A COKAN DOYLt

X00I870187








1














THE BLACK DOCTOR
and Other Tales of Terror
and Mystery
A. CONAN DOYLE


By SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
Novels and Stories
danger! And Other Stories
THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW
HIS LAST BOW
Some Later Reminiscences of Sherlock Holmes
THE BLACK DOCTOR
And Other Tales of Terror and Mystery
THE MAN FROM ARCHANGEL
And Other Tales of Adventure
THE CROXLEY MASTER
And Other Tales of the Ring and Camp
THE GREAT KEINPLATZ EXPERIMENT
And Other Tales of Twilight and the Unseen
THE LAST OF THE LEGIONS
And Other Tales of Long Ago
THE DEALINGS OF CAPTAIN SHARKEY
And Other Tales of Pirates
On the Life Hereafter
THE NEW REVELATION
THE VITAL MESSAGE
THE COMING OF THE FAIRIES
THE CASE FOR SPIRIT PHOTOGRAPHY
THE WANDERINGS OF A SPIRITUALIST
OUR AMERICAN ADVENTURE
A History of the Great War
THE BRITISH CAMPAIGN IN FRANCE
AND FLANDERS Six Vols.
Poems
THE GUARDS CAME THROUGH
NEW YORK
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY


THE BLACK DOCTOR
and Other Tales of Terror and
Mystery
BY
A. CONAN DOYLE
• • •
• • •
■ • • •
NEW SjBjp YORK
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY


PR
461651
Copyright, 1905, 1908, 1909, 1910, 1911, 1913,
1914, 1918, 1919, -
By A. Conan Doyle
Copyright, 1910,
By Charles Scribner's Sons
Copyright, 1911,
By Associated Sunday Magazines, Inc.
Copyright, 1908,
By The McClure Company
Copyright, 1900, 1902,
By The S. S. McClure Company
Copyright, 1894,
D. Appleton & Company
the black doctor and other tales of mystery
—0—
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA


CONTENTS
TALES OF TERROR
PAGE
I The Horror of the Heights 9
II The Leather Funnel 31
III The New Catacomb 47
IV The Case of Lady Sannox 66
V The Terror of Blue John Gap 80
VI The Brazilian Cat 103
TALES OF MYSTERY
VII The Lost Special 133
VIII The Beetle-Hunter 157
IX The Man with the Watches 179
X The Japanned Box 202
XI The Black Doctor 219
XII The Jew's Breastplate 244
XIII The Nightmare Room 270
v





TALES OF TERROR





THE BLACK DOCTOR
and Other Tales of Terror and Mystery
I
THE HORROR OF THE HEIGHTS
(which includes the manuscript known as the
joyce-armstrong fragment)
The idea that the extraordinary narrative which has
been called the Joyce-Armstrong Fragment is an
elaborate practical joke evolved by some unknown
person, cursed by a perverted ard sinister sense of
humour, has now been abandoned by all who have
examined the matter. The most macabre and imagi-
native of plotters would hesitate before linking his
morbid fancies with the unquestioned and tragic facts
which reinforce the statement. Though the assertions
contained in it are amazing and even monstrous, it is
none the less forcing itself upon the general intel-
ligence that they are true, and that we must readjust
our ideas to the new situation. This world of ours
appears to be separated by a slight and precarious
margin of safety from a most singular and unexpected
danger. I will endeavour in this narrative, which
reproduces the original document in its necessarily
somewhat fragmentary form, to lay before the reader
the whole of the facts up to date, prefacing my state-
ment by saying that, if there be anv who doubt the
9


10 THE HORROR OF THE HEIGHTS
narrative of Joyce-Armstrong, there can be no question
at all as to the facts concerning Lieutenant Myrtle,
R.N., and Mr. Hay Connor, who undoubtedly met
their end in the manner described.
The Joyce-Armstrong Fragment was found in the
field which is called Lower Haycock, lying one mile
to the westward of the village of Withyham, upon the
Kent and Sussex border. It was on the fifteenth of
September last that an agricultural labourer, James
Flynn, in the employment of Mathew Dodd, farmer,
of the Chauntry Farm, Withyham, perceived a briar
pipe lying near the footpath which skirts the hedge in
Lower Haycock. A few paces farther on he picked
up a pair of broken binocular glasses. Finally, among
some nettles in the ditch, he caught sight of a flat,
canvas-backed book, which proved to be a note-book
with detachable leaves, some of which had come loose
and were fluttering along the base of the hedge.
These he collected, but some, including the first, were
never recovered, and leave a deplorable hiatus in this
all-important statement. The note-book was taken by
the labourer to his master, who in turn showed it to
Dr. J. H. Atherton, of Hartfield. This gentleman at
once recognised the need for an expert examination,
and the manuscript was forwarded to the Aero Club in
London, where it now lies.
The first two pages of the manuscript are missing.
There is also one torn away at the end of the narrative,
though none of these affect the general coherence
of the story. It is conjectured that the missing opening
is concerned with the record of Mr. Joyce-Armstrong's
qualifications as an aeronaut, which can be gathered
from other sources and are admitted to be unsurpassed
among the air-pilots of England. For many years


THE HORROR OF THE HEIGHTS 11
he has been looked upon as among the most daring
and the most intellectual of flying men, a combination
which has enabled him to both invent and test several
new devices, including the common gyroscopic attach-
ment which is known by his name. The main body of
the manuscript is written neatly in ink, but the last
few lines are in pencil and are so ragged as to be
hardly legible—exactly, in fact, as they might be ex-
pected to appear if they were scribbled off hurriedly
from the seat of a moving aeroplane. There are, it
may be added, several stains, both on the last page
and on the outside cover which have been pronounced
by the Home Office experts to be blood—probably
human and certainly mammalian. The fact that some-
thing closely resembling the organism of malaria was
discovered in this blood, and that Joyce-Armstrong is
known to have suffered from intermittent fever, is a
remarkable example of the new weapons which modern
science has placed in the hands of our detectives.
And now a word as to the personality of the author
of this epoch-making statement. Joyce-Armstrong, ac-
cording to the few friends who really knew something
of the man, was a poet and a dreamer, as well as a
mechanic and an inventor. He was a man of con-
siderable wealth, much of which he had spent in the
pursuit of his aeronautical hobby. He had four
private aeroplanes in his hangars near Devizes, and is
said to have made no fewer than one hundred and
seventy ascents in the course of last year. He was a
retiring man with dark moods, in which he would
avoid the society of his fellows. Captain Dangerfield,
who knew him better than any one, says that there
were times when his eccentricity threatened to develop
into something more serious. His habit of carrying


12 THE HORROR OF THE HEIGHTS
a shot-gun with him in his aeroplane was one manifes-
tation of it.
Another was the morbid effect which the fall of
Lieutenant Myrtle had upon his mind. Myrtle, who
was attempting the height record, fell from an altitude
of something over thirty thousand feet. Horrible to
narrate, his head was entirely obliterated, though his
body and limbs preserved their configuration. At every
gathering of airmen, Joyce-Armstrong, according to
Dangerfield, would ask, with an enigmatic smile: "And
where, pray, is Myrtle's head?"
On another occasion after dinner, at the mess of
the Flying School on Salisbury Plain, he started a de-
bate as to what will be the most permanent danger
which airmen will have to encounter. Having listened
to successive opinions as to air-pockets, faulty con-
struction, and over-banking, he ended by shrugging
his shoulders and refusing to put forward his own
views, though he gave the impression that they differed
from any advanced by his companions.
It is worth remarking that after his own com-
plete disappearance it was found that his
private affairs were arranged with a precision
which may show that he had a strong pre-
monition of disaster. With these essential explana-
tions I will now give the narrative exactly as it stands,
beginning at page three of the blood-soaked note-
book :—
"Nevertheless, when I dined at Rheims with Coselli
and Gustav Raymond I found that neither of them
was aware of any particular danger in the higher
layers of the atmosphere. I did not actually say what
was in my thoughts, but I got so near to it that if


THE HORROR OF THE HEIGHTS 13
they had any corresponding idea they could not have
failed to express it. But then they are two empty,
vainglorious fellows with no thought beyond seeing
their silly names in the newspaper. It is interesting to
note that neither of them had ever been much beyond
the twenty-thousand-foot level. Of course, men have
been higher than this both in balloons and in the ascent
of mountains. It must be well above that point that
the aeroplane enters the danger zone—always presum-
ing that my premonitions are correct.
"Aeroplaning has been with us now for more than
twenty years, and one might well ask: Why should
this peril be only revealing itself in our day? The
answer is obvious. In the old days of weak engines,
when a hundred horse-power Gnome or Green was
considered ample for every need, the flights were very
restricted. Now that three hundred horse-power is
the rule rather than the exception, visits to the upper
layers have become easier and more common. Some of
us can remember how, in our youth, Garros made a
world-wide reputation by attaining nineteen thousand
feet, and it was considered a remarkable achievement
to fly over the Alps. Our standard now has been im-
measurably raised, and there are twenty high flights
for one in former years. Many of them have been
undertaken with impunity. The thirty-thousand-foot
level has been reached time after time with no discom-
fort beyond cold and asthma. What does this prove?'
A visitor might descend upon this planet a thousand
times and never see a tiger. Yet tigers exist, and if
he chanced to come down into a jungle he might be
devoured. There are jungles of the upper air, and
there are worse things than tigers which inhabit them.
I believe in time they will map these jungles accurately


THE HORROR OF THE HEIGHTS
IS
:ould not imagine what he was frightened about.
Only said one word to Venables, which sounded like
'Monstrous.' They could make nothing of that at
the inquest. But I could make something of it. Mon-
sters! That was the last word of poor Harry Hay
Connor. And he did die of fright, just as Venables
thought.
"And then there was Myrtle's head. Do you really
believe—does anybody really believe—that a man's
head could be driven clean into his body by the force
of a fall? Well, perhaps it may be possible, but I, for
one, have never believed that it was so with Myrtle.
And the grease upon his clothes—'all slimy with
grease,' said somebody at the inquest. Queer that no-
body got thinking after that! I did—but, then, I had
been thinking for a good long time. I've made three
ascents—how Dangerfield used to chaff me about my
shot-gun—but I've never been high enough. Now,
with this new light Paul Veroner machine and its one
hundred and seventy-five Robur, I should easily touch
the thirty thousand to-morrow. I'll have a shot at the
record. Maybe I shall have a shot at something else
as well. Of course, it's dangerous. If a fellow wants
to avoid danger he had best keep out of flying alto-
gether and subside finally into flannel slippers and a
dressing-gown. But I'll visit the air-jungle to-morrow
—and if there's anything there I shall know it. If
I return, I'll find myself a bit of a celebrity. If I don't,
this note-book may explain what I am trying to do,
and how I lost my life in doing it. But no drivel about
accidents or mysteries, if you please.
"I chose my Paul Veroner monoplane for the job.
There's nothing like a monoplane when real work is
to be done. Beaumont found that out in very early


16 THE HORROR OF THE HEIGHTS
days. For one thing, it doesn't mind damp, and the1
weather looks as if we should be in the clouds all the
time. It's a bonny little model and answers my hand
like a tender-mouthed horse. The engine is a ten-
cylinder rotary Robur working up to one hundred and
seventy-five. It has all the modern improvements—
enclosed fuselage, high-curved landing skids, brakes,
gyroscopic steadiers, and three speeds, worked by an
alteration of the angle of the planes upon the Venetian-
blind principle. I took a shot-gun with me and a
dozen cartridges filled with buck-shot. You should
have seen the face of Perkins, my old mechanic, when
I directed him to put them in. I was dressed like an
Arctic explorer, with two jerseys under my overalls,
thick socks inside my padded boots, a storm-cap with
flaps, and my tale goggles. It was stifling outside the
hangars, but I was going for the summit of the Hima-
layas, and had to dress for the part. Perkins knew
there was something on and implored me to take him
with me. Perhaps I should if I were using the biplane,
but a monoplane is a one-man show—if you want to
get the last foot of lift out of it. Of course, I took an
oxygen bag; the man who goes for the altitude record
without one will either be frozen or smothered—or
both.
"I had a good look at the planes, the rudder-bar,
and the elevating lever before I got in. Everything was
in order so far as I could see. Then I switched on my
engine and found that she was running sweetly. When
they let her go she rose almost at once upon the low-
est speed. I circled my home field once or twice just
to warm her up, and then, with a wave to Perkins and
the others, I flattened out my planes and put her on
her highest. She skimmed like a swallow down wind


THE HORROR OF THE HEIGHTS 17
for eight or ten miles until I turned her nose up a little
and she began to climb in a great spiral for the cloud-
bank above me. It's all-important to rise slowly and
adapt yourself to the pressure as you go.
"It was a close, warm day for an English Septem-
ber, and there was the hush and heaviness of impend-
ing rain. Now and then there came sudden puffs of
wind from the south-west—one of them so gusty and
unexpected that it caught me napping and turned me
half-round for an instant. I remember the time when
gusts and whirls and air-pockets used to be things of
danger—before we learned to put an over-mastering
power into our engines. Just as I reached the cloud-
banks, with the altimeter marking three thousand,
down came the rain. My word, how it poured! It
drummed upon my wings and lashed against my face,
blurring my glasses so that I could hardly see. I got
down on to a low speed, for it was painful to travel
against it. As I got higher it became hail, and I had
to turn tail to it. One of my cylinders was out of
action—a dirty plug, I should imagine, but still I was
rising steadily with plenty of power. After a bit the
trouble passed, whatever it was, and I heard the full
deep-throated purr—the ten singing as one. That's
where the beauty of our modern silencers comes in.
We can at last control our engines by ear. How they
squeal and squeak and sob when they are in trouble!
All those cries for help were wasted in the old days,
when every sound was swallowed up by the monstrous
racket of the machine. If only the early aviators
could come back to see the beauty and perfection of
the mechanism which have been bought at the cost of
their lives!
"About nine-thirty I was nearing the clouds. Down


18 THE HORROR OF THE HEIGHTS
below me, all blurred and shadowed with rain, lay the
vast expanse of Salisbury Plain. Half-a-dozen flying
machines were doing hack-work at the thousand-foot
level, looking like little black swallows against the
green back-ground. I dare say they were wondering
what I was doing up in cloud-land. Suddenly a grey
curtain drew across beneath me and the wet folds of
vapour were swirling round my face. It was clam-
mily cold and miserable. But I was above the hail-
storm, and that was something gained. The cloud
was as dark and thick as a London fog. In my anxiety
to get clear, I cocked her nose up until the automatic
alarm-bell rang, and I actually began to slide back-
wards. My sopped and dripping wings had made me
heavier than I thought, but presently I was in lighter
cloud, and soon had cleared the first layer. There was
a second—opal-coloured and fleecy—at a great height
above my head, a white unbroken ceiling above, and a
dark unbroken floor below, with the monoplane la-
bouring upwards upon a vast spiral between them. It
is deadly lonely in these cloud-spaces. Once a great
flight of some small water-birds went past me, flying
very fast to the westwards. The quick whirr of their
wings and their musical cry were cheery to my ear. I
fancy that they were teal, but I am a wretched zoolo-
gist. Now that we humans have become birds we
must really learn to know our brethren by sight.
"The wind down beneath me whirled and swayed
the broad cloud-plain. Once a great eddy formed in
it, a whirlpool of vapour, and through it, as down a
funnel, I caught sight of the distant world. A large
white biplane was passing at a vast depth beneath me.
I fancy it was the morning mail service betwixt Bristol


THE HORROR OF THE HEIGHTS 19
and London. Then the drift swirled inwards again
and the great solitude was unbroken.
"Just after ten I touched the lower edge of the
upper cloud-stratum. It consisted of fine diaphanous
vapour drifting swiftly from the westward. The wind
had been steadily rising all this time and it was now
blowing a sharp breeze—twenty-eight an hour by my
gauge. Already it was very cold, though my altimeter
only marked nine thousand. The engines were work-
ing beautifully, and we went droning steadily up-
'wards. The cloud-bank was thicker than I had ex-
pected, but at last it thinned out into a golden mist be-
fore me, and then in an instant I had shot out from it,
and there was an unclouded sky and a brilliant sun
above my head—all blue and gold above, all shining
silver below, one vast glimmering plain as far as my
eyes could reach. It was a quarter past ten o'clock,
and the barograph needle pointed to twelve thousand
eight hundred. Up I went and up, my ears concen-
trated upon the deep purring of my motor, my eyes
busy always with the watch, the revolution indicator,
the petrol lever, and the oil pump. No wonder avia-
tors are said to be a fearless race. With so many
things to think of there is no time to trouble about
oneself. About this time, I noted how unreliable is
the compass when above a certain height from earth.
At fifteen thousand feet mine was pointing east and a
point south. The sun and the wind gave me my true
bearings.
"I had hoped to reach an eternal stillness in these
high altitudes, but with every thousand feet of ascent
the gale grew stronger. My machine groaned and
trembled in every joint and rivet as she faced it, and
swept away like a sheet of paper when I banked her on


20 THE HORROR OF THE HEIGHTS
the turn, skimming down wind at a greater pace, per-
haps, than ever mortal man has moved. Yet I had
always to turn again and tack up in the wind's eye, for
it was not merely a height record that I was after. By
all my calculations it was above little Wiltshire that
my air-jungle lay, and all my labour might be lost if
I struck the outer layers at some farther point.
"When I reached the nineteen-thousand-foot level,
which was about midday, the wind was so severe that
I looked with some anxiety to the stays of my wings,
expecting momentarily to see them snap or slacken. I
even cast loose the parachute behind me, and fastened
its hook into the ring of my leathern belt, so as to be
ready for the worst. Now was the time when a bit of
scamped work by the mechanic is paid for by the life
of the aeronaut. But she held together bravely.
Every cord and strut was humming and vibrating like
so many harpstrings, but it was glorious to see how,
for all the beating and the buffeting, she was still the
conqueror of Nature and the mistress of the sky.
There is surely something divine in man himself that
he should rise so superior to the limitations which
Creation seemed to impose—rise, too, by such unself-
ish, heroic devotion as this air-conquest has shown.
Talk of human degeneration! When has such a story
as this been written in the annals of our race?
"These were the thoughts in my head as I climbed
that monstrous inclined plane with the wind sometimes
beating in my face and sometimes whistling behind my
ears, while the cloud-land beneath me fell away to
such a distance that the folds and hummocks of silver
had all smoothed out into one flat, shining plain. But
suddenly I had a horrible and unprecedented experi-
ence. I have known before what it is to be in what


THE HORROR OF THE HEIGHTS 21
our neighbours have called a tourbillon, but never" on
such a scale as this. That huge, sweeping river of
wind of which I have spoken had, as it appears, whirl-
pools within it which were as monstrous as itself.
Without a moment's warning I was dragged suddenly
into the heart of one. I spun round for a minute or
two with such velocity that I almost lost my senses,
and then fell suddenly, left wing foremost, down the
vacuum funnel in the centre. I dropped like a stone,
and lost nearly a thousand feet. It was only my belt
that kept me in my seat, and the shock and breathless-
ness left me hanging half-insensible over the side of
the fuselage. But I am always capable of a supreme
. effort—it is my one great merit as an aviator. I was
conscious that the descent was slower. The whirl-
pool was a cone rather than a funnel, and I had come
to the apex. With a terrific wrench, throwing my
weight all to one side, I levelled my planes and brought
her head away from the wind. In an instant I had
shot out of the eddies and was skimming down the
sky. Then, shaken but victorious, I turned her nose
up and began once more my steady grind on the up-
ward spiral. I took a large sweep to avoid the danger-
spot of the whirlpool, and soon I was safely above it.
Just after one o'clock I was twenty-one thousand feet
above the sea-level. To my great joy I had topped
the gale, and with every hundred feet of ascent the air
grew stiller. On the other hand, it was very cold, and
I was conscious of that peculiar nausea which goes
with rarefication of the air. For the first time I un-
screwed the mouth of my oxygen bag and took an
occasional whiff of the glorious gas. I could feel it
running like a cordial through my veins, and I was
exhilarated almost to the point of drunkenness. I


THE HORROR OF THE HEIGHTS 23
when I was nearing the forty-thousand-foot mark. I
cannot doubt that at the edge of the earth's envelope
the risk would be a very real one.
"My barograph needle marked forty-one thousand
three hundred when I became aware that I could go
no farther. Physically, the strain was not as yet
greater than I could bear, but my machine had reached
its limit. The attenuated air gave no firm support to
the wings, and the least tilt developed into side-slip,
while she seemed sluggish on her controls. Possibly,
had the engine been at its best, another thousand feet
might have been within our capacity, but it was still
misfiring, and two out of the ten cylinders appeared
to be out of action. If I had not already reached the
zone for which I was searching then I should never
see it upon this journey. But was it not possible that
I had attained it? Soaring in circles like a monstrous
hawk upon the forty-thousand-foot level I let the
monoplane guide herself, and with my Mannheim glass
I made a careful observation of my surroundings.
The heavens were perfectly clear; there was no indi-
cation of those dangers which I had imagined.
"I have said that I was soaring in circles. It struck
me suddenly that I would do well to take a wider sweep
and open up a new air-tract. If the hunter entered an
earth-jungle he would drive through it if he wished
to find his game. My reasoning had led me to believe
that the air-jungle which I had imagined lay some-
where over Wiltshire. This should be to the south
and west of me. I took my bearings from the sun,
for the compass was hopeless and no trace of earth
was to be seen—nothing but the distant silver cloud-
plain. However, I got my direction as best I might
and kept her head straight to the mark. I reckoned


24
THE HORROR OF THE HEIGHTS
that my petrol supply would not last for more than
another hour or so, but I could afford to use it to the
last drop, since a single magnificent vol-plane could at
any time take me to the earth.
"Suddenly I was aware of something new. The
air in front of me had lost its crystal clearness. It
was full of long, ragged wisps of something which I
can only compare to very fine cigarette-smoke. It
hung about in wreaths and coils, turning and twisting
slowly in the sunlight. As the monoplane shot through
it, I was aware of a faint taste of oil upon my lips,
and there was a greasy scum upon the wood-work of
the machine. Some infinitely fine organic matter ap-
peared to be suspended in the atmosphere. There was
no life there. It was inchoate and diffuse, extending
for many square acres and then fringing off into the
void. No, it was not life. But might it not be the
remains of life? Above all, might it not be the food
of life, of monstrous life, even as the humble grease
of the ocean is the food for the mighty whale? The
thought was in my mind when my eyes looked up-
wards and I saw the most wonderful vision that ever
man has seen. Can I hope to convey it to you even as
I saw it myself last Thursday?
"Conceive a jelly-fish such as sails our summer seas,
bell-shaped and of enormous size—far larger, I should
judge, than the dome of St. Paul's. It was of a light
pink colour veined with a delicate green, but the whole
huge fabric so tenuous that it was but a fairy outline
against the dark blue sky. It pulsated with a delicate
and regular rhythm. From it there depended two
long, dripping green tentacles, which swayed slowly
backwards and forwards. This gorgeous vision passed
gently with noiseless dignity over my head, as light


THE HORROR OF THE HEIGHTS 25
and fragile as a soap-bubble, and drifted upon its
stately way.
"1 had half-turned my monoplane, that I might look
after this beautiful creature, when, in a moment, I
found myself amidst a perfect fleet of them, of all
sizes, but none so large as the first. Some were quite
small, but the majority about as big as an average
balloon, and with much the same curvature at the top.
There was in them a delicacy of texture and colouring
which reminded me of the finest Venetian glass. Pale
shades of pink and green were the prevailing tints, but
all had a lovely iridescence where the sun shimmered
through their dainty forms. Some hundreds of them
drifted past me, a wonderful fairy squadron of
strange, unknown argosies of the sky—creatures
whose forms and substance were so attuned to these
pure heights that one could not conceive anything so
delicate within actual sight or sound of earth.
"But soon my attention was drawn to a new phe-
nomenon—the serpents of the outer air. These were
long, thin, fantastic coils of vapour-like material,
which turned and twisted with great speed, flying
round and round at such a pace that the eyes could
hardly follow them. Some of these ghost-like crea-
tures were twenty or thirty feet long, but it was dif-
ficult to tell their girth, for their outline was so hazy
that it seemed to fade away into the air around them.
These air-snakes were of very light grey or smoke
colour, with some darker lines within, which gave the
impression of a definite organism. One of them
whisked past my very face, and I was conscious of a
cold, clammy contact, but their composition was so un-
substantial that I could not connect them with any
thought of physical danger, any more than the beauti-


26 THE HORROR OF THE HEIGHTS
ful bell-like creatures which had preceded them. There
was no more solidity in their frames than in the float-
ing spume from a broken wave.
"But a more terrible experience was in store for me.
Floating downwards from a great height there came a
purplish patch of vapour, small as I saw it first, but
rapidly enlarging as it approached me, until it appeared
to be hundreds of square feet in size. Though fash-
ioned of some transparent, jelly-like substance, it was
none the less of much more definite outline and solid
consistence than anything which I had seen before.
There were more traces, to, of a physical organisation,
especially two vast shadowy, circular plates upon either
side, which may have been eyes, and a perfectly solid
white projection between them which was as curved
and cruel as the beak of a vulture.
"The whole aspect of this monster was formidable
and threatening, and it kept changing its colour from a
very light mauve to a dark, angry purple so thick
that it cast a shadow as it drifted between my mono-
plane and the sun. On the upper curve of its huge
body there were three great projections which I can
only describe as enormous bubbles, and I was con-
vinced as I looked at them that they were charged with
some extremely light gas which served to buoy up the
misshapen and semi-solid mass in the rarefied air.
The creature moved swiftly along, keeping pace easily
with the monoplane, and for twenty miles or more it
formed my horrible escort, hovering over me like a
bird of prey which is waiting to pounce. Its method
of progression—done so swiftly that it was not easy to
follow—was to throw out a long, glutinous streamer
in front of it, which in turn seemed to draw forward
the rest of the writhing body. So elastic and gelati-


28 THE HORROR OF THE HEIGHTS
the huge cloud-like body turned sideways, writhing
desperately to find its balance, while the white beak
snapped and gaped in horrible fury. But already I
had shot away on the steepest glide that I dared to at-
tempt, my engine still full on, the flying propeller and the force of gravity shooting me downwards like an
aerolite. Far behind me I saw a dull, purplish smudge
growing swiftly smaller and merging into the blue
sky behind it. I was safe out of the deadly jungle of
the outer air.
"Once out of danger I throttled my engine, for
nothing tears a machine to pieces quicker than running
on full power from a height. It was a glorious spiral
vol-plane from nearly eight miles of altitude—first, to
the level of the silver cloud-bank, then to that of the
storm-cloud beneath it, and finally, in beating rain, to
the surface of the earth. I saw the Bristol Channel
beneath me as I broke from the clouds, but, having
still some petrol in my tank, I got twenty miles inland
before I found myself stranded in a field half a mile
from the village of Ashcombe. There I got three tins
of petrol from a passing motor-car, and at ten minutes
past six that evening I alighted gently in my own home
meadow at Devizes, after such a journey as no mortal
upon earth has ever yet taken and lived to tell the tale.
I have seen the beauty and I have seen the horror of
the heights—and greater beauty or greater horror than
that is not within the ken of man.
"And now it is my plan to go once again before I
give my results to the world. My reason for this is
that I must surely have something to show by way of
proof before I lay such a tale before my fellow-men.
It is true that others will soon follow and will confirm
what I have said, and yet I should wish to carry con-


THE HORROR OF THE HEIGHTS 29
fiction from the first. Those lovely iridescent bubbles
[>f the air should not be hard to capture. They drift
slowly upon their way, and the swift monoplane could
intercept their leisurely course. It is likely enough that
(they would dissolve in the heavier layers of the at-
mosphere, and that some small heap of amorphous
jelly might be all that I should bring to earth with me.
nd yet something there would surely be by which
could substantiate my story. Yes, I will go, even if
run a risk by doing so. These purple horrors would
(not seem to be numerous. It is probably that I shall
not see one. If I do I shall dive at once. At the
worst there is always the shot-gun and my knowledge
pf . . »
Here a page of the manuscript is unfortunately miss-
ing. On the next page is written, in large, straggling
writing:—
"Forty-three thousand feet. I shall never see earth
again. They are beneath me. three of them. God
help me; it is a dreadful death to die!"
Such in its entirety is the Joyce-Armstrong State-
ment. Of the man nothing has since been seen.
Pieces of his shattered monoplane have been picked
up in the preserves of Mr. Budd-Lushington upon the
borders of Kent and Sussex, within a few miles of the
spot where the note-book was discovered. If the un-
Tortunate aviator's theory is correct that this air-
jungle, as he called it, existed only over the south-west
of England, then it would seem that he had fled from
it at the full speed of his monoplane, but had been
overtaken and devoured by these horrible creatures


30 THE HORROR OF THE HEIGHTS
at some spot in the outer atmosphere above the place
where the grim relics were found. The picture of that
monoplane skimming down the sky, with the nameless
terrors flying as swiftly beneath it and cutting it off
always from the earth while they gradually closed in
upon their victim, is one upon which a man who valued
his sanity would prefer not to dwell. There are many,
as I am aware, who still jeer at the facts which I have
here set down, but even they must admit that Joyce-
Armstrong has disappeared, and I would commend to
them his own words: "This note-book may explain
what I am trying to do, and how I lost my life in doing
it. But no drivel about accidents or mysteries, if you
please."


j THE LEATHER FUNNEL
My friend, Lionel Dacre, lived in the Avenue de
Wagram, Paris. His house was that small one, with
the iron railings and grass plot in front of it, on the
left-hand side as you pass down from the Arc de
Triomphe. I fancy that it had been there long before
the avenue was constructed, for the grey tiles were
stained with lichens, and the walls were mildewed and
discoloured with age. It looked a small house from
the street, five windows in front, if I remember right,
but it deepened into a single long chamber at the back.
It was here that Dacre had that singular library of
occult literature, and the fantastic curiosities which
served as a hobby for himself, and an amusement for
his friends. A wealthy man of refined and eccentric
tastes, he had spent much of his life and fortune in
gathering together what was said to be a unique pri-
vate collection of Talmudic, cabalistic, and magical
works, many of them of great rarity and value. His
tastes leaned toward the marvellous and the monstrous,
and I have heard that his experiments in the direction
of the unknown have passed all the bounds of civilisa-
tion and of decorum. To his English friends he never
alluded to such matters, and took the tone of the stu-
dent and virtuoso; but a Frenchman whose tastes were
of the same nature has assured me that the worst ex-
cesses of the black mass have been perpetrated in that
large and lofty hall, which is lined with the shelves of
his books, and the cases of his museum.
Dacre's appearance was enough to show that his
31


32
THE LEATHER FUNNEL
deep interest in these psychic matters was intellectual
rather than spiritual. There was no trace of asceti-
cism upon his heavy face, but there was much mental
force in his huge dome-like skull, which curved up-
ward from amongst his thinning locks, like a snow-
peak above its fringe of fir trees. His knowledge was
greater than his wisdom, and his powers were far
superior to his character. The small bright eyes,
buried deeply in his fleshy face, twinkled with intelli-
gence and an unabated curiosity of life, but they were
the eyes of a sensualist and an egotist. Enough of the
man, for he is dead now, poor devil, dead at the very
time that he had made sure that he had at last dis-
covered the elixir of life. It is not with his complex
character that I have to deal, but with the very strange
and inexplicable incident which had its rise in my visit
to him in the early spring of the year '82.
I had known Dacre in England, for my researches
in the Assyrian Room of the British Museum had been
conducted at the time when he was endeavouring to
establish a mystic and esoteric meaning in the Baby-
lonian tablets, and this community of interests had
brought us together. Chance remarks had led to daily
conversation, and that to something verging upon
friendship. I had promised him that on my next visit
to Paris I would call upon him. At the time when I
was able to fulfil my compact I was living in a cottage
at Fontainebleau, and as the evening trains were incon-
venient, he asked me to spend the night in his house.
"I have only that one spare couch," said he, pointing
to a broad sofa in his large salon; "I hope that you
will manage to be comfortable there."
It was a singular bedroom, with its high walls of
brown volumes, but there could be no more agreeable


THE LEATHER FUNNEL 33
furniture to a bookworm like myself, and there is no
scent so pleasant to my nostrils as that faint, subtle
reek which comes from an ancient book. I assured
him that I could desire no more charming chamber,
and no more congenial surroundings.
"If the fittings are neither convenient nor conven-
tional, they are at least costly," said he, looking round
at his shelves. "I have expended nearly a quarter of
a million of money upon these objects which surround
you. Books, weapons, gems, carvings, tapestries,
images—there is hardly a thing here which has not its
history, and it is generally one worth telling."
He was seated as he spoke at one side of the open
fireplace, and I at the other. His reading table was
on his right, and the strong lamp above it ringed it
with a very vivid circle of golden light. A half-rolled
palimpsest lay in the centre, and around it were many
quaint articles of bric-a-brac. One of these was a
large funnel, such as is used for filling wine casks. It
appeared to be made of black wood, and to be rimmed
with discoloured brass.
"That is a curious thing," I remarked. "What is
the history of that?"
"Ah!" said he, "it is the very question which I have
had occasion to ask myself. I would give a good deal
to know. Take it in your hands and examine it."
I did so, and found that what I had imagined to be
wood was in reality leather, though age had dried it
into an extreme hardness. It was a large funnel, and
might hold a quart when full. The brass rim en-
circled the wide end, but the narrow was also tipped
with metal.
"What do you make of it?" asked Dacre.
"I should imagine that it belonged to some vintner


.54
THE LEATHER FUNNEL
or maltster in the middle ages," said I. "I have seen
in England leathern drinking flagons of the seven-
teenth century—'black jacks' as they were called—
which were of the same colour and hardness as this
filler."
"I dare say the date would be about the same," said
Dacre, "and, no doubt, also, it was used for filling
a vessel with liquid. If my suspicions are correct,
however, it was a queer vintner who used it, and a very
singular cask which was filled. Do you observe
nothing strange at the spout end of the funnel?"
As I held it to the light I observed that at a spot
some five inches above the brass tip the narrow neck of
the leather funnel was all haggled and scored, as if
some one had notched it round with a blunt knife.
Only at that point was there any roughening of the
dead black surface.
"Some one has tried to cut off the neck."
"Would you call it a cut?"
"It is torn and lacerated. It must have taken some
strength to leave these marks on such tough material,
whatever the instrument may have been. But what
do you think of it? I can tell that you know more
than you say."
Dacre smiled, and his little eyes twinkled with
knowledge.
"Have you included the psychology of dreams
among your learned studies?" he asked.
"I did not even know that there was such a
psychology."
"My dear sir, that shelf above the gem case is filled
with volumes, from Albertus Magnus onward, which
deal with no other subject. It is a science in itself."
"A science of charlatans."


