Marjorie, -
it is I, -Sydney !
The words echoed through the house. Only silence
answered. He led the way to the front room. Suddenly
he stopped.
Hollo!' he cried. 'The blind's down !' I had
noticed, when we were outside, that the blind was down
at the front room window. It was up when I went,
that I'll swear. That someone has been here is pretty
plain,—let's hope it's Marjorie.
He had only taken a step forward into the room when
he again stopped short to exclaim.
My stars !--here's a sudden clearance !—Why, the
place is empty,—everything's clean gone !'
What do you mean ?—was it furnished when you
left ?'
The room was empty enough then.


HIDDEN UNDER THE FLOOR
261
* Furnished ?—I don't know that it was exactly what
you'd call furnished,—the party who ran this establish-
ment had a taste in upholstery which was all his own-
but there was a carpet, and a bed, and—and lots of
things,- for the most part, I should have said, distinctly
Eastern curiosities. They seem to have evaporated
into smoke,—which may be a way which is common
enough among Eastern curiosities, though it's queer
to me.'
Atherton was staring about him as if he found it
difficult to credit the evidence of his own eyes.
How long ago is it since you left ?'
He referred to his watch.
'Something over an hour,—possibly an hour and a
half; I couldn't swear to the exact moment, but it
certainly isn't more.'
' Did you notice any signs of packing up?'
'Not a sign.' Going to the window he drew up the
blind,—speaking as he did so. 'The queer thing about
this business is that when we first got in this blind
wouldn't draw up a little bit, so, since it wouldn't go up
I pulled it down, roller and all, now it draws up as easily
and smoothly as if it had always been the best blind
that ever lived.
Standing at Sydney's back I saw that the cabman on
his box was signalling to us with his outstretched hand.
Sydney perceived him too. He threw up the sash.
What's the matter with you?'.
Excuse me, sir, but who's the old gent ?'
'What old gent ?'
Why the old gent peeping through the window of the
room upstairs ?'
The words were hardly out of the driver's mouth when
Sydney was through the door and flying up the staircase.
I followed rather more soberly-his methods were a
little too flighty for me. When I reached the landing,
dashing out of the front room he rushed into the one at
the back,—then through a door at the side. He came
out shouting.
What's the idiot mean with his old gent! I'd
old gent him if I got him —There's not a creature about
the place l'


264
THE BEETLE
he himself suggested, what inducement could he have had
to tell a lie like that? That he believed himself to have
seen what he declared he saw was plain. But, on the
other hand, what could have become in the space of
fifty seconds !--of his ' old gent'?
Atherton put a question.
What did he look like,—this old gent of yours ?'
'Well, that I shouldn't hardly like to say. It wasn't
much of his face I could see, only his face and his eyes
and they wasn't pretty. He kept a thing over his head
all the time, as if he didn't want too much to be seen.'
'What sort of a thing ?'
'Why,—one of them cloak sort of things, like them
Arab blokes used to wear what used to be at Earl's
Court Exhibition,—you know !'.
This piece of information seemed to interest my
companions more than anything he had said before.
A burnoose do you mean?'
'How am I to know what the thing's called ? I ain't
up in foreign languages,—'tain't likely! All I know
that them Arab blokes what was at Earl's Court used to
walk about in them all over the place,--sometimes they
wore them over their heads, and sometimes they didn't.
In fact if you'd asked me, instead of trying to make
out as I sees double, or things what was only inside my
own noddle, or something or other, I should have said
this here old gent what I've been telling you about was
a Arab bloke,—when he gets off his knees to sneak away
from the window, I could see that he had his cloak thing,
what was over his head, wrapped all round him.'
Mr Lessingham turned to me, all quivering with
excitement
'I believe that what he says is true!'
* Then where can this mysterious old gentleman have
got to, can you suggest an explanation ? It is strange,
to say the least of it, that the cabman should be the only
person to see or hear anything of him.'
'Some devil's trick has been played, -I know it, I
feel it 1-my instinct tells me so !
I stared. In such a matter one hardly expects a man
of Paul Lessingham's stamp to talk of instinct.'
Atherton stared too. Then, on a sudden, he burst out,


HIDDEN UNDER THE FLOOR
265
"By the Lord, I believe the Apostle's right, the
whole place reeks to me of hankey-pankey,—it did as
soon as I put my nose inside. In matters of presti-
digitation, Champnell, we Westerns are among the
rudiments, we've everything to learn,—Orientals
leave us at the post. If their civilisation's what
we're pleased to call extinct, their conjuring—when
you get to know it!—is all alive oh!'
He moved towards the door. As he went he slipped,
or seemed to, all but stumbling on to his knees.
'Something tripped me up,—what's this?' He was
stamping on the floor with his foot. Here's a board
loose. Come and lend me a hand, one of you fellows,
to get it up. Who knows what mystery's beneath?'
I went to his aid. As he said, a board in the floor
was loose. His stepping on it unawares had caused
his stumble. Together we prised it out of its place, -
Lessingham standing by and watching us the while.
Having removed it, we peered into the cavity it
disclosed.
There was something there.
Why,' cried Atherton, 'it's a woman's clothing!'


THE REST OF THE FIND
267
He had found the pocket, and was turning out the
contents. There was a purse which contained money and
some visiting cards on which were her name and address;
a small bunch of keys, with her nameplate attached ;
a handkerchief, with her initials in a corner. The
question of ownership was placed beyond a doubt.
'You see,' said Lessingham, exhibiting the money
which was in the purse, it is not robbery which has
been attempted. Here are two ten-pound notes, and
one for five, besides gold and silver,—over thirty pounds
in all.'
Atherton, who had been turning over the accumula-
tion of rubbish between the joists, proclaimed another
find.
Here are her rings, and watch, and a bracelet,-
no, it certainly does not look as if theft had been an
object.'
Lessingham was glowering at him with knitted brows.
'I have to thank you for this.'
Sydney was unwontedly meek.
'You are hard on me, Lessingham, harder than I
deserve, I had rather have thrown away my own life
than have suffered misadventure to have come to her.'
'Yours are idle words. Had you not meddled this
would not have happened. A fool works more mis-
chief with his folly than of malice prepense. If hurt
has befallen Marjorie Lindon you shall account for it
to me with your life's blood.'
'Let it be so,' said Sydney. 'I am content. If hurt
has come to Marjorie, God knows that I am willing
enough that death should come to me.'
While they wrangled, I continued to search. A
little to one side, under the flooring which was still
intact, I saw something gleam. By stretching out
my hand, I could just manage to reach it,—it was a
long plait of woman's hair. It had been cut off at
the roots, so close to the head in one place that the
scalp itself had been cut, so that the hair was clotted
with blood.
They were so occupied with each other that they
took no notice of me. I had to call their attention to
my discovery.


THE REST OF THE FIND
269
into,—without result. At the end we found ourselves
dusty, dirty, and discomfited. The cabman's old gent
remained as much a mystery as ever, and no further
trace had been discovered of Miss Lindon.
Atherton made no effort to disguise his chagrin.
Now what's to be done? There seems to be just
nothing in the place at all, and yet that there is, and
that it's the key to the whole confounded business I
should be disposed to swear.'
'In that case I would suggest that you should stay
and look for it. The cabman can go and look for the
requisite tools, or a workman to assist you, if you like.
For my part it appears to me that evidence of another
sort is, for the moment, of paramount importance ; and
I propose to commence my search for it by making a
call at the house which is over the way.'
I had observed, on our arrival, that the road only
contained two houses which were in anything like a
finished state,--that which we were in, and another,
some fifty or sixty yards further down, on the opposite
side. It was to this I referred. The twain immediately
proffered their companionship.
'I will come with you,' said Mr Lessingham.
' And I,' echoed Sydney. 'We'll leave this sweet
homestead in charge of the cabman,—I'll pull it to
pieces afterwards.' He went out and spoke to the
driver. 'Cabby, we're going to pay a visit to the little
crib over there,—you keep an eye on this one. And,
if you see a sign of anyone being about the place,
living, or dead, or anyhow,you give me a yell. I
shall be on the lookout, and I'll be with you before you
can say Jack Robinson.
'You bet I'll yell,—I'll raise the hair right off you.'
The fellow grinned. 'But I don't know if you gents
are hiring me by the day,—I want to change my horse ;
he ought to have been in his stable a couple of hours
ago.'
Never mind your horse,- let him rest a couple of
hours extra to-morrow to make up for those he has
lost to-day. I'll take care you don't lose anything
by this little job,—or your horse either.—By the way,
look here,—this will be better than yelling.'


270
THE BEETLE
Taking a revolver out of his trousers' pocket he handed
it up to the grinning driver.
If that old gent of yours does appear, you have a
pop at him,—I shall hear that easier than a yell. You
can put a bullet through him if you like, - I give you
my word it won't be murder.'
I don't care if it is,' declared the cabman, handling
the weapon like one who was familiar with arms of
precision. 'I used to fancy my revolver shooting when
I was with the colours, and if I do get a chance I'll put
a shot through the old hunks, if only to prove to you
that I'm no liar.'
Whether the man was in earnest or not I could not
tell,—nor whether Atherton meant what he said in
answer.
'If you shoot him I'll give you fifty pounds.'
'All right!' The driver laughed. 'I'll do my
best to earn that fifty !'