THE LEATHER FUNNEL 65
"The charlatan is always the pioneer. From the as-
trologer came the astronomer, from the alchemist the
chemist, from the mesmerist the experimental psycholo-
gist. The quack of yesterday is the professor of
to-morrow. Even such subtle and elusive things as
dreams will in time be reduced to system and order.
When that time comes the researches of our friends
on the book-shelf yonder will no longer be the amuse-
ment of the mystic, but the foundations of a science."
"Supposing that is so, what has the science of
dreams to do with a large black brass-rimmed funnel?"
"I will tell you. You know that I have an agent
who is always on the lookout for rarities and curiosi-
ties for my collection. Some days ago he heard of a
dealer upon one of the Quais who had acquired some
old rubbish found in a cupboard in an ancient house
at the back of the Rue Mathurin, in the Quartier Latin.
The dining-room of this old house is decorated with
a coat of arms, chevrons, and bars rouge upon a field
argent, which prove, upon inquiry, to be the shield of
Nicholas de la Reynie, a high official of King Louis
XIV. There can be no doubt that the other articles
in the cupboard date back to the early days of that
king. The inference is, therefore, that they were all
the property of this Nicholas de la Reynie, who was,
as I understand, the gentleman specially concerned
with the maintenance and execution of the Draconic
laws of that epoch."
"What then?"
"I would ask you now to take the funnel into your
hands once more and to examine the upper brass rim.
Can you make out any lettering upon it?"
There were certainly some scratches upon it, al-
most obliterated by time. The general effect was of


36
THE LEATHER FUNNEL
several letters, the last of which bore some resem-
blance to a B.
"You make it a B?"
"Yes, I do."
"So do I. In fact, I have no doubt whatever that it
is a B."
"But the nobleman you mentioned would have had
R for his initial."
"Exactly! That's the beauty of it. He owned this
curious object, and yet he had some one else's initials
upon it. Why did he do this?"
"I can't imagine; can you?"
"Well, I might, perhaps, guess. Do you observe
something drawn a little further along the rim?"
"I should say it was a crown."
"It is undoubtedly a crown; but if you examine
it in a good light, you will convince yourself that it is
not an ordinary crown. It is a heraldic crown—a
badge of rank, and it consists of an alternation of
four pearls and strawberry leaves, the proper badge
of a marquis. We may infer, therefore, that the per-
son whose initials end in B was entitled to wear that
coronet."
"Then this common leather filler belonged to a
marquis?"
Dacre gave a peculiar smile.
"Or to some member of the family of a marquis,"
said he. "So much we have clearly gathered from
this engraved rim."
"But what has all this to do with dreams?" I do
not know whether it was from a look upon Dacre's
face, or from some subtle suggestion in his manner,
but a feeling of repulsion, of unreasoning horror,


THE LEATHER FUNNEL
37
came upon me as I looked at the gnarled old lump of
leather.
"I have more than once received important infor-
mation through my dreams," said my companion, in
the didactic manner which he loved to affect. "I
make it a rule now when I am in doubt upon any mate-
rial point to place the article in question beside me as
I sleep, and to hope for some enlightenment. The
process does not appear to me to be very obscure,
though it has not yet received the blessing of orthodox
science. According to my theory, any object which
has been intimately associated with any supreme
paroxysm of human emotion, whether it be joy or pain,
will retain a certain atmosphere or association which
it is capable of communicating to a sensitive mind.
By a sensitive mind I do not mean an abnormal one,
but such a trained and educated mind as you or I
possess."
"You mean, for example, that if I slept beside that
old sword upon the wall, I might dream of some bloody
incident in which that very sword took part?"
"An excellent example, for, as a matter of fact,
that sword was used in that fashion by me, and I saw
in my sleep the death of its owner, who perished in a
brisk skirmish, which I have been unable to identify,
but which occurred at the time of the wars of the
Frondists. If you think of it, some of our popular
observances show that the fact has already been rec-
ognised by our ancestors, although we, in our wis-
dom, have classed it among superstitions."
"For example?"
"Well, the placing of the bride's cake beneath the
pillow in order that the sleeper may have pleasant
t dreams. That is one of several instances which you


THE LEATHER FUNNEL
will find set forth in a small brochure which I am
myself writing upon the subject. But to come back to
the point, I slept one night with this funnel beside
me, and I had a dream which certainly throws a curi-
ous light upon its use and origin."
"What did you dream?"
"I dreamed "He paused, and an intent look
of interest came over his massive face. "By Jove,
'that's well thought of," said he. "This really will be
an exceedingly interesting experiment. You are your-
self a psychic subject—with nerves which respond
readily to any impression."
"I have never tested myself in that direction."
"Then we shall test you to-night. Might I ask you
as a very great favour, when you occupy that couch
to-night, to sleep with this old funnel placed by the
side of your pillow?"
The request seemed to me a grotesque one; but I
have myself, in my complex nature, a hunger after all
which is bizarre and fantastic. I had not the faint-
est belief in Dacre's theory, nor any hopes for suc-
cess in such an experiment; yet it amused me that
the experiment should be made. Dacre, with great
gravity, drew a small stand to the head of my settee,
and placed the funnel upon it. Then, after a short
conversation, he wished me good-night and left me.
I sat for some little time smoking by the smoul-
dering fire, and turning over in my mind the curious
incident which had occurred, and the strange experi-
ence which might lie before me. Sceptical as I was,
there was something impressive in the assurance of
Dacre's manner, and my extraordinary surroundings,
the huge room with the strange and often sinister ob-1


THE LEATHER FUNNEL 39
jects which were hung round it, struck solemnity into
my soul. Finally I undressed, and, turning out the
lamp, I lay down. After long tossing I fell asleep.
Let me try to describe as accurately as I can the
scene which came to me in my dreams. It stands out
now in my memory more clearly than anything which
I have seen with my waking eyes.
There was a room which bore the appearance of a
vault. Four spandrels from the corners ran up to
join a sharp cup-shaped roof. The architecture was
rough, but very strong. It was evidently part of a
great building.
Three men in black, with curious top-heavy black
velvet hats, sat in a line upon a red-carpeted dais.
Their faces were very solemn and sad. On the left
stood two long-gowned men with portfolios in their
hands, which seemed to be stuffed with papers. Upon
the right, looking toward me, was a small woman with
blonde hair and singular light-blue eyes—the eyes of
a child. She was past her first youth, but could not
yet be called middle-aged. Her figure was inclined
to stoutness, and her bearing was proud and con-
fident. Her face was pale, but serene. It was a curi-
ous face, comely and yet feline, with a subtle
suggestion of cruelty about the straight, strong little
mouth and chubby jaw. She was draped in some
sort of loose white gown. Beside her stood a thin,
eager priest, who whispered in her ear, and continually
raised a crucifix before her eyes. She turned her head
and looked fixedly past the crucifix at the three men in
black, who were, I felt, her judges.
As I gazed the three men stood up and said some-
thing, but I could distinguish no words, though I was
aware that it was the central one who was speaking.


THE LEATHER FUNNEL
They then swept out of the room, followed by the
two men with the papers. At the same instant several
rough-looking fellows in stout jerkins came bustling in
and removed first the red carpet, and then the boards
which formed the dais, so as to entirely clear the
room. When this screen was removed I saw some
singular articles of furniture behind it. One looked
like a bed with wooden rollers at each end, and a
winch handle to regulate its length. Another was a
wooden horse. There were several other curious ob-
jects, and a number of swinging cords which played
over pulleys. It was not unlike a modern gymnasium.
When the room had been cleared there appeared a
new figure upon the scene. This was a tall thin per-
son clad in black, with a gaunt and austere face. The
aspect of the man made me shudder. His clothes were
all shining with grease and mottled with stains. He
bore himself with a slow and impressive dignity, as
if he took command of all things from the instant of
his entrance. In spite of his rude appearance and
sordid dress, it was now his business; his room, his to
command. He carried a coil of light ropes over his
left fore-arm. The lady looked him up and down with
a searching glance, but her expression was unchanged.
It was confident—even defiant. But it was very dif-
ferent with the priest. His face was ghastly white,
and I saw the moisture glisten and run on his high,
sloping forehead. He threw up his hands in prayer,
and he stooped continually to mutter frantic words in
the lady's ear.
The man in black now advanced, and taking one of
the cords from his left arm, he bound the woman's
hands together. She held them meekly toward him
as he did so. Then he took her arm with a rough


THE LEATHER FUNNEL
41
grip and led her toward the wooden horse, which was
little higher than her waist. On to this she was lifted
and laid, with her back upon it, and her face to the ceil-
ing, while the priest, quivering with horror, had rushed
out o f the room. The woman's lips were moving rapidly,
and though I could hear nothing I knew that she was
praying. Her feet hung down on either side of the
horse, and I saw that the rough varlets in attendance
had fastened cords to her ankles and secured the other
ends to iron rings in the stone floor.
My heart sank within me as I saw these ominous
preparations, and yet I was held by the fascination of
horror, and I could not take my eyes from the strange
spectacle. A man had entered the room with a bucket
of water in either hand. Another followed with a
third bucket. They were laid beside the wooden
horse. The second man had a wooden dipper—a bowl
with a straight handle—in his other hand. This he
gave to the man in black. At the same moment one
of the varlets approached with a dark object in his
hand, which even in my dream filled me with a vague
feeling of familiarity. It was a leathern filler. With
horrible energy he thrust it—but I could stand no
more. My hair stood on end with horror. I writhed,
I struggled, I broke through the bonds of sleep, and
I burst with a shriek into my own life, and found
myself lying shivering with terror in the huge library,
with the moonlight flooding through the window and
throwing strange silver and black traceries upon the
opposite wall. Oh, what a blessed relief to feel that I
was back in the nineteenth century—back out of that
mediaeval vault into a world where men had human
hearts within their bosoms. I sat up on my couch,
trembling in every limb, my mind divided between


42
THE LEATHER FUNNEL
thankfulness and horror. To think that such things
were ever done—that they could be done without God
striking the villains dead. Was it all a fantasy, or did
it really stand for something which had happened in
the black, cruel days of the world's history? I sank
my throbbing head upon my shaking hands. And
then, suddenly, my heart seemed to stand still in my
bosom, and I could not even scream, so great was my
terror. Something was advancing toward me through
the darkness of the room.
It is a horror coming upon a horror which breaks a
man's spirit. I could not reason, I could not pray; I
could only sit like a frozen image, and glare at the
dark figure which was coming down the great room.
And then it moved out into the white lane of moon-
light, and I breathed once more. It was Dacre, and
his face showed that he was as frightened as myself
"Was that you? For God's sake what's the mat
ter?" he asked in a husky voice.
"Oh, Dacre, I am glad to see you! I have been
down into hell. It was dreadful."
"Then it was you who screamed?"
"I dare say it was."
"It rang through the house. The servants are all
terrified." He struck a match and lit the lamp. "I
think we may get the fire to burn up again," he added,
throwing some logs upon the embers. "Good God, my
dear chap, how white you are! You look as if you had
seen a ghost."
"So I have—several ghosts."
"The leather funnel has acted, then?"
"I wouldn't sleep near the infernal thing again for all the money you could offer me."
Dacre chuckled.


THE LEATHER FUNNEL 43
"I expected that you would have a lively night of
it," said he. "You took it out of me in return, for
that scream of yours wasn't a very pleasant sound at
two in the morning. I suppose from what you say
that you have seen the whole dreadful business."
"What dreadful business?"
"The torture of the water—the 'Extraordinary
Question,' as it was called in the genial days of 'Le
Roi Soleil.' Did you stand it out to the end?"
"No, thank God, I awoke before it really began."
"Ah! it is just as well for you. I held out till the
third bucket. Well, it is an old story, and they are
all in their graves now anyhow, so what does it mat-
ter how they got there? I suppose that you have no
idea what it was that you have seen?"
"The torture of some criminal. She must have been
a terrible malefactor indeed if her crimes are in pro-
portion to her penalty."
"Well, we have that small consolation," said Dacre,
wrapping his dressing-gown round him and crouching
closer to the fire. "They ivcre in proportion to her
penalty. That is to say, if I am correct in the lady's
identity."
"How could you possibly know her identity?"
For answer Dacre took down an old vellum-covered
volume from the shelf.
"Just listen to this," said he; "it is in the French
of the seventeenth century, but I will give a rough
translation as I go. You will judge for yourself
whether I have solved the riddle or not.
"'The prisoner was brought before the Grand
Chambers and Tournelles of Parliament, sitting as a
court of justice, charged with the murder of Master


44 THE LEATHER FUNNEL
Dreux d'Aubray, her father, and of her two brothers,
MM. d'Aubray, one being civil lieutenant, and the
other a counsellor of Parliament. In person it
seemed hard to believe that she had really done such
wicked deeds, for she was of a mild appearance, and
of short stature, with a fair skin and blue eyes. Yet
the Court, having found her guilty, condemned her
to the ordinary and to the extraordinary question in
order that she might be forced to name her accom-
plices, after which she should be carried in a cart to ,
the Place de Greve, there to have her head cut off, her
body being afterwards burned and her ashes scattered
to the winds.'
The date of this entry is July 16, 1676."
"It is interesting," said I, "but not convincing.
How do you prove the two women to be the same?"
"I am coming to that. The narrative goes on to
tell of the woman's behaviour when questioned. 'When
the executioner approached her she recognised him
by the cords which he held in his hands, and she at
once held out her own hands to him, looking at him
from head to foot without uttering a word.' How's
that?"
"Yes, it was so."
. "'She gazed without wincing upon the wooden
horse and rings which had twisted so many limbs and
caused so many shrieks of agony. When her eyes
fell upon the three pails of water, which were all ready
for her, she said with a smile, "All that water must
have been brought here for the purpose of drowning
me, Monsieur. You have no idea, I trust, of making
a person of my small stature swallow it all."' Shall
I read the details of the torture?"


THE LEATHER FUNNEL 45
"No, for Heaven's sake, don't."
"Here is a sentence which must surely show you
that what is here recorded is the very scene which
you have gazed upon to-night: 'The good Abbe Pirot,
unable to contemplate the agonies which were suffered
by his penitent, had hurried from the room.' Does
that convince you?"
"It does entirely. There can be no question that it
is indeed the same event. But who, then, is this lady
whose appearance was so attractive and whose end was
so horrible?"
For answer Dacre came across to me, and placed the
small lamp upon the table which stood by my bed.
Lifting up the ill-omened filler, he turned the brass rim
so that the light fell full upon it. Seen in this way
the engraving seemed clearer than on the night before.
"We have already agreed that this is the badge of
a marquis or of a marquise," said he. "We have
also settled that the last letter is B."
"It is undoubtedly so."
"I now suggest to you that the other letters from
left to right are, M, M, a small d, A, a small d, and
then the final B."
"Yes, I am sure that you are right. I can make out
the two small d's quite plainly."
"What I have read to you to-night," said Dacre,
"is the official record of the trial of Marie Madeleine
d'Aubray, Marquise de Brinvilliers, one of the most
famous poisoners and murderers of all time."
I sat in silence, overwhelmed at the extraordinary
nature of the incident, and at the completeness of the
proof with which Dacre had exposed its real meaning.
In a vague way I remembered some details of the
w oman's career, her unbridled debauchery, the cold-


46
THE LEATHER FUNNEL
blooded and protracted torture of her sick father, the
murder of her brothers for motives of petty gain. I
recollected also that the bravery of her end had done
something to atone for the horror of her life, and that
all Paris had sympathised with her last moments, and
blessed her as a martyr within a few days of the time
when they had cursed her as a murderess. One ob-
jection, and one only, occurred to my mind.
"How came her initials and her badge of rank upon
the filler? Surely they did not carry their mediaeval
homage to the nobility to the point of decorating in-
struments of torture with their titles?"
"I was puzzled with the same point," said Dacre,
"but it admits of a simple explanation. The case ex-
cited extraordinary interest at the time, and nothing
could be more natural than that La Reynie, the head
of the police, should retain this filler as a grim souve-
nir. It was not often that a marchioness of France
underwent the extraordinary question. That he should
engrave her initials upon it for the information of
others was surely a very ordinary proceeding upon his
part."
"And this?" I asked, pointing to the marks upon the
leathern neck.
"She was a cruel tigress," said Dacre, as he turned
away. "I think it is evident that like other tigresses
her teeth were both strong and sharp."


m THE NEW CATACOMB
"Look here, Burger," said Kennedy, "I do wish that
you would confide in me."
The two famous students of Roman remains sat
together in Kennedy's comfortable room overlooking
the Corso. The night was cold, and they had both
pulled up their chairs to the unsatisfactory Italian
stove which threw out a zone of stuffiness rather than
of warmth. Outside under the bright winter stars
lay the modern Rome, the long, double chain of the
electric lamps, the brilliantly lighted cafes, the rushing
carriages, and the dense throng upon the footpaths.
But inside, in the sumptuous chamber of the rich young
English archaeologist, there was only old Rome to be
seen. Cracked and time-worn friezes hung upon the
walls, grey old busts of senators and soldiers with their
fighting heads and their hard, cruel faces peered out
from the corners. On the centre table, amidst a litter
of inscriptions, fragments, and ornaments, there stood
the famous reconstruction by Kennedy of the Baths
of Caracalla, which excited such interest and admira-
tion when it was exhibited in Berlin. Amphora: hung
from the ceiling, and a litter of curiosities strewed the
rich red Turkey carpet. And of them all there was
not one which was not of the most unimpeachable
authenticity, and of the utmost rarity and value; for
Kennedy, though little more than thirty, had a Euro-
pean reputation in this particular branch of research,
and was, moreover, provided with that long purse
which either proves to be a fatal handicap to the stu-
47


THE NEW CATACOMB
dent's energies, or, if his mind is still true to his pur-
pose, gives him an enormous advantage in the race for
fame. Kennedy had often been seduced by whim and
pleasure from his studies, but his mind was an in-
cisive one, capable of long and concentrated efforts
which ended in sharp reactions of sensuous languor.
His handsome face, with its high, white forehead, its
aggressive nose, and its somewhat loose and sensual
mouth, was a fair index of the compromise between
strength and weakness in his nature.
Of a very different type was his companion, Julius
Burger. He came of a curious blend, a German father
and an Italian mother, with the robust qualities of the
North mingling strangely with the softer graces of the
South. Blue Teutonic eyes lightened his sun-browned
face, and above them rose a square, massive forehead,
with a fringe of close yellow curls lying round it. His
strong, firm jaw was clean-shaven, and his companion
had frequently remarked how much it suggested those
old Roman busts which peered out from the shadows
in the corners of his chamber. Under its bluff Ger-
man strength there lay always a suggestion of Italian
subtlety, but the smile was so honest, and the eyes so
frank, that one understood that this was only an indica-
tion of his ancestry, with no actual bearing upon his
character. In age and in reputation, he was on the
same level as his English companion, but his life and
his work had both been far more arduous. Twelve
years before, he had come as a poor student to Rome,
and had lived ever since upon some small endowment
for research which had been awarded to him by the
University of Bonn. Painfully, slowly, and doggedly,
with extraordinary tenacity and single-mindedness, he
had climbed from rung to rung of the ladder of fame,


THE NEW CATACOMB
49
until now he was a member of the Berlin Academy,
and there was every reason to believe that he would
shortly be promoted to the Chair of the greatest of
German Universities. But the singleness of purpose
which had brought him to the same high level as the
rich and brilliant Englishman, had caused him in every-
thing outside their work to stand infinitely below him.
He had never found a pause in his studies in which to
cultivate the social graces. It was only when he spoke
of his own subject that his face was filled with life and
soul. At other times he was silent and embarrassed,
too conscious of his own limitations in larger subjects,
and impatient of that small talk which is the conven-
tional refuge of those who have no thoughts to ex-
press.
And yet for some years there had been an acquain-
tanceship which appeared to be slowly ripening into a
friendship between these two very different rivals.
The base and origin of this lay in the fact that in their
own studies each was the only one of the younger men
who had knowledge and enthusiasm enough to prop-
erly appreciate the other. Their common interests
and pursuits had brought them together, and each had
been attracted by the other's knowledge. And then
gradually something had been added to this. Kennedy
had been amused by the frankness and simplicity of
his rival, while Burger in turn had been fascinated by
the brilliancy and vivacity which had made Kennedy
such a favourite in Roman society. I say "had," be-
cause just at the moment the young Englishman was
somewhat under a cloud. A love-affair, the details
of which had never quite come out, had indicated a
heartlessness and callousness upon his part which
shocked many of his friends. But in the bachelor


50
THE NEW CATACOMB
circles of students and artists in which he preferred
to move there is no very rigid code of honour in such
matters, and though a head might be shaken or a pair
of shoulders shrugged over the flight of two and the
return of one, the general sentiment was probably one
of curiosity and perhaps of envy rather than of repro-
bation.
"Look here, Burger," said Kennedy, looking hard
at the placid face of his companion, "I do wish that
you would confide in me."
As he spoke he waved his hand in the direction of
a rug which lay upon the floor. On the rug stood a
long, shallow fruit-basket of the light wicker-work
which is used in the Campagna, and this was heaped
with a litter of objects, inscribed tiles, broken inscrip-
tions, cracked mosaics, torn papyri, rusty metal orna-
ments, which to the uninitiated might have seemed to
have come straight from a dustman's bin, but which a
specialist would have speedily recognised as unique
of their kind. The pile of odds and ends in the flat
wicker-work basket supplied exactly one of those miss-
ing links of social development which are of such in-
terest to the student. It was the German who had
brought them in, and the Englishman's eyes were
hungry as he looked at them.
"I won't interfere with your treasure-trove, but I
should very much like to hear about it," he continued,
while Burger very deliberately lit a cigar. "It is evi-
dently a discovery of the first importance. These in-
scriptions will make a sensation throughout Europe."
"For every one here there are a million there!" said
the German. "There are so many that a dozen savants
might spend a lifetime over them, and build up a repu-
tation as solid as the Castle of St. Angelo."


THE NEW CATACOMB 51
Kennedy sat thinking with his fine forehead
wrinkled and his fingers playing with his long, fair
moustache.
"You have given yourself away, Burger!" said he
at last. "Your words can only apply to one thing.
You have discovered a new catacomb."
"I had no doubt that you had already come to that
conclusion from an examination of these objects."
"Well, they certainly appeared to indicate it, but
your last remarks make it certain. There is no place
except a catacomb which could contain so vast a store
of relics as you describe."
"Quite so. There is no mystery about that. I have
discovered a new catacomb."
"Where?"
"Ah, that is my secret, my dear Kennedy. Suffice
it that it is so situated that there is not one chance in
a million of any one else coming upon it. Its date is
different from that of any known catacomb, and it has
been reserved for the burial of the highest Christians,
so that the remains and the relics are quite different
from anything which has ever been seen before. If
I was not aware of your knowledge and of your
energy, my friend, I would not hesitate, under the
pledge of secrecy, to tell you everything about it. But
as it is I think that I must certainly prepare my own
report of the matter before I expose myself to such
formidable competition."
Kennedy loved his subject with a love which was al-
most a mania—a love which held him true to it, amidst
all the distractions which come to a wealthy and dissi-
pated young man. He had ambition, but his ambi-
tion was secondary to his mere abstract joy and
interest in everything which concerned the old life and


52
THE NEW CATACOMB
history of the city. He yearned to see this new under-
world which his companion had discovered.
"Look here, Burger," said he, earnestly, "I assure
you that you can trust me most implicitly in the mat-
ter. Nothing would induce me to put pen to paper
about anything which I see until I have your express
permission. I quite understand your feeling and I
think it is most natural, but you have really nothing
whatever to fear from me. On the other hand, if you
don't tell me I shall make a systematic search, and I
shall most certainly discover it. In that case, of
course, I should make what use I liked of it, since I
should be under no obligation to you."
Burger smiled thoughtfully over his tfgar..
"I have noticed, friend Kennedy," said he, "that
when I want information over any point you are not
always so ready to supply it."
"When did you ever ask me anything that I did not
tell you? You remember, for example, my giving you
the material for your paper about the temple of the
Vestals."
"Ah, well, that was not a matter of much im-
portance. If I were to question you upon some inti-
mate thing would you give me an answer, I wonder!
This new catacomb is a very intimate thing to me, and
I should certainly expect some sign of confidence in
return."
"What you are driving at I cannot imagine," said
the Englishman, "but if you mean that you will an-
swer my question about the catacomb if I answer any
question which you may put to me I can assure you
that I will certainly do so."
"Well, then," said Burger, leaning luxuriously back
in his settee, and puffing a blue tree of cigar-smoke


THE NEW CATACOMB
53
into the air, "tell me all about your relations with Miss
Mary Saunderson."
Kennedy sprang up in his chair and glared angrily
at his impassive companion.
"What the devil do you mean?" he cried. "What
sort of a question is this? You may mean it as a joke,
but you never made a worse one."
"No, I don't mean it as a joke," said Burger, simply.
"I am rather interested in the details of the matter. I
don't know much about the world and women and so-
cial life and that sort of thing, and such an incident
has the fascination of the unknown for me. I know
you, and I knew her by sight—I had even spoken to
her once or twice. I should very much like to hear
from your own lips exactly what it was which oc
cur red between you."
"I won't tell you a word."
"That's all right. It was only my whim to see if
would give up a secret as easily as you expected me to
give up my secret of the new catacomb. You wouldn't,
and I didn't expect you to. But why should you ex-
pect otherwise of me? There's Saint John's clock
striking ten. It is quite time that I was going home."
"No; wait a bit, BuVger|"jsaid Kennedy; "this is
really a ridiculous caprice oT yours to wish to know
about an old love-affair which has burned out months
ago. You know we look upon a man who kisses and
tells as the greatest coward and villain possible."
"Certainly," said the German, gathering up his
basket of curiosities, "when he tells anything about a
girl which is previously unknown he must be so. But
in this case, as you must be aware, it was a public
matter which was the common talk of Rome, so that
you are not really doing Miss Mary Saunderson any


54
THE NEW CATACOMB
injury by discussing her case with me. But still, I re-
spect your scruples, and so good-night!"
"Wait a bit, Burger," said Kennedy, laying his
hand upon the other's arm; "I am very keen about
this catacomb business, and I can't let it drop quite so
easily. Would you mind asking me something else in
return—something not quite so eccentric this time?"
"No, no; you have refused, and there is an end
of it," said Burger, with his basket on his arm. "No
doubt you are quite right not to answer, and no doubt
I am quite right also—and so, again, my dear Ken-
nedy, good-night!"
The Englishman watched Burger cross the room,
and he had his hand on the handle of the door before
is host sprang up with the air of a man who is mak-
r the best of that which cannot be helped.
'Hold on, old fellow," said he; "I think you are
ving in a most ridiculous fashion; but still, if this
s your condition, I suppose that I must submit to it.
I hate saying anything about a girl, but, as you say, it
is all over Rome, and I don't suppose I can tell you
anything which you do not know already. What was
it you wanted to know?" .
The German came bicR he' the stove, and, laying
down his basket, he sank Into his chair once more.
"May I have another cigar?" said he. "Thank you
very much! I never smoke when I work, but I enjoy
a chat much more when I am under the influence of
tobacco. Now, as regards this young lady, with whom
you had this little adventure. What in the world has
become of her?"
"She is at home with her own people."
"Oh, really—in England?"
"Yes."


THE NEW CATACOMB
55
"What part of England—London?"
"No, Twickenham."
"You must excuse my curiosity, my dear Kennedy,
and you must put it down to my ignorance of the
world. No doubt it is quite a simple thing to persuade
a young lady to go off with you for three weeks or
so, and then to hand her over to her own family at—
what did you call the place?"
"Twickenham."
"Quite so—at Twickenham. But it is something so
entirely outside my own experience that I cannot even
imagine how you set about it. For example, if you
had loved this girl your love could hardly disappear in
three weeks, so I presume that you could not have
loved her at all. But if you did not love her why
should you make this great scandal which has damage
you and ruined her?"
Kennedy looked moodily into the red eye of
stove.
"That's a logical way of looking at it, certainly,"
said he. "Love is a big word, and it represents a good
many different shades of feeling. I liked her, and—
well, you say you've seen her—you know how charm-
ing she could look. But still I am willing to admit,
looking back, that I could never have really loved her."
"Then, my dear Kennedy, why did you do it?"
"The adventure of the thing had a great deal to do
with it."
"What! You are so fond of adventures!"
"Where would the variety of life be without them?
It was for an adventure that I first began to pay my
attentions to her. I've chased a good deal of game in
my time, but there's no chase like that of a pretty
woman. There was the piquant difficulty of it also,


56
THE NEW CATACOMB
for, as she was the companion of Lady Emily Rood, it
was almost impossible to see her alone. On the top of
all the other obstacles which attracted me, I learned
from her own lips very early in the proceedings that
she was engaged."
"MeinGott! To whom?"
"She mentioned no names."
"I do not think that any one knows that. So that
made the adventure more alluring, did it?"
"Well, it did certainly give a spice to it. Don't you
think so?"
"I tell you that I am very ignorant about these
things."
"My dear fellow, you can remember that the apple
you stole from your neighbour's tree was always
sweeter than that which fell from your own. And
ten I found that she cared for me."
'What—at once?"
Oh, no, it took about three months of sapping and
mining. But at last I won her over. She understood
that my judicial separation from my wife made it im-
possible for me to do the right thing by her—but she
came all the same, and we had a delightful time, as
long as it lasted."
"But how about the other man?"
Kennedy shrugged his shoulders.
"I suppose it is the survival of the fittest," said he.
"If he had been the better man she would not have de-
serted him. Let's drop the subject, for I have had
enough of it!"
"Only one other thing. How did you get rid of her
in three weeks?"
"Well, we had both cooled down a bit, you under-
stand. She absolutely refused, under any circum-


THE NEW CATACOMB
57
stances, to come back to face the people she had known
in Rome. Now, of course, Rome is necessary to me,
and I was already pining to be back at my work—
so there was one obvious cause of separation. Then,
again, her old father turned up at the hotel in London,
and there was a scene, and the whole thing became so
unpleasant that really—though I missed her dreadfully
at first—I was very glad to slip out of it. Now, I
rely upon you not to repeat anything of what I have
said."
"My dear Kennedy, I should not dream of repeat-
ing it. But all that you say interests me very much,
for it gives me an insight into your way of looking at
things, which is entirely different from mine, for I
have seen so little of life. And now you want to know
about my new catacomb. There's no use my trying to
describe it, for you would never find it by that. There
is only one thing, and that is for me to take you there."
"That would be splendid."
"When would you like to come?"
"The sooner the better. I am all impatience to see
it."
"Well, it is a beautiful night—though a trifle cold.
Suppose we start in an hour. We must be very care-
ful to keep the matter to ourselves. If any one saw us
hunting in couples they would suspect that there was
something going on."
"We can't be too cautious," said Kennedy. "Is it
far?"
"Some miles."
"Not too far to walk?"
"Oh, no, we could walk there easily."
"We had better do so, then. A cabman's suspicions


58
THE NEW CATACOMB
would be aroused if he dropped us both at some lonely
spot in the dead of the night."
"Quite so. I think it would be best for us to meet
at the Gate of the Appian Way at midnight. I must
go back to my lodgings for the matches and candles
and things."
"All right, Burger! I think it is very kind of you
to let me into this secret, and I promise you that I will
write nothing about it until you have published your
report. Good-bye for the present! You will find me
at the Gate at twelve."
The cold, clear air was filled with the musical chimes
from that city of clocks as Burger, wrapped in an
Italian overcoat, with a lantern hanging from his
hand, walked up to the rendezvous. Kennedy stepped
out of the shadow to meet him.
"You are ardent in work as well as in love!" said
the German, laughing.
"Yes; I have been waiting here for nearly half an
hour."
"I hope you left no clue as to where we were going."
"Not such a fool! By Jove, I am chilled to the
bone! Come on, Burger, let us warm ourselves by a
spurt of hard walking."
Their footsteps sounded loud and crisp upon the
rough stone paving of the disappointing road which is
all that is left of the most famous highway of the
world. A peasant or two going home from the wine-
shop, and a few carts of country produce coming up to
Rome, were the only things which they met. They
swung along, with the huge tombs looming up through
the darkness upon each side of them, until they had
come as far as the Catacombs of St. Calixtus, and saw
against a rising moon the great circular bastion of


THE NEW CATACOMB
59
Cecilia Metella in front of them. Then Burger
stopped with his hand to his side.
"Your legs are longer than mine, and you are more
accustomed to walking," said he, laughing. "I think
that the place where we turn off is somewhere here.
Yes, this is it, round the corner of the trattoria. Now,
it is a very narrow path, so perhaps I had better go in
front and you can follow."
He had lit his lantern, and by its light they were en-
abled to follow a narrow and devious track which
wound across the marshes of the Campagna. The
great Aqueduct of old Rome lay like a monstrous
caterpillar across the moonlit landscape, and their road
led them under one of its huge arches, and past the
circle of crumbling bricks which marks the old arena.
At last Burger stopped at a solitary wooden cowhouse,
and he drew a key from his pocket.
"Surely your catacomb is not inside a house I" cried
Kennedy.
"The entrance to it is. That is just the safeguard
which we have against any one else discovering it."
"Does the proprietor know of it?"
"Not he. He has found one or two objects which
made me almost certain that his house was built on the
entrance to such a place. So I rented it from him, and
did my excavations for myself. Come in, and shut the
door behind you."
It was a long, empty building, with the mangers of
the cows along one wall. Burger put his lantern down
on the ground, and shaded its light in all directions
save one by draping his overcoat round it.
"It might excite remark if any one saw a light in
this lonely place," said he. "Just help me to move this
boarding."