CHAPTER XXXIX
miss louisa coleman
That the house over the way was tenanted was plain
to all the world,—at least one occupant sat gazing
through the window of the first floor front room. An
old woman in a cap, one of those large old-fashioned
caps which our grandmothers used to wear, tied with
strings under the chin. It was a bow window, and as
she was seated in the bay looking right in our direction
she could hardly have failed to see us as we advance,
—indeed she continued to stare at us all the while with
placid calmness. Yet I knocked once, twice, and yet
again without the slightest notice being taken of my
summons.
Sydney gave expression to his impatience in his own
'Knockers in this part of the world seem intended
for ornament only,—nobody seems to pay any attention
to them when they're used. The old lady upstairs must
be either deaf or dotty. He went out into the road
to see if she still was there. 'She's looking at me as calmly
as you please, -what does she think we're doing here,
I wonder ; playing a tune on her front door by way
of a little amusement ?Madam !' He took off his
hat and waved it to her. 'Madam! might I observe
that if you won't condescend to notice that we're here
your front door will run the risk of being severely in-
jured !--She don't care for me any more than if I was
nothing at all, -sound another tattoo upon that
knocker. Perhaps she's so deaf that nothing short of a
cataclysmal uproar will reach her auditory nerves.'
She immediately proved, however, that she was
nothing of the sort. Hardly had the sounds of my
further knocking died away than, throwing up the
window, she thrust out her head and addressed me


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in a fashion which, under the circumstances, was as
unexpected as it was uncalled for.
Now, young man, you needn't be in such a hurry!'
Sydney explained.
Pardon me, madam, it's not so much a hurry we're
in as pressed for tiine,--this is a matter of life and death.'
She turned her attention to Sydney,--speaking with
a frankness for which, I imagine, he was unprepared.
'I don't want none of your imperence, young man.
I've seen you before, you've been hanging about here
the whole day long !—and I don't like the looks of you,
and so I'll let you know. That's my front door, and
that's my knocker, -I'll come down and open when I
like, but I'm not going to be hurried, and if the knocker's
so much as touched again, I won't come down at all.'
She closed the window with a bang. Sydney seemed
divided between mirth and indignation.
'That's a nice old lady, on my honour,—one of the
good old crusty sort. Agreeable characters this neigh-
bourhood seems to grow,—a sojourn hereabouts should
do one good. Unfortuntely I don't feel disposed
just now to stand and kick my heels in the road.' Again
saluting the old dame by raising his hat he shouted to
her at the top of his voice. 'Madam, I beg ten thousand
pardons for troubling you, but this is a matter in which
every second is of vital importance,—would you allow
me to ask you one or two questions?'
Up went the window ; out came the old lady's head.
Now, young man, you needn't put yourself out to
holler at me,- I won't be hollered at ! I'll come down
and open that door in five minutes by the clock on my
mantelpiece, and not a moment before.'
The fiat delivered, down came the window. Sydney
looked rueful,—he consulted his watch.
'I don't know what you think, Champnell, but I
really doubt if this comfortable creature can tell us
anything worth waiting another five minutes to hear.
We mustn't let the grass grow under our feet, and
time is getting on.
I was of a different opinion,—and said so.
' I'm afraid, Atherton, that I can't agree with you.
She seems to have noticed you hanging about all


MISS LOUISA COLEMAN
273
day; and it is at least possible that she has noticed
a good deal which would be well worth our hearing.
What more promising witness are we likely to find ?
-her house is the only one which overlooks the one
we have just quitted. I am of opinion that it may not
only prove well worth our while to wait five minutes,
but also that it would be as well, if possible, not to
offend her by the way. She's not likely to afford us
the information we require if you do.'
Good. If that's what you think I'm sure I'm willing
to wait,—only it's to be hoped that that clock upon
her mantelpiece moves quicker than its mistress.'
Presently, when about a minute had gone, he called
to the cabman.
'Seen a sign of anything ?'
The cabman shouted back.
'Ne'er a sign,—you'll hear a sound of popguns when
I do.'
Those five minutes did seem long ones. But at
last Sydney, from his post of vantage in the road, in-
formed us that the old lady was moving.
'She's getting up ;—she's leaving the window ;-
let's hope to goodness she's coming down to open the
door. That's been the longest five minutes I've known.'
I could hear uncertain footsteps descending the
stairs. They came along the passage. The door was
opened—'on the chain.' The old lady peered at us
through an aperture of about six inches.
I don't know what you young men think you're
after, but have all three of you in my house I won't. I'll
have hirn and you'—a skinny finger was pointed to
Lessingham and me; then it was directed towards
Atherton—' but have him I won't. So if it's anything
particular you want to say to me, you'll just tell him
to go away.'
On hearing this Sydney's humility was abject. His
hat was in his hand, -he bent himself double,
'Suffer me to make you a million apologies, madam,
if I have in any way offended you ; nothing, I assure
you, could have been farther from my intention, or from
my thoughts.
I don't want none of your apologies, and I don't


274
THE BEETLE
want none of you neither ; I don't like the looks of you,
and so I tell you. Before I let anybody into my house
you'll have to sling your hook.'
The door was banged in our faces. I turned to
Sydney.
'The sooner you go the better it will be for us. You
can wait for us over the way.'
He shrugged his shoulders, and groaned,—half in
jest, half in earnest.
'If I must I suppose I must,—it's the first time I've
been refused admittance to a lady's house in all my
life! What have I done to deserve this thing ?—If
you keep me waiting long I'll tear that infernal den
to pieces !'
He sauntered across the road, viciously kicking the
stones as he went. The door reopened.
'Has that other young man gone ?'
• He has.'
• Then now I'll let you in. Have him inside my
house I won't.'
The chain was removed. Lessingham and I entered.
Then the door was refastened and the chain replaced.
Our hostess showed us into the front room on the ground
floor; it was sparsely furnished and not too clean,
but there were chairs enough for us to sit upon; which
she insisted on our occupying.
Sit down, do,- I can't abide to see folks standing
it gives me the fidgets.'
So soon as we were seated, without any overture on
our parts she plunged in medias res.
'I know what it is you've come about, I know !
You want me to tell you who it is as lives in the house
over the road. Well, I can tell you,—and I dare bet
a shilling that I'm about the only one who can.'
I inclined my head.
• Indeed. Is that so, madam ?'
She was huffed at once.
* Don't madam me,- I can't bear none of your lip
service. I'm a plain-spoken woman, that's what I
am, and I like other people's tongues to be as plain
as mine. My name's Miss Louisa Coleman ; but I'm


MISS LOUISA COLEMAN
275
generally called Miss Coleman,—I'm only called Louisa
by my relatives.'
Since she was apparently between seventy and eighty
and looked every year of her apparent age--I deemed
that possible. Miss Coleman was evidently a character.
If one was desirous of getting information out of her
it would be necessary to allow her to impart it in her
own manner,—to endeavour to induce her to impart
it in anybody else's would be time clean wasted. We
had Sydney's fate before our eyes.
She started with a sort of roundabout preamble.
'This property is mine ; it was left me by my uncle,
the late George Henry Jobson,—he's buried in Ham-
mersmith Cemetery just over the way,—he left me
the whole of it. It's one of the finest building sites
near London, and it increases in value every year,
and I'm not going to let it for another twenty, by which
time the value will have more than trebled, so if that
is what you've come about, as heaps of people do, you
might have saved yourselves the trouble. I keep the
boards standing, just to let people know that the ground
is to let,—though, as I say, it won't be for another
twenty years, when it'll be for the erection of high-
class mansions only, same as there is in Grosvenor
Square,—no shops or public houses, and none of your
shanties. I live in this place just to keep an eye upon
the property,—and as for the house over the way, I've
never tried to let it, and it never has been let, not until
a month ago, when, one morning, I had this letter.
You can see it if you like.'
She handed me a greasy envelope which she ferreted
out of a capacious pocket which was suspended from
her waist, and which she had to lift up her skirt to reach.
The envelope was addressed, in unformed characters,
* Miss Louisa Coleman, The Rhododendrons, Convol.
vulus Avenue, High Oaks Park, West Kensington.'-
I felt, if the writer had not been of a humorous turn of
mind, and drawn on his imagination, and this really
was the lady's correct address, then there must be
something in a name.
The letter within was written in the same straggling,
characterless caligraphy,—I should have said, had 1


276
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been asked offhand, that the whole thing was the com-
position of a servant girl. The composition was about
on a par with the writing.
'The undersigned would be oblidged if Miss Coleman
would let her emptey house. I do not know the rent
but send fifty pounds. If more will send. Please
address, Mohamed el Kheir, Post Office, Sligo Street,
London.'
It struck me as being as singular an application for
a tenancy as I remembered to have encountered. When
I passed it on to Lessingham, he seemed to think so
too.
'This is a curious letter, Miss Coleman.'
So I thought,—and still more so when I found the
fifty pounds inside. There were five ten-pound notes,
all loose, and the letter not even registered. If I had
been asked what was the rent of the house, I should
have said, at the most, not more than twenty pounds,
-because, between you and me, it wants a good bit
of doing up, and is hardly fit to live in as it stands.'
I had had sufficient evidence of the truth of this
altogether apart from the landlady's frank admission.
Why, for all he could have done to help himself
I might have kept the money, and only sent him a
receipt for a quarter. And some folks would have
done,—but I'm not one of that sort myself, and shouldn't
care to be. So I sent this here party,—I never could
pronounce his name, and never shall—a receipt for a
year.'
Miss Coleman paused to smooth her apron, and
consider.
'Well, the receipt should have reached this here party
on the Thursday morning, as it were, I posted it on
the . Wednesday night, and on the Thursday, after
breakfast, I thought I'd go over the way to see if there
was any little thing I could do,—because there wasn't
hardly a whole pane of glass in the place,—when I all
but went all of a heap. When I looked across the road,
blessed if the party wasn't in already,--at least as
much as he ever was in, which, so far as I can make