THE NEW CATACOMB 61
He led the way down one of the corridors, and the
Englishman followed closely at his heels. Every now
and then the passage bifurcated, but Burger was evi-
dently following some secret marks of his own, for he
neither stopped nor hesitated. Everywhere along the
walls, packed like the berths upon an emigrant ship,
lay the Christians of old Rome. The yellow light
flickered over the shrivelled features of the mummies,
and gleamed upon rounded skulls and long, white arm-
bones crossed over fleshless chests. And everywhere
as he passed Kennedy looked with wistful eyes upon
inscriptions, funeral vessels, pictures, vestments, uten-
sils, all lying as pious hands had placed them so many
centuries ago. It was apparent to him, even in those
hurried, passing glances, that this was the earliest and
finest of the catacombs, containing such a storehouse
of Roman remains as had never before come at one
time under the observation of the student.
"What would happen if the light went out?" he
asked, as they hurried onwards.
"I have a spare candle and a box of matches in
my pocket. By the way, Kennedy, have you any
matches?"
"No; you had better give me some."
"Oh, that is all right. There is no chance of our
separating."
"How far are we going? It seems to me that we
have walked at least a quarter of a mile."
"More than that, I think. There is really no limit
to the tombs—at least, I have never been able to find
any. This is a very difficult place, so I think that I
will use our ball of string."
He fastened one end of it to a projecting stone and
he carried the coil in the breast of his coat, paying it


62
THE NEW CATACOMB
out as he advanced. Kennedy saw that it was no un-
necessary precaution, for the passages had become
more complex and tortuous than ever, with a perfect
network of intersecting corridors. But these all ended
in one large circular hall with a square pedestal of tufa
topped with a slab of marble at one end of it.
"By Jove!" cried Kennedy in an ecstasy, as Burger
swung his lantern over the marble. "It is a Christian
altar—probably the first one in existence. Here is
the little consecration cross cut upon the corner of it.
No doubt this circular space was used as a church."
"Precisely," said Burger. "If I had more time I
should like to show you all the bodies which are buried
in these niches upon the walls, for they are the early
l>opes and bishops of the Church, with their mitres,
their croziers, and full canonicals. Go over to that one
and look at it I"
Kennedy went across, and stared at the ghastly head
which lay loosely on the shredded and mouldering
mitre.
"This is most interesting," said he, and his voice
seemed to boom against the concave vault. "As far
as my experience goes, it is unique. Bring the lantern
over, Burger, for I want to see them all."
But the German had strolled away, and was stand-
ing in the middle of a yellow circle of light at the other
side of the hall.
"Do you know how many wrong turnings there are
between this and the stairs?" he asked. "There are
over two thousand. No doubt it was one of the means
of protection which the Christians adopted. The odds
are two thousand to one against a man getting out,
even if he had a light; but if he were in the dark it
would, of course, be far more difficult."


THE NEW CATACOMB
63
"So I should think."
"And the darkness is something dreadful. I tried
it once for an experiment. Let us try it again!" He
stooped to the lantern, and in an instant it was as if an
invisible hand was squeezed tightly over each of Ken-
nedy's eyes. Never had he known what such darkness
was. It seemed to press upon him and to smother
him. It was a solid obstacle against which the body
shrank from advancing. He put his hands out to push
it back from him.
"That will do, Burger," said he, "let's have the light
again."
But his companion began to laugh, and in that cir-
cular room the sound seemed to come from every side
at once.
"You seem uneasy, friend Kennedy," said he.
"Go on, man, light the candle!" said Kennedy im-
patiently.
"It's very strange, Kennedy, but I could not in the
least tell by the sound in which direction you stand.
Could you tell where I am?"
"No; you seem to be on every side of me."
"If it were not for this string which I hold in my
hand I should not have a notion which way to go."
"I dare say not. Strike a light, man, and have an
end of this nonsense."
"Well, Kennedy, there are two things which I un-
derstand that you are very fond of. The one is an
adventure, and the other is an obstacle to surmount.
The adventure must be the finding of your way out
of this catacomb. The obstacle will be the darkness
and the two thousand wrong turns which make the
way a little difficult to find. But you need not hurry,
for you have plenty of time, and when you halt for a


64
THE NEW CATACOMB
rest now and then, I should like you just to think of
Miss Mary Saunderson, and whether you treated her
quite fairly."
"You devil, what do you mean?" roared Kennedy.
He was running about in little circles and clasping at
the solid blackness with both hands.
"Good-bye," said the mocking voice, and it was al-
ready at some distance. "I really do not think, Ken-
nedy, even by your own showing that you did the right
thing by that girl. There was only one little thing
which you appeared not to know, and I can supply it.
Miss Saunderson was engaged to a poor ungainly
devil of a student, and his name was Julius Burger."
There was a rustle somewhere, the vague sound of
a foot striking a stone, and then there fell silence
upon that old Christian church—a stagnant, heavy
silence which closed round Kennedy and shut him in
like water round a drowning man.
Some two months afterwards the following para-
graph made the round of the European Press:
"One of the most interesting discoveries of recent
years is that of the new catacomb in Rome, which lies
some distance to the east of the well-known vaults of
St. Calixtus. The finding of this important burial-
place, which is exceeding rich in most interesting early
Christian remains, is due to the energy and sagacity of
Dr. Julius Burger, the young German specialist, who
is rapidly taking the first place as an authority upon
ancient Rome. Although the first to publish his dis-
covery, it appears that a less fortunate adventurer had
anticipated Dr. Burger. Some months ago Mr. Ken-
nedy, the well-known English student, disappeared
suddenly from his rooms in the Corso, and it was con-


THE NEW CATACOMB
65
jectured that his association with a recent scandal had
driven him to leave Rome. It appears now that he had
in reality fallen a victim to that fervid love of
archaeology which had raised him to a distinguished
place among living scholars. His body was discovered
in the heart of the new catacomb, and it was evident
from the condition of his feet and boots that he had
tramped for days through the tortuous corridors which
make these subterranean tombs so dangerous to ex-
plorers. The deceased gentleman had, with inex-
plicable rashness, made his way into this labyrinth
without, as far as can be discovered, taking with him
either candles or matches, so that his sad fate was the
natural result of his own temerity. What makes the
matter more painful is that Dr. Julius Burger was an
intimate friend of the deceased. His joy at the ex-
traordinary find which he has been so fortunate as to
make has been greatly marred by the terrible fate of
his comrade and fellow-worker."


IV
THE CASE OF LADY SANNOX
The relations between Douglas Stone and the no-
torious Lady Sannox were very well known both
among the fashionable circles of which she was a
brilliant member, and the scientific bodies which num-
bered him among their most illustrious confreres.
There was naturally, therefore, a very widespread in-
terest when it was announced one morning that the lady
had absolutely and for ever taken the veil, and that the
world would see her no more. When, at the very tail
of this rumour, there came the assurance that the
celebrated operating surgeon, the man of steel nerves,
had been found in the morning by his valet, seated on
one side of his bed, smiling pleasantly upon the uni-
verse, with both legs jammed into one side of his
breeches and his great brain about as valuable as a cap
full of porridge, the matter was strong enough to give
quite a little thrill of interest to folk who had never
hoped that their jaded nerves were capable of such a
sensation. Douglas Stone in his prime was one of the most
remarkable men in England. Indeed, he could hardly
be said to have ever reached his prime, for he was but
nine-and-thirty at the time of this little incident.
Those who knew him best were aware that famous as
he was as a surgeon, he might have succeeded with
even greater rapidity in any of a dozen lines of life.
He could have cut his way to fame as a soldier,
struggled to it as an explorer, bullied for it in the
courts, or built it out of stone and iron as an engineer.
66


68 THE CASE OF LADY SANNOX
in London, and on its boards had first seen Miss
Marion Dawson, to whom he had offered his hand,
his title, and the third of a county. Since his marriage
this early hobby had become distasteful to him. Even
in private theatricals it was no longer possible to per-
suade him to exercise the talent which he had often
shown that he possessed. He was happier with a
spud and a watering can among his orchids and chrys-
anthemums.
It was quite an interesting problem whether he was
absolutely devoid of sense, or miserably wanting in
spirit. Did he know his lady's ways and condone
them, or was he a mere blind, doting fool? It was a
point to be discussed over the teacups in snug little
drawing-rooms, or with the aid of a cigar in the bow
windows of- clubs. Bitter and plain were the com-
ments among men upon his conduct. There was but
one who had a good word to say for him, and he was
the most silent member in the smoking-room. He had
seen him break in a horse at the University, and it
seemed to have left an impression upon his mind.
But when Douglas Stone became the favourite all
doubts as to Lord Sannox's knowledge or ignorance
were set for ever at rest. There was no subterfuge
about Stone. In his high-handed, impetuous fashion,
he set all caution and discretion at defiance. The scan-
dal became notorious. A learned body intimated that
his name had been struck from the list of its vice-
presidents. Two friends implored him to consider his
professional credit. He cursed them all three, and
spent forty guineas on a bangle to take with him to
the lady. He was at her house every evening, and she
drove in his carriage in the afternoons. There was not
an attempt on either side to conceal their relations;


THE CASE OF LADY SANNOX 69
but there came at last a little incident to interrupt
them.
It was a dismal winter's night, very cold and gusty,
with the wind whooping in the chimneys and bluster-
ing against the window-panes. A thin spatter of rain
tinkled on the glass with each fresh sough of the gale,
drowning for the instant the dull gurgle and drip from
the eaves. Douglas Stone had finished his dinner, and
sat by his fire in the study, a glass of rich port upon
the malachite table at his elbow. As he raised it to
his lips, he held it up against the lamplight, and
watched with the eye of a connoisseur the tiny scales
of beeswing which floated in its rich ruby depths.
The fire, as it spurted up, threw fitful lights upon his
bold, clear-cut face, with its widely-opened grey eyes,
its thick and yet firm lips, and the deep, square jaw,
which had something Roman in its strength and its
animalism. He smiled from time to time as he nestled
back in his luxurious chair. Indeed, he had a right to
feel well pleased, for, against the advice of six col-
leagues, he had performed an operation that day of
which only two cases were on record, and the result had
been brilliant beyond all expectation. No other man
in London would have had the daring to plan, or the
skill to execute, such a heroic measure.
But he had promised Lady Sannox to see her that
evening and it was already half-past eight. His hand
was outstretched to the bell to order the carriage when
he heard the dull thud of the knocker. An instant
later there was the shuffling of feet in the hall, and
the sharp closing of a door.
"A patient to see you, sir, in the consulting room," said the butler.
"About himself?"


70 THE CASE OF LADY SANNOX
"No, sir; I think he wants you to go out."
"It is too late," cried Douglas Stone peevishly. "I
won't go."
"This is his card, sir."
The butler presented it upon the gold salver which
had been given to his master by the wife of a Prime
Minister.
"'Hamil Ali, Smyrna.' Hum! The fellow is a
Turk, I suppose."
"Yes, sir. He seems as if he came from abroad,
sir. And he's in a terrible way."
"Tut, tut! I have an engagement. I must go some-
where else. But I'll see him. Show him in here,
Pirn."
A few moments later the butler swung open the door
and ushered in a small and decrepit man, who walked
with a bent back and with the forward push of the
face and blink of the eyes which goes with extreme
short sight. His face was swarthy, and his hair and
beard of the deepest black. In one hand he held a tur-
ban of white muslin striped with red, in the other a
small chamois leather bag.
"Good evening," said Douglas Stone, when the but-
ler had closed the door. "You speak English, I pre-
sume?"
"Yes, sir. I am from Asia Minor, but I speak
English when I speak slow."
"You wanted me to go out, I understand?"
"Yes, sir. I wanted very much that you should
see my wife."
"I could come in the morning, but I have an en-
gagement which prevents me from seeing your wife
to-night."
The Turk's answer was a singular one. He pulled


72 THE CASE OF LADY SANNOX
"These daggers are poisoned."
"Poisoned I"
"Yes, and there is no man, East or West, who can
tell now what is the poison or what the cure. But all
that is known I know, for my father was in this trade
before me, and we have had much to do with these
poisoned weapons."
"What are the symptoms?"
"Deep sleep, and death in thirty hours."
"And you say there is no cure. Why then should
you pay me this considerable fee?"
"No drug can cure, but the knife may."
"And how?"
"The poison is slow of absorption. It remains for
hours in the wound."
"Washing, then, might cleanse it?"
"No more than in a snake bite. It is too subtle and
too deadly."
"Excision of the wound, then?"
"That is it. If it be on the finger, take the finger
off. So said my father always. But think of where
this wound is, and that it is my wife. It is dreadful!"
But familiarity with such grim matters may take
the finer edge from a man's sympathy. To Douglas
Stone this was already an interesting case, and he
brushed aside as irrelevant the feeble objections of
the husband.
"It appears to be that or nothing," said he
brusquely. "It is better to lose a lip than a life."
"Ah, yes, I know that you are right. Well, well, it
is kismet, and it must be faced. I have the cab, and
you will come with me and do this thing."
Douglas Stone took his case of bistouries from a
drawer, and placed it with a roll of bandage and a


THE CASE OF LADY SANNOX 73
compress of lint in his pocket. He must waste no
more time if he were to-see Lady Sannox.
"I am ready," said he, pulling on his overcoat.
"Will you take a glass of wine before you go out into
this cold air?"
His visitor shrank away, with a protesting hand up-
raised.
"You forget that I am a Mussulman, and a true
follower of the Prophet," said he. "But tell me what
is the bottle of green glass which you have placed in
your pocket?"
"It is chloroform."
"Ah, that also is forbidden to us. It is a spirit,
and we make no use of such things."
"What! You would allow your wife to go through
an operation without an anaesthetic?"
"Ah! she will feel nothing, poor soul. The deep
sleep has already come on, which is the first working
of the poison. And then I have given her of our
Smyrna opium. Come, sir, for already an hour has
passed."
As they stepped out into the darkness, a sheet of
rain was driven in upon their faces, and the hall lamp,
which dangled from the arm of a marble Caryatid,
went out with a fluff. Pirn, the butler, pushed the
heavy door to, straining hard with his shoulder against
the wind, while the two men groped their way towards
the yellow glare which showed where the cab was
waiting. An instant later they were rattling upon
their journey.
"Is it far?" asked Douglas Stone.
"Oh, no. We have a very little quiet place off the
Euston Road."
The surgeon pressed the spring of his repeater and


74 THE CASE OF LADY SANNOX
listened to the little tings which told him the hour.
It was a quarter past nine. • He calculated the dis-
tances, and the short time which it would take him to
perform so trivial an operation. He ought to reach
Lady Sannox by ten o'clock. Through the fogged
windows he saw the blurred gas lamps dancing past,
with occasionally the broader glare of a shop front.
The rain was pelting and rattling upon the leathern
top of the carriage, and the wheels swashed as they
rolled through puddle and mud. Opposite to him the
white headgear of his companion gleamed faintly
through the obscurity. The surgeon felt in his pockets
and arranged his needles, his ligatures and his safety-
pins, that no time might be wasted when they arrived.
He chafed with impatience and drummed his foot
upon the floor.
But the cab slowed down at last and pulled up. In
an instant Douglas Stone was out, and the Smyrna
merchant's toe was at his very heel.
"You can wait," said he to the driver.
It was a mean-looking house in a narrow and sor-
did street. The surgeon, who knew his London well,
cast a swift glance into the shadows, but there was
nothing distinctive—no shop, no movement, nothing
but a double line of dull, flat-faced houses, a double
stretch of wet flagstones which gleamed in the lamp-
light, and a double rush of water in the gutters which
swirled and gurgled towards the sewer gratings. The
door which faced them was blotched and discoloured,
and a faint light in the fan pane above it served to
show the dust and the grime which covered it. Above,
in one of the bedroom windows, there was a dull
yellow glimmer. The merchant knocked loudly, and,
as he turned his dark face towards the light, Douglas


THE CASE OF LADY SANNOX 75
Stone could see that it was contracted with anxiety.
A bolt was drawn, and an elderly woman with a taper
stood in the doorway, shielding the thin flame with
her gnarled hand.
"Is all well?" gasped the merchant.
"She is as you left her, sir."
"She has not spoken?"
"No, she is in a deep sleep."
The merchant closed the door, and Douglas Stone
walked down the narrow passage, glancing about him
in some surprise as he did so. There was no oil-cloth,
no mat, no hat-rack. Deep grey dust and heavy fes-
toons of cobwebs met his eyes everywhere. Following
the old woman up the winding stair, his firm footfall
echoed harshly through the silent house. There was
no carpet.
The bedroom was on the second landing. Douglas
Stone followed the old nurse into it, with the merchant
at his heels. Here, at least, there was furniture and
to spare. The floor was littered and the corners Tiled with Turkish cabinets, inlaid tables, coats of chain
mail, strange pipes, and grotesque weapons. A single
small lamp stood upon a bracket on the wall. Douglas
Stone took it down, and picking his way among the
lumber, walked over to a couch in the corner, on which
lay a woman dressed in the Turkish fashion, with
yashmak and veil. The lower part of the face was
exposed, and the surgeon saw a jagged cut which zig-
zagged along the border of the under lip.
"You will forgive the yashmak," said the Turk.
"You know our views about woman in the East."
But the surgeon was not thinking about the yash-
mak. This was no longer a woman to him. It was a
case. He stooped and examined the wound carefully.


76 THE CASE OF LADY SANNOX
"There are no signs of irritation," said he. "We
might delay the operation until local symptoms de-
velop."
The husband wrung his hands in uncontrollable agi-
tation.
"Oh! sir, sir," he cried. "Do not trifle. You do
not know. It is deadly. I know, and I give you my
assurance that an operation is absolutely necessary.
Only the knife can save her."
"And yet I am inclined to wait," said Douglas
Stone.
"That is enough," the Turk cried, angrily. "Every
minute is of importance, and I cannot stand here and
see my wife allowed to sink. It only remains for me
to give you my thanks for having come, and to call
in some other surgeon before it is too late."
Douglas Stone hesitated. To refund that hundred
pounds was no pleasant matter. But of course if he
left the case he must return the money. And if the
Turk were right and the woman died, his position be-
fore a coroner might be an embarrassing one.
"You have had personal experience of this poison?"
he asked.
"I have."
"And you assure me that an operation is needful."
"I swear it by all that I hold sacred."
"The disfigurement will be frightful."
"I can understand that the mouth will not be a
pretty one to kiss."
Douglas Stone turned fiercely upon the man. The
speech was a brutal one. But the Turk has his own
fashion of talk and of thought, and there was no time
for wrangling. Douglas Stone drew a bistoury from
his case, opened it and felt the keen straight edge with


THE CASE OF LADY SANNOX 77
his forefinger. Then he held the lamp closer to the
bed. Two dark eyes were gazing up at him through
the slit in the yashmak. They were all iris, and the
pupil was hardly to be seen.
"You have given her a very heavy dose of opium."
"Yes, she has had a good dose."
He glanced again at the dark eyes which looked
straight at his own. They were dull and lustreless,
but, even as he gazed, a little shifting sparkle came in-
to them, and the lips quivered.
"She is not absolutely unconscious," said he.
"Would it not be well to use the knife while it will
be painless?"
The same thought had crossed the surgeon's mind.
He grasped the wounded lip with his forceps, and with
two swift cuts he took out a broad V-shaped piece.
The woman sprang up on the couch with a dreadful
gurgling scream. Her covering was torn from her
face. It was a face that he knew. In spite of that
protruding upper lip and that slobber of blood, it was
a face that he knew. She kept on putting her hand
up to the gap and screaming. Douglas Stone sat
down at the foot of the couch with his knife and his
forceps. The room was whirling round, and he had
felt something go like a ripping seam behind his ear. A
bystander would have said that his face was the more
ghastly of the two. As in a dream, or as if he had
been looking at something at the play, he was con-
scious that the Turk's hair and beard lay upon the
table, and that Lord Sannox was leaning against the
wall with his hand to his side, laughing silently. The
screams had died away now, and the dreadful head
had dropped back again upon the pillow, but Douglas


78 THE CASE OF LADY SANNOX
Stone still sat motionless, and Lord Sannox still
chuckled quietly to himself.
"It was really very necessary for Marion, this op-
eration," said he, "not physically, but morally, you
know, morally."
Douglas Stone stooped forwards and began to play
with the fringe of the coverlet. His knife tinkled
down upon the ground, but he still held the forceps
and something more.
"I had long intended to make a little example," said
Lord Sannox, suavely. "Your note of Wednesday
miscarried, and I have it here in my pocket-book. I
took some pains in carrying out my idea. The wound,
by the way, was from nothing more dangerous than
my signet ring."
He glanced keenly at his silent companion and
cocked the small revolver which he held in his coat
pocket. But Douglas Stone was still picking at the
coverlet.
"You see you have kept your appointment after
all," said Lord Sannox.
And at that Douglas Stone began to laugh. He
laughed long and loudly. But Lord Sannox did not
laugh now. Something like fear sharpened and hard-
ened his features. He walked from the room, and he
walked on tiptoe. The old woman was waiting out-
side.
"Attend to your mistress when she awakes," said
Lord Sannox.
Then he went down to the street. The cab was at
the door, and the driver raised his hand to his hat.
"John," said Lord Sannox, "you will take the doc-
tor home first. He will want leading down-stairs, I


THE CASE OF LADY SANNOX
79
think. Tell his butler that he has been taken ill at a
case."
I "Very good, sir."
"Then you can take Lady Sannox home."
"And how about yourself, sir?"
"Oh, my address for the next few months will be
Hotel di Roma, Venice. Just see that the letters are
sent on. And tell Stevens to exhibit all the purple
chrysanthemums next Monday, and to wire me the
result."


V
THE TERROR OF BLUE JOHN GAP
The following narrative was found among the
papers of Dr. James Hardcastle, who died of phthisis
on February 4, 1908, at 36, Upper Coventry Flats,
South Kensington. Those who knew him best, while
refusing to express an opinion upon this particular
statement, are unanimous in asserting that he was a
man of a sober and scientific turn of mind, absolutely
devoid of imagination, and most unlikely to invent any
abnormal series of events. The paper was contained
in an envelope, which was docketed, "A Short Account
of the Circumstances which occurred near Miss Aller-
ton's Farm in North-West Derbyshire in the Spring
of Last Year." The envelope was sealed, and on the
other side was written in pencil—
"Dear Seaton,
"It may interest, and perhaps pain you, to
know that the incredulity with which you met my story
has prevented me from ever opening my mouth upon
the subject again. I leave this record after my death,
and perhaps strangers may be found to have more con-
fidence in me than my friend."
Inquiry has failed to elicit who this Seaton may
have been. I may add that the visit of the deceased
to Allerton's Farm, and the general nature of the
alarm there, apart from his particular explanation,
have been absolutely established. With this foreword
I append his account exactly as he left it. It is in the
80


THE TERROR OF BLUE JOHN GAP 81
form of a diary, some entries in which have been ex-
banded, while a few have been erased.
April 17.—Already I feel the benefit of this won-
derful upland air. The farm of the Allertons lies
fourteen hundred and twenty feet above sea-level, so
it may well be a bracing climate. Beyond the usual
morning cough I have very little discomfort, and, what
with the fresh milk and the home-grown mutton, I
have every chance of putting on weight. I think
Saunderson will be pleased.
The two Miss Allertons are charmingly quaint and
kind, two dear little hard-working old maids, who are
r ;ady to lavish all the heart which might have gone
out to husband and to children upon an invalid
stranger. Truly, the old maid is a most useful person,
one of the reserve forces of the community. They
talk of superfluous woman, but what would the poor
superfluous man do without her kindly presence? By
the way, in their simplicity they very quickly let out
the reason why Saunderson recommended their farm.
The Professor rose from the ranks himself, and I be-
lieve that in his youth he was not above scaring crows
in these very fields.
It is a most lonely spot, and the walks are pictur-
esque in the extreme. The farm consists of grazing
land lying at the bottom of an irregular valley. On
each side are the fantastic lime-stone hills, formed of
rock so soft that you can break it away with your
hands. All this country is hollow. Could you strike
it with some gigantic hammer it would boom like a
drum, or possibly cave in altogether and expose some
huge subterranean sea. A great sea there must surely
be, for on all sides the streams run into the mountain


82 THE TERROR OF BLUE JOHN GAP
itself, never to reappear. There are gaps everywhere
amid the rocks, and when you pass through them you
find yourself in great caverns, which wind down into
the bowels of the earth. I have a small bicycle lamp,
and it is a perpetual joy to me to carry it into these
weird solitudes, and to see the wonderful silver and
black effects when I throw its light upon the stalac-
tites which drape the lofty roofs. Shut off the lamp,
and you are in the blackest darkness. Turn it on, and
it is a scene from the Arabian Nights.
But there is one of these strange openings in the
earth which has a special interest, for it is the handi-
work, not of nature, but of man. I had never heard
of Blue John when I came to these parts. It is the
name given to a peculiar mineral of a beautiful purple
shade, which is only found at one or two places in the
world. It is so rare that an ordinary vase of Blue
John would be valued at a great price. The Romans,
with that extraordinary instinct of theirs, discovered
that it was to be found in this valley, and sank a hori-
zontal shaft deep into the mountain side. The opening
of their mine has been called Blue John Gap, a clean-
cut arch in the rock, the mouth all overgrown with
bushes. It is a goodly passage which the Roman
miners have cut, and it intersects some of the great
water-worn caves, so that if you enter Blue John Gap
you would do well to mark your steps and to have a
good store of candles, or you may never make your
way back to the daylight again. I have not yet gone
deeply into it, but this very day I stood at the mouth
of the arched tunnel, and peering down into the black
recesses beyond, I vowed that when my health returned
I would devote some holiday to exploring those mys-


THE TERROR OF BLUE JOHN GAP 83
:erious depths and finding out for myself how far the
Roman had penetrated into the Derbyshire hills.
Strange how superstitious these countrymen are!
I should have thought better of young Armitage, for
he is a man of some education and character, and a
very fine fellow for his station in life. I was standing
at the Blue John Gap when he came across the field to
me.
"Well, doctor," said he, "you're not afraid, any-
how."
"Afraid!" I answered. "Afraid of what?"
"Of it," said he, with a jerk of his thumb towards
the black vault, "of the Terror that lives in the Blue
John Cave."
How absurdly easy it is for a legend to arise in a
lonely countryside! I examined him as to the reasons
for his weird belief. It seems that from time to time
sheep have been missing from the fields, carried bodily
away, according to Armitage. That they could have
wandered away of their own accord and disappeared
among the mountains was an explanation to which he
would not listen. On one occasion a pool of blood
had been found, and some tufts of wool. That also,
I pointed out, could be explained in a perfectly natural
way. Further, the nights upon which sheep disap-
peared were invariably very dark, cloudy nights with
no moon. This I met with the obvious retort that
those were the nights which a commonplace sheep-
stealer would naturally choose for his work. On one
occasion a gap had been made in a wall, and some of
the stones scattered for a considerable distance.
Human agency again, in my opinion. Finally, Armi-
tage clinched all him arguments by telling me that he
had actually heard the Creature—indeed, that any one


84 THE TERROR OF BLUE JOHN GAP
could hear it who remained long enough at the Gap.
It was a distant roaring of an immense volume. I
could not but smile at this, knowing, as I do, the
strange reverberations which come out of an under-
ground water system running amid the chasms of a
limestone formation. My incredulity annoyed Armi-
tage so that he turned and left me with some abrupt-
ness.
And now comes the queer point about the whole
business. I was still standing near the mouth of the
cave, turning over in my mind the various statements
of Armitage, and reflecting how readily they could be
explained away, when suddenly, from the depth of the
tunnel beside me, there issued a most extraordinary
sound. How shall I describe it? First of all, it
seemed to be a great distance away, far down in the
bowels of the earth. Secondly, in spite of this sug-
gestion of distance, it was very loud. Lastly, it was
not a boom, nor a crash, such as one would associate
with falling water or tumbling rock, but it was a high
whine, tremulous and vibrating, almost like the whin-
nying of a horse. It was certainly a most remarkable
experience, and one which for a moment, I must ad-
mit, gave a new significance to Armitage's words. I
waited by the Blue John Gap for half an hour or more,
but there was no return of the sound, so at last I wan-
dered back to the farm-house, rather mystified by what
had occurred. Decidedly I shall explore that cavern
when my strength is restored. Of course, Armitage's
explanation is too absurd for discussion, and yet that
sound was certainly very strange. It still rings in my
ears as I write.
April 20.—In the last three*days I have made
several expeditions to the Blue John Gap, and have


THE TERROR OF BLUE JOHN GAP
85
even penetrated some short distance, but my bicycle
lantern is so small and weak that I dare not trust my-
self very far. I shall do the thing more systemati-
cally. I have heard no sound at all, and could almost
believe that I had been the victim of some hallucina-
tion suggested, perhaps, by Armitage's conversation.
Of course, the whole idea is absurd, and yet I must
confess that those bushes at the entrance of the cave
do present an appearance as if some heavy creature had
forced its way through them. I begin to be keenly
interested. I have said nothing to the Miss Allertons,
for they are quite superstitious enough already, but I
have bought some candles, and mean to investigate for
myself.
I observed this morning that among the numerous
tufts of sheep's wool which lay among the bushes near
the cavern there was one which was smeared with
blood. Of course, my reason tells me that if sheep
wander into such rocky places they are likely to injure
themselves, and yet somehow that splash of crimson
gave me a sudden shock, and for a moment I found
myself shrinking back in horror from the old Roman
arch. A fetid breath seemed to ooze from the black
depths into which I peered. Could it indeed be pos-
sible that some nameless thing, some dreadful pres-
ence, was lurking down yonder? I should have been
incapable of such feelings in the days of my strength,
but one grows more nervous and fanciful when one's
health is shaken.
For the moment I weakened in my resolution, and
was ready to leave the secret of the old mine, if one
exists, for ever unsolved. But to-night my interest
has returned and my nerves grown more steady. To-