MISS LOUISA COLEMAN
277
out, never has been anything particular,—though how
he had got in, unless it was through a window in the
middle of the night, is more than I should care to say,
—there was nobody in the house when I went to bed,
that I could pretty nearly take my Bible oath,—yet
there was the blind up at the parlour, and, what's more, it
was down, and it's been down pretty nearly ever
since.
““Well," I says to myself, " for right down imperence
this beats anything,—why he's in the place before he
knows if I'll let him have it. Perhaps he thinks I
haven't got a word to say in the matter,—fifty pounds
or no fifty pounds, I'll soon show him." So I slips on
my bonnet, and I walks over the road, and I hammers
at the door.
'Well, I have seen people hammering since then,
many a one, and how they've kept it up has puzzled
me,—for an hour, some of them,—but I was the first
one as begun it. I hammers, and I hammers, and I
kept on hammering, but it wasn't no more use than
if I'd been hammering at a tombstone. So I starts
rapping at the window, but that wasn't no use neither.
So I goes round behind, and I hammers at the back
door,—but there, I couldn't make anyone hear no-
how. So I says to myself, “ Perhaps the party as is
in, ain't in, in a manner of speaking ; but I'll keep
an eye on the house, and when he is in I'll take care
that he ain't out again before I've had a word to say.'
So I come back home, and as I said I would, I kept
an eye on the house the whole of that livelong day,
but never a soul went either out or in. But the next
day, which it was a Friday, I got out of bed about five
o'clock, to see if it was raining, through my having an
idea of taking a little excursion if the weather was
fine, when I see a party coming down the road. He
had on one of them dirty-coloured bed-cover sort of
things, and it was wrapped all over his head and round
his body, like, as I have been told, them there Arabs
wear,—and, indeed, I've seen them in them myself
at West Brompton, when they was in the exhibition
there. It was quite fine, and broad day, and I see him
as plainly as I see you,—he comes skimming along at


273
THE BEETLE
a tear of a pace, pulls up at the house over the way,
opens the front door, and lets himself in.
"" So," I says to myself, "there you are. Well,
Mr Arab, or whatever, or whoever, you may be, I'll
take good care that you don't go out again before you've
had a word from me. I'll show you that landladies
have their rights, like other Christians, in this country,
however it may be in yours." So I kept an eye on the
house, to see that he didn't go out again, and nobody
never didn't, and between seven and eight I goes and
I knocks at the door,—because I thought to myself
that the earlier I was the better it might be.
If you'll believe me, no more notice was taken of
me than if I was one of the dead. I hammers, and I
hammers, till my wrist was aching, I daresay I hammered
twenty times, and then I went round to the back
door, and I hammers at that,--but it wasn't the least
good in the world. I was that provoked to think I
should be treated as if I was nothing and nobody, by
a dirty foreigner, who went about in a bed-gown through
the public streets, that it was all I could do to hold
myself.
I comes round to the front again, and I starts ham-
mering at the window, with every knuckle on my hands,
and I calls out, " I'm Miss Louisa Coleman, and I'm
the owner of this house, and you can't deceive me,-
I saw you come in, and you're in now, and if you don't
come and speak to me this moment I'll have the police."
'All of a sudden, when I was least expecting it,
and was hammering my very hardest at the pane,
up goes the blind, and up goes the window too, and
the most awful-looking creature ever I heard of, not
to mention seeing, puts his head right into my face,
he was more like a hideous baboon than anything else,
let alone a man. I was struck all of a heap, and plumps
down on the little wall, and all but tumbles head over
heels backwards. And he starts shrieking, in a sort
of a kind of English, and in such a voice as I'd never
heard the like, -it was like a rusty steam engine.
““Go away! go away! I don't want you! I will
not have you,—never! You have your fifty pounds,
-you have your money,—that is the whole of you,-


CHAPTER XL
WHAT MISS COLEMAN SAW THROUGH THE WINDOW
.
As Miss Coleman had paused, as if her narrative was
approaching a conclusion, I judged it expedient to
make an attempt to bring the record as quickly as
possible up to date.
I take it, Miss Coleman, that you have observed
what has occurred in the house to-day.
She tightened her nut-cracker jaws and glared at
me disdainfully,—her dignity was ruffled.
I'm coming to it, aren't I ?—if you'll let me. If
you've got no manners I'll learn you some. One
doesn't like to be hurried at my time of life, young man.'
I was meekly silent ;—plainly, if she was to talk,
every one else must listen.
During the last few days there have been some queer
goings on over the road, -out of the common queer,
I mean, for goodness knows that they always have been
queer enough. That Arab party has been flitting
about like a creature possessed, I've seen him going
in and out twenty times a day. This morning—'
She paused,—to fix her eyes on Lessingham. She
apparently observed his growing interest as she ap-
proached the subject which had brought us there,
and resented it.
'Don't look at me like that, young man, because I
won't have it. And as for questions, I may answer
questions when I'm done, but don't you dare to ask
me one before, because I won't be interrupted.'
Up to then Lessingham had not spoken a word, -
but it seemed as if she was endowed with the faculty
of perceiving the huge volume of the words which he
had left unuttered.
'This morning—as I've said already,—' she glanced at
Lessingham as if she defied his contradiction—' when


-
-
--- -
282
THE BEETLE
- -
-
- -
- - -
--- -
-
-
--
that Arab party came home it was just on the stroke
of seven. I know what was the exact time because,
when I went to the door to the milkman, my clock
was striking the half hour, and I always keep it thirty
minutes fast. As I was taking the milk, the man said
to me, “ Hollo, Miss Coleman, here's your friend coming
along." "What friend?" I says, for I ain't got
no friends, as I know, round here, nor yet, I hope no
enemies neither.
And I looks round, and there was the Arab party
coming tearing down the road, his bedcover thing all
flying in the wind, and his arms straight out in front of
him, -I never did see anyone go at such a pace. "My
goodness," I says, "I wonder he don't do himself an
injury." "I wonder someone else don't do him an
injury," says the milkman. "The very sight of him is
enough to make my milk go sour." And he picked
up his pail and went away quite grumpy,—though
what that Arab party's done to him is more than I can
say.—I have always noticed that milkman's temper's
short like his measure. I wasn't best pleased with him
for speaking of that Arab party as my friend, which
he never has been, and never won't be, and never could
be neither.
'Five persons went to the house after the milkman
was gone, and that there Arab party was safe inside,
three of them was commercials, that I know, because
afterwards they came to me. But of course they none
of them got no chance with that there Arab party
except of hammering at his front door, which ain't
what you might call a paying game, nor nice for the
temper, but for that I don't blame him, for if once
those commercials do begin talking they'll talk for
ever.
Now I'm coming to this afternoon.'
I thought it was about time,—though for the life
of me, I did not dare to hint as much.
'Well, it might have been three, or it might have
been half past, anyhow it was thereabouts, when up
there comes two men and a woman, which one of the
men was that young man what's a friend of yours.
"Oh." I un to myself. "here's something new to


WHAT MISS COLEMAN SAW
283
callers, I wonder what it is they're wanting." That
young man what was a friend of yours, he starts ham-
mering, and hammering, as the custom was with every
one who came, and, as usual, no more notice was taken
of him than nothing,—though I knew that all the time
the Arab party was indoors.
At this point I felt that all hazards I must interpose a
question.
* You are sure he was indoors ?'
She took it better than I feared she might.
'Of course I'm sure,—hadn't I seen him come in at
seven, and he never hadn't gone out since, for I don't
believe that I'd taken my eyes off the place not for
two minutes together, and I'd never had a sight of him.
If he wasn't indoors, where was he then ?'
For the moment, so far as I was concerned, the query
was unanswerable. She triumphantly continued :
'Instead of doing what most did, when they'd had
enough of hammering, and going away, these three they
went round to the back, and I'm blessed if they mustn't
have got through the kitchen window, woman and all,
for all of a sudden the blind in the front room was pulled
not up, but down—dragged down it was, and there
was that young man what's a friend of yours standing
with it in his hand.
"Well," I says to myself, "if that ain't cool I
should like to know what is. If, when you ain't let
in, you can let yourself in, and that without so much as
saying by your leave, or with your leave, things is
coming to a pretty pass. Wherever can that Arab
party be, and whatever can he be thinking of, to let
them go on like that because that he's the sort to allow
a liberty to be took with him, and say nothing, I don't
believe."
'Every moment I expects to hear a noise and see a
row begin, but, so far as I could make out, all was quiet
and there wasn't nothing of the kind. So I says to
myself, "There's more in this than meets the eye, and
them three parties must have right upon their side, or
they wouldn't be doing what they are doing in the way
they are, there'd be a shindy."
Presently, in about five minutes, the front door


284
THE BEETLE
opens, and a young man—not the one what's your friend,
but the other—comes sailing out, and through the gate,
and down the road, as stiff and upright as a grenadier
-I never see anyone walk more upright, and few as
fast. At his heels comes the young man what is your
friend, and it seems to me that he couldn't make out
what this other was a-doing of. I says to myself,
“ There's been a quarrel between them two, and him
as has gone has hooked it." This young man what is
your friend he stood at the gate, all of a fidget, staring
after the other with all his eyes, as if he couldn't think
what to make of him, and the young woman, she stood
on the doorstep, staring after him too.
As the young man what had hooked it turned the
corner, and was out of sight, all at once your friend he
seemed to make up his mind, and he started off running
as hard as he could pelt, -and the young woman was
left alone. I expected, every minute, to see him come
back with the other young man, and the young woman
by the way she hung about the gate, she seemed to
expect it too. But no, nothing of the kind. So when,
as I expect, she'd had enough of waiting, she went into
the house again, and I see her pass the front room
window. After a while, back she comes to the gate, and
stands looking and looking, but nothing was to be
seen of either of them young men. When she'd been
at the gate, I daresay five minutes, back she goes into
the house,—and I never saw nothing of her again.'
'You never saw anything of her again ?--Are you
sure she went back into the house ?'
' As sure as I am that I see you.'
'I suppose that you didn't keep a constant watch
upon the premises ?'
But that's just what I did do. I felt something
queer was going on, and I made up my mind to see it
through. And when I make up my mind to a thing
like that I'm not easy to turn aside. I never moved off
the chair at my bedroom window, and I never took
my eyes off the house, not till you come knocking at
my front door.'
But, since the young lady is certainly not in the
house at present, she must have eluded your observation,