THE TERROR OF BLUE JOHN GAP 87,
covered with boulders of rock or with hard incrusta-
tions of lime, but at this particular point there had
been a drip from the distant roof, which had left a
patch of soft mud. In the very centre of this there
was a huge mark—an ill-defined blotch, deep, broad
and irregular, as if a great boulder had fallen upon it.
No loose stone lay near, however, nor was there any-
thing to account for the impression. It was far too
large to be caused by any possible animal, and besides,
there was only the one, and the patch of mud was of
such a size that no reasonable stride could have
covered it. As I rose from the examination of that
singular mark and then looked round into the black
shadows which hemmed me in, I must confess that I
felt for a moment a most unpleasant sinking of my
heart, and that, do what I could, the candle trembled
in my outstretched hand.
I soon recovered my nerve, however, when I re-
flected how absurd it was to associate so huge and
shapeless a mark with the track of any known animal.
Even an elephant could not have produced it. I de-
termined, therefore, that I would not be scared by
vague senseless fears from carrying out my explora-
tion. Before proceeding, I took good note of a
curious rock formation in the wall by which I could
recognise the entrance of the Roman tunnel. The pre-
caution was very necessary, for the great cave, so far
as I could see it, was intersected by passages. Having
made sure of my position, and reassured myself by ex-
amining my spare candles and my matches, I advanced
slowly over the rocky and uneven surface of the
cavern.
And now I come to the point where I met with
such sudden and desperate disaster. A stream, some


88 THE TERROR OF BLUE JOHN GAP
twenty feet broad, ran across my path, and I walked
for some little distance along the bank to find a spot
where I could cross dry-shod. Finally, I came to a
place where a single flat boulder lay near the centre,
which I could reach in a stride. As it chanced, how-
ever, the rock had been cut away and made top-heavy
by the rush of the stream, so that it tilted over as I
landed on it and shot me into the ice-cold water. My
candle went out, and I found myself floundering about
in utter and absolute darkness.
I staggered to my feet again, more amused than
alarmed by my adventure. The candle had fallen
from my hand, and was lost in the stream, but I had
two others in my pocket, so that it was of no ire portance. I got one of them ready, and drew out my
box of matches to light it. Only then did I realise
my position. The box had been soaked in my fall into
the river. It was impossible to strike the matches.
A cold hand seemed to close round my heart as I
realised my position. The darkness was opaque and
horrible. It was so utter that one put one's hand up
to one's face as if to press off something solid. I
stood still, and by an effort I steadied myself. I tried
to reconstruct in my mind a map of the floor of the
cavern as I had last seen it. Alas! the bearings which
had impressed themselves upon my mind were high
on the wall, and not to be found by touch. Still, I re-
membered in a general way how the sides were sit-
uated, and I hoped that by groping my way along them
I should at last come to the opening of the Roman tun-
nel. Moving very slowly, and continually striking
against the rocks, I set out on this desperate quest.
But I very soon realised how impossible it was. In
that black, velvety darkness one lost all one's bearings


THE TERROR OF BLUE JOHN GAP 89
n an instant. Before I had made a dozen paces, I
was utterly bewildered as to my whereabouts. The
rippling of the stream, which was the one sound
audible, showed me where it lay, but the moment that
I left its bank I was utterly lost. The idea of finding
my way back in absolute darkness through that lime-
stone labyrinth was clearly an impossible one.
I sat down upon a boulder and reflected upon my
unfortunate plight. I had not told any one that I
proposed to come to the Blue John mine, and it was
unlikely that a search party would come after me.
Therefore I must trust to my own resources to get
clear of the danger. There was only one hope, and
that was that the matches might dry. When I fell into
the river, only half of me had got thoroughly wet.
My left shoulder had remained above the water. I
took the box of matches, therefore, and put it into
my left armpit. The moist air of the cavern might
possibly be counteracted by the heat of my body, but
even so, I knew that I could not hope to get a light
for many hours. Meanwhile there was nothing for
it but to wait.
By good luck I had slipped several biscuits into my
pocket before I left the farm-house. These I now
devoured, and washed them down with a draught
from that wretched stream which had been the cause
of all my misfortunes. Then I felt about for a com-
fortable seat among the rocks, and, having discovered
a place where I could get a support for my back, I
stretched out my legs and settled myself down to wait.
I was wretchedly damp and cold, but I tried to cheer
myself with the reflection that modern science pre-
scribed open windows and walks in all weather for my
disease. Gradually, lulled by the monotonous gurgle


00
THE TERROR OF BLUE JOHN GAP
of the stream, and by the absolute darkness, I sank
into an uneasy slumber.
How long this lasted I cannot say. It may have
been for an hour, it may have been for several. Sud-
denly I sat up on my rock couch, with every nerve
thrilling and every sense acutely on the alert. Beyond
all doubt I had heard a sound—some sound very dis-
tinct from the gurgling of the water. It had passed,
but the reverberation of it still lingered in my ear.
Was it a search party? They would most certainly
have shouted, and vague as this sound was which
had awakened me, it was very distinct from the human
voice. I sat palpitating and hardly daring to breathe.
There it was again! And again! Now it had become
continuous. It was a tread—yes, surely it was the
tread of some living creature. But what a tread it
was! It gave one the impression of enormous weight
carried upon sponge-like feet, which gave forth a
muffled but ear-splitting sound. The darkness was as
complete as ever, but the tread was regular and de-
cisive. And it was coming beyond all question in my
direction.
My skin grew cold, and my hair stood on end as I
listened to that steady and ponderous footfall. There
was some creature there, and surely by the speed of its
advance, it was one which could see in the dark. I
crouched low on my rock and tried to blend myself
into it. The steps grew nearer still, then stopped, and
presently I was aware of a loud lapping and gurgling.
The creature was drinking at the stream. Then again
there was silence, broken by a succession of long sniffs
and snorts of tremendous volume and energy. Had
it caught the scent of me? My own nostrils were
filled by a low fetid odour, mephitic and abominable.


THE TERROR OF BLUE JOHN GAP
91
Then I heard the steps again. They were on my side
of the stream now. The stones rattled within a few
yards of where I lay. Hardly daring to breathe, I
crouched upon my rock. Then the steps drew away.
I heard the splash as it returned across the river, and
the sound died away into the distance in the direction
from which it had come.
I For a long time I lay upon the rock, too much horri-
fied to move. I thought of the sound which I had
heard coming from the depths of the cave, of Armi-
Gage's fears, of the strange impression in the mud,
and now came this final and absolute proof that there
was indeed some inconceivable monster, something ut-
[terly unearthly and dreadful, which lurked in the
hollow of the mountain. Of its nature or form I could
frame no conception, save that it was both light-
footed and gigantic. The combat between my reason,
which told me that such things could not be, and my
senses, which told me that they were, raged within me
as I lay. Finally, I was almost ready to persuade my-
self that this experience had been part of some evil
dream, and that my abnormal condition might have
conjured up an hallucination. But there remained one
final experience which removed the last possibility of
doubt from my mind.
I had taken my matches from my armpit and felt
them. They seemed perfectly hard and dry. Stoop-
ing down into a crevice of the rocks, I tried one of
them. To my delight it took fire at once. I lit the
candle, and, with a terrified backward glance into the
obscure depths of the cavern, I hurried in the direc-
tion of the Roman passage. As I did so I passed the
patch of mud on which I had seen the huge imprint.
Now I stood astonished before it, for there were three


92
THE TERROR OF BLUE JOHN GAP
similar imprints upon its surface, enormous in size, ir-
regular in outline, of a depth which indicated the
ponderous weight which had left them. Then a great
terror surged over me. Stooping and shading my
candle with my hand, I ran in a frenzy of fear to the
rocky archway, hastened up it, and never stopped until,
with weary feet and panting lungs, I rushed up the
final slope of stones, broke through the tangle of
briars, and flung myself exhausted upon the soft grass
under the peaceful light of the stars. It was three in
the morning when I reached the farm-house, and to-
day I am all unstrung and quivering after my terrific
adventure. As yet I have told no one. I must move
warily in the matter. What would the poor lonely
women, or the uneducated yokels here think of it if
I were to tell them my experience? Let me go to some
one who can understand and advise.
April 25.—I was laid up in bed for two days after
my incredible adventure in the cavern. I use the ad-
jective with a very definite meaning, for I have had
an experience since which has shocked me almost as
much as the other. I have said that I was looking
round for some one who could advise me. There is a
Dr. Mark Johnson who practises some few miles
away, to whom I had a note of recommendation from
Professor Saunderson. To him I drove, when I was
strong enough to get about, and I recounted to him
my whole strange experience. He listened intently,
and then carefully examined me, paying special at-
tention to my reflexes and to the pupils of my eyes.
When he had finished, he refused to discuss my adven-
ture, saying that it was entirely beyond him, but he
gave me the card of a Mr. Picton at Castleton, with
the advice that I should instantly go to him and tell


THE TERROR OF BLUE JOHN GAP 93
him the story exactly as I had done to himself. He
was, according to my adviser, the very man who was
pre-eminently suited to help me. I went on to the
station, therefore, and made my way to the little town,
which is some ten miles away. Mr. Picton appeared
to be a man of importance, as his brass plate was dis-
played upon the door of a considerable building on the
outskirts of the town. I was about to ring his bell,
when some misgiving came into my mind, and, cross-
ing to a neighbouring shop, I asked the man behind
the counter if he could tell me anything of Mr. Pic-
ton. "Why," said he, "he is the best mad doctor in
Derbyshire, and yonder is his asylum." You can
imagine that it was not long before I had shaken the
dust of Castleton from my feet and returned to the
farm, cursing all unimaginative pedants who cannot
conceive that there may be things in creation which
have never yet chanced to come across their mole's
vision. After all, now that I am cooler, I can afford
to admit that I have been no more sympathetic to
Armitage than Dr. Johnson has been to me.
April 27.—When I was a student I had the reputa-
tion of being a man of courage and enterprise. I
remember that when there was a ghost-hunt at Colt-
bridge it was I who sat up in the haunted house. Is
it advancing years (after all, I am only thirty-five), or
is it this physical malady which has caused degenera-
tion? Certainly my heart quails when I think of that
horrible cavern in the hill, and the certainty that it has
some monstrous occupant. What shall I do? There
is not an hour in the day that I do not debate the ques-
tion. If I say nothing, then the mystery remains
unsolved. If I do say anything, then I have the alter-
native of mad alarm over the whole countryside, or of


94 THE TERROR OF BLUE JOHN GAP
absolute incredulity which may end in consigning me
to an asylum. On the whole, I think that my best
course is to wait, and to prepare for some expedition
which shall be more deliberate and better thought-out
than the last. As a first step I have been to Castle-
ton and obtained a few essentials—a large acetylene
lantern for one thing, and a good double-barrelled
sporting rifle for another. The latter I have hired, but
I have bought a dozen heavy game cartridges, which
would bring down a rhinoceros. Now I am ready for
my troglodyte friend. Give me better health and a
little spate of energy, and I shall try conclusions with
him yet. But who and what is he? Ah! there is the
question which stands between me and my sleep. How
many theories do I form, only to discard each in turn!
It is all so utterly unthinkable. And yet the cry, the
footmark, the tread in the cavern—no reasoning can
get past these. I think of the old-world legends of
dragons and of other monsters. Were they, perhaps,
not such fairy-tales as we thought? Can it be that
there is some fact which underlies them, and am I, of
all mortals, the one who is chosen to expose it?
May 3.—For several days I have been laid up by
the vagaries of an English spring, and during those
days there have been many developments, the true and sinister meaning of which no one can appreciate
save myself. I may say that we have had cloudy and
moonless nights of late, which according to my infor-
mation were the seasons upon which sheep disap-
peared. Well, sheep have disappeared. Two of Miss
Allerton's, one of old Pearson's of the Cat Walk, and
one of Mrs. Moulton's. Four in all during three
nights. No trace is left of them at all, and the coun-


THE TERROR OF BLUE JOHN GAP 95
tryside is buzzing with rumours of gipsies and of
sheep-stealers.
But there is something more serious than that.
Young Armitage has disappeared also. He left his
moorland cottage early on Wednesday night and has
never been heard of since. He was an unattached
man, so there is less sensation than would otherwise
be the case. The popular explanation is that he owes
money, and has found a situation in some other part
of the country, whence he will presently write for his
belongings. But I have great misgivings. Is it not
much more likely that the recent tragedy of the sheep
has caused him to take some steps which may have
ended in his own destruction? He may, for example,
have lain in wait for the creature and been carried
off by it into the recesses of the mountains. What an
inconceivable fate for a civilised Englishman of the
twentieth century! And yet I feel that it is possible
and even probable. But in that case, how far am I
answerable both for his death and for any other mis-
hap which may occur? Surely with the knowledge I
already possess it must be my duty to see that some-
thing is done, or if necessary to do it myself. It must
be the latter, for this morning I went down to the local
police-station and told my story. The inspector en-
tered it all in a large book and bowed me out with
commendable gravity, but I heard a burst of laughter
before I had got down his garden path. No doubt
he was recounting my adventure to his family.
June 10.—I am writing this, propped up in bed, six
weeks after my last entry in this journal. I have gone
through a terrible shock both to mind and body,
arising from such an experience as has seldom befallen
a human being before. But I have attained my end.


96 THE TERROR OF BLUE JOHN GAP
The danger from the Terror which dwells in the Blue
John Gap has passed never to return. Thus much at
least I, a broken invalid, have done for the common
good. Let me now recount what occurred as clearly as
I may.
The night of Friday, May 3, was dark and cloudy
—the very night for the monster to walk. About
eleven o'clock I went from the farm-house with my
lantern and my rifle, having first left a note upon the
table of my bedroom in which I said that, if I were
missing, search should be made for me in the direc-
tion of the Gap. I made my way to the mouth of the
Roman shaft, and, having perched myself among the
rocks close to the opening, I shut off my lantern and
waited patiently with my loaded rifle ready to my
hand.
It was a melancholy vigil. All down the winding
valley I could see the scattered lights of the farm-
houses, and the church clock of Chapel-le-Dale tolling
the hours came faintly to my ears. These tokens of
my fellow-men served only to make my own position
seem the more lonely, and to call for a greater effort
to overcome the terror which tempted me continually
to get back to the farm, and abandon for ever this dan-
gerous quest. And yet there lies deep in every man a
rooted self-respect which makes it hard for him to
turn back from that which he has once undertaken.
This feeling of personal pride was my salvation now,
and it was that alone which held me fast when every
instinct of my nature was dragging me away. I am
glad now that I had the strength. In spite of all that
it has cost me, my manhood is at least above reproach.
Twelve o'clock struck in the distant church, then
one. then two. It was the darkest hour of the night.


THE TERROR OF BLUE JOHN GAP 97,
The clouds were drifting low, and there was not a
star in the sky. An owl was hooting somewhere
among the rocks, but no other sound, save the gentle
sough of the wind, came to my ears. And then sud-
denly I heard it! From far away down the tunnel
came those muffled steps, so soft and yet so ponderous.
I heard also the rattle of stones as they gave way under
that giant tread. They drew nearer. They were close
upon me. I heard the crashing of the bushes round
the entrance, and then dimly through the darkness I
was conscious of the loom of some enormous shape,
some monstrous inchoate creature, passing swiftly and
very silently out from the tunnel. I was paralysed
with fear and amazement. Long as I had waited, now
that it had actually come I was unprepared for the
shock. I lay motionless and breathless, whilst the
great dark mass whisked by me and was swallowed up
in the night.
But now I nerved myself for its return. No sound
came from the sleeping countryside to tell of the
horror which was loose. In no way could I judge how
far off it was, what it was doing, or when it might be
back. But not a second time should my nerve fail me,
not a second time should it pass unchallenged. I swore
it between my clenched teeth as I laid my cocked rifle
across the rock.
And yet it nearly happened. There was no warn-
ing of approach now as the creature passed over the
grass. Suddenly, like a dark, drifting shadow, the
huge bulk loomed up once more before me, making for
the entrance of the cave. Again came that paralysis
of volition which held my crooked forefinger impotent
upon the trigger. But with a desperate effort I shook
it off. Even as the brushwood rustled, and the mon-


98 THE TERROR OF BLUE JOHN GAP
strous beast blended with the shadow of the Gap, I
fired at the retreating form. In the blaze of the gun I
caught a glimpse of a great shaggy mass, something
with rough and bristling hair of a withered grey
colour, fading away to white in its lower parts, the
huge body supported upon short, thick, curving legs.
I had just that glance, and then I heard the rattle of
the stones as the creature tore down into its burrow.
In an instant, with a triumphant revulsion of feeling,
I had cast my fears to the wind, and uncovering my
powerful lantern, with my rifle in my hand, I sprang
down from my rock and rushed after the monster
down the old Roman shaft.
My splendid lamp cast a brilliant flood of vivid light
in front of me, very different from the yellow glimmer
which had aided me down the same passage only
twelve days before. As I ran, I saw the great beast
lurching along before me, its huge bulk filling up the
whole space from wall to wall. Its hair looked like
coarse faded oakum, and hung down in long, dense
masses which swayed as it moved. It was like an
enormous undipped sheep in its fleece, but in size it
was far larger than the largest elephant, and its
breadth seemed to be nearly as great as its height. It
fills me with amazement now to think that I should
have dared to follow such a horror into the bowels of
the earth, but when one's blood is up, and when one's
quarry seems to be flying, the old primeval hunting-
spirit awakes and prudence is cast to the wind. Rifle
in hand, I ran at the top of my speed upon the trail of
the monster.
I had seen that the creature was swift. Now I was
to find out to my cost that it was also very cunning. I
had imagined that it was in panic flight, and that I


THE TERROR OF BLUE JOHN GAP 99
had only to pursue it.. The idea that it might turn
upon me never entered my excited brain. I have al-
ready explained that the passage down which I was
racing opened into a great central cave. Into this I
rushed, fearful lest I should lose all trace of the beast.
But he had turned upon his own traces, and in a mo-
ment we were face to face.
That picture, seen in the brilliant white light of the
lantern, is etched for ever upon my brain. He had
reared up on his hind legs as a bear would do, and
stood above me, enormous, menacing—such a creature
as no nightmare had ever brought to my imagination.
I have said that he reared like a bear, and there was
something bear-like—if one could conceive a bear
which was tenfold the bulk of any bear seen upon
earth—in his whole pose and attitude, in his great
crooked forelegs with their ivory-white claws, in his
rugged skin, and in his red, gaping mouth, fringed
with monstrous fangs. Only in one point did he
differ from the bear, or from any other creature which
walks the earth, and even at that supreme moment a
shudder of horror passed over me as I observed that
the eyes which glistened in the glow of my lantern
were huge, projecting bulbs, white and sightless. For
a moment his great paws swung over my head. The
next he fell forward upon me, I and my broken lantern
crashed to the earth, and I remember no more.
When I came to myself I was back in the farm-
house of the Allertons. Two days had passed since
my terrible adventure in the Blue John Gap. It seems
that I had lain all night in the cave insensible from
concussion of the brain, with my left arm and two
ribs badly fractured. In the morning my note had


100 THE TERROR OF BLUE JOHN GAP
been found, a search party of a dozen farmers as-
sembled, and I had been tracked down and carried
back to my bedroom, where I had lain in high de-
lirium ever since. There was, it seems, no sign of
the creature, and no blood-stain which would show
that my bullet had found him as he passed. Save for
my own plight and the marks upon the mud, there was
nothing to prove that what I said was true.
Six weeks have now elapsed, and I am able to sit
out once more in the sunshine. Just opposite me is the
steep hillside, grey with shaly rock, and yonder on its
flank is the dark cleft which marks the opening of the
Blue John Gap. But it is no longer a source of
terror. Never again through that ill-omened tunnel
shall any strange shape flit out into the world of men.
The educated and the scientific, the Dr. Johnsons and
the like, may smile at my narrative, but the poorer folk
of the countryside had never a doubt as to its truth.
On the day after my recovering consciousness they as-
sembled in their hundreds round the Blue John Gap.
As the Castleton Courier said:
"It was useless for our correspondent, or for any
of the adventurous gentlemen who had come from
Matlock, Buxton, and other parts, to offer to descend,
to explore the cave to the end, and to finally test the
extraordinary narrative of Dr. James Hardcastle.
The country people had taken the matter into their
own hands, and from an early hour of the morning
they had worked hard in stopping up the entrance of
the tunnel. There is a sharp slope where the shaft
begins, and great boulders, rolled along by many will-
ing hands, were thrust down it until the Gap was ab-
solutely sealed. So ends the episode which has caused
such excitement throughout the country. Local


THE TERROR OF BLUE JOHN GAP 101
opinion is fiercely divided upon the subject. On the
one hand are those who point to Dr. Hardcastle's im-
paired health, and to the possibility of cerebral lesions
of tubercular origin giving rise to strange hallucina-
tions. Some idee fixe, according to these gentlemen,
caused the doctor to wander down the tunnel, and to
fall among the rocks was sufficient to account for his
injuries. On the other hand, a legend of a strange
creature in the Gap has existed for some months back,
and the farmers look upon Dr. Hardcastle's narrative
and his personal injuries as a final corroboration. So
the matter stands, and so the matter will continue to
stand, for no definite solution seems to us to be now
possible. It transcends human wit to give any scien-
tific explanation which could cover the alleged facts."
Perhaps before the Courier published these words
they would have been wise to send their representative
to me. I have thought the matter out, as no one else
has occasion to do, and it is possible that I might have
removed some of the more obvious difficulties of the
narrative and brought it one degree nearer to scientific
acceptance. Let me then write down the only explana-
tion which seems to me to elucidate what I know to
my cost to have been a series of facts. My theory
may seem to be wildly improbable, but at least no one
can venture to say that it is impossible.
My view is—and it was formed, as is shown by my
diary, before my personal adventure—that in this
part of England there is a vast subterranean lake or
sea, which is fed by the great number of streams
which pass down through the limestone. Where there
is a large collection of water there must also be some
evaporation, mists or rain, and a possibility of vege-
tation. This in turn suggests that there may be ani-


102
THE TERROR OF BLUE JOHN GAP
mal life, arising, as the vegetable life would also do,
from those seeds and types which had been introduced
at an early period of the world's history, when com-
munication with the outer air was more easy. This
place had then developed a fauna and flora of its own,
including such monsters as the one which I had seen,
which may well have been the old cave-bear, enor-
mously enlarged and modified by its new environ-
ment. For countless aeons the internal and the external
creation had kept apart, growing steadily away from
each other. Then there had come some rift in
the depths of the mountain which had enabled one
creature to wander up and, by means of the Roman
tunnel, to reach the open air. Like all subterranean
life, it had lost the power of sight, but this had no
doubt been compensated for by nature in other direc-
tions. Certainly it had some means of finding its way
about, and of hunting down the sheep upon the hill-
side. As to its choice of dark nights, it is part of
my theory that light was painful to those great white
eyeballs, and that it was only a pitch-black world which
it could tolerate. Perhaps, indeed, it was the glare
of my lantern which saved my life at that awful mo-
ment when we were face to face. So I read the riddle.
I leave these facts behind me, and if you can explain
them, do so; or if you choose to doubt them, do so.
Neither your belief nor your incredulity can alter
them, nor affect one whose task is nearly over.
So ended the strange narrative of Dr. James Hard-
castle.


VI
THE BRAZILIAN CAT
It is hard luck on a young fellow to have expensive
tastes, great expectations, aristocratic connections, but
no actual money in his pocket, and no profession by
which he may earn any. The fact was that my father, a
good, sanguine, easy-going man, had such confidence in
the wealth and benevolence of his bachelor elder brother,
Lord Southerton, that he took it for granted that I,
his only son, would never be called upon to earn a
living for myself. He imagined that if there were not
a vacancy for me on the great Southerton Estates, at
least there would be found some post in that diplomatic
service which still remains the special preserve of our
privileged classes. He died too early to realise how
false his calculations had been. Neither my uncle nor
the State took the slightest notice of me, or showed
any interest in my career. An occasional brace of
pheasants, or basket of hares, was all that ever reached
me to remind me that I was heir to Otwell House and
one of the richest estates in the country. In the mean-
time, I found myself a bachelor and man about town,
living in a suite of apartments in Grosvenor Man-
sions, with no occupation save that of pigeon-shooting
and polo-playing at Hurlingham. Month by month
I realised that it was more and more difficult to get
the brokers to renew my bills, or to cash any further
postobits upon an unentailed property. Ruin lay right
across my path, and every day I saw it clearer, nearer,
and more absolutely unavoidable.
What made me feel my own poverty the more was
103


104 THE BRAZILIAN CAT
that, apart from the great wealth of Lord Souther-
ton, all my other relations were fairly well-to-do. The
nearest of these was Everard King, my father's
nephew and my own first cousin, who had spent an
adventurous life in Brazil, and had now returned to
this country to settle down on his fortune. We never
knew how he made his money, but he appeared to have
plenty of it, for he bought the estate of Greylands,
near Clipton-on-the-Marsh, in Suffolk. For the first
year of his residence in England he took no more
notice of me than my miserly uncle; but at last one
summer morning, to my very great relief and joy, I
received a letter asking me to come down that very
day and spend a short visit at Greylands Court. I was
expecting a rather long visit to Bankruptcy Court at
the time, and this interruption seemed almost provi-
dential. If I could only get on terms with this un-
known relative of mine, I might pull through yet. For
the family credit he could not let me go entirely to
the wall. I ordered my valet to pack my valise, and I
set off the same evening for Clipton-on-the-Marsh.
After changing at Ipswich, a little local train de-
posited me at a small, deserted station lying amidst a
rolling grassy country, with a sluggish and winding
river curving in and out amidst the valleys, between
high, silted banks, which showed that we were within
reach of the tide. No carriage was awaiting me (I
found afterwards that my telegram had been delayed),
so I hired a dog-cart at the local inn. The driver, an
excellent fellow, was full of my relative's praises,
and I learned from him that Mr. Everard King was
already a name to conjure with in that part of the
country. He had entertained the school-children, he
had thrown his grounds open to visitors, he had sub-


105
scribed to charities—in short, his benevolence had been
so universal that my driver could only account for it
on the supposition that he had Parliamentary ambi-
tions.
My attention was drawn away from my driver's
panegyric by the appearance of a very beautiful bird
which settled on a telegraph-post beside the road. At
first I thought that it was a jay, but it was larger, with
a brighter plumage. The driver accounted for its
presence at once by saying that it belonged to the very
man whom we were about to visit. It seems that the
acclimatisation of foreign creatures was one of his
hobbies, and that he had brought with him from
Brazil a number of birds and beasts which he was
endeavouring to rear in England. When once we had
passed the gates of Greylands Park we had ample evi-
dence of this taste of his. Some small spotted deer, a
curious wild pig known, I believe, as a peccary, a
gorgeously feathered oriole, some sort of armadillo,
and a singular lumbering intoed beast like a very fat
badger, were among the creatures which I observed as
we drove along the winding avenue.
Mr. Everard King, my unknown cousin, was stand-
ing in person upon the steps of his house, for he had
seen us in the distance, and guessed that it was I. His
appearance was very homely and benevolent, short and
stout, forty-five years old, perhaps, with a round,
good-humoured face, burned brown with the tropical
sun, and shot with a thousand wrinkles. He wore
white linen clothes, in true planter style, with a cigar
between his lips, and a large Panama hat upon the
back of his head. It was such a figure as one asso-
ciates with a verandahed bungalow, and it looked
curiously out of place in front of this broad, stone


107
together afterwards over his Havanas and coffee,
which latter he told me was specially prepared upon
his own plantation, it seemed to me that all my driver's
eulogies were justified, and that I had never met a
more large-hearted and hospitable man.
But, in spite of his cheery good nature, he was a
man with a strong will and a fiery temper of his own.
Of this I had an example upon the following morn-
ing. The curious aversion which Mrs. Everard King
had conceived towards me was so strong, that her
manner at breakfast was almost offensive. But her
meaning became unmistakable when her husband had
quitted the room.
"The best train in the day is at twelve fifteen," said
she.
"But I was not thinking of going to-day," I an-
swered, frankly—perhaps even defiantly, for I was
determined not to be driven out by this woman.
"Oh, if it rests with you "said she, and stopped
with a most insolent expression in her eyes.
"I am sure," I answered, "that Mr. Everard King
would tell me if I were outstaying my welcome."
"What's this? What's this?" said a voice, and
there he was in the room. He had overheard my
last words, and a glance at our faces had told him
the rest. In an instant his chubby, cheery face set into
an expression of absolute ferocity.
"Might I trouble you to walk outside, Marshall?"
said he. (I may mention that my own name is Mar-
shall King.)
He closed the door behind me, and then, for an in-
stant, I heard him talking in a low voice of concen-
trated passion to his wife. This gross breach of
hospitality had evidently hit upon his tenderest point.


108 THE BRAZILIAN CAT
I am no eavesdropper, so I walked out onto the lawn.
Presently I heard a hurried step behind me, and there
was the lady, her face pale with excitement, and her
eyes red with tears.
"My husband has asked me to apologise to you, Mr.
Marshall King," said she, standing with downcast eyes
before me.
"Please do not say another word, Mrs. King."
Her dark eyes suddenly blazed out at me.
"You fool!" she hissed, with frantic vehemence,
and turning on her heel swept back to the house.
The insult was so outrageous, so insufferable, that
I could only stand staring after her in bewilderment.
I was still there when my host joined me. He was his
cheery, chubby self once more.
"I hope that my wife has apologised for her fool-
ish remarks," said he.
"Oh, yes—yes, certainly!"
He put his hand through my arm and walked with
me up and down the lawn.
"You must not take it seriously," said he. "It
would grieve me inexpressibly if you curtailed your
visit by one hour. The fact is—there is no reason
why there should be any concealment between rela-
tives—that my poor dear wife is incredibly jealous.
She hates that any one—male or female—should for
an instant come between us. Her ideal is a desert
island and an eternal tete-a-tete. That gives you the
clue to her actions, which are, I confess, upon this
particular point, not very far removed from mania.
Tell me that you will think no more of it."
"No, no; certainly not."
"Then light this cigar and come round with me and
see my little menagerie."


THE BRAZILIAN CAT
109
The whole afternoon was occupied by this inspec-
tion, which included all the birds, beasts, and even
reptiles which he had imported. Some were free,
some in cages, a few actually in the house. He spoke
with enthusiasm of his successes and his failures, his
births and his deaths, and he would cry out in his de-
light, like a school-boy, when, as we walked, some
gaudy bird would flutter up from the grass, or some
curious beast slink into the cover. Finally he led me
down a corridor which extended from one wing of
the house. At the end of this there was a heavy door
with a sliding shutter in it, and beside it there pro-
jected from the wall an iron handle attached to a wheel
and a drum. A line of stout bars extended across
the passage.
"I am about to show you the jewel of my collec-
tion," said he. "There is only one other specimen in
Europe, now that the Rotterdam cub is dead. It is a
Brazilian cat."
"But how does that differ from any other cat?"
"You will soon see that," said he, laughing. "Will
you kindly draw that shutter and look through?"
I did so, and found that I was gazing into a large,
empty room, with stone flags, and small, barred win-
dows upon the farther wall. In the centre of this
room, lying in the middle of a golden patch of sun-
light, there was stretched a huge creature, as large as
a tiger, but as black and sleek as ebony. It was simply
a very enormous and very well-kept black cat, and it
cuddled up and basked in that yellow pool of light
exactly as a cat would do. It was so graceful, so
sinewy, and so gently and smoothly diabolical, that
I could not take my eyes from the opening.


110 THE BRAZILIAN CAT
"Isn't he splendid?" said my host, enthusiastically.
"Glorious! I never saw such a noble creature."
"Some people call it a black puma, but really it is
not a puma at all. That fellow is nearly eleven feet
from tail to tip. Four years ago he was a little ball
of black fluff, with two yellow eyes staring out of it.
He was sold me as a new-born cub up in the wild coun-
try at the head-waters of the Rio Negro. They
speared his mother to death after she had killed a
dozen of them."
"They are ferocious, then?"
The most absolutely treacherous and blood-thirsty
creatures upon earth. You talk about a Brizilian cat
to an up-country Indian, and see him get the jumps.
They prefer humans to game. This fellow has never
tasted living blood yet, but when he does he will be a
terror. At present he won't stand any one but me in
his den. Even Baldwin, the groom, dare not go near
him. As to me, I am his mother and father in one."
As he spoke he suddenly, to my astonishment,
opened the door and slipped in, closing it instantly be-
hind him. At the sound of his voice the huge, lithe
creature rose, yawned and rubbed its round, black head
affectionately against his side, while he patted and
fondled it.
"Now, Tommy, into your cage!" said he.
The monstrous cat walked over to one side of the
room and coiled itself up under a grating. Everard
King came out, and taking the iron handle which I
have mentioned, he began to turn it. As he did so the
line of bars in the corridor began to pass through a
slot in the wall and closed up the front of this grat-
ing, so as to make an effective cage. When it was in
position he opened the door once more and invited me


THE BRAZILIAN CAT 111
into the room, which was heavy with the pungent,
musty smell peculiar to the great carnivora.
"That's how we work it," said he. "We give him
the run of the room for exercise, and then at night we
put him in his cage. You can let him out by turning
the handle from the passage, or you can, as you have
seen, coop him up in the same way. No, no, you
should not do that!"
I had put my hand between the bars to pat the
glossy, heaving flank. He pulled it back, with a
serious face.
"I assure you that he is not safe. Don't imagine
that because I can take liberties with him any one else
can. He is very exclusive in his friends—aren't you,
Tommy? Ah, he hears his lunch coming to him!
Don't you, boy?"
A step sounded in the stone-flagged passage, and
the creature had sprung to his feet, and was pacing up
and down the narrow cage, his yellow eyes gleaming,
and his scarlet tongue rippling and quivering over the
white line of his jagged teeth. A groom entered with
a coarse joint upon a tray, and thrust it through the
bars to him. He pounced lightly .upon it, carried it off
to the corner, and there, holding it between his paws,
tore and wrenched at it, raising his bloody muzzle
every now and then to look at us. It was a malignant
and yet fascinating sight.
"You can't wonder that I am fond of him, can
you?" said my host, as we left the room, "especially
when you consider that I have had the rearing of him.
It was no joke bringing him over from the centre of
South America; but here he is safe and sound—and,
as I have said, far the most perfect specimen in
Europe. The people at the Zoo are dying to have h;m,


112 THE BRAZILIAN CAT
but I really can't part with him. Now, I think that
I have inflicted my hobby upon you long enough, so
we cannot do better than follow Tommy's example,
and go to our lunch."
My South American relative was so engrossed by
his grounds and their curious occupants, that I hardly
gave him credit at first for having any interests out-
side them. That he had some, and pressing ones, was
soon borne in upon me by the number of telegrams
which he received. They arrived at all hours, and
were always opened by him with the utmost eagerness
and anxiety upon his face. Sometimes I imagined
that it must be the Turf, and sometimes the Stock
Exchange, but certainly he had some very urgent
business going forwards which was not transacted
upon the Downs of Suffolk. During the six days of
my visit he had never fewer than three or four tele-
grams a day, and sometimes as many as seven or eight.
I had occupied these six days so well, that by the
end of them I had succeeded in getting upon the most
cordial terms with my cousin. Every night we had
sat up late in the billiard-room, he telling me the
most extraordinary stories of his adventures in Amer-
ica—stories so desperate and reckless, that I could
hardly associate them with the brown little, chubby
man before me. In return, I ventured upon some
of my own reminiscences of London life, which in-
terested him so much, that he vowed he would come
up to Grosvenor Mansions and stay with me. He was
anxious to see the faster side of city life, and cer-
tainly, though I say it, he could not have chosen a
more competent guide. It was not until the last day
of my visit that I ventured to approach that which was
on my mind. I told him frankly about my pecuniary


THE BRAZILIAN CAT 113
difficulties and my impending ruin, and I asked his
advice—though I hoped for something more solid.
He listened attentively, puffing hard at his cigar.
"But surely," said he, "you are the heir of our
relative, Lord Southerton?"
"I have every reason to believe so, but he would
never make me an allowance."
"No, no, I have heard of his miserly ways. My
poor Marshall, your position has been a very hard
one. By the way, have you heard any news of Lord
Southerton's health lately?"
"He has always been in a critical condition ever
since my childhood."
"Exactly—a creaking hinge, if ever there was one.
Your inheritance may be a long way off. Dear me,
how awkwardly situated you are!"
"I had some hopes, sir, that you, knowing all the
facts, might be inclined to advance"
"Don't say another word, my dear boy," he cried,
with the utmost cordiality; "we shall talk it over to-
night, and I give you my word that whatever is in
my power shall be done."
I was not sorry that my visit was drawing to a
close, for it is unpleasant to feel that there is one per-
son in the house who eagerly desires your departure.
Mrs. King's sallow face and forbidding eyes had be-
come more and more hateful to me. She was no
longer actively rude—her fear of her husband pre-
vented her—but she pushed her insane jealousy to the
extent of ignoring me, never addressing me, and in
every way making my stay at Greylands as uncom-
fortable as she could. So offensive was her manner
during that last day, that I should certainly have left
had it not been for that interview with my host in


114 THE BRAZILIAN CAT
the evening which would, I hoped, retrieve my broken
fortunes.
It was very late when it occurred, for my relative,
who had been receiving even more telegrams than
usual during the day, went off to his study after din-
ner, and only emerged when the household had retired
to bed. I heard him go round locking the doors, as
his custom was of a night, and finally he joined me
in the billiard-room. His stout figure was wrapped
in a dressing-gown, and he wore a pair of red Turk-
ish slippers without any heels. Settling down into an
armchair, he brewed himself a glass of grog, in which
I could not help noticing that the whiskey considerably
predominated over the water.
"My word!" said he, "what a night!"
It was, indeed. The wind was howling and scream-
ing round the house, and the latticed windows rattled
and shook as if they were coming in. The glow of
the yellow lamps and the flavour of our cigars seemed
the brighter and more fragrant for the contrast.
"Now, my boy," said my host, "we have the house
and the night to ourselves. Let me have an idea of
how your affairs stand, and I will see what can be
done to set them in order. I wish to hear every de-
tail."
Thus encouraged, I entered into a long exposition,
in which all my tradesmen and creditors from my
landlord to my valet, figured in turn. I had notes in
my pocket-book, and I marshalled my facts, and gave,
I flatter myself, a very business-like statement of my
own unbusiness-like ways and lamentable position. I
was depressed, however, to notice that my com-
panion's eyes were vacant and his attention elsewhere.
When he did occasionally throw out a remark, it


116 THE BRAZILIAN CAT
couth shadow upon the whitewashed wall. Its tail
switched angrily among the straw.
"Poor Tommy is not in the best of tempers," said
Everard King, holding up the lantern and looking
in at him. "What a black devil he looks, doesn't he?
I must give him a little supper to put him in a better
humour. Would you mind holding the lantern for a
moment?"
I took it from his hand and he stepped to the door.
"His larder is just outside here," said he. "You
will excuse me for an instant, won't you?" He passed
out, and the door shut with a sharp metallic click be-
hind him.
That hard crisp sound made my heart stand still. A
sudden wave of terror passed over me. A vague per-
ception of some monstrous treachery turned me cold.
I sprang to the door, but there was no handle upon
the inner side.
"Here!" I cried. "Let me out!"
"All right! Don't make a row!" said my host from
the passage. "You've got the light all right."
"Yes, but I don't care about being locked in alone
like this."
"Don't you?" I heard his hearty, chuckling laugh.
"You won't be alone long."
"Let me out, sir!" I repeated angrily. "I tell you
I don't allow practical jokes of this sort."
"Practical is the word," said he, with another hate-
ful chuckle. And then suddenly I heard, amidst the
roar of the storm, the creak and whine of the winch-
handle turning, and the rattle of the grating as it
passed through the slot. Great God, he was letting
loose the Brazilian cat!
In the light of the lantern I saw the bars sliding


I THE BRAZILIAN CAT 117
slowly before me. Already there was an opening a
foot wide at the farther end. With a scream I seized
the last bar with my hands and pulled with the
strength of a madman. I was a. madman with rage
and horror. For a minute or more I held the thing
motionless. I knew that he was straining with all his
force upon the handle, and that the leverage was sure
to overcome me. I gave inch by inch, my feet slid-
ing along the stones, and all the time I begged and
prayed this inhuman monster to save me from this
horrible death. I conjured him by his kinship. I re-
minded him that I was his guest; I begged to know
what harm I had ever done him. His only answers
were the tugs and jerks upon the handle, each of
which, in spite of all my struggles, pulled another bar
through the opening. Clinging and clutching, I was
dragged across the whole front of the cage, until at
last, with aching wrists and lacerated fingers, I gave
up the hopeless struggle. The grating clanged back
as I released it, and an instant later I heard the shuffle
of the Turkish slippers in the passage, and the slam
of the distant door. Then everything was silent.
The creature had never moved during this time.
He lay still in the corner, and his tail had ceased
switching. This apparition of a man adhering to his
bars and dragged screaming across him had apparently
filled him with amazement. I saw his great eyes star-
ing steadily at me. I had dropped the lantern when
I seized the bars, but it still burned upon the floor, and
I made a movement to grasp it, with some idea that
its light might protect me. But the instant I moved,
the beast gave a deep and menacing growl. I stopped
and stood still, quivering with fear in every limb.
The cat (if one may call so fearful a creature by so


118 THE BRAZILIAN CAT
homely a name) was not more than ten feet from
me. The eyes glimmered like two discs of phos-
phorus in the darkness. They appalled and yet fasci-
nated me. I could not take my own eyes from them.
Nature plays strange tricks with us at such moments
of intensity, and those glimmering lights waxed and
waned with a steady rise and fall. Sometimes they
seemed to be tiny points of extreme brilliancy—little
electric sparks in the black obscurity—then they would
widen and widen until all that corner of the room
was filled with their shifting and sinister light. And
then suddenly they went out altogether.
The beast had closed its eyes. I do not know
whether there may be any truth in the old idea of the
dominance of the human gaze, or whether the huge
cat was simply drowsy, but the fact remains that,
far from showing any symptom of attacking me, it
simply rested its sleek, black head upon its huge fore-
paws and seemed to sleep. I stood, fearing to move
lest I should rouse it into malignant life once more.
But at least I was able to think clearly now that the
baleful eyes were off me. Here I was shut up for the
night with the ferocious beast. My own instincts, to
say nothing of the words of the plausible villain who
laid this trap for me, warned me that the animal was
as savage as its master. How could I stave it off until
morning? The door was hopeless, and so were the
narrow, barred windows. There was no shelter any-
where in the bare, stone-flagged room. To cry for
assistance was absurd. I knew that this den was an
outhouse, and that the corridor which connected it
with the house was at least a hundred feet long. Be-
sides, with that gale thundering outside, my cries were


THE BRAZILIAN CAT 119
not likely to be heard. I had only my own courage
and my own wits to trust to.
And then, with a fresh wave of horror, my eyes fell
upon the lantern. The candle had burned low, and
was already beginning to gutter. In ten minutes it
would be out. I had only ten minutes then in which
to do something, for I felt that if I were once left in
the dark with that fearful beast I should be incapable
of action. The very thought of it paralysed me. I
cast my despairing eyes round this chamber of death,
and they rested upon one spot which seemed to prom-
ise I will not say safety, but less immediate and immi-
nent danger than the open floor.
I have said that the cage had a top as well as a
front, and this top was left standing when the front
was wound through the slot in the wall. It consisted
of bars at a few inches' interval, with stout wire
netting between, and it rested upon a strong stanchion
at each end. It stood now as a great barred canopy
over the crouching figure in the corner. The space
between this iron shelf and the roof may have been
from two to three feet. If I could only get up there,
squeezed in between bars and ceiling, I should have
only one vulnerable side. I should be safe from below,
from behind, and from each side. Only on the open
face of it could I be attacked. There, it is true, I had
no protection whatever; but, at least, I should be out
of the brute's path when he began to pace about his
den. He would have to come out of his way to reach
me. It was now or never, for if once the light were
out it would be impossible. With a gulp in my throat
I sprang up, seized the iron edge of the top, and swung
myself panting on to it. I writhed in face downwards,
and found myself looking straight into the terrible


120 THE BRAZILIAN CAT
eyes and yawning jaws of the cat. Its fetid breath
came up into my face like the steam from some foul
pot.
It appeared, however, to be rather curious than
angry. With a sleek ripple of its long, black back, it
rose, stretched itself, and then rearing itself on its
hind legs, with one fore paw against the wall, it raised
the other, and drew its claws across the wire meshes
beneath me. One sharp, white hook tore through my
trousers—for I may mention that I was still in eve-
ning dress—and dug a furrow in my knee. It was
not meant as an attack, but rather as an experiment,
for upon my giving a sharp cry of pain he dropped
down again, and springing lightly into the room, he
began walking swiftly round it, looking up every now
and again in my direction. For my part I shuffled
backwards until I lay with my back against the wall,
screwing myself into the smallest space possible. The
farther I got the more difficult it was for him to at-
tack me.
He seemed more excited now that he had begun to
move about, and he ran swiftly and noiselessly round
and round the den, passing continually underneath
the iron couch upon which I lay. It was wonderful
to see so great a bulk passing like a shadow, with
hardly the softest thudding of velvety pads. The
candle was burning low—so low that I could hardly
see the creature. And then, with a last flare and sput-
ter it went out altogether. I was alone with the cat in
the dark!
It helps one to face a danger when one knows that
one has done all that possibly can be done. There is
nothing for it then but to quietly await the result. In
this case, there was no chance of safety anywhere ex-


122 THE BRAZILIAN CAT
that my presence had been forgotten or ignored. At
last the least faint glimmer of light came through the
windows—I first dimly saw them as two grey squares
upon the black wall, then grey turned to white, and I
could see my terrible companion once more. And he,
alas, could see me!
It was evident to me at once that he was in a much
more dangerous and aggressive mood than when I
had seen him last. The cold of the morning had irri-
tated him, and he was hungry as well. With a con-
tinual growl he paced swiftly up and down the side
of the room which was farthest from my refuge, his
whiskers bristling angrily, and his tail switching and
lashing. As he turned at the corners, his savage eyes
always looked upwards at me with a dreadful menace.
I knew then that he meant to kill me. Yet I found
myself even at that moment admiring the sinuous
grace of the devilish thing, its long, undulating,
rippling movements, the gloss of its beautiful flanks,
the vivid, palpitating scarlet of the glistening tongue
which hung from the jet-black muzzle. And all the
time that deep, threatening growl was rising and rising
in an unbroken crescendo. I knew that the crisis was
at hand.
It was a miserable hour to meet such a death—so
cold, so comfortless, shivering in my light dress
clothes upon this gridiron of torment upon which I
was stretched. I tried to brace myself to it, to raise
my soul above it, and at the same time, with the
lucidity which comes to a perfectly desperate man, I
cast round for some possible means of escape. One
thing was clear to me. If that front of the cage was
only back in its position once more, I could find a sure
refuge behind it. Could I possibly pull it back? I


THE BRAZILIAN CAT '123
hardly dared to move for fear of bringing the creature
upon me. Slowly, very slowly, I put my hand for-
ward until it grasped the edge of the front, the final
bar which protruded through the wall. To my sur-
prise it came quite easily to my jerk. Of course the
difficulty of drawing it out arose from the fact that
I was clinging to it. I pulled it again, and three inches
of it came through. It ran apparently on wheels. I
pulled again . . . and then the cat sprang!
It was so quick, so sudden, that I never saw it
happen. I simply heard the savage snarl, and in an
instant afterwards the blazing yellow eyes, the flat-
tened black head with its red tongue and flashing
teeth, were within reach of me. The impact of the
creature shook the bars upon which I lay, until I
thought (as far as I could think of anything at such
a moment) that they were coming down. The cat
swayed there for an instant, the head and front paws
quite close to me, the hind paws clawing to find a grip
upon the edge of the grating. I heard the claws
rasping as they clung to the wire-netting, and the
breath of the beast made me sick. But its bound had
been miscalculated. It could not retain its position.
Slowly, grinning with rage, and scratching madly at
the bars, it swung backwards and dropped heavily
upon the floor. With a growl it instantly faced round
to me and crouched for another spring.
I knew that the next few moments would decide my
fate. The creature had learned by experience. It
would not miscalculate again. I must act promptly,
fearlessly, if I were to have a chance for life. In an
instant I had formed my plan. Pulling off my dress-
coat, I threw it down over the head of the beast. At
the same moment I dropped over the edge, seized the


126 THE BRAZILIAN CAT
"Get away!" he screamed. "Get away, you devil
Baldwin! Baldwin! Oh, my God!"
And then I heard him fall, and rise, and fall again
with a sound like the ripping of sacking. His screams grew fainter until they were lost in the worrying snarl.
And then, after I thought that he was dead, I saw, as
in a nightmare, a blinded, tattered, blood-soaked figure
running wildly round the room—and that was the
last glimpse which I had of him before I fainted once
again.
I was many months in my recovery—in fact, I can-
not say that I have ever recovered, for to the end of
my days I shall carry a stick as a sign of my night
with the Brazilian cat. Baldwin, the groom, and the
other servants could not tell what had occurred, when,
drawn by the death cries of their master, they found
me behind the bars, and his remains—or what they
afterwards discovered to be his remains—in the clutch
of the creature which he had reared. They stalled
him off with hot irons, and afterwards shot him
through the loophole of the door before they could
finally extricate me. I was carried to my bedroom,
and there, under the roof of my would-be murderer,
I remained between life and death for several weeks.
They had sent for a surgeon from Clipton and a nurse
from London, and in a month I was able to be carried
to the station, and so conveyed back once more to
Grosvenor Mansions.
I have one remembrance of that illness, which might
have been part of the ever-changing panorama con-
jured up by a delirious brain were it not so definitely
fixed in my memory. One night, when the nurse was
absent, the door of my chamber opened, and a tall


128 THE BRAZILIAN CAT
"I am very glad to see that your lordship is so much
better," said he. "I have been waiting a long time to
offer my congratulations."
"What do you mean, Summers? This is no time
for joking."
"I mean what I say," he answered. "You have been
Lord Southerton for the last six weeks, but we feared
that it would retard your recovery if you were to learn
it."
Lord Southerton! One of the richest peers in Eng-
land! I could not believe my ears. And then sud-
denly I thought of the time which had elapsed, and
how it coincided with my injuries.
"Then Lord Southerton must have died about the
same time that I was hurt?"
"His death occurred upon that very day." Sum-
mers looked hard at me as I spoke, and I am convinced
—for he was a very shrewd fellow—that he had
guessed the true state of the case. He paused for a
moment as if awaiting a confidence from me, but I
could not see what was to be gained by exposing such
a family scandal.
"Yes, a very curious coincidence," he continued,
with the same knowing look. "Of course, you are
aware that your cousin Everard King was the next
heir to the estates. Now, if it had been you instead
of he who had been torn to pieces by this tiger, or
whatever it was, then of course he would have been
Lord Southerton at the present moment."
"No doubt," said I.
"And he took such an interest in it," said Sum-
mers. "I happen to know that the late Lord Souther-
ton's valet was in his pay, and that he used to have
telegrams from him every few hours to tell him how


THE BRAZILIAN CAT 129
he was getting on. That would be about the time
when you were down there. Was it not strange that
he should wish to be so well informed, since he knew
that he was not the direct heir?"
"Very strange," said I. "And now, Summers, if
you will bring me my bills and a new cheque-book, we
will begin to get things into order."








VII
THE LOST SPECIAL
The confession of Herbert de Lernac, now lying
under sentence of death at Marseilles, has thrown a
light upon one of the most inexplicable crimes of the
century—an incident which is, I believe, absolutely un-
precedented in the criminal annals of any country.
Although there is a reluctance to discuss the matter
in official circles, and little information has been given
to the Press, there are still indications that the state-
ment of this arch-criminal is corroborated by the
facts, and that we have at last found a solution for a
most astounding business. As the matter is eight
years old, and as its importance was somewhat ob-
scured by a political crisis which was engaging the
public attention at the time, it may be as well to state
the facts as far as we have been able to ascertain them.
They are collated from the Liverpool papers of that
date, from the proceedings at the inquest upon John
Slater, the engine-driver, and from the records of the
London and West Coast Railway Company, which
have been courteously put at my disposal. Briefly,
they are as follows:
On the 3rd of June, 1890, a gentleman, who gave
his name as Monsieur Louis Caratal, desired an inter-
view with Mr. James Bland, the superintendent of the
London and West Coast Central Station in Liverpool.
He was a small man, middle-aged and dark, with a
stoop which was so marked that it suggested some de-
formity of the spine. He was accompanied by a
friend, a man of imposing physique, whose deferen-
133


134
THE LOST SPECIAL
tial manner and constant attention showed that his
position was one of dependence. This friend or com-
panion, whose name did not transpire, was certainly a
foreigner, and probably, from his swarthy complexion,
either a Spaniard or a South American. One
peculiarity was observed in him. He carried in his
left hand a small black leather dispatch-box, and it was
noticed by a sharp-eyed clerk in the Central office
that this box was fastened to his wrist by a strap. No
importance was attached to the fact at the time, but
subsequent events endowed it with some significance.
Monsieur Caratal was shown up to Mr. Bland's office,
while his companion remained outside.
Monsieur Caratal's business was quickly dispatched.
He had arrived that afternoon from Central Amer-
ica. Affairs of the utmost importance demanded that
he should be in Paris without the loss of an unneces-
sary hour. He had missed the London express. A
special must be provided. Money was of no im-
portance. Time was everything. If the company
would speed him on his way, they might make their
own terms.
Mr. Bland struck the electric bell, summoned Mr.
Potter Hood, the traffic manager, and had the mat-
ter arranged in five minutes. The train would start
in three-quarters of an hour. It would take that time
to insure that the line should be clear. The powerful
engine called Rochdale (No. 247 on the company's
register) was attached to two carriages, with a guard's
van behind. The first carriage was solely for the pur-
pose of decreasing the inconvenience arising from the
oscillation. The second was divided, as usual, into
four compartments, a first-class, a first-class smoking,
a second-class, and a second-class smoking. The first


THE LOST SPECIAL 135
compartment, which was nearest to the engine, was the
one allotted to the travellers. The other three were
empty. The guard of the special train was James Mc-
Pherson, who had been some years in the service of
the company. The stoker, William Smith, was a new
hand.
Monsieur Caratal, upon leaving the superintendent's
office, rejoined his companion, and both of them mani-
fested extreme impatience to be off. Having paid the
money asked, which amounted to fifty pounds five shil-
lings, at the usual special rate of five shillings a mile,
they demanded to be shown the carriage, and at once
took their seats in it, although they were assured that
the better part of an hour must elapse before the line
could be cleared. In the meantime a singular coin-
cidence had occurred in the office which Monsieur
Caratal had just quitted.
A request for a special is not a very uncommon cir-
cumstance in a rich commercial centre, but that two
should be required upon the same afternoon was most
unusual. It so happened, however, that Mr. Bland
had hardly dismissed the first traveller before a second
entered with a similar request. This was a Mr.
Horace Moore, a gentlemanly man of military appear-
ance, who alleged that the sudden serious illness of his
wife in London made it absolutely imperative that he
should not lose an instant in starting upon the journey.
His distress and anxiety were so evident that Mr.
Bland did all that was possible to meet his wishes. A
second special was out of the question, as the ordinary
local service was already somewhat deranged by the
first. There was the alternative, however, that Mr.
Moore should share the expense of Monsieur Caratal's
train, and should travel in the other empty first-class


136 THE LOST SPECIAL
compartment, if Monsieur Caratal objected to having
him in the one which he occupied. It was difficult to
see any objection to such an arrangement, and yet
Monsieur Caratal, upon the suggestion being made to
him by Mr. Potter Hood, absolutely refused to con-
sider it for an instant. The train was his, he said,
and he would insist upon the exclusive use of it. All
argument failed to overcome his ungracious objec-
tions, and finally the plan had to be abandoned. Mr.
Horace Moore left the station in great distress, after
learning that his only course was to take the ordinary
slow train which leaves Liverpool at six o'clock. At
four thirty-one exactly by the station clock the special
train, containing the crippled Monsieur Caratal and
his gigantic companion, steamed out of the Liverpool
station. The line was at that time clear, and there
should have been no stoppage before Manchester.
The trains of the London and West Coast Railway
run over the lines of another company as far as this
town, which should have been reached by the special
rather before six o'clock. At a quarter after six con-
siderable surprise and some consternation were caused
amongst the officials at Liverpool by the receipt of a
telegram from Manchester to say that it had not yet
arrived. An inquiry directed to St. Helens, which is
a third of the way between the two cities, elicited the
following reply—
"To James Bland, Superintendent' Central L. & W.
C, Liverpool.—Special passed here at 4.52, well up
to time.—Dowser, St. Helens."
This telegram was received at 6.40. At 6.50 a sec-
ond message was received from Manchester—
"No sign of special as advised by you."


138
THE LOST SPECIAL
The special has gone wrong between Kenyon Junction
and Barton Moss."
"And yet there is no siding, so far as my memory
serves me, between the two stations. The special must
have run off the metals."
"But how could the four-fifty parliamentary pass
over the same line without observing it?"
"There's no alternative, Mr. Hood. It must be so.
Possibly the local train may have observed something
which may throw some light upon the matter. We
will wire to Manchester for more information, and to
Kenyon Junction with instructions that the line be
examined instantly as far as Barton Moss."
The answer from Manchester came within a few 1
minutes. »
"No news of missing special. Driver and guard
of slow train positive no accident between Kenyon
Junction and Barton Moss. Line quite clear, and no
sign of anything unusual.—Manchester."
"That driver and guard will have to go," said Mr.
Bland, grimly. "There has been a wreck and they
have missed it. The special has obviously run off the
metals without disturbing the line—how it could have
done so passes my comprehension—but so it must
be, and we shall have a wire from Kenyon or Barton
Moss presently to say that they have found her at the
bottom of an embankment."
But Mr. Bland's prophecy was not destined to be
fulfilled. Half an hour passed, and then there arrived
the following message from the station-master of
Kenyon Junction—
"There are no traces of the missing special. It is
quite certain that she passed here, and that she did not
arrive at Barton Moss. We have detached engine


THE LOST SPECIAL
139
from goods train, and I have myself ridden down the
line, but all is clear, and there is no sign of any acci-
dent."
Mr. Bland tore his hair in his perplexity.
"This is rank lunacy, Hood I" he cried. "Does a
train vanish into thin air in England in broad day-
light? The thing is preposterous. An engine, a
tender, two carriages, a van, five human beings—and
all lost on a straight line of railway! Unless we get
something positive within the next hour I'll take In-
spector Collins, and go down myself."
And then at last something positive did occur. It
took the shape of another telegram from Kenyon
Junction.
"Regret to report that the dead body of John Slater,
driver of the special train, has just been found among
the gorse bushes at a point two and a quarter miles
from the Junction. Had fallen from his engine,
pitched down the embankment, and rolled among
bushes. Injuries to his head, from the fall, appear to
be cause of death. Ground has now been carefully
examined, and there is no trace of the missing train."
The country was, as has already been stated, in the
throes of a political crisis, and the attention of the
public was further distracted by the important and
sensational developments in Paris, where a huge scan-
dal threatened to destroy the Government and to wreck
the reputations of many of the leading men in France.
The papers were full of these events, and the singular
disappearance of the special train attracted less atten-
tion than would have been the case in more peaceful
times. The grotesque nature of the event helped to
detract from its importance, for the papers were dis-
inclined to believe the facts as reported to them. More


140 THE LOST SPECIAL
than one of the London journals treated the matter as
an ingenious hoax, until the coroner's inquest upon
the unfortunate driver (an inquest which elicited
nothing of importance) convinced them of the tragedy
of the incident.
Mr. Bland, accompanied by Inspector Collins, the
senior detective officer in the service of the company,
went down to Kenyon Junction the same evening, and
their research lasted throughout the following day, but
was attended with purely negative results. Not only
was no trace found of the missing train, but no con-
jecture could be put forward which could possibly
explain the facts. At the same time, Inspector Col-
lins's official report (which lies before me as I write)
served to show that the possibilities were more numer-
ous than might have been expected.
"In the stretch of railway between these two
points," said he, "the country is dotted with iron-
works and collieries. Of these, some are being worked
and some have been abandoned. There are no fewer
than twelve which have small gauge lines which run
trolly-cars down to the main line. These can, of
course, be disregarded. Besides these, however, there
are seven which have, or have had, proper lines run-
ning down and connecting with points to the main
line, so as to convey their produce from the mouth of
the mine to the great centres of distribution. In every
case these lines are only a few miles in length. Out of
the seven, four belong to collieries which are worked
out, or at least to shafts which are no longer used.
These are the Redgauntlet. Hero, Slough of Despond,
and Heartsease mines, the latter having ten years ago
been one of the principal mines in Lancashire. These
four side lines may be eliminated from our inquiry,


THE LOST SPECIAL 141
for, to prevent possible accidents, the rails nearest to
the main line have been taken up, and there is no
longer any connection. There remain three other side
lines leading—
(a) To the Carnstock Iron Works;
(b) To the Big Ben Colliery;
(c) To the Perseverance Colliery.
"Of these the Big Ben line is not more than a quar-
ter of a mile long, and ends at a dead wall of coal wait-
ing removal from the mouth of the mine. Nothing
had been seen or heard there of any special. The
Carnstock Iron Works line was blocked all day upon
the 3rd of June by sixteen truckloads of hematite.
It is a single line, and nothing could have passed. As
to the Perseverance line, it is a large double line, which
does a considerable traffic, for the output of the mine
is very large. On the 3rd of June this traffic pro-
ceeded as usual; hundreds of men, including a gang of
railway platelayers, were working along the two miles
and a quarter which constitute the total length of the
line, and it is inconceivable that an unexpected train
could have come down there without attracting uni-
versal attention. It may be remarked in conclusion
that this branch line is nearer to St. Helens than the
point at which the engine-driver was discovered, so
that we have every reason to believe that the train was
past that point before misfortune overtook her.
"As to John Slater, there is no clue to be gathered
from his appearance or injuries. We can only say
that, so far as we can see, he met his end by falling
off his engine, though why he fell, or what became of
the engine after his fall, is a question upon which I do


142 THE LOST SPECIAL
not feel qualified to offer an opinion." In conclusion,
the inspector offered his resignation to the Board, be-
ing much nettled by an accusation of incompetence in
the London papers.
A month elapsed, during which both the police and
the company prosecuted their inquiries without the
slightest success. A reward was offered and a par-
don promised in case of crime, but they were both un-
claimed. Every day the public opened their papers
with the conviction that so grotesque a mystery would
at last be solved, but week after week passed by, and
a solution remained as far off as ever. In broad day-
light, upon a June afternoon in the most thickly in-
habited portion of England, a train with its occupants
had disappeared as completely as if some master of
subtle chemistry had volatilised it into gas. Indeed,
among the various conjectures which were put for-
ward in the public press, there were some which
seriously asserted that supernatural, or, at least, preter-
natural, agencies had been at work, and that the de-
formed Monsieur Caratal was probably a person who
was better known under a less polite name. Others
fixed upon his swarthy companion as being the author
of the mischief, but what it was exactly which he had
done could never be clearly formulated in words.
Amongst the many suggestions put forward by vari-
ous newspapers or private individuals, there were one
or two which were feasible enough to attract the atten-
tion of the public. One which appeared in the Times,
over the signature of an amateur reasoner of some
celebrity at that date, attempted to deal with the mat-
ter in a critical and semi-scientific manner. An extract
must suffice, although the curious can see the whole
letter in the issue of the 3rd of July.