WHAT MISS COLEMAN SAW
285
and, in some manner, have left it without your seeing
her.
I don't believe she did, I don't see how she could
have done,—there's something queer about that house,
since that Arab party's been inside it. But though I
didn't see her, I did see someone else.'
'Who was that ?'
'A young man.'
'A young man ?'
"Yes, a young man, and that's what puzzled me, and
what's been puzzling me ever since, for see him go in
I never did do.'
Can you describe him ?'
'Not as to the face, for he wore a dirty cloth cap
pulled down right over it, and he walked so quickly that
I never had a proper look. But I should know him
anywhere if I saw him, if only because of his clothes and
his walk.'
'What was there peculiar about his clothes and his
walk ?'
Why, his clothes were that old, and torn, and dirty,
that a ragman wouldn't have given a thank you for
them,—and as for fit.—there wasn't none, they hung
upon him like a scarecrow—he was a regular figure of
fun; I should think the boys would call after him if
they saw him in the street. As for his walk, he walked off
just like the first young man had done, he strutted along
with his shoulders back, and his head in the air, and that
stiff and straight that my kitchen poker would have
looked crooked beside of him.'
• Did nothing happen to attract your attention be-
tween the young lady's going back into the house and
the coming out of this young man ?'
Miss Coleman cogitated.
- 'Now you mention it there did,—though I should
have forgotten all about it if you hadn't asked me,-
that comes of your not letting me tell the tale in my
own way. About twenty minutes after the young
woman had gone in someone put up the blind in the
front room, which that young man had dragged right
down. I couldn't see who it was for the blind was


286
THE BEETLE
between us, and it was about ten minutes after that that
young man came marching out.'
And then what followed ?'
'Why, in about another ten minutes that Arab
party himself comes scooting through the door.'
'The Arab party ?'
Yes, the Arab party! The sight of him took me
clean aback. Where he'd been, and what he'd been
doing with himself while them there people played
hi-spy-hi about his premises I'd have given a shilling
out of my pocket to have known, but there he was, as
large as life, and carrying a bundle.'
A bundle ?'
'A bundle, on his head, like a muffin-man carries his
tray. It was a great thing you never would have
thought he could have carried it, and it was easy to
see that it was as much as he could manage ; it bent
him nearly double, and he went crawling along like a
snail, --it took him quite a time to get to the end of
the road.'
Mr Lessingham leaped up from his seat, crying,
Marjorie was in that bundle l'
'I doubt it,' I said.
He moved about the room distractedly, wringing
his hands.
'She was ! she must have been! God help us all !'.
'I repeat that I doubt it. If you will be advised by
me you will wait awhile before you arrive at any such
conclusion.'
All at once there was a tapping at the window pane.
Atherton was staring at us from without.
He shouted through the glass.
Come out of that, you fossils I-I've news for you!


288
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my heels on the doorstep, wondering if I should fight
the cabman, or get him to fight me, just to pass the
time away,—for he says he can box, and he looks it,
—when who should come strolling along but this magni-
ficent example of the metropolitan constabulary.'
He waved his hand towards the policeman, whose
grin grew wider. 'I looked at him, and he looked
at me, and then when we'd had enough of admiring
each other's fine features and striking proportions,
he said to me, “ Has he gone?" I said, “ Who?-
Baxter ?—or Bob Brown ?” He said, "No, the Arab."
I said, "What do you know about any Arab ?" He
said, “ Well, I saw him in the Broadway about three-
quarters of an hour ago, and then, seeing you here,
and the house all open, I wondered if he had gone for
good." With that I almost jumped out of my skin,
though you can bet your life I never showed it. I said,
“ How do you know it was he ?" He said, “ It was
him right enough, there's no doubt about that. If
you've seen him once, you're not likely to forget him."
* Where was he going?" "He was talking to a cab-
man,—four-wheeler. He'd got a great bundle on
his head,—wanted to take it inside with him. Cabman
didn't seem to see it." That was enough for me, I
picked this most deserving officer up in my arms, and
carried him across the road to you two fellows like a
flash of lightning.'
Since the policeman was six feet three or four, and
more than sufficiently broad in proportion he scarcely
seemed the kind of figure to be picked up in anybody's
arms and carried like a 'flash of lightning,' which,
as his smile grew more indulgent, he himself appeared
to think.
Still, even allowing for Atherton's exaggeration, the
news which he had brought was sufficiently important.
I questioned the constable upon my own account.
There is my card, officer, probably, before the day
is over, a charge of a very serious character will be
preferred against the person who has been residing
in the house over the way. In the meantime it is of
the utmost importance that a watch should be kept
non his movements. I suppose you have no sort of


THE CONSTABLE AND THE CAB
289
doubt that the person you saw in the Broadway was
the one in question ?
'Not a morsel. I know him as well as I do my own
brother,—we all do upon this beat. He's known amongst
us as the Arab. I've had my eye on him ever since
he came to the place. A queer fish he is. I always
have said that he's up to some game or other. I never
came across one like him for flying about in all sorts
of weather, at all hours of the night, always tearing
along as if for his life. As I was telling this gentleman
I saw him in the Broadway,—well, now it's about an
hour since, perhaps a little more. I was coming on
duty when I saw a crowd in front of the District Railway
Station,—and there was the Arab, having a sort of
argument with the cabman. He had a great bundle
on his head, five or six feet long, perhaps longer. He
wanted to take this great bundle with him into the
cab, and the cabman, he didn't see it.'
* You didn't wait to see him drive off.'
'No,—I hadn't time. I was due at the station,
I was cutting it pretty fine as it was.
'You didn't speak to him,—or to the cabman?'.
'No, it wasn't any business of mine you understand.
The whole thing just caught my eye as I was passing.'
'And you didn't take the cabman's number?'
No, well, as far as that goes it wasn't needful. I
know the cabman, his name and all about him, his
stable's in Bradmore.'
I whipped out my note-book.
Give me his address.'
'I don't know what his Christian name is, Tom, I
believe, but I'm not sure. Anyhow his surname's
Ellis and his address is Church Mews, St John's Road,
Bradmore,—I don't know his number, but any one
will tell you which is his place, if you ask for Four-
Wheel Ellis,—that's the name he's known by among
his pals because of his driving a four-wheeler.
* Thank you, officer. I am obliged to you.' Two
half-crowns changed hands. If you will keep an
eye on the house and adv se me at the address which
you will find on my card, of any thing which takes


292
THE BEETLE
and nothing more. Stay! before you jeer at me,
suffer me to finish. If I am not mistaken as to the
indentity of the person whom the constable describes
as the Arab, I apprehend that the contents of that
bundle were of much more importance to him than
if they had consisted of Miss Lindon, either dead or
living. More. I am inclined to suspect that if the
bundle was placed on the roof of the cab, and if the
driver did meddle with it, and did find out the contents,
and understand them, he would have been driven,
out of hand, stark staring mad.'
Sydney was silent, as if he reflected. I imagine he
perceived there was something in what I said.
'But what has become of Miss Lindon ?'.
I fancy that Miss Lindon, at this moment, is
-somewhere ; I don't, just now, know exactly where,
but I hope very shortly to be able to give you a clearer
notion,—attired in a rotten, dirty pair of boots; a
filthy, tattered pair of trousers ; a ragged, unwashed
apology for a shirt ; a greasy, ancient, shapeless coat;
and a frowsy peaked cloth cap.'
They stared at me, opened-eyed. Atherton was
the first to speak.
'What on earth do you mean?'
I mean that it seems to me that the facts point in
the direction of my conclusions rather than yours
and that very strongly too. Miss Coleman asserts
that she saw Miss Lindon return into the house ; that
within a few minutes the blind was replaced at the
front window; and that shortly after a young man,
attired in the costume I have described, came walking
out of the front door. I believe that young man was
Miss Marjorie Lindon.'
Lessingham and Atherton both broke out into in-
terrogations, with Sydney, as usual, loudest.
'But—man alive! what on earth should make her
do a thing like that? Marjorie, the most retiring,
modest girl on all God's earth, walk about in broad
daylight, in such a costume, and for no reason at all i
my dear Champnell, you are suggesting that she first
of all went mad.
'She was in a state of trance.'


THE CONSTABLE AND THE CAB 293
Good God I-Champnell I'
'Well?'
' Then you think that—juggling villain did get hold
of her?'
Undoubtedly. Here is my view of the case, mind
it is only a hypothesis and you must take it for what
it is worth, It seems to me quite clear that the Arab,
as we will call the person for the sake of identification,
was somewhere about the premises when you thought
he wasn't.'
' But—where? We looked upstairs, and downstairs,
and everywhere—where could he have been ?'
' That, as at present advised, I am not prepared to
say, but I think you may take it for granted that he
was there. He hypnotised the man Holt, and sent
him away, intending you to go after him, and so being
rid of you both-
'The deuce he did, Champnell! You write me
down an ass !'
'As soon as the coast was clear he discovered him-
self to Miss Lindon, who, I expect, was disagreeably
surprised, and hypnotised her.
•The hound!
*The devil!'
The first exclamation was Lessingham's, the second
Sydney's.
He then constrained her to strip herself to the
skin-
"The wretch l'
'The fiend !'
• He cut off her hair ; he hid it and her clothes under
the floor where we found them—where I think it probable
that he had already some ancient masculine garments
concealed—'
'By Jove! I shouldn't be surprised if they were
Holt's. I remember the man saying that that nice
joker stripped him of his duds,--and certainly when
I saw him,--and when Marjorie found him !—he had
absolutely nothing on but a queer sort of cloak. Can
it be possible that that humorous professor of hankey-
pankey—may all the maledictions of the accursed alight
upon his head can have sent Marjorie Lindon, the


294
THE BEETLE
daintiest damsel in the land !—into the streets of
London rigged out in Holt's old togs !'
As to that, I am not able to give an authoritative
opinion, but, if I understand you aright, it at least is
possible. Anyhow I am disposed to think that he
sent Miss Lindon after the man Holt, taking it for
granted that he had eluded you '
* That's it. Write me down an ass again !'.
'That he did elude you, you have yourself admitted.'
'That's because I stopped talking with that mutton-
headed bobby,—I'd have followed the man to the ends
of the earth if it hadn't been for that.'
' Precisely; the reason is immaterial, it is the fact
with which we are immediately concerned. He did
elude you. And I think you will find that Miss Lindon
and Mr Holt are together at this moment.'
* In men's clothing?'.
* Both in men's clothing, or, rather, Miss Lindon is
in a man's rags.'
'Great Potiphar! To think of Marjorie like that!'
And where they are, the Arab is not very far off either.'
Lessingham caught me by the arm.
· And what diabolical mischief do you imagine that
he proposes to do to her?'
I shirked the question.
• Whatever it is, it is our business to prevent his
doing it.'
' And where do you think they have been taken ?'
'That it will be our immediate business to endeavour
to discover,—and here, at any rate, we are at Waterloo.'


296
THE BEETLE
Mr Stone's eyes twinkled.
'I don't know that I can, except in a general way,
he was uncommonly old and uncommonly ugly, and
he had a pair of the most extraordinary eyes I ever
saw,—they gave me a sort of all-overish feeling when
I saw them glaring at me through the pigeon hole.
But I can tell you one thing about him, he had a great
bundle on his head, which he steadied with one hand,
and as it bulged out in all directions its presence didn't
make him popular with other people who wanted tickets
too.'
Undoubtedly this was our man.
'You are sure he asked for three tickets?'.
Certain. He said three tickets to Southampton ;
laid down the exact fare,—nineteen and six—and held
up three fingers—like that. Three nasty looking
fingers they were, with nails as long as talons.'
You didn't see who were his companions ?'
I didn't, I didn't try to look. I gave him his
tickets and off he went, with the people grumbling
at him because that bundle of his kept getting in their
way.'
Bellingham touched me on the arm.
'I can tell you about the Arab of whom Mr Stone
speaks. My attention was called to him by his in-
sisting on taking his bundle with him into the carriage,
--it was an enormous thing, he could hardly squeeze
it through the door ; it occupied the entire seat. But
as there weren't as many passengers as usual, and he
wouldn't or couldn't be made to understand that his
precious bundle would be safe in the luggage van along
with the rest of the luggage, and as he wasn't the sort
of person you could argue with to any advantage, I
had him put into an empty compartment, bundle and
all.'
'Was he alone then ?'
'I thought so at the time, he said nothing about
having more than one ticket, or any companions, but
just before the train started two other men—English
men—got into his compartment; and as I came down
the platform, the ticket inspector at the barrier in-
formed me that these two men were with him, because


THE QUARRY DOUBLES
297
he held tickets for the three, which, as he was a foreigner,
and they seemed English, struck the inspector as odd.'
'Could you describe the two men ?'.
'I couldn't, not particularly, but the man who had
charge of the barrier might. I was at the other end
of the train when they got in. All I noticed was that
one seemed to be a commonplace-looking individual
and that the other was dressed like a tramp, all rags
and tatters, a disreputable looking object he appeared
to be.'
That,' I said to myself, 'was Miss Marjorie Lindon,
the lovely daughter of a famous house ; the wife-elect
of a coming statesman.'
To Bellingham I remarked aloud :
'I want you to strain a point, Mr Bellingham, and
to do me a service which I assure you you shall never
have any cause to regret. I want you to wire instructions
down the line to detain this Arab and his companions
and to keep them in custody until the receipt of further
instructions. They are not wanted by the police as
yet, but they will be as soon as I am able to give certain
information to the authorities at Scotland Yard, -
and wanted very badly. But, as you will perceive
for yourself, until I am able to give that information
every moment is important.—Where's the Station
Superintendent?'
He's gone. At present I'm in charge.'
' Then will you do this for me? I repeat that you
shall never have any reason to regret it.'
I will if you'll accept all responsibility.'
' I'll do that with the greatest pleasure.'
Bellingham looked at his watch.
'It's about twenty minutes to nine. The train's
scheduled for Basingstoke at 9.6. If we wire to Bas-
ingstoke at once they ought to be ready for them
when they come.'
'Good '
The wire was sent.
We were shown into Bellingham's office to await
results. Lessingham paced agitatedly to and fro;
he seemed to have reached the limits of his self-control;
and to be in a condition in which movement of some


CHAPTER XLIII
the murder at mrs 'enderson's
It is something of a drive from Waterloo to Limehouse,
-it seems longer when all your nerves are tingling with
anxiety to reach your journey's end; and the cab I
had hit upon proved to be not the fastest I might have
chosen. For some time after our start, we were silent.
Each was occupied with his own thoughts.
Then Lessingham, who was sitting at my side, said
to me,
Mr Champnell, you have that report.'
• I have.
Will you let me see it once more ?'
I gave it to him. He read it once, twice, and I
fancy yet again. I purposely avoided looking at him
as he did so. Yet all the while I was conscious of his
pallid cheeks, the twitched muscles of his mouth, the
feverish glitter of his eyes,—this Leader of Men, whose
predominate characteristic in the House of Commons
was immobility, was rapidly approximating to the con-
he had been recently undergoing was proving too much
for his physical strength. This disappearance of the
woman he loved bade fair to be the final straw. I
felt convinced that unless something was done quickly
to relieve the strain upon his mind he was nearer to a
state of complete mental and moral collapse than he
himself imagined. Had he been under my orders I
should have commanded him to at once return home,
and not to think ; but conscious that, as things were,
such a direction would be simply futile, I decided to
do something else instead. Feeling that suspense was
for him the worst possible form of suffering I resolved


302
THE BEETLE
to explain, so far as I was able, precisely what it was
I feared, and how I proposed to prevent it.
Presently there came the question for which I had
been waiting, in a harsh, broken voice which no one
who had heard him speak on a public platform, or
in the House of Commons, would have recognised as
his.
'Mr Champnell—who do you think this person is of
whom the report from Vauxhail Station speaks as
being all in rags and tatters?'
He knew perfectly well,—but I understood the mental
attitude which induced him to prefer that the information
should seem to come from me.
I hope that it will prove to be Miss Lindon.'
'Hope !' He gave a sort of gasp.
'Yes, hope,—because if it is I think it possible, nay
probable, that within a few hours you will have her
again enfolded in your arms.'
Pray God that it may be so ! pray God !—pray the
good God!
I did not dare to look round for, from the tremor
which was in his tone, I was persuaded that in the speaker's
eyes were tears. Atherton continued silent. He was
leaning half out of the cab, staring straight ahead, as
if he saw in front a young girl's face, from which he
could not remove his glance, and which beckoned him
on.
After a while Lessingham spoke again, as if half to
himself and half to me.
'This mention of the shrieks on the railway, and of
the wailing noise in the cab,—what must this wretch
have done to her ? How my darling must have suffered !'
That was a theme on which I myself scarcely ven-
tured to allow my thoughts to rest. The notion of a
gently-nurtured girl being at the mercy of that fiend
incarnate, possessed—as I believed that so-called Arab
to be possessed—of all the paraphernalia of horror and
of dread, was one which caused me tangible shrinkings
of the body. Whence had come those shrieks and yells,
of which the writer of the report spoke, which had caused
the Arab's fellow-passengers to think that murder
was being done ? What unimaginable agony had


THE MURDER AT MRS 'ENDERSON'S 303
sa theme that contine not" ben, have been
caused them ? what speechless torture ? And the
'wailing noise,' which had induced the prosaic, in-
durated London cabman to get twice off his box to see
what was the matter, what anguish had been provocative
of that? The helpless girl who had already endured
so much, endured, perhaps, that to which death would
have been preferred !—shut up in that rattling, jolting
box on wheels, alone with that diabolical Asiatic, with
the enormous bundle, which was but the lurking place
of nameless terrors,—what might she not, while being
borne through the heart of civilised London, have been
made to suffer ? What had she not been made to
suffer to have kept up that continued ' wailing noise'?
It was not a theme on which it was wise to permit
one's thoughts to linger,—and particuarly was it clear
that it was one from which Lessingham's thoughts
should have been kept as far as possible away.
Come, Mr Lessingham, neither you nor I will do
himself any good by permitting his reflections to flow
in a morbid channel. Let us talk of something else.
By the way, weren't you due to speak in the House
to-night?'
'Due !—Yes, I was due,—but what does it matter?'
' But have you acquainted no one with the cause of
your non-attendance ?'
'Acquaint !—whom should I acquaint ?'.
'My good sir! Listen to me, Mr Lessingham. Let
me entreat you very earnestly, to follow my advice.
Call another cab, or take this ! and go at once to the
House. It is not too late. Play the man, deliver the
speech you have undertaken to deliver, perform your
political duties. By coming with me you will be a
hindrance rather than a help, and you may do your
reputation an injury from which it never may recover.
Do as I counsel you, and I will undertake to do my
very utmost to let you have good news by the time
your speech is finished.'
He turned on me with a bitterness for which I was
unprepared.
If I were to go down to the House, and try to speak
in the state in which I am now, they would laugh at
me, I should be ruined.'