THE LOST SPECIAL 143
"It is one of the elementary principles of practical
reasoning," he remarked, "that when the impossible
has been eliminated the residuum, however improb-
able, must contain the truth. It is certain that the
train left Kenyon Junction. It is certain that it did
not reach Barton Moss. It is in the highest degree un-
likely, but still possible, that it may have taken one of
the seven available side lines. It is obviously impos-
sible for a train to run where there are no rails, and,
therefore, we may reduce our improbables to the three
open lines, namely the Carnstock Iron Works, the Big
Ben, and the Perseverance. Is there a secret society
of colliers, an English Camorra, which is capable of
destroying both train and passengers? It is improb-
able, but it is not impossible. I confess that I am
unable to suggest any other solution. I should cer-
tainly advise the company to direct all their energies
towards the observation of those three lines, and of
the workmen at the end of them. A careful super-
vision of the pawnbrokers' shops of the district might
possibly bring some suggestive facts to light."
The suggestion coming from a recognised authority
upon such matters created considerable interest, and a
fierce opposition from those who considered such a
statement to be a preposterous libel upon an honest
and deserving set of men. The only answer to this
criticism was a challenge to the objectors to lay any
more feasible explanation before the public. In reply
to this two others were forthcoming ( Times, July 7th
and 9th). The first suggested that the train might
have run off the metals and be lying submerged in the
Lancashire and Staffordshire Canal, which runs
parallel to the railway for some hundreds of yards.
This suggestion was thrown out of court by the pub-


144 THE LOST SPECIAL
lished depth of the canal, which was entirely insuffi-
cient to conceal so large an object. The second
correspondent wrote calling attention to the bag which
appeared to be the sole luggage which the travellers
had brought with them, and suggesting that some
novel explosive of immense and pulverising power
might have been concealed in it. The obvious ab-
surdity, however, of supposing that the whole train
might be blown to dust while the metals remained un-
injured reduced any such explanation to a farce. The
investigation had drifted into this hopeless position
when a new and most unexpected incident occurred.
This was nothing less than the receipt by Mrs. Mc-
Pherson of a letter from her husband, James McPher-
son, who had been the guard of the missing train.
The letter, which was dated July 5th, 1890, was posted
from New York and came to hand upon July 14th.
Some doubts were expressed as to its genuine char-
acter, but Mrs. McPherson was positive as to the writ-
ing, and the fact that it contained a remittance of a
hundred dollars in five-dollar notes was enough in it-
self to discount the idea of a hoax. No address was
given in the letter, which ran in this way:
"My dear Wife,
"I have been thinking a great deal, and I find it very
hard to give you up. The same with Lizzie. I try
to fight against it, but it will always come back to me.
I send you some money which will change into twenty
English pounds. This should be enough to bring both
Lizzie and you across the Atlantic, and you will find
the Hamburg boats which stop at Southampton very
good boats, and cheaper than Liverpool. If you could
come here and stop at the Johnston House I would try


THE LOST SPECIAL 145
and send you word how to meet, but things are very
difficult with me at present, and I am not very happy,
finding it hard to give you both up. So no more at
present, from your loving husband,
"James McPherson."
For a time it was confidently anticipated that this
letter would lead to the clearing up of the whole mat-
ter, the more so as it was ascertained that a passenger
who bore a close resemblance to the missing guard had
travelled from Southampton under the name of Sum-
mers in the Hamburg and New York liner Vistula,
which started upon the 7th of June. Mrs. McPher-
son and her sister Lizzie Dolton went across to New
York as directed, and stayed for three weeks at the
Johnston House, without hearing anything from the
missing man. It is probable that some injudicious
comments in the Press may have warned him that the
police were using them as a bait. However, this may
be, it is certain that he neither wrote nor came, and
the women were eventually compelled to return to
Liverpool.
And so the matter stood, and has continued to stand
up to the present year of 1898. Incredible as it may
seem, nothing has transpired during these eight years
which has shed the least light upon the extraordinary
disappearance of the special train which contained
Monsieur Caratal and his companion. Careful in-
quiries into the antecedents of the two travellers have
only established the fact that Monsieur Caratal was
well known as a financier and political agent in Central
America, and that during his voyage to Europe he had
betrayed extraordinary anxiety to reach Paris. His
companion, whose name was entered upon the passen-


THE LOST SPECIAL
ger lists as Eduardo Gomez, was a man whose record
was a violent one, and whose reputation was that of
a bravo and a bully. There was evidence to show,
however, that he was honestly devoted to the interests
of Monsieur Caratal, and that the latter, being a
man of puny physique, employed the other as a
guard and protector. It may be added that no in-
formation came from Paris as to what the objects of
Monsieur Caratal's hurried journey may have been.
This comprises all the facts of the case up to the pub-
lication in the Marseilles papers of the recent confes-
sion of Herbert de Lernac, now under sentence of
death for the murder of a merchant named Bonvalot.
This statement may be literally translated as follows:
"It is not out of mere pride or boasting that I give
this information, for, if that were my object, I could
tell a dozen actions of mine which are quite as splendid;
but I do it in order that certain gentlemen in Paris
may understand that I, who am able here to tell about
the fate of Monsieur Caratal, can also tell in whose
interest and at whose request the deed was done, un-
less the reprieve which I am awaiting comes to me
very quickly. Take warning, messieurs, before it is
too late! You know Herbert de Lernac, and you are
aware that his deeds are as ready as his words.
Hasten then, or you are lost!
"At present I shall mention no names—if you only
heard the names, what would you not think!—but I
shall merely tell you how cleverly I did it. I was true
to my employers then, and no doubt they will be true
to me now. I hope so, and until I am convinced that
they have betrayed me, these names, which would
convulse Europe, shall not be divulged. But on that
day . . . well, I say no more!


149
in London. We prepared six plans, each more elab-
orate than the last; which plan would be used would
depend upon his own movements. Do what he would,
we were ready for him. If he had stayed in Liver-
pool, we were ready. If he took an ordinary train,
an express, or a special, all was ready. Everything
had been foreseen and provided for.
"You may imagine that I could not do all this my-
self. What could I know of the English railway lines?
But money can procure willing agents all the world
over, and I soon had one of the acutest brains in
England to assist me. I will mention no names, but
it would be unjust to claim all the credit for myself.
My English ally was worthy of such an alliance. He
knew the London and West Coast line thoroughly,
and he had the command of a band of workers who
were trustworthy and intelligent. The idea was his,
and my own judgment was only required in the details.
We bought over several officials, amongst whom the
most important was James McPherson, whom we had
ascertained to be the guard most likely to be employed
upon a special train. Smith, the stoker, was also in
our employ. John Slater, the engine-driver, had been
approached, but had been found to be obstinate and
dangerous, so we desisted. We had no certainty that
Monsieur Caratal would take a special, but we
thought it very probable, for it was of the utmost im-
portance to him that he should reach Paris without
delay. It was for this contingency, therefore, that we
made special preparations—preparations which were
complete down to the last detail long before his
steamer had sighted the shores of England. You will
be amused to learn that there was one of my agents in


150 THE LOST SPECIAL
the pilot-boat which brought that steamer to its
moorings.
"The moment that Caratal arrived in Liverpool we
knew that he suspected danger and was on his guard.
He had brought with him as an escort a dangerous
fellow, named Gomez, a man who carried weapons,
and was prepared to use them. This fellow carried
Caratal's confidential papers for him, and was ready
to protect either them or his master. The probability
was that Caratal had taken him into his counsels, and
that to remove Caratal without removing Gomez
would be a mere waste of energy. It was necessary
that they should be involved in a common fate, and
our plans to that end were much facilitated by their
request for a special train. On that special train you
will understand that two out of the three servants of
the company were really in our employ, at a price
which would make them independent for a lifetime.
I do not go so far as to say that the English are more
honest than any other nation, but I have found them
more expensive to buy.
"I have already spoken of my English agent—who
is a man with a considerable future before him, un-
less some complaint of the throat carries him off be-
fore his time. He had charge of all arrangements at
Liverpool, whilst I was stationed at the inn at Kenyon,
where I awaited a cipher signal to act. When the
special was arranged for, my agent instantly tele-
graphed to me and warned me how soon I should have
everything ready. He himself under the name of
Horace Moore applied immediately for a special also,
in the hope that he would be sent down with Monsieur
Caratal, which might under certain circumstances have
been helpful to us. If, for example, our great coup


THE LOST SPECIAL
151
had failed, it would then have become the duty of my
agent to have shot them both and destroyed their
papers. Caratal was on his guard, however, and re-
fused to admit any other traveller. My agent then
left the station, returned by another entrance, entered
the guard's van on the side farthest from the platform,
and travelled down with McPherson the guard.
"In the meantime you will be interested to know
what my movements were. Everything had been pre-
pared for days before, and only the finishing touches
were needed. The side line which we had chosen had
once joined the main line, but it had been disconnected.
We had only to replace a few rails to connect it once
more. These rails had been laid down as far as could
be done without danger of attracting attention, and
now it was merely a case of completing a juncture with
the line, and arranging the points as they had been
before. The sleepers had never been removed, and
the rails, fish-plates and rivets were all ready, for we
had taken them from a siding on the abandoned por-
tion of the line. With my small but competent band
of workers, we had everything ready long before the
special arrived. When it did arrive, it ran off upon
the small side line so easily that the jolting of the
points appears to have been entirely unnoticed by the
two travellers.
"Our plan had been that Smith the stoker should
chloroform John Slater the driver, so that he should
vanish with the others. In this respect, and in this
respect only, our plans miscarried—I except the crimi-
nal folly of McPherson in writing home to his wife.
Our stoker did his business so clumsily that Slater in
his struggles fell off the engine, and though fortune
was with us so far that he broke his neck in the fall,


152
still he remained as a blot upon that which would
otherwise have been one of those complete master-
pieces which are only to be contemplated in silent
admiration. The criminal expert will find in John
Slater the one flaw in all our admirable combinations.
A man who has had as many triumphs as I can afford
to be frank, and I therefore lay my finger upon John
Slater, and I proclaim him to be a flaw.
"But now I have got our special train upon the small
line two kilometres, or rather more than one mile, in
length, which leads, or rather used to lead, to the
abandoned Heartsease mine, once one of the largest
coal mines in England. You will ask how it is that
no one saw the train upon this unused line. I answer
that alting its entire length it runs through a deep
cutting, and that, unless some one had been on the
edge of that cutting, he could not have seen it. There
zvas some one on the edge of that cutting. I was
there. And now I will tell you what I saw.
"My assistant had remained at the points in order
that he might superintend the switching off of the
train. He had four armed men with him, so that if
the train ran off the line—we thought it probable,
because the points were very rusty—we might still
have resources to fall back upon. Having once seen
it safely on the side line, he handed over the respon-
sibility to me. I was waiting at a point which over-
looks the mouth of the mine, and I was also armed,
as were my two companions. Come what might, you
see, I was always ready.
"The moment that the train was fairly on the side
line, Smith, the stoker, slowed-down the engine, and
then, having turned it on to the fullest speed again, he
and McPherson, with my English lieutenant, sprang


THE LOST SPECIAL
off before it was too late. It may be that it was this
slowing-down which first attracted the attention of
the travellers, but the train was running at full speed
again before their heads appeared at the open window.
It makes me smile to think how bewildered they must
have been. Picture to yourself your own feelings if,
on looking out of your luxurious carriage, you sud-
denly perceived that the lines upon which you ran
were rusted and corroded, red and yellow with dis-
use and decay! What a catch must have come in
their breath as in a second it flashed upon them that it
was not Manchester but Death which was waiting for
them at the end of that sinister line. But the train
was running with frantic speed, rolling and rocking
over the rotten line, while the wheels made a fright-
ful screaming sound upon the rusted surface. I was
close to them, and could see their faces. Caratal was
praying, I think—there was something like a rosary
dangling out of his hand. The other roared like a
bull who smells the blood of the slaughter-house. He
saw us standing on the bank, and he beckoned to us
like a madman. Then he tore at his wrist and threw
his dispatch-box out of the window in our direction.
Of course, his meaning was obvious. Here was the
evidence, and they would promise to be silent if their
lives were spared. It would have been very agree-
able if we could have done so, but business is business.
Besides, the train was now as much beyond our con-
trol as theirs.
"He ceased howling when the train rattled round
the curve and they saw the black mouth of the mine
yawning before them. We had removed the boards
which had covered it, and we had cleared the square
entrance. The rails had formerly run very close to the


154
shaft for the convenience of loading the coal, and we
had only to add two or three lengths of rail in order
to lead to the very brink of the shaft. In fact, as the
lengths would not quite fit, our line projected about
three feet over the edge. We saw the two heads at
the window: Caratal below, Gomez above; but they
had both been struck silent by what they saw. And yet
they could not withdraw their heads. The sight
seemed to have paralysed them.
"I had wondered how the train running at a great
speed would take the pit into which I had guided it,
and I was much interested in watching it. One of
my colleagues thought that it would actually jump it,
and indeed it was not very far from doing so. For-
tunately, however, it fell short, and the buffers of the
engine struck the other lip of the shaft with a tre-
mendous crash. The funnel flew off into the air. The
tender, carriages, and van were all smashed up into
one jumble, which, with the remains of the engine,
choked for a minute or so the mouth of the pit. Then
something gave way in the middle, and the whole mass
of green iron, smoking coals, brass fittings, wheels,
wood-work, and cushions all crumbled together and
crashed down into the mine. We heard the rattle,
rattle, rattle, as the debris struck against the walls,
and then quite a long time afterwards there came a
deep roar as the remains of the train struck the bot-
tom. The boiler may have burst, for a sharp crash
came after the roar, and then a dense cloud of steam
and smoke swirled up out of the black depths, falling
in a spray as thick as rain all round us. Then the
vapour shredded off into thin wisps, which floated
away in the summer sunshine, and all was quiet again
in the Heartsease mine.


THE LOST SPECIAL
155
"And now, having carried out our plans so success-
fully, it only remained to leave no trace behind us.
Our little band of workers at the other end had al-
ready ripped up the rails and disconnected the side
line, replacing everything as it had been before. We
were equally busy at the mine. The funnel and other
fragments were thrown in, the shaft was planked over
as it used to be, and the lines which led to it were
torn up and taken away. Then, without flurry, but
without delay, we all made our way out of the coun-
try, most of us to Paris, my English colleague to
Manchester, and McPherson to Southampton, whence
he emigrated to America. Let the English papers of
that date tell how thoroughly we had done our work,
and how completely we had thrown the cleverest of
their detectives off our track.
"You will remember that Gomez threw his bag of
papers out of the window, and I need not say that I
secured that bag and brought them to my employers.
It may interest my employers now, however, to learn
that out of that bag I took one or two little papers as
a souvenir of the occasion. I have no wish to publish
these papers; but, still, it is every man for himself in
this world, and what else can I do if my friends will
not come to my aid when I want them? Messieurs,
you may believe that Herbert de Lernac is quite as
formidable when he is against you as when he is with
you, and that he is not a man to go to the guillotine
until he has seen that every one of you is en route for
New Caledonia. For your own sake, if not for mine,
make haste, Monsieur de , and General , and
Baron (you can fill up the blanks for yourselves
as you read this). I promise you that in the next edi-
tion there will be no blanks to fill.


156 THE LOST SPECIAL
"P.S.—As I look over my statement there is only
one omission which I can see. It concerns the unfor-
tunate man McPherson, who was foolish enough to
write to his wife and to make an appointment with
her in New York. It can be imagined that when in-
terests like ours were at stake, we could not leave them
to the chance of whether a man in that class of life
would or would not give away his secrets to a woman.
Having once broken his oath by writing to his wife,
we could not trust him any more. We took steps
therefore to insure that he should not see his wife. I
have sometimes thought that it would be a kindness
to write to her and to assure her that there is no im-
pediment to her marrying again."


VIII
THE BEETLE-HUNTER
A curious experience? said the Doctor. Yes, my
friends, I have had one very curious experience. I
never expect to have another, for it is against all doc-
trines of chances that two such events would befall
any one man in a single lifetime. You may believe me
or not, but the thing happened exactly as I tell it.
I had just become a medical man, but I had not
started in practice, and I lived in rooms in Gower
Street. The street has been renumbered since then,
but it was in the only house which has a bow-window,
upon the left-hand side as you go down from the Met-
ropolitan Station. A widow named Murchison kept
the house at that time, and she had three medical
students and one engineer as lodgers. I occupied the
top room, which was the cheapest, but cheap as it was
it was more than I could afford. My small resources
were dwindling away, and every week it became more
necessary that I should find something to do. Yet
I was very unwilling to go into general practice, for
my tastes were all in the direction of science, and es-
pecially of zoology, towards which I had always a
strong leaning. I had almost given the fight up and
signed myself to being a medical drudge for life, when
the turning-point of my struggles came in a very
extraordinary way.
One morning I had picked up the Standard and was
glancing over its contents. There was a complete ab-
sence of news, and I was about to toss the paper down
again, when my eyes were caught by an advertisement
157


158 THE BEETLE-HUNTER
at the head of the personal column. It was worded in
this way:
"Wanted for one or more days the services of a
medical man. It is essential that he should be a man
of strong physique, of steady nerves, and of a reso-
lute nature. Must be an entomologist—coleopterist
preferred. Apply, in person, at 77b, Brook Street.
Application must be made before twelve o'clock to-
day."
Now, I have already said that I was devoted to
zoology. Of all branches of zoology, the study of in-
sects was the most attractive to me, and of all insects
beetles were the species with which I was most famil-
iar. Butterfly collectors are numerous, but beetles
are far more varied, and more accessible in these
islands than are butterflies. It was this fact which
had attracted my attention to them, and I had myself
made a collection which numbered some hundred
varieties. As to the other requisites of the advertise-
ment, I knew that my nerves could be depended upon,
and I had won the weight-throwing competition at
the inter-hospital sports. Clearly, I was the very
man for the vacancy. Within five minutes of my hav-
ing read the advertisement I was in a cab and on my
way to Brook Street.
As I drove, I kept turning the matter over in my
head and trying to make a guess as to what sort of
employment it could be which needed such curious
qualifications. A strong physique, a resolute nature,
a medical training, and a knowledge of beetles—what
connection could there be between these various
requisites? And then there was the disheartening fact
that the situation was not a permanent one, but
terminable from day to day, according to the terms of


THE BEETLE-HUNTER
159
the advertisement. The more I pondered over it the
more unintelligible did it become; but at the end of
my meditations I always came back to the ground fact
that, come what might, I had nothing to lose, that I
was completely at the end of my resources, and that I
was ready for any adventure, however desperate,
which would put a few honest sovereigns into my
pocket. The man fears to fail who has to pay for his
failure, but there was no penalty which Fortune could
exact from me. I was like the gambler with empty
pockets, who is still allowed to try his luck with the
others.
No. 77b, Brook Street, was one of those dingy and
yet imposing houses, dun-coloured and flat-faced, with
the intensely respectable and solid air which marks
the Georgian builder. As I alighted from the cab, a
young man came out of the door and walked swiftly
down the street. In passing me, I noticed that he cast
an inquisitive and somewhat malevolent glance at me,
and I took the incident as a good omen, for his ap-
pearance was that of a rejected candidate, and if he
resented my application it meant that the vacancy was
not yet filled up. Full of hope, I ascended the broad
steps and rapped with the heavy knocker.
A footman in powder and livery opened the door.
Clearly I was in touch with people of wealth and
fashion.
"Yes, sir?" said the footman.
"I came in answer to"
"Quite so, sir," said the footman. "Lord Linch-
mere will see you at once in the library."
Lord Linchmere! I had vaguely heard the name,
but could not for the instant recall anything about him.
Following the footman, I was shown into a large, book-


160 THE BEETLE-HUNTER
lined room in which there was seated behind a writing-
desk a small man with a pleasant, clean-shaven, mobile
face, and long hair shot with grey, brushed back from
his forehead. He looked me up and down with a
very shrewd, penetrating glance, holding the card
which the footman had given him in his right hand.
Then he smiled pleasantly, and I felt that externally
at any rate I possessed the qualifications which he
desired.
"You have come in answer to my advertisement,
Dr. Hamilton?" he asked.
"Yes, sir."
"Do you fulfil the conditions which are there laid
down?"
"I believe that I do."
"You are a powerful man, or so I should judge from
your appearance."
"I think that I am fairly strong."
"And resolute?"
"I believe so."
"Have you ever known what it was to be exposed
to imminent danger?"
"No, I don't know that I ever have."
"But you think you would be prompt and cool at
such a time?"
"I hope so."
"Well, I believe that you would. I have the more
confidence in you because you do not pretend to be
certain as to what you would do in a position that was
new to you. My impression is that, so far as per-
sonal qualities go, you are the very man of whom I
am in search. That being settled, we may pass on to
the next point."
"Which is?"


THE BEETLE-HUNTER 161
"To talk to me about beetles."
I looked across to see if he was joking, but, on the
:contrary, he was leaning eagerly forward across his
desk, and there was an expression of something like
anxiety in his eyes.
"I am afraid that you do not know about beetles,"
he cried.
"On the contrary, sir, it is the one scientific subject
about which I feel that I really do know something."
"I am overjoyed to hear it. Please talk to me about
beetles."
I talked. I do not profess to have said anything
original upon the subject, but I gave a short
sketch of the characteristics of the beetle, and ran over
the more common species, with some allusions to the
specimens in my own little collection and to the article
upon "Burying Beetles" which I had contributed to
the Journal of Entomological Science.
"What! not a collector?" cried Lord Linchmere.
"You don't mean that you are yourself a collector?"
His eyes danced with pleasure at the thought.
"You are certainly the very man in London for my
purpose. I thought that among five millions of people
there must be such a man, but the difficulty is to lay
one's hands upon him. I have been extraordinarily
fortunate in finding you."
He rang a gong upon the table, and the footman
entered.
"Ask Lady Rossiter to have the goodness to step
this way," said his lordship, and a few moments later
the lady was ushered into the room. She was a small,
middle-aged woman, very like Lord Linchmere in
appearance, with the same quick, alert features and
grey-black hair. The expression of anxiety, however,


162
THE BEETLE-HUNTER
which I had observed upon his face was very much
more marked upon hers. Some great grief seemed to
have cast its shadow over her features. As Lord
Linchmere presented me she turned her face full upon
me, and I was shocked to observe a half-healed scar
extending for two inches over her right eyebrow. It
was partly concealed by plaster, but none the less I
could see that it had been a serious wound and not long
inflicted.
"Dr. Hamilton is the very man for our purpose,
Evelyn," said Lord Linchmere. "He is actually a
collector of beetles, and he has written articles upon
the subject."
"Really!" said Lady Rossiter. "Then you must
have heard of my husband. Every one who knows
anything about beetles must have heard of Sir Thomas
Rossiter."
For the first time a thin little ray of light began to
break into the obscure business. Here, at last, was a
connection between these people and beetles. Sir
Thomas Rossiter—he was the greatest authority upon
the subject in the world. He had made it his life-long
study, and had written a most exhaustive work upon
it. I hastened to assure her that I had read and ap-
preciated it.
"Have you met mv husband?" she asked.
"No, I have not."
"But you shall," said Lord Linchmere, with deci-
sion.
The lady was standing beside the desk, and she
put her hand upon his shoulder. It was obvious to
me as I saw their faces together that they were brother
and sister.
"Are you really prepared for this, Charles? It is


THE BEETLE-HUNTER 163
noble of you, but you fill me with fears." Her voice
quavered with apprehension, and he appeared to me
to be equally moved, though he was making strong ef-
forts to conceal his agitation.
"Yes, yes, dear; it is all settled, it is all decided;
in fact, there is no other possible way, that I can see."
"There is one obvious way."
"No, no, Evelyn, I shall never abandon you—never.
It will come right—depend upon it; it will come
right, and surely it looks like the interference of Provi-
dence that so perfect an instrument should be put into
our hands."
My position was embarrassing, for I felt that for
the instant they had forgotten my presence. But Lord
Linchmere came back suddenly to me and to my en-
gagement.
"The business for which I want you, Dr. Hamilton,
is that you should put yourself absolutely at my dis-
posal. I wish you to come for a short journey with
me, to remain always at my side, and to promise to
do without question whatever I may ask you, how-
ever unreasonable it may appear to you to be."
"That is a good deal to ask," said I.
"Unfortunately I cannot put it more plainly, for I
do not myself know what turn matters may take. You
!may be sure, however, that you will not be asked to
do anything which your conscience does not approve;
and I promise you that, when all is over, you will be
proud to have been concerned in so good a work."
"If it ends happily," said the lady.
"Exactly; if it ends happily," his lordship repeated.
| "And terms?" I asked.
I "Twenty pounds a day."


164 THE BEETLE-HUNTER
I was amazed at the sum, and must have showed
my surprise upon my features.
"It is a rare combination of qualities, as must have
struck you when you first read the advertisement,"
said Lord Linchmere; "such varied gifts may well
command a high return, and I do not conceal from
you that your duties might be arduous or even danger-
ous. Besides, it is possible that one or two days may
bring the matter to an end."
"Please God!" sighed his sister.
"So now, Dr. Hamilton, may I rely upon your aid?"
"Most undoubtedly," said I. "You have only to
tell me what my duties are."
"Your first duty will be to return to your home! You will pack up whatever you may need for a short
visit to the country. We start together from Padding-
ton Station at 3.40 this afternoon."
"Do we go far?"
"As far as Pangbourne. Meet me at the bookstall
at 3.30. I shall have the tickets. Good-bye, Dr.
Hamilton! And, by the way, there are two things
which I should be very glad if you would bring with you, in case you have them. One is your case for col-
lecting beetles, and the other is a stick, and the thicker
and heavier the better."
You may imagine that I had plenty to think of from
the time that I left Brook Street until I set out to meet
Lord Linchmere at Paddington. The whole fantastic
business kept arranging and rearranging itself in
kaleidoscopic forms inside my brain, until I had
thought out a dozen explanations, each of them more
grotesquely improbable than the last. And yet I felt
that the truth must be something grotesquely im-


THE BEETLE-HUNTER
165
probable also. At last I gave up all attempts at find-
ing a solution, and contented myself with exactly
carrying out the instructions which I had received.
With a hand valise, specimen-case, and a loaded cane,
I was waiting at the Paddington bookstall when Lord
Linchmere arrived. He was an even smaller man than
I had thought—frail and peaky, with a manner which
was more nervous than it had been in the morning.
He wore a long, thick travelling ulster, and I observed
that he carried a heavy blackthorn cudgel in his hand.
"I have the tickets," said he, leading the way up the
platform. "This is our train. I have engaged a car-
riage, for I am particularly anxious to impress one
'or two things upon you while we travel down."
And yet all that he had to impress upon me might
have been said in a sentence, for it was that I was
to remember that I was there as a protection to him-
self, and that I was not on any consideration to leave
him for an instant. This he repeated again and again
as our journey drew to a close, with an insistence
which showed that his nerves were thoroughly shaken.
"Yes," he said at last, in answer to my looks rather
than to my words, "I am nervous, Dr. Hamilton. I
have always been a timid man, and my timidity de-
pends upon my frail physical health. But my soul is
firm, and I can bring myself up to face a danger which
a less nervous man might shrink from. What I am
doing now is done from no compulsion, but entirely
from a sense of duty, and yet it is, beyond doubt, a
desperate risk. If things should go wrong, I will have
some claims to the title of martyr."
This eternal reading of riddles was too much for
me. I felt that I must put a term to it.
"I think it would be very much better, sir, if you


166 THE BEETLE-HUNTER
were to trust me entirely," said I. "It is impossible
for me to act effectively, when I do not know what are
the objects which we have in view, or even where we
are going."
"Oh, as to where we are going, there need be no
mystery about that," said he; "we are going to Dela-
mere Court, the residence of Sir Thomas Rossiter,
with whose work you are so conversant. As to the
exact object of our visit, I do not know that at this
stage of the proceedings anything would be gained,
Dr. Hamilton, by my taking you into my complete
confidence. I may tell you that we are acting—I say
'we,' because my sister, Lady Rossiter, takes the same
view as myself—with the one object of preventing
anything in the nature of a family scandal. That be-
ing so, you can understand that I am loth to give any
explanations which are not absolutely necessary.
It would be a different matter, Dr. Hamilton, if I were
asking your advice. As matters stand, it is only your
active help which I need, and I will indicate to you
from time to time how you can best give it."
There was nothing more to be said, and a poor man
can put up with a good deal for twenty pounds a day,
but I felt none the less that Lord Linchmere was act-
ing rather scurvily towards me. He wished to con-
vert me into a passive tool, like the blackthorn in his
hand. With his sensitive disposition I could imagine,
however, that scandal would be abhorrent to him, and
I realised that he would not take me into his confidence
until no other course was open to him. I must trust to
my own eyes and ears to solve the mystery, but I had
every confidence that I should not trust to them in
vain.
Delamere Court lies a good five miles from Pang-


168 THE BEETLE-HUNTER
owner of the grounds glared at me over his brother-
in-law's shoulder, and I caught broken scraps of sen-
tences—"well known wishes . . . hatred of
strangers . . . unjustifiable intrusion . . .
perfectly inexcusable." Then there was a muttered
explanation, and the two of them came over together
to the side of the fly.
"Let me present you to Sir Thomas Rossiter, Dr.
Hamilton," said Lord Linchmere. "You will find
that you have a strong community of tastes."
I bowed. Sir Thomas stood very stiffly, looking at
me severely from under the broad brim of his hat.
"Lord Linchmere tells me that you know some-
thing about beetles," said he. "What do you know
about beetles?"
"I know what I have learned from your work upon
the coleoptera. Sir Thomas," I answered.
"Give me the names of the better-known species of
the British scarabcei," said he.
I had not expected an examination, but fortunately
I was ready for one. My answers seemed to please
him, for his stern features relaxed.
"You appear to have read my book with some profit,
sir," said he. "It is a rare thing for me to meet any
one who takes an intelligent interest in such matters.
People can find time for such trivialities as sport or
society, and yet the beetles are overlooked. I can as-
sure you that the greater part of the idiots in this
part of the country are unaware that I have ever writ-
ten a book at all—I, the first man who ever described
the true function of the elytra. I am glad to see you,
sir, and I have no doubt that T can show you some
specimens which will interest you." He stepped into
the fly and drove up with us to the house, expounding


THE BEETLE-HUNTER 169
to me as we went some recent researches which he had
made into the anatomy of the lady-bird.
I have said that Sir Thomas Rossiter wore a large
hat drawn down over his brows. As he entered the
hall he uncovered himself, and I was at once aware of
a singular characteristic which the hat had concealed.
His forehead, which was naturally high, and higher
still on account of receding hair, was in a continual
state of movement. Some nervous weakness kept the
muscles in a constant spasm, which sometimes pro-
duced a mere twitching and sometimes a curious rotary
movement unlike anything which I had ever seen be-
fore. It was strikingly visible as he turned towards
us after entering the study, and seemed the more
singular from the contrast with the hard, steady grey
eyes which looked out from underneath those pal-
pitating brows.
"I am sorry," said he, "that Lady Rossiter is not
here to help me to welcome you. By the way, Charles,
did Evelyn say anything about the date of her return?"
"She wished to stay in town for a few more days,"
said Lord Linchmere. "You know how ladies' social
duties accumulate if they have been for some time in
the country. My sister has many old friends in Lon-
don at present."
"Well, she is her own mistress, and I should not
wish to alter her plans, but I shall be glad when I see
her again. It is very lonely here without her com-
pany."
"I was afraid that you might find it so, and that
was partly why I ran down. My young friend, Dr.
Hamilton, is so much interested in the subject which
you have made your own, that I thought you would
not mind his accompanying me."


THE BEETLE-HUNTER
"I lead a retired life, Dr. Hamilton, and my aver-
sion to strangers grows upon me," said our host. "I
have sometimes thought that my nerves are not so
good as they were. My travels in search of beetles in
my younger days took me into many malarious and
unhealthy places. But a brother coleopterist like your-
self is always a welcome guest, and I shall be delighted
if you will look over my collection, which I think that
I may without exaggeration describe as the best in
Europe."
And so no doubt it was. He had a huge oaken
cabinet arranged in shallow drawers, and here, neatly
ticketed and classified, were beetles from every corner
of the earth, black, brown, blue, green, and mottled.
Every now and then as he swept his hand over the
lines and lines of impaled insects he would catch up
some rare specimen, and, handling it with as much
delicacy and reverence as if it were a precious relic,
he would hold forth upon its peculiarities and the
circumstances under which it came into his possession.
It was evidently an unusual thing for him to meet with
a sympathetic listener, and he talked and talked until
the spring evening had deepened into night, and the
gong announced that it was time to dress for dinner.
All the time Lord Linchmere said nothing, but he
stood at his brother-in-law's elbow, and I caught him
continually shooting curious little, questioning glances
into his face. And his own features expressed some
strong emotion, apprehension, sympathy, expectation:
I seemed to read them all. I was sure that Lord
Linchmere was fearing something and awaiting some-
thing, but what that something might be I could not
imagine.
The evening passed quietly but pleasantly, and I


THE BEETLE-HUNTER 171
should have been entirely at my ease if it had not been
for that continual sense of tension upon the part of
Lord Linchmere. As to our host, I found that he
improved upon acquaintance. He spoke constantly
with affection of his absent wife, and also of his little
son, who had recently been sent to school. The house,
he said, was not the same without them. If it were
not for his scientific studies, he did not know how he
could get through the days. After dinner we smoked
for some time in the billiard-room, and finally went
early to bed.
And then it was that, for the first time, the sus-
picion that Lord Linchmere was a lunatic crossed my
mind. He followed me into my bedroom, when our
host had retired.
"Doctor," said he, speaking in a low, hurried voice,
"you must come with me. You must spend the night
in my bedroom."
"What do you mean?"
"I prefer not to explain. But this is part of your
duties. My room is close by, and you can return to
your own before the servant calls you in the morning."
"But why?" I asked.
"Because I am nervous of being alone," said he.
"That's the reason, since you must have a reason."
It seemed rank lunacy, but the argument of those
twenty pounds would overcome many objections. I
followed him to his room.
"Well," said I, "there's only room for one in that
bed."
"Only one shall occupy it," said he.
"And the other?"
"Must remain on watch."


THE BEETLE-HUNTER 173
his injunctions to the letter as long as I was in his
employment. I sat therefore beside the empty fire-
place, and listened to a sonorous chiming clock some-
where down the passage, which gurgled and struck
every quarter of an hour. It was an endless vigil.
Save for that single clock, an absolute silence reigned
throughout the great house. A small lamp stood on
the table at my elbow, throwing a circle of light round
my chair, but leaving the corners of the room draped
in shadow. On the bed Lord Linchmere was breath-
ing peacefully. I envied him his quiet sleep, and again
and again my own eyelids drooped, but every time my
sense of duty came to my help, and I sat up, rubbing
my eyes and pinching myself with a determination to
see my irrational watch to an end.
And I did so. From down the passage came the
chimes of two o'clock, and I laid my hand upon the
shoulder of the sleeper. Instantly he was sitting up,
with an expression of the keenest interest upon his
face.
"You have heard something?"
"No, sir. It is two o'clock."
"Very good. I will watch. You can go to sleep."
I lay down under the coverlet as he had done, and
was soon unconscious. My last recollection was of
that circle of lamplight, and of the small, hunched-up
figure and strained, anxious face of Lord Linchmere
in the centre of it.
How long I slept I do not know; but I was suddenly
aroused by a sharp tug at my sleeve. The room was in
darkness, but a hot smell of oil told me that the lamp
had only that instant been extinguished.
"Quick! Quick!" said Lord Linchmere's voice in
my ear.