308
THE BEETLE
a troop of soldiers to this den of demons, so that they
should arrive there at a moment when it was filled with
worshippers, who were preparing to participate in an
orgie which was to take place during the next few days.
His offer was conditionally accepted. He was con-
fined in an apartment with one man on guard inside
and another on guard outside the room. That night
the sentinel without was startled by hearing a great
noise and frightful screams issuing from the chamber
in which the natives was interned. He summoned
assistance. The door was opened. The soldier
on guard within was stark, staring mad,—he died
within a few months, a gibbering maniac to the
end. The native was dead. The window, which
was a very small one, was securely fastened inside and
strongly barred without. There was nothing to show
by what means entry had been gained. Yet it was
the general opinion of those who saw the corpse that
the man had been destroyed by some wild beast. A
photograph was taken of the body after death, a copy
of which is still in my possession. In it are distinctly
shown lacerations about the neck and the lower portion
of the abdomen, as if they had been produced by the
claws of some huge and ferocious animal. The skull
is splintered in half-a-dozen places, and the face is torn
to rags.
That was more than three years ago. The whole
business has remained as great a mystery as ever. But
my attention has once or twice been caught by trifling
incidents, which have caused me to more than suspect
that the wild tale told by that murdered native had in
it at least the elements of truth; and which have even
led me to wonder if the trade in kidnapping was not
being carried on to this very hour, and if women of
my own flesh and blood were not still being offered
up on that infernal altar. And now, here was Paul
Lessingham, a man of world-wide reputation, of great
intellect, of undoubted honour, who had come to me
with a wholly unconscious verification of all my worst
suspicions !
That the creature spoken of as an Arab, -and who
was probably no more an Arab than I was, and whose


Зro
THE BEETLE
Can you tell me if anything has been seen of the person
in question by the men of your division ?'
I handed 'the Inspector the report.' His reply
was laconic.
'I will inquire.'
He passed through a door into an inner room and the
' report' went with him.
Beg pardon, sir, but was that a Harab you was a-
talking about to the Hinspector ?'.
The speaker was a gentleman unmistakably of the
guttersnipe class. He was seated on a form. Close at
hand hovered a policeman whose special duty it seemed
to be to keep an eye upon his movements.
'Why do you ask?'
I beg your pardon, sir, but I saw a Harab myself
about a hour ago,—leastways he looked like as if he
was a Harab.'
What sort of a looking person was he ?'
I can't 'ardly tell you that, sir, because I didn't
never have a proper look at him,—but I know he had
a bloomin' great bundle on 'is 'ead. ... It was like
this, 'ere. I was comin' round the corner, as he was
passin', I never see 'im till I was right atop of 'im,
so that I haccidentally run agin' 'im-my heye!
didn't 'e give me a downer! I was down on the back of
my 'ead in the middle of the road before I knew where
I was and 'e was at the other end of the street. If
'e 'adn't knocked me more'n 'arf silly I'd been after
'im, sharp,—I tell you ! and hasked 'im what 'e thought
'e was a-doin' of but afore my senses was back agin 'e
was out o'sight,—ciean!
You are sure he had a bundle on his head ?'
I noticed it most particular.'
* How long ago do you say this was ? and where ?'
'About a hour ago,—perhaps more, perhaps less.'
'Was he alone ?'
• It seemed to me as if a cove was a follerin' 'im,
leastways there was a bloke as was a-keepin' close at
is 'eels,--though I don't know what 'is little game
was, I'm sure. Ask the pleesman,—he knows, he
knows everythink, the pleesman do.'
! I turned to the 'pleesman.'


THE MURDER AT MRS 'ENDERSON'S
311
• Who is this man?'
The 'pleesman' put his hands behind his back, and
threw out his chest. His manner was distinctly affable.
Well,—he's being detained upon suspicion. He's
given us an address at which to make inquiries, and
inquiries are being made. I shouldn't pay too much
attention to what he says if I were you. I don't suppose
he'd be particular about a lie or two.
This frank expression of opinion re-aroused the
indignation of the gentleman on the form.
There you hare ! at it again! That's just like
you peelers, you're all the same! What do you know
about me ?—Nuffink! This gen'leman ain't got no
call to believe me, not as I knows on,—it's all the same
to me if 'e do or don't, but it's trewth what I'm sayin',
all the same.
At this point the Inspector re-appeared at the
pigeon-hole. He cut short the flow of eloquence.
Now then, not so much noise outside there!' He
addressed me. 'None of our men have seen anything
of the person you're inquiring for, so far as we're aware.
But, if you like, I will place a man at your disposal,
and he will go round with you, and you will be able
to make your own inquiries.'
A capless, wildly excited young ragamuffin came dash-
ing in at the street door. He gasped out, as clearly
as he could for the speed which he had made :
'There's been murder done, Mr Pleesman,—a Harab's
killed a bloke.'
Mr Pleesman 'gripped him by the shoulder.
What's that?'
The youngster put up his arm, and ducked his head,
instinctively, as f to ward off a blow.
'Leave me alone! I don't want none of your 'and-
ling !—I ain't done nuffink to you! I tell you 'e 'as !'
The Inspector spoke through the pigeon-hole.
'He has what, my lad? What do you say has
happened ?'
There's been murder done—it's right enough!
there 'as !—up at Mrs 'Enderson's, in Paradise Place,
-a Harab's been and killed a bloke !'.


CHAPTER XLIV
the man who was murdered
The Inspector spoke to me.
'If what the boy says is correct it sounds as if the
person whom you are seeking may have had a finger
in the pie.'
I was of the same opinion, as, apparently, were
Lessingham and Sydney. Atherton collared the youth
by the shoulder which Mr Pleesman had left disengaged.
What sort of looking bloke is it who's been murdered?'
I dunno ! I 'aven't seen 'im! Mrs 'Enderson,
she says to me! " 'Gustus Barley," she says, “ a bloke's
been murdered. That there Harab what I chucked out
'alf a hour ago been and murdered 'im, and left 'im
behind up in my back room. You run as 'ard as you
can tear and tell them there dratted pleese what's so
fond of shovin' their dirty noses into respectable people's
'ouses." So I comes and tells yer. That's all I knows
about it.'
We went four in the hansom which had been waiting
in the street to Mrs Henderson's in Paradise Place,
the Inspector and we three. 'Mr Pleesman' and
''Gustus Barley' followed on foot. The Inspector
was explanatory.
'Mrs Henderson keeps a sort of lodging-house,—a
"Sailors' Home ” she calls it, but no one could call it
sweet. It doesn't bear the best of characters, and if
you asked me what I thought of it, I should say in
plain English that it was a disorderly house.'
Paradise Place proved to be within three or four
hundred yards of the Station House. So far as could
be seen in the dark it consisted of a row of houses of
considerable dimensions and also of considerable
antiquity. They opened on to two or three stone steps
which led directly into the street. At one of the doors


THE MAN WHO WAS MURDERED
313
stood an old lady with a shawl drawn over her head.
This was Mrs Henderson. She greeted us with garrulous
volubility.
So you 'ave come, 'ave you ? I thought you never
was a-comin' that I did.' She recognised the Inspector.
* It's you, Mr Phillips, is it?' Perceiving us, she
drew a little back. Who's them 'ere parties ? They
ain't coppers ?'
Mr Phillips dismissed her inquiry, curtly.
'Never you mind who they are. What's this about
someone being murdered.'
'Ssh!' The old lady glanced round. 'Don't you
speak so loud, Mr Phillips. No one don't know nothing
about it as yet. The parties what's in my 'ouse is
most respectable,—most! and they couldn't abide
the notion of there being police about the place.'
'We quite believe that, Mrs Henderson.
The Inspector's tone was grim.
Mrs Henderson led the way up a staircase which
would have been distinctly the better for repairs. It
was necessary to pick one's way as one went, and as
the light was defective stumbles were not infrequent.
Our guide paused outside a door on the topmost
landing. From some mysterious recess in her apparel
she produced a key.
'It's in 'ere. I locked the door so that nothing
mightn't be disturbed. I knows 'ow particular you
pleesmen is.'
She turned the key. We all went in—we, this time
in front, and she behind
A candle was guttering on a broken and dilapidated
single washhand stand. A small iron bedstead stood
by its side, the clothes on which were all tumbled and
tossed. There was a rush-seated chair with a hole in
the seat,—and that, with the exception of one or two
chipped pieces of stoneware, and a small round mirror
which was hung on a nail against the wall, seemed to
be all that the room contained. I could see nothing in
the shape of a murdered man. Nor, it appeared, could
the Inspector either.
• What's the meaning of this, Mrs Henderson? I
don't see anything here.


314
THE BEETLE
'It's be'ind the bed, Mr Phillips. I left 'im just
where I found 'im, I wouldn't 'ave touched 'im not
for nothing, nor yet 'ave let nobody else 'ave touched
him neither, because, as I say, I know 'ow particular
you pleesmen is.'
We all four went hastily forward. Atherton and I
went to the head of the bed, Lessingham and the Inspec-
tor, leaning right across the bed, peeped over the side.
There, on the floor in the space which was between the
bed and the wall, lay the murdered man.
At sight of him an exclamation burst from Sydney's
lips.
'It's Holt!'
'Thank God!' cried Lessingham. 'It isn't Mar-
jorie !'
The relief in his tone was unmistakable. That the
one was gone was plainly nothing to him in comparison
with the fact that the other was left.
Thrusting the bed more into the centre of the room
I knelt down beside the man on the floor. A more
deplorable spectacle than he presented I have seldom
witnessed. He was decently clad in a grey tweed suit,
white hat, collar and necktie, and it was perhaps that
fact which made his extreme attenuation the more con-
spicuous. I doubt if there was an ounce of flesh on the
whole of his body. His cheeks and the sockets of his
eyes were hollow. The skin was drawn tightly over
his cheek bones,—the bones themselves were staring
through. Even his nose was wasted, so that nothing
but a ridge of cartilage remained. I put my arm
beneath his shoulder and raised him from the floor ; no
resistance was offered by the body's gravity,—he was
as light as a little child.
I doubt,' I said, 'if this man has been murdered.
It looks to me like a case of starvation, or exhaustion
-possibly a combination of both.'
What's that on his neck ?' asked the Inspector,
-he was kneeling at my side.
He referred to two abrasions of the skin,—one on
either side of the man's neck.
They look to me like scratches. They seem pretty