THE BEETLE-HUNTER
I sprang out of bed, he still dragging at my arm.
"Over here!" he whispered, and pulled me into a
corner of the room. "Hush! Listen!"
In the silence of the night I could distinctly hear that
some one was coming down the corridor. It was a
stealthy step, faint and intermittent, as of a man who
paused cautiously after every stride. Sometimes for
half a minute there was no sound, and then came the
shuffle and creak which told of a fresh advance. My
companion was trembling with excitement. His hand
which still held my sleeve twitched like a branch in
the wind.
"What is it?" I whispered.
"It's he I"
"Sir Thomas?"
"Yes."
"What does he want?"
"Hush! Do nothing until I tell you."
I was conscious now that some one was trying
the door. There was the faintest little rattle from
the handle, and then I dimly saw a thin slit of subdued
light. There was a lamp burning somewhere far
down the passage, and it just sufficed to make the
outside visible from the darkness of our room. The
greyish slit grew broader and broader, very gradually,
very gently, and then outlined against it I saw the
dark figure of a man. He was squat and crouching,
with the silhouette of a bulky and misshapen dwarf.
Slowly the door swung open with this ominous shape
framed in the centre of it. And then, in an instant the
crouching figure shot up, there was a tiger spring
across the room and thud, thud, thud, came three tre-
mendous blows from some heavy object upon the bed.
I was so paralysed with amazement that I stood mo-


THE BEETLE-HUNTER 175
tionless and staring until I was aroused by a yell for
help from my companion. The open door shed enough
light for me to see the outline of things, and there
was little Lord Linchmere with his arms round the
neck of his brother-in-law, holding bravely on to him
like a game bull-terrier with its teeth into a gaunt
deerhound. The tall, bony man dashed himself about,
writhing round and round to get a grip upon his as-
sailant; but the other, clutching on from behind, still
kept his hold, though his shrill, frightened cries
showed how unequal he felt the contest to be. I sprang
to the rescue, and the two of us managed to throw Sir
Thomas to the ground, though he made his teeth meet
in my shoulder. With all my youth and weight and
strength, it was a desperate struggle before we could
master his frenzied struggles; but at last we secured
his arms with the waist-cord of the dressing-gown
which he was wearing. I was holding his legs while
Lord Linchmere was endeavouring to relight the lamp,
when there came the pattering of many feet in the
passage, and the butler and two footmen, who had
been alarmed by the cries, rushed into the room. With
their aid we had no further difficulty in securing our
prisoner, who lay foaming and glaring upon the
ground. One glance at his face was enough to prove
that he was a dangerous maniac, while the short, heavy
hammer which lay beside the bed showed how mur-
derous had been his intentions.
"Do not use any violence!" said Lord Linchmere,
as we raised the struggling man to his feet. "He will
have a period of stupor after this excitement. I be-
lieve that it is coming on already." As he spoke the
convulsions became less violent, and the madman's head
fell forward upon his breast, as if he were overcome


THE BEETLE-HUNTER
177
and he is sane as you or I, save on these very rare oc-
casions. But, fortunately, before he has these at-
tacks he always shows certain premonitory symptoms,
which are providential danger-signals, warning us to
be upon our guard. The chief of these is that nervous
contortion of the forehead which you must have ob-
served. This is a phenomenon which always appears
from three to four days before his attacks of frenzy.
The moment it showed itself his wife came into town
on some pretext, and took refuge in my house in
Brook Street.
"It remained for me to convince a medical man of
Sir Thomas's insanity, without which it was impos-
sible to put him where he could do no harm. The first
problem was how to get a medical man into his house.
I bethought me of his interest in beetles, and his love
for any one who shared his tastes. I advertised, there-
fore, and was fortunate enough to find in you the
very man I wanted. A stout companion was neces-
sary, for I knew that the lunacy could only be proved
by a murderous assault, and I had every reason to be-
lieve that that assault would be made upon myself,
since he had the warmest regard for me in his mo-
ments of sanity. I think your intelligence will supply
all the rest. I did not know that the attack would come
by night, but I thought it very probable, for the crises
of such cases usually do occur in the early hours of
the morning. I am a very nervous man myself, but
I saw no other way in which I could remove this ter-
rible danger from my sister's life. I need not ask
you whether you are willing to sign the lunacy
papers."
"Undoubtedly. But twosignatures are necessary."
"You forget that I am myself a holder of a medical


178
THE BEETLE-HUNTER
degree. I have the papers on a side-table here, so if
you will be good enough to sign them now, we can
have the patient removed in the morning."
So that was my visit to Sir Thomas Rossiter, the
famous beetle-hunter, and that was also my first step
upon the ladder of success, for Lady Rossiter and
Lord Linchmere have proved to be staunch friends,
and they have never forgotten my association with
them in the time of their need. Sir Thomas is out and
said to be cured, but I still think that if I spent another
night at Delamere Court, I should be inclined to lock
my door upon the inside.


IX
THE MAN WITH THE WATCHES
There are many who will still bear in mind the
singular circumstances which, under the heading of
the Rugby Mystery, filled many columns of the daily
Press in the spring of the year 1892. Coming as it
did at a period of exceptional dulness, it attracted per-
haps rather more attention than it deserved, but it
offered to the public that mixture of the whimsical
and the tragic which is most stimulating to the popu-
lar imagination. Interest drooped, however, when,
after weeks of fruitless investigation, it was found that
no final explanation of the facts was forthcoming, and
the tragedy seemed from that time to the present to
have finally taken its place in the dark catalogue of in-
explicable and unexpiated crimes. A recent communi-
cation (the authenticity of which appears to be above
question) has, however, thrown some new and clear
light upon the matter. Before laying it before the
public it would be as well, perhaps, that I should re-
fresh their memories as to the singular facts upon
which this commentary is founded. These facts were
briefly as follows:
At five o'clock on the evening of the 18th of March
in the year already mentioned a train left Euston Sta-
tion for Manchester. It was a rainy, squally day,
which grew wilder as it progressed, so it was by no
means the weather in which any one would travel
who was not driven to do so by necessity. The train,
however, is a favourite one among Manchester busi-
ness men who are returning from town, for it does the
179


180
THE MAN WITH THE WATCHES
journey in four hours and twenty minutes, with only
three stoppages upon the way. In spite of the in-
clement evening it was, therefore, fairly well filled
upon the occasion of which I speak. The guard of the
train was a tried servant of the company—a man who
had worked for twenty-two years without blemish or
complaint. His name was John Palmer.
The station clock was upon the stroke of five, and
the guard was about to give the customary signal to
the engine-driver when he observed two belated
passengers hurrying down the platform. The one was
an exceptionally tall man, dressed in a long black over-
coat with Astrakhan collar and cuffs. I have already
said that the evening was an inclement one, and the
tall traveller had the high, warm collar turned up to
protect his throat against the bitter March wind. He
appeared, as far as the guard could judge by so hurried
an inspection, to be a man between fifty and sixty
years of age, who had retained a good deal of the
vigour and activity of his youth. In one hand he
carried a brown leather Gladstone bag. His com-
panion was a lady, tall and erect, walking with a
vigorous step which outpaced the gentleman beside
her. She wore a long, fawn-coloured dust-cloak, a
black, close-fitting toque, and a dark veil which con-
cealed the greater part of her face. The two might
very well have passed as father and daughter. They
walked swiftly down the line of carriages, glancing in
at the windows, until the guard, John Palmer, over-
took them.
"Now, then, sir, look sharp, the train is going,"
said he.
"First-class," the man answered.
The guard turned the handle of the nearest door.


THE MAN WITH THE WATCHES 181
In the carriage which he had opened, there sat a small
man with a cigar in his mouth. His appearance seems
to have impressed itself upon the guard's memory, for
he was prepared, afterwards, to describe or to identify
him. He was a man of thirty-four or thirty-five years
of age, dressed in some grey material, sharp-nosed,
alert, with a ruddy, weather-beaten face, and a small,
closely cropped black beard. He glanced up as the
door was opened. The tall man paused with his foot
upon the step.
"This is the smoking compartment. The lady dis-
likes smoke," said he, looking round at the guard.
"All right! Here you are, sir!" said John Palmer.
He slammed the door of the smoking carriage, opened
that of the next one, which was empty, and thrust
the two travellers in. At the same moment he sounded
his whistle and the wheels of the train began to move.
The man with the cigar was at the window of his
carriage, and said something to the guard as he rolled
past him, but the words were lost in the bustle of the
departure. Palmer stepped into the guard's van, as it
came up to him, and thought no more of the incident.
Twelve minutes after its departure the train reached
Willesden Junction, where it stopped for a very short
interval. An examination of the tickets has made it
certain that no one either joined or left it at this
time, and no passenger was seen to alight upon the
platform. At 5.14 the journey to Manchester was
resumed, and Rugby was reached at 6.50, the express
being five minutes late.
At Rugby the attention of the station officials was
drawn to the fact that the door of one of the first-class
carriages was open. An examination of that compart-


182
THE MAN WITH THE WATCHES
ment, and of its neighbour, disclosed a remarkable
state of affairs.
The smoking carriage in which the short, red-faced
man with the black beard had been seen was now
empty. Save for a half-smoked cigar, there was no
trace whatever of its recent occupant. The door of
this carriage was fastened. In the next compartment,
to which attention had been originally drawn, there
was no sign either of the gentleman with the As-
trakhan collar or of the young lady who accompanied
him. All three passengers had disappeared. On the
other hand, there was found upon the floor of this
carriage—the one in which the tall traveller and the
lady had been—a young man, fashionably dressed and'
of elegant appearance. He lay with his knees drawn
up, and his head resting against the further door, an
elbow upon either seat. A bullet had penetrated his
heart and his death must have been instantaneous.
No one had seen such a man enter the train, and no
railway ticket was found in his pocket, neither were
there any markings upon his linen, nor papers nor
personal property which might help to identify him.
Who he was, whence he had come, and how he had
met his end were each as great a mystery as what had
occurred to the three people who had started an hour
and a half before from Willesden in those two com-
partments.
I have said that there was no personal property
which might help to identify him, but it is true
that there was one peculiarity about this unknown
young man which was much commented upon at the
time. In his pockets were found no fewer than six
valuable gold watches, three in the various pockets
of his waistcoat, one in his ticket-pocket, one in his


THE MAN WITH THE WATCHES 183
breast-pocket, and one small one set in a leather-strap
and fastened round his left wrist. The obvious ex-
planation that the man was a pickpocket, and that
this was his plunder, was discounted by the fact that
all six were of American make and of a type which
is rare in England. Three of them bore the mark
of the Rochester Watchmaking Company; one was
by Mason, of Elmira; one was unmarked; and the
small one, which was highly jewelled and ornamented,
was from Tiffany, of New York. The other con-
tents of his pocket consisted of an ivory knife with
a corkscrew by Rodgers, of Sheffield; a small circular
mirror, one inch in diameter; a re-admission slip to
the Lyceum Theatre; a silver box full of vesta-
matches, and a brown leather cigar-case containing
two cheroots—also two pounds fourteen shillings in
money. It was clear, then, that whatever motives may
have led to his death, robbery was not among them.
As already mentioned, there were no markings upon
the man's linen, which appeared to be new, and no
tailor's name upon his coat. In appearance he was
young, short, smooth-cheeked, and delicately featured.
One of his front teeth was conspicuously stopped with
gold.
On the discovery of the tragedy an examination
was instantly made of the tickets of all passengers,
and the number of the passengers themselves was
counted. It was found that only three tickets were un-
accounted for, corresponding to the three travellers
who were missing. The express was then allowed to
proceed, but a new guard was sent with it, and John
Palmer was detained as a witness at Rugby. The car-
riage which included the two compartments in ques-
tion was uncoupled and side-tracked. Then, on the


THE MAN WITH THE WATCHES
185
was conceivable that some one might have alighted un-
seen, as the darkness would by that time be drawing in.
A steep embankment would instantly screen any one
who sprang out from the observation of the navvies.
The guard also deposed that there was a good deal
of movement upon the platform at Willesden Junction,
and that though it was certain that no one had either
joined or left the train there, it was still quite possible
that some of the passengers might have changed un-
seen from one compartment to another. It was by no
means uncommon for a gentleman to finish his cigar in
a smoking carriage and then to change to a clearer at-
mosphere. Supposing that the man with the black
beard had done so at Willesden (and the half-smoked
cigar upon the floor seemed to favour the supposition),
he would naturally go into the nearest section, which
would bring him into the company of the two other
actors in this drama. Thus the first stage of the affair
might be surmised without any great breach of prob-
ability. But what the second stage had been, or how
the final one had been arrived at, neither the guard nor
the experienced detective officers could suggest.
A careful examination of the line between Willes-
den and Rugby resulted in one discovery which might
or might not have a bearing upon the tragedy. Near
Tring, at the very place where the train slowed down,
there was found at the bottom of the embankment a
small pocket Testament, very shabby and worn. It
was printed by the Bible Society of London, and bore
an inscription: "From John to Alice. Jan. 13th,
1856," upon the fly-leaf. Underneath was written:
"James, July 4th, 1859," and beneath that again:
"Edward. Nov. 1st, 1869," all the entries being in
the same handwriting. This was the only clue, if it


186 THE MAN WITH THE WATCHES
could be called a clue, which the police obtained, and
the coroner's verdict of "Murder by a person or per-
sons unknown" was the unsatisfactory ending of a
singular case. Advertisement, rewards, and inquiries
proved equally fruitless, and nothing could be found
which was solid enough to form the basis for a profit-
able investigation.
It would be a mistake, however, to suppose that
no theories were formed to account for the facts. On
the contrary, the Press, both in England and in
America, teemed with suggestions and suppositions,
most of which were obviously absurd. The fact that
the watches were of American make, and some
peculiarities in connection with the gold stopping of
his front tooth, appeared to indicate that the deceased
was a citizen of the United States, though his linen,
clothes, and boots were undoubtedly of British manu-
facture. It was surmised, by some, that he was con-
cealed under the seat, and that, being discovered, he
was for some reason, possibly because he had over-
heard their guilty secrets, put to death by his fellow-
passengers. When coupled with generalities as to the
ferocity and cunning of anarchical and other secret so-
cieties, this theory sounded as plausible as any.
The fact that he should be without a ticket would
be consistent with the idea of concealment, and it was
well-known that women played a prominent part in the
Nihilistic propaganda. On the other hand, it was
clear, from the guard's statement, that the man must
have been hidden there before the others arrived, and
how unlikely the coincidence that conspirators should
stray exactly into the very compartment in which a
spy was already concealed! Besides, this explana-
tion ignored the man in the smoking carriage, and


THE MAN WITH THE WATCHES 187
gave no reason at all for his simultaneous disappear-
ance. The police had little difficulty in showing that
such a theory would not cover the facts, but they were
unprepared in the absence of evidence to advance any
alternative explanation.
There was a letter in the Daily Gazette, over the
signature of a well-known criminal investigator, which
gave rise to considerable discussion at the time. He
had formed a hypothesis which had at least ingenuity
to recommend it, and I cannot do better than append it
in his own words.
"Whatever may be the truth," said he, "it must
depend upon some bizarre and rare combination of
events, so we need have no hesitation in postulating
such events in our explanation. In the absence of
data we must abandon the analytic or scientific method
of investigation, and must approach it in the synthetic
fashion. In a word, instead of taking known events
and deducting from them what has occurred, we must
build up a fanciful explanation if it will only be con-
sistent with known events. We can then test this ex-
planation by any fresh facts which may arise. If they
all fit into their places, the probability is that we are
upon the right track, and with each fresh fact this
probability increases in a geometrical progression until
the evidence becomes final and convincing.
"Now, there is one most remarkable and suggestive
fact which has not met with the attention which it
deserves. There is a local train running through
Harrow and King's Langley, which is timed in such a
way that the express must have overtaken it at or
about the period when it eased down its speed to eight
miles an hour on account of the repairs of the line.
The two trains would at that time be travelling in the


188 THE MAN WITH THE WATCHES
same direction at a similar rate of speed and upon
parallel lines. It is within every one's experience how,
under such circumstances, the occupant of each car-
riage can see very plainly the passengers in the other
carriages opposite to him. The lamps of the express
had been lit at Willesden, so that each compartment
was brightly illuminated, and most visible to an ob-
server from outside.
"Now, the sequence of events as I reconstruct them
would be after this fashion. This young man with
the abnormal number of watches was alone in the
carriage of the slow train. His ticket, with his papers
and gloves and other things, was, we will suppose, on
the seat beside him. He was probably an American,
and also probably a man of weak intellect. The ex-
cessive wearing of jewellery is an early symptom in
some forms of mania.
"As he sat watching the carriages of the express
which were (on account of the state of the line) going
at the same pace as himself, he suddenly saw some
people in it whom he knew. We will suppose for the
sake of our theory that these people were a woman
whom he loved and a man whom he hated—and who
in return hated him. The young man was excitable
and impulsive. He opened the door of his carriage,
stepped from the footboard of the local train to the
footboard of the express, opened the other door, and
made his way into the presence of these two people.
The feat (on the supposition that the trains were go-
ing at the same pace) is by no means so perilous as it
might appear.
"Having now got our young man without his ticket
into the carriage in which the elder man and the young
woman are travelling, it is not difficult to imagine that


THE MAN WITH THE WATCHES 189
a violent scene ensued. It is possible that the pair were
also Americans, which is the more probable as the .
man carried a weapon—an unusual thing in England.
If our supposition of incipient mania is correct, the
young man is likely to have assaulted the other. As
the upshot of the quarrel the elder man shot the in-
truder, and then made his escape from the carriage,
taking the young lady with him. We will suppose
that all this happened very rapidly, and that the train
was still going at so slow a pace that it was not diffi-
cult for them to leave it. A woman might leave a
train going at eight miles an hour. As a matter of
fact, we know that this woman did do so.
"And now we have to fit in the man in the smoking
carriage. Presuming that we have, up to this point,
reconstructed the tragedy correctly, we shall find
nothing in this other man to cause us to reconsider
our conclusion. According to my theory, this man
saw the young fellow cross from one train to the other,
saw him open the door, heard the pistol-shot, saw the
two fugitives spring out on to the line, realised that
murder had been done, and sprang out himself in
pursuit. Why he has never been heard of since—
whether he met his own death in the pursuit, or
whether, as is more. likely, he was made to realise
that it was not a case for his interference—is a detail
which we have at present no means of explaining. I
acknowledge that there are some difficulties in the
way. At first sight, it might seem improbable that at
such a moment a murderer would burden himself in
his flight with a brown leather bag. My answer is
that he was well aware that if the bag were found his
identity would be established. It was absolutely nec-
essary for him to take it with him. My theory stands


190 THE MAN WITH THE WATCHES
or falls upon one point, and I call upon the railway
company to make strict inquiry as to whether a ticket
was found unclaimed in the local train through Har-
row and King's Langley upon the 18th of March. If
such a ticket were found my case is proved. If
not, my theory may still be the correct one, for it is
conceivable either that he travelled without a ticket or
that his ticket was lost."
To this elaborate and plausible hypothesis the an-
swer of the police and of the company was, first, that
no such ticket was found; secondly, that the slow train
would never run parallel to the express; and, thirdly,
that the local train had been stationary in King's Lang-
ley Station when the express, going at fifty miles an
hour, had flashed past it. So perished the only satis-
fying explanation, and five years have elapsed with-
out supplying a new one. Now, at last, there comes a
statement which covers all the facts, and which must
be regarded as authentic. It took the shape of a letter
dated from New York, and addressed to the same
criminal investigator whose theory I have quoted. It
is given here in extenso, with the exception of the two
opening paragraphs, which are personal in their
nature:—
"You'll excuse me if I'm not very free with names.
There's less reason now than there was five years ago
when mother was still living. But for all that, I had
rather cover up our tracks all I can. But I owe you
an explanation, for if your idea of it was wrong, it
was a mighty ingenious one all the same. I'll have to
go back a little so as you may understand all about it.
"My people came from Bucks, England, and emi-
grated to the States in the early fifties. They settled
in Rochester, in the State of New York, where my


THE MAN WITH THE WATCHES 191
father ran a large dry goods store. There were only
two sons: myself, James, and my brother Edward. I
was ten years older than my brother, and after my
father died I sort of took the place of a father to him,
as an elder brother would. He was a bright, spirited
boy, and just one of the most beautiful creatures that
ever lived. But there was always a soft spot in him,
and it was like mould in cheese, for it spread and
spread, and nothing that you could do would stop it.
Mother saw it as clearly as I did, but she went on
spoiling him all the same, for he had such a way with
him that you could refuse him nothing. I did all I
could to hold him in, and he hated me for my pains.
At last he fairly got his head, and nothing that we
could do would stop him. He got off into New York,
and went rapidly from bad to worse. At first he was
only fast, and then he was criminal; and then, at the
end of a year or two, he was one of the most notorious
young crooks in the city. He had formed a friend-
ship with Sparrow MacCoy, who was at the head of
his profession as a bunco-steerer, green goodsman, and
general rascal. They took to card-sharping, and fre-
quented some of the best hotels in New York. My
brother was an excellent actor (he might have made
an honest name for himself if he had chosen), and
he would take the part of a young Englishman of
title, of a simple lad from the West, or of a college
undergraduate, whichever suited Sparrow MacCoy's
purpose. And then one day he dressed himself as a
girl, and he carried it off so well, and made himself
such a valuable decoy, that it was their favourite game
afterwards. They had made it right with Tammany
and with the police, so it seemed as if nothing could
ever stop them, for those were in the days before the


192 THE MAN WITH THE WATCHES
Lexow Commission, and if you only had a pull, you
could do pretty nearly everything you wanted.
"And nothing would have stopped them if they had
only stuck to cards and New York, but they must
needs come up Rochester way, and forge a name upon
a cheque. It was my brother that did it, though every
one knew that it was under the influence of Sparrow
MacCoy. I bought up that cheque, and a pretty sum
it cost me. Then I went to my brother, laid it before
him on the table, and swore to him that I would prose-
cute if he did not clear out of the country. At first
he simply laughed. I could not prosecute, he said,
without breaking our mother's heart, and he knew that
I would not do that. I made him understand, how-
ever, that our mother's heart was being broken in any
case, and that I had set firm on the point that I would
rather see him in Rochester gaol than in a New York
hotel. So at last he gave in, and he made me a solemn
promise that he would see Sparrow MacCoy no more,
that he would go to Europe, and that he would turn
his hand to any honest trade that I helped him to get.
I took him down right away to an old family friend,
Joe Willson, who is an exporter of American watches
and clocks, and I got him to give Edward an agency
in London, with a small salary and a 15 per cent, com-
mission on all business. His manner and appearance
were so good that he won the old man over at once,
and within a week he was sent off to London with a
case full of samples.
"It seemed to me that this business of the cheque
had really given my brother a fright, and that there
was some chance of his settling down into an honest
line of life. My mother had spoken with him, and
what she said had touched him, for she had always


THE MAN WITH THE WATCHES 195
the matter was in the hands of Scotland Yard. The
first I learned of it was in the evening paper, and I
was at once certain that my brother and MacCoy were
back at their old games. I hurried at once to Ed-
ward's lodgings. They told me that he and a tall
gentleman (whom I recognised as MacCoy) had gone
off together, and that he had left the lodgings and
taken his things with him. The landlady had heard
them give directions to the cabman, ending with Eus-
ton Station, and she had accidently overheard the tall
gentleman saying something about Manchester. She
believed that that was their destination.
"A glance at the time-table showed me that the most
likely train was at five, though there was another at
4.35 which they might have caught. I had only time
to get the later one, but found no sign of them either
at the depot or in the train. They must have gone on
by the earlier one, so I determined to follow them to
Manchester and search for them in the hotels there.
One last appeal to my brother by all that he owed to
my mother might even now be the salvation of him.
My nerves were overstrung, and I lit a cigar to steady
them. At the moment, just as the train was moving
off, the door of my compartment was flung open, and
there was MacCoy and my brother on the platform.
"They were both disguised, and with good reason,
for they knew that the London police were after them.
MacCoy had a great Astrakhan collar drawn up, so
that only his eyes and nose were showing. My
brother was dressed like a woman, with a black veil
half down his face, but of course it did not deceive
me for an instant, nor would it have done so even if I
had not known that he had often used such a dress be-
fore. I started up, and as I did so MacCoy recognised


196 THE MAN WITH THE WATCHES
me. He said something, the conductor slammed the
door, and they were shown into the next compart-
ment. I tried to stop the train so as to follow them,
but the wheels were already moving, and it was too
late.
"When we stopped at Willesden, I instantly changed
my carriage. It appears that I was not seen to do so,
which is not surprising, as the station was crowded
with people. MacCoy, of course, was expecting me,
and he had spent the time between Euston and Willes-
den in saying all he could to harden my brother's
heart and set him against me. That is what I fancy,
for I had never found him so impossible to soften or
to move. I tried this way and I tried that; I pictured
his future in an English gaol; I described the sorrow
of his mother when I came back with the news; I said
everything to touch his heart, but all to no purpose.
He sat there with a fixed sneer upon his handsome
face, while every now and then Sparrow MacCoy
would throw in a taunt at me, or some word of en-
couragement to hold my brother to his resolutions.
"'Why don't you run a Sunday-school?' he would
say to me, and then, in the same breath: 'He thinks
you have no will of your own. He thinks you are
just the baby brother and that he can lead you where
he likes. He's only just finding out that you are a
man as well as he.'
"It was those words of his which set me talking
bitterly. We had left Willesden, you understand, for
all this took some time. My temper got the better of
me, and for the first time in my life I let my brother
see the rough side of me. Perhaps it would have been
better had I done so earlier and more often.
"'A man!' said I. 'Well, I'm glad to have your


198 THE MAN WITH THE WATCHES
which would have struck me passed through the heart
of my unfortunate brother.
"He dropped without a groan upon the floor of the
compartment, and MacCoy and I, equally horrified,
knelt at each side of him, trying to bring back some
signs of life. MacCoy still held the loaded revolver
in his hand, but his anger against me and my resent-
ment towards him had both for the moment been swal-
lowed up in this sudden tragedy. It was he who first
realised the situation. The train was for some reason
going very slowly at the moment, and he saw his op-
portunity for escape. In an instant he had the door
open, but I was as quick as he, and jumping upon him
the two of us fell off the footboard and rolled in each
other's arms down a steep embankment. At the bot-
tom I struck my head against a stone, and I remem-
bered nothing more. When I came to myself I was
lying among some low bushes, not far from the rail-
road track, and somebody was bathing my head with
a wet handkerchief. It was Sparrow MacCoy.
"'I guess I couldn't leave you,' said he. 'I didn't
want to have the blood of two of you on my hands in
one day. You loved your brother, I've no doubt;
but you didn't love him a cent more than I loved him,
though you'll say that I took a queer way to show it.
Anyhow, it seems a mighty empty world now that he
is gone, and I don't care a continental whether you
give me over to the hangman or not.'
"He had turned his ankle in the fall, and there we
sat, he with his useless foot, and I with my throbbing
head, and we talked and talked until gradually my bit-
terness began to soften and to turn into something
like sympathy. What was the use of revenging his
death upon a man who was as much stricken by that


THE MAN WITH THE WATCHES
201
this explanation, if you could do it for me. You re-
member that Testament that was picked up. I always
carried it in my inside pocket, and it must have come
out in my fall. I value it very highly, for it was the
family book with my birth and my brother's marked
by my father in the beginning of it. I wish you would
apply at the proper place and have it sent to me. It
can be of no possible value to any one else. If you
address it to X, Bassano's Library, Broadway, New
York, it is sure to come to hand."


THE JAPANNED BOX 203
be a more obvious prelude to an engagement? She
governs me now, and I tutor two little boys of our
own. But, there—I have already revealed what it was
which I gained in Thorpe Place!
It was a very, very old house, incredibly old—pre-
Norman, some of it—and the Bollamores claimed to
have lived in that situation since long before the Con-
quest. It struck a chill to my heart when first I came
there, those enormously thick grey walls, the rude
crumbling stones, the smell as from a sick animal
which exhaled from the rotting plaster of the aged
building. But the modern wing was bright and the
garden was well kept. No house could be dismal
which had a pretty girl inside it and such a show of
roses in front.
Apart from a very complete staff of servants there
were only four of us in the household. These were
Miss Witherton, who was at that time four-and-
twenty and as pretty—well, as pretty as Mrs. Colmore
is now—myself, Frank Colmore, aged thirty, Mrs.
Stevens, the house-keeper, a dry, silent woman, and
Mr. Richards, a tall military-looking man, who acted
as steward to the Bqllamore estates. We four always
had our meals together, but Sir John had his usually
alone in the library. Sometimes he joined us at din-
ner, but on the whole we were just as glad when he
did not.
For he was a very formidable person. Imagine a
man six feet three inches in height, majestically built,
with a high-nosed, aristocratic face, brindled hair,
shaggy eyebrows, a small, pointed Mephistophelian
beard, and lines upon his brow and round his eyes as
deep as if they had been carved with a penknife. He
had grey eyes, weary, hopeless-looking eyes, proud and


204 THE JAPANNED BOX
yet pathetic, eyes which claimed your pity and yet
dared you to show it. His back was rounded with
study, but otherwise he was as fine a looking man of
his age—five-and-fifty perhaps—as any woman would
wish to look upon.
But his presence was not a cheerful one. He was
always courteous, always refined, but singularly silent
and retiring. I have never lived so long with any man
and known so little of him. If he were indoors he
spent his time either in his own small study in the
Eastern Tower, or in the library in the modern wing.
So regular was his routine that one could always say
at any hour exactly where he would be. Twice in the
day he would visit his study, once after breakfast, and
once about ten at night. You might set your watch by
the slam of the heavy door. For the rest of the day
he would be in his library—save that for an hour or
two in the afternoon he would take a walk or a ride,
which was solitary like the rest of his existence. He
loved his children, and was keenly interested in the
progress of their studies, but they were a little awed
by the silent, shaggy-browed figure, and they avoided
him as much as they could. Indeed, we all did that.
It was some time before I came to know anything
about the circumstances of Sir John Bollamore's life,
for Mrs. Stevens, the house-keeper, and Mr. Richards,
the land-steward, were too loyal to talk easily of their
employer's affairs. As to the governess, she knew no
more than I did, and our common interest was one of
the causes which drew us together. At last, however,
an incident occurred which led to a closer acquaintance
with Mr. Richards and a fuller knowledge of the life
of the man whom I served.
The immediate cause of this was no less than the


THE JAPANNED BOX 205
falling of Master Percy, the youngest of my pupils,
into the mill-race, with imminent danger both to his
life and to mine, since I had to risk myself in order to
save him. Dripping and exhausted—for I was far
more spent than the child—I was making for my room
when Sir John, who had heard the hubbub, opened
the door of his little study and asked me what was the
matter. I told him of the accident, but assured him
that his child was in no danger, while he listened with
a rugged, immobile face, which expressed in its intense
eyes and tightened lips all the emotion which he tried
to conceal.
"One moment! Step in here! Let me have the
details I" said he, turning back through the open door.
And so I found myself within that little sanctum,
inside which, as I afterwards learned, no other foot
had for three years been set save that of the old ser-
vant who cleaned it out. It was a round room, con-
forming to the shape of the tower in which it was
situated, with a low ceiling, a single narrow, ivy-
wreathed window, and the simplest of furniture. An
old carpet, a single chair, a deal table, and a small shelf
of books made up the whole contents. On the table
stood a full-length photograph of a woman—I took no
particular notice of the features, but I remember that
a certain gracious gentleness was the prevailing im-
pression. Beside it were a large black japanned box
and one or two bundles of letters or papers fastened
together with elastic bands.
Our interview was a short one, for Sir John Bolls- more perceived that I was soaked, and that I should
change without delay. The incident led, however, to
an instructive talk with Richards, the agent, who had
never penetrated into the chamber which chance had


THE JAPANNED BOX
opened to me. That very afternoon he came to me, all
curiosity, and walked up and down the garden path
with me, while my two charges played tennis upon the
lawn beside us.
"You hardly realise the exception which has been
made in your favour," said he. "That room has been
kept such a mystery, and Sir John's visits to it have
been so regular and consistent, that an almost super-
stitious feeling has arisen about it in the household. I
assure you that if I were to repeat to you the tales
which are flying about, tales of mysterious visitors
there, and of voices overheard by the servants, you
might suspect that Sir John had relapsed into his old
ways."
"Why do you say relapsed?" I asked.
He looked at me in surprise.
"Is it possible," said he, "that Sir John Bollamore's
previous history is unknown to you?"
"Absolutely."
"You astound me. I thought that every man in
England knew something of his antecedents. I should
not mention the matter if it were not that you are now
one of ourselves, and that the facts might come to
your ears in some harsher form if I were silent upon
them. I always took it for granted that you knew that
you were in the service of 'Devil' Bollamore."
"But why 'Devil'?" I asked.
"Ah, you are young and the world moves fast, but
twenty years ago the name of 'Devil' Bollamore was
one of the best known in London. He was the leader
of the fastest set, bruiser, driver, gambler, drunkard
—a survival of the old type, and as bad as the worst
of them."
I stared at him in amazement.