THE MAN WHO WAS MURDERED
319
Holt, opening his eyes, glanced up at the speaker
mistily, as if he could not see him clearly,—still less
understand what it was that he was saying. Sydney,
stooping over him, endeavoured to explain.
'The Inspector wants to know how you got here,
has anyone been doing anything to you ? Has anyone
been hurting you ?
The man's eyelids were partially closed. Then they
opened wider and wider. His mouth opened too.
On his skeleton features there came a look of panic
fear. He was evidently struggling to speak. At
last words came.
'The beetle !' He stopped. Then, after an effort,
spoke again. 'The beetle!
What's he mean ? 'asked the Inspector.
I think I understand,' Sydney answered; then
turning again to the man in the bed. 'Yes, I hear
what you say,—the beetle. Well, has the beetle done
anything to you ?'.
'It took me by the throat l'
'Is that the meaning of the marks upon your neck ?'
• The beetle killed me.'
The lids closed. The man relapsed into a state of
lethargy. The Inspector was puzzled ;—and said so.
• What's he mean about a beetle ?'
Atherton replied.
'I think I understand what he means.—and my
friends do too. We'll explain afterwards. In the
meantime I think I'd better get as much out of him as
I can,—while there's time.'
'Yes,' said the doctor, his hand upon the patient's
pulse, 'while there's time. There isn't much—only
seconds.'
Sydney endeavoured to rouse the man from his stupor.
• You've been with Miss Lindon all the afternoon
and evening, haven't you, Mr Holt ?
Atherton had reached a chord in the man's conscious-
ness. His lips moved,—in painful articulation.
'Yes—all the afternoon—and evening—God help me!'
'I hope God will help you my poor fellow ; you've
been in need of His help if ever man was. Miss
Lindon is disguised in your old clothes, isn't she ?'


318
THE BEETLE
en wide; there came possession bed.
“Yes,—in my old clothes. My God!'
' And where is Miss Lindon now ?'
The man had been speaking with his eyes closed.
Now he opened them wide; there came into them the
former staring horror. He became possessed by
uncontrollable agitation,—half raising himself in bed.
Words came from his quivering lips as if they were
only drawn from him by the force of his anguish.
The beetle's going to kill Miss Lindon.'
A momentary paroxysm seemed to shake the very
foundations of his being. His whole frame quivered.
He fell back on to the bed, ominously. The doctor
examined him in silence—while we too were still.
'This time he's gone for good, there'll be no conjuring
him back again.'
I felt a sudden pressure on my arm, and found that
Lessingham was clutching me with probably uncon-
scious violence. The muscles of his face were twitch-
ing. He trembled. I turned to the doctor.
Doctor, if there is any of that brandy left will you
let me have it for my friend ?'
Lessingham disposed of the remainder of the
'shillingsworth.' I rather fancy it saved us from a
scene.
The Inspector was speaking to the woman of the
house.
Now, Mrs Henderson, perhaps you'll tell us what
all this means. Who is this man, and how did he
come in here, and who came in with him, and what
do you know about it altogether? If you've got
anything to say, say it, only you'd better be careful,
because it's my duty to warn you that anything you
do say may be used against you.'


CHAPTER XLV
all that mrs 'enderson knew
Mrs Henderson put her hands under her apron and
smirked.
'Well, Mr Phillips, it do sound strange to 'ear you
talkin' to me like that. Anybody'd think I'd done
something as I didn't ought to 'a' done to 'ear you
going on. As for what's 'appened, I'll tell you all I
know with the greatest willingness on earth. And
as for bein' careful, there ain't no call for you to tell
me to be that, for that I always am, as by now you
ought to know.'
Yes, I do know. Is that all you have to say?'
'Rilly, Mr Phillips, what a man you are for catching
people up, you rilly are. O'course that ain't all I've
got to say,—ain't I just a-comin' to it?'
Then come.
If you presses me so you'll muddle of me up, and
then if I do 'appen to make a herror, you'll say I'm a
liar, when goodness knows there ain't no more truth-
ful woman not in Limehouse.'
Words plainly trembled on the Inspector's lips,-
which he refrained from uttering. Mrs Henderson
cast her eyes upwards, as if she sought for inspiration
from the filthy ceiling.
So far as I can swear it might 'ave been a hour
ago, or it might 'ave been a hour and a quarter, or it
might 'ave been a hour and twenty minutes,
We're not particular as to the seconds.'
'When I 'ears a knockin' at my front door, and
when I comes to open it, there was a Harab party, with
a great bundle on 'is 'ead, bigger nor 'isself, and two
other parties along with him. This Harab party says,
in that queer foreign way them Harab parties 'as of
talkin', "A room for the night, a room." Now I don't


320
THE BEETLE
much care for foreigners, and never did, especially
them Harabs, which their 'abits ain't my own, so
I as much 'ints the same. But this 'ere Harab party,
he didn't seem to quite foller of my meaning, for all
he done was to say as he said afore," A room for the
night, a room." And he shoves a couple of 'arf crowns
into my 'and. Now it's always been a motter o' mine,
that money is money, and one man's money is as good
as another man's. So, not wishing to be disagreeable-
which other people would have taken 'em if I 'adn't,
I shows 'em up 'ere. I'd been downstairs it might
'ave been 'arf a hour, when I 'ears a shindy a-coming
from this room-
What sort of a shindy ?'
Yelling and shrieking—oh my gracious, it was
enough to set your blood all curdled,- for ear-piercing-
ness I never did 'ear nothing like it. We do 'ave
troublesome parties in 'ere, like they do elsewhere,
but I never did 'ear nothing like that before. I stood
it for about a minute, but it kep' on, and kep' on, and
every moment I expected as the other parties as was
in the 'ouse would be complainin', so up I comes and
I thumps at the door, and it seemed that thump I might
for all the notice that was took of me.
'Did the noise keep on ?'
'Keep on! I should think it did keep on! Lord
love you l shriek after shriek, I expected to see the
roof took off.'
* Were there any other noises ? For instance, were
there any sounds of struggling, or of blows ?'
'There weren't no sounds except of the party holler.
ing:
One party only?'
'One party only. As I says afore, shriek after shriek,
-when you put your ear to the panel there was a noise
like some other party blubbering, but that weren't
nothing, as for the hollering you wouldn't have thought
that nothing what you might call 'umin could 'ave
kep' up such a screechin'. I thumps and thumps
and at last when I did think that I should 'ave to 'ave
the door broke down, the Harab says to me from inside,
" Go away! I pay for the room! go away!" I did


ALL THAT MRS 'ENDERSON KNEW
321
think that pretty good, I tell you that. So I says,
"Pay for the room or not pay for the room, you didn't
pay to make that shindy!" And what's more I says,
"If I ear it again," I says, "out you goes! And if
you don't go quiet I'll 'ave somebody in as'll pretty
quickly make you !"'
Then was there silence ?
' So to speak there was,—only there was this sound
as if some party was a-blubbering, and another sound
as if a party was a-panting for his breath.'
'Then what happened ?'
Seeing that, so to speak, all was quiet, down I
went again. And in another quarter of a hour, or it
might 'ave been twenty minutes, I went to the front
door to get a mouthful of hair. And Mrs Barker,
what lives over the road, at No. 24, she comes to me
and says, " That there Arab party of yours didn't
stop long." I looks at 'er, "I don't quite foller you,"
I says,—which I didn't. "I saw him come in,' she
says, " and then, a few minutes back, I see 'im go again,
with a great bundle on 'is 'ead he couldn't 'ardly stagger
under !" "Oh," I says, " that's news to me, I didn't
know 'e'd gone, nor see him neither—" which I didn't.
So, up I comes again, and, sure enough, the door was
open, and it seems to me that the room was empty,
till I come upon this pore young man what was lying
be'ind the bed.'
There was a growl from the doctor.
'If you'd had any sense, and sent for me at once,
he might have been alive at this moment.'
''Ow was I to know that, Dr Glossop ? I couldn't
tell. My finding 'im there murdered was quite enough
for me. So I runs downstairs, and I nips 'old of 'Gustus
Barley, what was leaning against the wall, and I says
to him, " 'Gustus Barley, run to the station as fast as
you can and tell 'em that a man's been murdered,
that Harab's been and killed a bloke." And that's
all I know about it, and I couldn't tell you no more
Mr Phillips, not if you was to keep on asking me questions
not for hours and hours.'
Then you think it was this man 'with a motion
towards the bed— who was shrieking ?'


324
THE BEETLE
immediate action, that Lessingham would prove a
hindrance rather than a help I felt persuaded.
But since moments were precious, and Lessingham
was not to be pursuaded to allow the matter to proceed
without him, all that remained was to make the best
of his presence.
The great arch of St Pancras was in darkness. An
occasional light seemed to make the darkness still
more visible. The station seemed deserted. I thought
at first, that there was not a soul about the place, that
our errand was in vain, that the only thing for us to do
was to drive to the police station and to pursue our
inquiries there. But as we turned towards the booking-
office, our footsteps ringing out clearly through the
silence and the night, a door opened, a light shone out
from the room within, and a voice inquired :
'Who's that?'
My name's Champnell. Has a message been
received from me from the Limehouse Police Station ?'
'Step this way.'
We stepped that way,—into a snug enough office,
of which one of the railway inspectors was apparently
in charge. He was a big man, with a fair beard. He
looked me up and down, as if doubtfully. Lessingham
he recognised at once. He took off his cap to him.
'Mr Lessingham, I believe ?'
'I am Mr Lessingham. Have you any news for
me ?
I fancy, by his looks,—that the official was struck
by the pallor of the speaker's face,—and by his tremu-
lous voice.
'I am instructed to give certain information to a
Mr Augustus Champnell.'
'I am Mr Champnell. What's your information ?'
'With reference to the Arab about whom you have
been making inquiries. A foreigner, dressed like an
Arab, with a great bundle on his head, took two single
thirds for Hull by the midnight express.'
Was he alone?
'It is believed that he was accompanied by a young
man of very disreputable appearance. They were not
together at the booking-office, but they had been seen


326
THE BEETLE
wire there. There ought to be plenty of people about
at Bedford, and anyhow there'll be time to get the
police to the station.'
Very good. I instructed them to tell you to have
a special ready,—have you got one ?'
There's an engine with steam up in the shed, -
we'll have all ready for you in less then ten minutes.
And I tell you what,—you'll have about fifty minutes
before the train is due at Bedford. It's a fifty mile
run. With luck you ought to get there pretty nearly
as soon as the express does. Shall I tell them to get
ready?'
' At once.'
While he issued directions through a telephone to
what, I presume, was the engine shed, I drew up a
couple of telegrams. Having completed his orders
he turned to me.
'They're coming out of the siding now—they'll
be ready in less than ten minutes. I'll see that the line's
kept clear. Have you got those wires ?'
Here is one,—this is for Bedford.'
It ran :
• Arrest the Arab who is in train due at 1.29. When
leaving St Pancras he was in a third-class compartment
in front waggon. He has a large bundle, which detain.
He took two third singles for Hull. Also detain his
companion, who is dressed like a tramp. This is a
young lady whom the Arab has disguised and kidnapped
while in a condition of hypnotic trance. Let her have
medical assistance and be taken to a hotel. All
expenses will be paid on the arrival of the undersigned
who is following by special train. As the Arab will
probably be very violent a sufficient force of police
should be in waiting.
• AUGUSTUS CHAMPNELL.'
'And this is the other. It is probably too late to
be of any use at St Albans,—but send it there, and
also to Luton.'
'Is Arab with companion in train which left St


328
THE BEETLE
he'll clear the way for us.
'Yes,' said the Inspector, ‘I'clear the way. I've
wired down the road already.'
Atherton broke in.
' Driver, if you get us into Bedford within five minutes
of the arrival of the mail there'll be a five-pound note
to divide between your mate and you.'
The driver grinned.
* We'll get you there in time, sir, if we have to go
clear through the shunters. It isn't often we get a
chance of a five-pound note for a run to Bedford, and
we'll do our best to earn it.'
The fireman waved his hand in the rear.
• That's right, sir !' he cried. 'We'll have to trouble
you for that five-pound note.
So soon as we were clear of the station it began to
seem probable that, as the fireman put it, Atherton
would be troubled.' Journeying in a train which
consists of a single carriage attached to an engine which
is flying at topmost speed is a very different business
from being an occupant of an ordinary train which is
travelling at ordinary express rates. I had discovered
that for myself before. That night it was impressed
on me more than ever. A tyro—or even a nervous
' season'—might have been excused for expecting at
every moment we were going to be derailed. It was
hard to believe that the carriage had any springs,
travelling had we none. Talking was out of the question ;
-and for that, I, personally, was grateful. Quite
apart from the difficulty we experienced in keeping
our seats—and when every moment our position was
being altered and we were jerked backwards and for-
wards up and down, this way and that, that was a
business which required care,—the noise was deafening.
It was as though we were being pursued by a legion of
shrieking, bellowing, raging demons.
George !' shrieked Atherton,' he does mean to
am that fiver. I hope I'll be alive to pay it him l'
He was only at the other end of the carriage, but
though I could see by the distortion of his visage that


THE SUDDEN STOPPING
329
be was shouting at the top of his voice,and he has
a voice,—I only caught here and there a word or two
of what he was saying. I had to make sense of the
whole.
Lessingham's contortions were a study. Few of
that large multitude of persons who are acquainted
with him only by means of the portraits which have
appeared in the illustrated papers, would then have
recognised the rising statesman. Yet I believe that
few things could have better fallen in with his mood
than that wild travelling. He might have been almost
shaken to pieces, but the very severity of the shaking
served to divert his thoughts from the one dread topic
which threatened to absorb them to the exclusion of
all else beside. Then there was the tonic influence of
the element of risk. The pick-me-up effect of a spice
of peril. Actual danger there quite probably was
none ; but there very really seemed to be. And one
thing was absolutely certain, that if we did come to
smash while going at that speed we should come to
as' everlasting smash as the heart of man could by
any possibility desire. It is probable that the know-
ledge that this was so warmed the blood in Lessingham's
veins. At any rate as to use what in this case, was
simply a form of speech—I sat and watched him, it
seemed to me that he was getting a firmer hold of the
strength which had all but escaped him, and that with
every joy and jolt be was becoming more and more of
a man.
On and on we went dashing, crashing, smashing,
roaring, rumbling. Atherton, who had been endeavour-
ing to peer through the window, strained his lungs again
in the effort to make himself audible.
'Where the devil are we?'
Looking at my watch I screamed back at him.
'It's nearly one, so I suppose we're somewhere in
the neighbourhood of Luton.—Hollo! What's the
matter?
That something was the matter seemed certain.
There was a shrill whistle from the engine. In a second
we were conscious—almost too conscious—of the
application of the Westinghouse brake. Of all the


THE SUDDEN STOPPING 331
doing here, what's wrong? I thought you were on
the twelve out, we're chasing you.
'Are you ? Then you've caught us. Thank God
for it 1-We're a wreck.
I had already opened the carriage door. With
that we all three clambered out on to the line.


THE CONTENTS OF THE CARRIAGE 333
The smashed train was all in darkness, the force of
the collision had put out all the carriage lamps. Here
was a flickering candle, there the glimmer of a match,
these were all the lights which shone upon the scene.
People were piling up débris by the side of the line,
for the purpose of making a fire,—more for illumination
than for warmth.
Many of the passengers had succeeded in freeing
themselves, and were moving hither and thither about
the line. But the majority appeared to be still im-
prisoned. The carriage doors were jammed. Without
the necessary tools it was impossible to open them.
Every step we took our ears were saluted by piteous
cries. Men, women, children, appealed to us for help.
Open the door, sir !' 'In the name of God, sir, open
the door !'
Over and over again, in all sorts of tones, with all
degrees of violence, the supplication was repeated.
The guards vainly endeavoured to appease the, in
many cases, half-frenzied creatures.
* All right, sir! If you'll only wait a minute or
two, madam! We can't get the doors open without
tools, a special train's just started off to get them. If
you'll only have patience there'll be plenty of help for
everyone of you directly. You'll be quite safe in there,
if you'll only keep still."
But that was just what they found it most difficult
to do keep still !
In the front of the train all was chaos. The trucks
which had done the mischief—there were afterwards
shown to be six of them, together with two guards'
vans—appeared to have been laden with bags of Portland
cement. The bags had burst, and everything was
covered with what seemed gritty dust. The air was
full of the stuff, it got into our eyes, half blinding us.
The engine of the express had turned a complete somer-
sault. It vomited forth smoke, and steam, and flames
Levery moment it seemed as if the woodwork of the
carriages immediately behind and beneath would catch
fire.
The front coaches were, as the guard had put it,
'match-boxed.' They were nothing but a heap of


THE CONCLUSION OF THE MATTER
399
that some curious subterranean building had been
blown up by the force of the explosion. Especially
were there portions of moulded metal which seemed
to belong to what must have been an immense bronze
statue. There were picked up also, more than a dozen
replicas in bronze of the whilom sacred scarabæus.
That the den of demons described by Paul Lessingham,
had, that night, at last come to an end, and that these
things which lay scattered, here and there, on that
treeless plain, were the evidences of its final destruction,
is not a hypothesis which I should care to advance
with any degree of certainty. But, putting this and
that together, the facts seem to point that way, and
it is a consummation devoutly to be desired.
By-the-bye, Sydney Atherton has married Miss Dora
Grayling. Her wealth has made him one of the richest
men in England. She began, the story goes, by loving
him immensely : I can answer for the fact that he has
ended by loving her as much. Their devotion to each
other contradicts the pessimistic nonsense which supposes
that every marriage must be of necessity a failure. He
continues his career of an inventor. His investigations
into the subject of aërial flight, which have brought
the flying machine within the range of practical politics,
are on everybody's tongue.
The best man at Atherton's wedding was Percy
Woodville, now the Earl of Barnes. Within six months
afterwards he married one of Mrs Atherton's bridesmaids.
It was never certainly shown how Robert Holt
came to his end. At the inquest the coroner's jury
was content to return a verdict of ' Died of exhaustion.'
He lies buried in Kensal Green Cemetery, under a
handsome tombstone, the cost of which, had he had it
in his pockets, might have indefinitely prolonged his
days.
It should be mentioned that that portion of this
strange history which purports to be The Surprising
Narration of Robert Holt was compiled from the state-
ments which Holt made to Atherton, and to Miss Lindon,
as she then was, when, a mud-stained, shattered derelict
he lay at the lady's father's house.
Miss Lindon's contribution towards the elucidation


Two Great Mystery Tales
New Editions
Reprinted, because among all the stories of mystery
these two must live for other generations
The Woman in White
By Wilkie Collins
12°. Frontispiece. $1.50 net. By mail, $1.60
First published over half a century ago, this novel has
taken its place among the fiction of enduring importance.
The brilliant author of the Moonstone and other famous
tales reaches the height of his amazing power in this
story of the strange Woman in White, with her hints
of wrongs that scarred her soul, and her prophetic and
accusing vision.
Foul Play
By Charles Reade and Dion Boucicault
12°. Frontispiece. $1.50 net. By mail, $1.60
Few writers of the nineteenth century could contend
on the score of wide and eager interest in life with
Charles Reade. Foul Play stands out after half a cen-
tury as one of the most striking stories of its kind ever
written.
A story of live and stirring deeds on land and sea, told
with all the vigor of which Reade and Boucicault were
capable.
G. P. Putnam's Sons
New York
London