THE JAPANNED BOX
207
"What!" I cried, "that quiet, studious, sad-faced
man?"
"The greatest rip and debauchee in England! All
between ourselves, Colmore. But you understand now
what I mean when I say that a woman's voice in his
room might even now give rise to suspicions."
"But what can have changed him so?"
"Little Beryl Clare, when she took the risk of be-
coming his wife. That was the turning point. He
had got so far that his own fast set had thrown him
over. There is a world of difference, you know, be-
tween a man who drinks and a drunkard. They all
drink, but they taboo a drunkard. He had become a
slave to it—hopeless and helpless. Then she stepped
in, saw the possibilities of a fine man in the wreck,
took her chance in marrying him, though she might
have had the pick of a dozen, and, by devoting her life
to it, brought him back to manhood and decency. You
have observed that no liquor is ever kept in the house.
There never has been any since her foot crossed its
threshold. A drop of it would be like blood to a tiger
even now."
"Then her influence still holds him?"
"That is the wonder of it. When she died three
years ago, we all expected and feared that he would
fall back into his old ways. She feared it herself, and
the thought gave a terror to death, for she was like a
guardian angel to that man, and lived only for the one
purpose. By the way, did you see a black japanned
box in his room?"
"Yes."
"I fancy it contains her letters. If ever he has oc-
casion to be away, if only for a single night, he in-
variably takes his black japanned box with him. Well,


THE JAPANNED BOX 209
between us on this occasion, it was a mark of confi-
dence which he had never shown to any one before.
He asked me also to index his library (it was one of
the best private libraries in England), and I spent
many hours in the evening in his presence, if not in
his society, he reading at his desk and I sitting in a
recess by the window reducing to order the chaos
which existed among his books. In spite of these close
relations I was never again asked to enter the chamber
in the turret.
And then came my revulsion of feeling. A single
incident changed all my sympathy to loathing, and
made me realise that my employer still remained all
that he had ever been, with the additional vice of hy-
pocrisy. What happened was as follows.
One evening Miss Witherton had gone down to
Broadway, the neighbouring village, to sing at a con-
cert for some charity, and I, according to my promise,
had walked over to escort her back. The drive sweeps
round under the eastern turret, and I observed as I
passed that the light was lit in the circular room. It
was a summer evening, and the window, which was a
little higher than our heads, was open. We were, as
it happened, engrossed in our own conversation at the
moment, and we had paused upon the lawn which
skirts the old turret, when suddenly something broke
in upon our talk and turned our thoughts away from
our own affairs.
It was a voice—the voice undoubtedly of a woman.
It was low—so low that it was only in that still night
air that we could have heard it, but, hushed as it was,
there was no mistaking its feminine timbre. It spoke
hurriedly, gaspingly for a few sentences, and then was
silent—a piteous, breathless, imploring sort of voice.


212 THE JAPANNED BOX
Consumed with curiosity, I could not help following
the woman, and found her round the corner leaning
against the wall and palpitating like a frightened rab-
bit.
"What is the matter, Mrs. Brown?" I asked.
"It's master!" she gasped. "Oh, 'ow 'e frightened
me! If you had seen 'is eyes, Mr. Colmore, sir. I
thought 'e would 'ave been the death of me."
"But what had you done?"
"Done, sir! Nothing. At least nothing to make so
much of. Just laid my 'and on that black box of 'is
—'adn't even opened it, when in 'e came and you 'eard
the way 'e went on. I've lost my place, and glad I am
of it, for I would never trust myself within reach of
'im again."
So it was the japanned box which was the cause of
this outburst—the box from which he would never
permit himself to be separated. What was the con-
nection, or was there any connection between this and
the secret visits of the lady whose voice I had over-
heard? Sir John Bollamore's wrath was enduring as
well as fiery, for from that day Mrs. Brown, the char-
woman, vanished from our ken, and Thorpe Place
knew her no more.
And now I wish to tell you the singular chance
which solved all these strange questions and put my
employer's secret in my possession. The story may
leave you with some lingering doubt as to whether my
curiosity did not get the better of my honour, and
whether I did not condescend to play the spy. If you
choose to think so I cannot help it, but can only assure
you that, improbable as it may appear, the matter came
about exactly as I describe it.
The first stage in this denouement was that the small


214
THE JAPANNED BOX
He looked at me hard.
"There are more things in heaven and earth," said
he. "If it is a woman, how does she get there?"
"I don't know."
"No, nor I. But if it is the other thing—but there,
for a practical business man at the end of the nine-
teenth century this is rather a ridiculous line of con-
versation." He turned away, but I saw that he felt
even more than he had said. To all the old ghost
stories of Thorpe Place a new one was being added
before our very eyes. It may by this time have taken
its permanent place, for though an explanation came
to me, it never reached the others.
And my explanation came in this way. I had suf-
fered a sleepless night from neuralgia, and about mid-
day I had taken a heavy dose of chlorodyne to alleviate
the pain. At that time I was finishing the indexing
of Sir John Bollamore's library, and it was my custom
to work there from five till seven. On this particular
day I struggled against the double effect of my bad
night and the narcotic. I have already mentioned that
there was a recess in the library, and in this it was my
habit to work. I settled down steadily to my task, but
my weariness overcame me and, falling back upon the
settee, I dropped into a heavy sleep.
How long I slept I do not know, but it was quite
dark when I awoke. Confused by the chlorodyne
which I had taken, I lay motionless in a semi-conscious
state. The great room with its high walls covered with
books loomed darkly all round me. A dim radiance
from the moonlight came through the farther window,
and against this lighter background I saw that Sir
John Bollamore was sitting at his study table. His
well-set head and clearly cut profile were sharply out-


216 THE JAPANNED BOX
the room, switched on the electric light, and in its
white glare I saw him, his eyes gleaming with anger,
his face twisted with passion, as the hapless char-
woman may have seen him weeks before.
"Mr. Colmore!" he cried. "You here! What is
the meaning of this, sir?"
With halting words I explained it all, my neuralgia,
the narcotic, my luckless sleep and singular awaken-
ing. As he listened the glow of anger faded from
his face, and the sad, impassive mask closed once
more over his features.
"My secret is yours, Mr. Colmore," said he. "I
have only myself to blame for relaxing my precautions.
Half confidences are worse than no confidences, and
so you may know all since you know so much. The
story may go where you will when I have passed
away, but until then I rely upon your sense of honour
that no human soul shall hear it from your lips. I
am proud still—God help me!—or, at least, I am
proud enough to resent that pity which this story
would draw upon me. I have smiled at envy, and dis-
regarded hatred, but pity is more than I can tolerate.
"You have heard the source from which the voice
comes—that voice which has, as I understand, excited
so much curiosity in my household. I am aware of
the rumours to which it has given rise. These specula-
tions, whether scandalous or superstitious, are such
as I can disregard and forgive. What I should never
forgive would be a disloyal spying and eavesdropping
in order to satisfy an illicit curiosity. But of that,
Mr. Colmore, I acquit you.
"When I was a young man, sir, many years younger
than you are now, I was launched upon town without a


THE JAPANNED BOX 217
friend or adviser, and with a purse which brought only
too many false friends and false advisers to my side.
I drank deeply of the wine of life—if there is a
man living who has drunk more deeply he is not a
man whom I envy. My purse suffered, my character
suffered, my constitution suffered, stimulants became
a necessity to me, I was a creature from whom my
memory recoils. And it was at that time, the time
of my blackest degradation, that God sent into my
life the gentlest, sweetest spirit that ever descended
as a ministering angel from above. She loved me,
broken as I was, loved me, and spent her life in making
a man once more of that which had degraded itself
to the level of the beasts.
"But a fell disease struck her, and she withered
away before my eyes. In the hour of her agony
it was never of herself, of her own sufferings and
her own death that she thought. It was all of me.
The one pang which her fate brought to her was
the fear that when her influence was removed I should
revert to that which I had been. It was in vain that
I made oath to her that no drop of wine would ever
cross my lips. She knew only too well the hold that
the devil had upon me—she who had striven so to
loosen it—and it haunted her night and day the
thought that my soul might again be within his grip.
"It was from some friend's gossip of the sick room
that she heard of this invention—this phonograph—
and with the quick insight of a loving woman she
saw how she might use it for her ends. She sent me
to London to procure the best which money could
buy. With her dying breath she gasped into it the


218 THE JAPANNED BOX
words which have held me straight ever since. Lonely
and broken, what else have I in all the world to up-
hold me? But it is enough. Please God, I shall
face her without shame when He is pleased to re-
unite us! That is my secret, Mr. Colmore, and whilst
I live I leave it in your keeping."


THE BLACK DOCTOR 221
with her only brother, Arthur Morton, who had in-
herited the family estate. In person Miss Morton
was tall and stately, and she was famous for her quick,
impetuous nature, and for her strength of character.
She met Dr. Lana at a garden-party, and a friend-
ship, which quickly ripened into love, sprang up be-
tween them. Nothing could exceed their devotion to
each other. There was some discrepancy in age, he
being thirty-seven, and she twenty-four; but, save
in that one respect, there was no possible objection to
be found with the match. The engagement was in
February, and it was arranged that the marriage
should take place in August.
Upon the 3rd of June Dr. Lana received a letter
from abroad. In a small village the postmaster is also
in a position to be the gossip-master, and Mr. Bankley,
of Bishop's Crossing, had many of the secrets of his
neighbours in his possession. Of this particular letter
he remarked only that it was in a curious envelope,
that it was in a man's handwriting, that the postmark
was Buenos Ayres, and the stamp of the Argentine
Republic. It was the first letter which he had ever
known Dr. Lana to have from abroad, and this was
the reason why his attention was particularly called
to it before he handed it to the local postman. It was
delivered by the evening delivery of that date.
Next morning—that is, upon the 4th of June—Dr.
Lana called upon Miss Morton, and a long interview
followed, from which he was observed to return in
a state of great agitation. Miss Morton remained in
her room all that day, and her maid found her several
times in tears. In the course of a week it was an
open secret to the whole village that the engagement
was at an end, that Dr. Lana had behaved shamefully


222 THE BLACK DOCTOR
to the young lady, and that Arthur Morton, her
brother, was talking of horse-whipping him. In what
particular respect the doctor had behaved badly was
unknown—some surmised one thing and some an-
other; but it was observed, and taken as the obvious
sign of a guilty conscience, that he would go for
miles round rather than pass the windows of Leigh
Hall, and that he gave up attending morning service
upon Sundays where he might have met the young
lady. There was an advertisement also in the Lancet
as to the sale of a practice which mentioned no
names, but which was thought by some to refer to
Bishop's Crossing, and to mean that Dr. Lana was
thinking of abandoning the scene of.his success. Such
was the position of affairs when, upon the evening
of Monday, June 21st, there came a fresh develop-
ment which changed what had been a mere village
scandal into a tragedy which arrested the attention
of the whole nation. Some detail is necessary to
cause the facts of that evening to present their full
significance.
The sole occupants of the doctor's house were his
housekeeper, an elderly and most respectable woman,
named Martha Woods, and a young servant—Mary
Pilling. The coachman and the surgery-boy slept out.
It was the custom of the doctor to sit at night in
his study, which was next the surgery in the wing of
the house which was farthest from the servants'
quarters. This side of the house had a door of its
own for the convenience of patients, so that it was
possible for the doctor to admit and receive a visitor
there without the knowledge of any one. As a matter
of fact, when patients came late it was quite usual
tor him to let them in and out by the surgery entrance,


THE BLACK DOCTOR 223
for the maid and the housekeeper were in the habit
of retiring early.
On this particular night Martha Woods went into
the doctor's study at half-past nine, and found him
writing at his desk. She bade him good night, sent
the maid to bed, and then occupied herself until a
quarter to eleven in household matters. It was strik-
ing eleven upon the hall clock when she went to her
own room. She had been there about a quarter of an
hour or twenty minutes when she heard a cry or call,
which appeared to come from within the house. She
waited some time, but it was not repeated. Much
alarmed, for the sound was loud and urgent, she put
on a dressing-gown, and ran at the top of her speed to
the doctor's study.
"Who's there?" cried a voice, as she tapped at
the door.
"I am here, sir—Mrs. Woods."
"I beg that you will leave me in peace. Go back
to your room this instant I" cried the voice, which was,
to the best of her belief, that of her master. The
tone was so harsh and so unlike her master's usual
manner, that she was surprised and hurt.
"I thought I heard you calling, sir," she explained,
but no answer was given to her. Mrs. Woods looked
at the clock as she returned to her room, and it was
then half-past eleven.
At some period between eleven and twelve (she
could not be positive as to the exact hour) a patient
called upon the doctor and was unable to get any
reply from him. This late visitor was Mrs. Madding,
the wife of the village grocer, who was dangerously
ill of typhoid fever. Dr. Lana had asked her to look
in the last thing and let him know how her husband


224 THE BLACK DOCTOR
was progressing. She observed that the light was
burning in the study, but having knocked several
times at the surgery door without response, she con-
cluded that the doctor had been called out, and so re-
turned home.
There is a short, winding drive with a lamp at
the end of it leading down from the house to the
road. As Mrs. Madding emerged from the gate a
man was coming along the footpath. Thinking that
it might be Dr. Lana returning from some profes-
sional visit, she waited for him, and was surprised
to see that it was Mr. Arthur Morton, the young
squire. In the light of the lamp she observed that
his manner was excited, and that he carried in his
hand a heavy hunting-crop. He was turning in at
the gate when she addressed him.
"The doctor is not in, sir," said she.
"How do you know that?" he asked, harshly.
"I have been to the surgery door, sir."
"I see a light," said the young squire, looking up
the drive. "That is in his study, is it not?"
"Yes, sir; but I am sure that he is out."
"Well, he must come in again," said young Morton,
and passed through the gate while Mrs. Madding went
upon her homeward way.
At three o'clock that morning her husband suffered
a sharp relapse, and she was so alarmed by his
symptoms that she determined to call the doctor with-
out delay. As she passed through the gate she was
surprised to see some one lurking among the laurel
bushes. It was certainly a man, and to the best of
her belief Mr. Arthur Morton. Preoccupied with her
own troubles, she gave no particular attention to the
incident, but hurried on upon her errand.


THE BLACK DOCTOR 225
When she reached the house she perceived to her
surprise that the light was still burning in the study.
She therefore tapped at the surgery door. There was
no answer. She repeated the knocking several times
without effect. It appeared to her to be unlikely that
the doctor would either go to bed or go out leaving
so brilliant a light behind him, and it struck Mrs.
Madding that it was possible that he might have
dropped asleep in his chair. She tapped at the study
window, therefore, but without result. Then, finding
that there was an opening between the curtain and
the woodwork, she looked through.
The small room was brilliantly lighted from a large
lamp on the central table, which was littered with
the doctor's books and instruments. No one was
visible, nor did she see anything unusual, except that
in the further shadow thrown by the table a dingy
white glove was lying upon the carpet. And then
suddenly, as her eyes became more accustomed to the
light, a boot emerged from the other end of the
shadow, and she realised, with a thrill of horror, that
what she had taken to be a glove was the hand of a
man, who was prostrate upon the floor. Understand-
ing that something terrible had occurred, she rang at
the front door, roused Mrs. Woods, the housekeeper,
and the two women made their way into the study,
having first dispatched the maidservant to the police-
station.
At the side of the table, away from the window,
Dr. Lana was discovered stretched upon his back
and quite dead. It was evident that he had been sub-
jected to violence, for one of his eyes was blackened
and there were marks of bruises about his face and
neck. A slight thickening and swelling of his fea-


THE BLACK DOCTOR 231
wing of the house, and that he had chosen this very
late hour to call because he knew that his victim would
then be at his mercy. A servant at the squire's house
was compelled to admit that he had heard his master
return about three that morning, which corroborated
Mrs. Madding's statement that she had seen him
among the laurel bushes near the gate upon the occa-
sion of her second visit. The muddy boots and an
alleged similarity in the footprints were duly dwelt
upon, and it was felt when the case for the prosecu-
tion had been presented that, however circumstantial
it might be, it was none the less so complete and so
convincing, that the fate of the prisoner was sealed,
unless something quite unexpected should be disclosed
by the defence. It was three o'clock, when the prosecu-
tion closed. At half-past four, when the Court rose,
a new and unlooked for development had occurred.
I extract the incident, or part of it, from the journal
which I have already mentioned, omitting the pre-
liminary observations of the counsel.
Considerable sensation was caused in the crowded
court when the first witness called for the defence
proved to be Miss Frances Morton, the sister of the
prisoner. Our readers will remember that the young
lady had been engaged to Dr. Lana, and that it
was his anger over the sudden termination of this
engagement which was thought to have driven her
brother to the perpetration of this crime. Miss
Morton had not, however, been directly implicated
in the case in any way, either at the inquest or at
the police-court proceedings, and her appearance as
the leading witness for the defence came as a surprise
upon the public.


THE BLACK DOCTOR 233
Mr. Humphrey: Do you know that your brother is
not guilty of the death of Doctor Lana?
Miss Morton: Yes.
Mr. Humphrey: How do you know it?
Miss Morton: Because Dr. Lana is not dead.
There followed a prolonged sensation in court,
which interrupted the examination of the witness.
Mr. Humphrey: And how do you know, Miss
Morton, that Dr. Lana is not dead?
Miss Morton: Because I have received a letter from
him since the date of his supposed death.
Mr. Humphrey: Have you this letter?
Miss Morton: Yes, but I should prefer not to show
it.
Mr. Humphrey: Have you the envelope?
Miss Morton: Yes, it is here.
Mr. Humphrey: What is the postmark?
Miss Morton: Liverpool.
Mr. Humphrey: And the date?
Miss Morton: June 22nd.
Mr. Humphrey: That being the day after his al-
leged death. Are you prepared to swear to this hand-
writing, Miss Morton?
Miss Morton: Certainly.
Mr. Humphrey: I am prepared to call six other
witnesses, my lord, to testify that this letter is in the
writing of Doctor Lana.
The Judge: Then you must call them to-morrow:
Mr. Porlock Carr (counsel for the prosecution):
In the meantime, my lord, we claim possession of
this document, so that we may obtain expert evidence
as to how far it is an imitation of the handwriting
of the gentleman whom we still confidently assert to


236
THE BLACK DOCTOR
The learned counsel has made many telling re-
marks in his day, but he has certainly never produced
such a sensation with so short a sentence. The Court
was simply stunned with amazement as the very man
whose fate had been the subject of so much contention
appeared bodily before them in the witness-box.
Those among the spectators who had known him at
Bishop's Crossing saw him now, gaunt and thin, with
deep lines of care upon his face. But in spite of his
melancholy bearing and despondent expression, there
were few who could say that they had ever seen a man
of more distinguished presence. Bowing to the judge,
he asked if he might be allowed to make a statement,
and having been duly informed that whatever he said
might be used against him, he bowed once more, and
proceeded:—
"My wish," said he, "is to hold nothing back,
but to tell with perfect frankness all that occurred
upon the night of the 21st of June. Had I known
that the innocent had suffered, and that so much
trouble had been brought upon those whom I love
best in the world, I should have come forward long
ago; but there were reasons which prevented these
things from coming to my ears. It was my desire
that an unhappy man should vanish from the world
which had known him, but I had not foreseen that
others would be affected by my actions. Let me to
the best of my ability repair the evil which I have done.
"To any one who is acquainted with the history
of the Argentine Republic the name of Lana is well
known. My father, who came of the best blood of
old Spain, filled all the highest offices of the State,
and would have been President but for his death in


THE BLACK DOCTOR 239
I went to the door and I admitted him. That would
be about ten o'clock that night.
"When he came into the glare of the lamp, I saw
at once that he had fallen upon very evil days. He
had walked from Liverpool, and he was tired and ill.
I was quite shocked by the expression upon his face.
My medical knowledge told me that there was some
serious internal malady. He had been drinking also,
and his face was bruised as the result of a scuffle which
he had had with some sailors. It was to cover his
'injured eye that he wore this patch, which he removed
when he entered the room. He was himself dressed
in a pea-jacket and flannel shirt, and his feet were
bursting through his boots. But his poverty had only
made him more savagely vindictive towards me. His
hatred rose to the height of a mania. I had been
rolling in money in England, according to his account,
while he had been starving in South America. I can-
not describe to you the threats which he uttered or
the insults which he poured upon me. My impression
is, that hardships and debauchery had unhinged his
reason. He paced about the room like a wild beast,
demanding drink, demanding money, and all in the
foulest language. I am a hot-tempered man, but I
thank God that I am able to say that I remained master
of myself, and that I never raised a hand against him.
My coolness only irritated him the more. He raved,
he cursed, he shook his fists in my face, and then sud-
denly a horrible spasm passed over his features, he
clapped his hand to his side, and with a loud cry he
fell in a heap at my feet. I raised him up and stretched
him upon the sofa, but no answer came to my exclama-
tions, and the hand which I held in mine was cold and


240
THE BLACK DOCTOR
clammy. His diseased heart had broken down. His
own violence had killed him.
"For a long time I sat as if I were in some dread-
ful dream, staring at the body of my brother. I was
aroused by the knocking of Mrs. Woods, who had been
disturbed by that dying cry. I sent her away to bed.
Shortly afterwards, a patient tapped at the surgery
door, but as I took no notice, he or she went off again.
Slowly and gradually as I sat there a plan was form-
ing itself in my head in the curious automatic way in
which plans do form. When I rose from my chair
my future movements were finally decided upon with-
out my having been conscious of any process of
thought. It was an instinct which irresistibly inclined
me towards one course.
"Ever since that change in my affairs to which I
have alluded, Bishop's Crossing had become hateful
to me. My plans of life had been ruined, and I had
met with hasty judgments and unkind treatment where
I had expected sympathy. It is true that any danger
of scandal from my brother had passed away with his
life; but still, I was sore about the past, and felt that
things could never be as they had been. It may be that
I was unduly sensitive, and that I had not made suf-
ficient allowance for others, but my feelings were
as I describe. Any chance of getting away from
Bishop's Crossing and from every one in it would be
most welcome to me. And here was such a chance as I
could never have dared to hope for, a chance which
would enable me to make a clean break with the past.
"There was this dead man lying upon the sofa,
so like me that save for some little thickness and
coarseness of the features there was no difference at


THE BLACK DOCTOR
241
all. No one had seen him come and no one would
miss him. We were both clean-shaven, and his hair
was about the same length as my own. If I changed
clothes with him, then Dr. Aloysius Lana would be
found lying dead in his study, and there would be an
end of an unfortunate fellow, and of a blighted career.
There was plenty of ready money in the room, and
this I could carry away with me to help me to start
once more in some other land. In my brother's clothes
I could walk by night unobserved as far as Liverpool,
and in that great seaport I would soon find some means
of leaving the country. After my lost hopes, the
humblest existence where I was unknown was far
preferable, in my estimation, to a practice, however
successful, in Bishop's Crossing, where at any moment
I might come face to face with those whom I should
wish, if it were possible, to forget. I determined
to effect the change.
"And I did so. I will not go into particulars, for
the recollection is as painful as the experience; but
in an hour my brother lay, dressed down to the smallest
detail in my clothes, while I slunk out by the surgery
door, and taking the back path which led across some
fields, I started off to make the best of my way to
Liverpool, where I arrived the same night. My bag
of money and a certain portrait were all I carried out
of the house, and I left behind me in my hurry the
shade which my brother had been wearing over his
eye. Everything else of his I took with me.
"I give you my word, sir, that never for one instant
did the idea occur to me that people might think
that I had been murdered, nor did I imagine that any
one might be caused serious danger through this


XII
THE JEW'S BREASTPLATE
My particular friend, Ward Mortimer, was one of
the best men of his day at everything connected with
Oriental archaeology. He had written largely upon
the subject, he had lived two years in a tomb at
Thebes, while he excavated in the Valley of the Kings,
and finally he had created a considerable sensation
by his exhumation of the alleged mummy of Cleopatra
in the inner room of the Temple of Horus, at Philae.
With such a record at the age of thirty-one, it was felt
that a considerable career lay before him, and no one
was surprised when he was elected to the curatorship
of the Belmore Street Museum, which carries with
it the lectureship at the Oriental College, and an in-
come which has sunk with the fall in land, but which
still remains at that ideal sum which is large enough
to encourage an investigator, but not so large as to
enervate him.
There was only one reason which made Ward Mor-
timer's position a little difficult at the Belmore Street
Museum, and that was the extreme eminence of the
man whom he had to succeed. Professor Andreas
was a profound scholar and a man of European repu-
tation. His lectures were frequented by students from
every part of the world, and his admirable manage-
ment of the collection entrusted to his care was a com-
monplace in all learned societies. There was, there-
fore, considerable surprise when, at the age of
fifty-five, he suddenly resigned his position and retired
244


THE JEW'S BREASTPLATE
247
that it is possible that it may be the original urim and
thummim of Solomon's Temple. There is certainly
nothing so fine in any collection in Europe. My
friend, Captain Wilson, here, is a practical authority
upon precious stones, and he would tell you how pure
these are."
Captain Wilson, a man with a dark, hard, incisive
face, was standing beside his fiancee at the other side
of the case.
"Yes," said he, curtly, "I have never seen finer
stones."
"And the gold-work is also worthy of attention.
The ancients excelled in "—he was apparently
about to indicate the setting of the stones, when Cap-
tain Wilson interrupted him.
"You will see a finer example of their gold-work in
this candlestick," said he, turning to another table, and
we all joined him in his admiration of its embossed
stem and delicately ornamented branches. Altogether
it was an interesting and a novel experience to have
objects of such rarity explained by so great an expert;
and when, finally, Professor Andreas finished our in-
spection by formally handing over the precious collec-
tion to the care of my friend, I could not help pitying
him and envying his successor whose life was to pass
in so pleasant a duty. Within a week, Ward Mortimer
was duly installed in his new set of rooms, and had
become the autocrat of the Belmore Street Museum.
About a fortnight afterwards my friend gave a
small dinner to half a dozen bachelor friends to cele-
brate his promotion. When his guests were departing
he pulled my sleeve and signalled to me that he wished
me to remain.
"You have only a few hundred yards to go," said


248 THE JEW'S BREASTPLATE
he—I was living in chambers in the Albany. "You
may as well stay and have a quiet cigar with me. I
very much want your advice."
I relapsed into an arm-chair and lit one of his ex-
cellent Matronas. When he had returned from seeing
the last of his guests out, he drew a letter from his
dress-jacket and sat down opposite to me.
"This is an anonymous letter which I received this
morning," said he. "I want to read it to you and to
have your advice."
"You are very welcome to it for what it is worth."
"This is how the note runs: 'Sir,—I should
strongly advise you to keep a very careful watch over
the many valuable things which are committed to your
charge. I do not think that the present system of a
single watchman is sufficient. Be upon your guard, or
an irreparable misfortune may occur.'"
"Is that all?"
"Yes, that is all."
"Well," said I, "it is at least obvious that it was
written by one of the limited number of people who
are aware that you have only one watchman at night."
Ward Mortimer handed me the note, with a curious
smile. "'Have you an eye for handwriting?" said he.
"Now, look at this!" He put another letter in front
of me. "Look at the c in 'congratulate' and the c in
'committed.' Look at the capital /. Look at the trick
of putting in a dash instead of a stop!"
"They are undoubtedly from the same hand—with
some attempt at disguise in the case of this first one."
"The second," said Ward Mortimer, "is the letter
of congratulation which was written to me by Pro-
fessor Andreas upon my obtaining my appointment."
I stared at him in amazement. Then I turned over


THE JEW'S BREASTPLATE 249
the letter in my hand, and there, sure enough, was
"Martin Andreas" signed upon the other side. There
could be no doubt, in the mind of any one who had
the slightest knowledge of the science of graphology,
that the Professor had written an anonymous letter,
warning his successor against thieves. It was inex-
plicable, but it was certain.
"Why should he do it?" I asked.
"Precisely what I should wish to ask you. If he
had any such misgivings, why could he not come and
tell me direct?"
"Will you speak to him about it?"
"There again I am in doubt. He might choose to
deny that he wrote it."
"At any rate," said I, "this warning is meant in a
friendly spirit, and I should certainly act upon it. Are
the present precautions enough to insure you against
robbery?"
"I should have thought so. The public are only
admitted from ten till five, and there is a guardian to
every two rooms. He stands at the door between
them, and so commands them both."
"But at night?"
"When the public are gone, we at once put up the
great iron shutters, which are absolutely burglar-
proof. The watchman is a capable fellow. He sits
in the lodge, but he walks round every three hours.
We keep one electric light burning in each room all
night."
"It is difficult to suggest anything more—short of
keeping your day watchers all night."
"We could not afford that."
"At least, I should communicate with the police,
and have a special constable put oh outside in Bel-


250 THE JEW'S BREASTPLATE
more Street," said I. "As to the letter, if the writer
wishes to be anonymous, I think he has a right to re-
main so. We must trust to the future to show some
reason for the curious course which he has adopted."
So we dismissed the subject, but all that night after
my return to my chambers I was puzzling my brain as
to what possible motive Professor Andreas could have
for writing an anonymous warning letter to his suc-
cessor—for that the writing was his was as certain
to me as if I had seen him actually doing it. He fore-
saw some danger to the collection. Was it because he
foresaw it that he abandoned his charge of it? But if
so, why should he hesitate to warn Mortimer in his
own name? I puzzled and puzzled until at last I fell
into a troubled sleep, which carried me beyond my
usual hour of rising.
I was aroused in a singular and effective method,
for about nine o'clock my friend Mortimer rushed into
my room with an expression of consternation upon his
face. He was usually one of the most tidy men of
my acquaintance, but now his collar was undone at one
end, his tie was flying, and his hat at the back of his
head. I read his whole story in his frantic eyes.
"The museum has been robbed!" I cried, springing
up in bed.
"I fear so! Those jewels! The jewels of the urim
and thummim!" he gasped, for he was out of breath
with running. "I'm going on to the police-station.
Come to the museum as soon as you can, Jackson!
Good-bye!" He rushed distractedly out of the room,
and I heard him clatter down the stairs.
I was not long in following his directions, but I found when I arrived that he had already returned
with a police inspector, and another elderly gentleman.


252 THE JEW'S BREASTPLATE
- pledge my reputation that all four of these stones are
genuine, and of a most unusual degree of purity."
The colour began to come back to my poor friend's
frightened face, and he drew a long breath of relief.
"Thank God!" he cried. "Then what in the world
did the thief want?"
"Probably he meant to take the stones, but was in-
terrupted."
"In that case one would expect him to take them out
one at a time, but the setting of each of these has
been loosened, and yet the stones are all here."
"It is certainly most extraordinary," said the in-
spector. "I never remember a case like it. Let us see
the watchman."
The commissionaire was called—a soldierly, honest-
faced man, who seemed as concerned as Ward Morti-
mer at the incident.
"No, sir, I never heard a sound," he answered, in
reply to the questions of the inspector. "I made my
rounds four times, as usual, but I saw nothing sus-
picious. I've been in my position ten years, but
nothing of the kind has ever occurred before."
"No thief could have come through the windows?"
"Impossible, sir."
"Or passed you at the door?"
"No, sir; I never left my post except when I walked
my rounds."
"What other openings are there in the museum?"
"There is the door into Mr. Ward Mortimer's pri-
vate rooms."
"That is locked at night," my friend explained, "and
in order to reach it any one from the street would have
to open the outside door as well."
"Your servants?"


THE JEW'S BREASTPLATE 253
"Their quarters are entirely separate."
"Well, well," said the inspector, "this is certainly
very obscure. However, there has been no harm done,
according to Mr. Purvis."
"I will swear that those stones are genuine."
"So that the case appears to be merely one of mali-
cious damage. But none the less, I should be very
glad to go carefully round the premises, and to see
if we can find any trace to show us who your visitor
may have been."
His investigation, which lasted all the morning, was
careful and intelligent, but it led in the end to nothing.
He pointed out to us that there were two possible en-
trances to the museum which we had not considered.
The one was from the cellars by a trap-door opening
in the passage. The other through a skylight from the
lumber-room, overlooking that very chamber to which
the intruder had penetrated. As neither the cellar nor
the lumber-room could be entered unless the thief was
already within the locked doors, the matter was not of
any practical importance, and the dust of cellar and
attic assured us that no one had used either one or
the other. Finally, we ended as we began, without
the slightest clue as to how, why, or by whom the set-
ting of these four jewels had been tampered with.
There remained one course for Mortimer to take,
and he took it. Leaving the police to continue their
fruitless researches, he asked me to accompany him
that afternoon in a visit to Professor Andreas. He
took with him the two letters, and it was his intention
to openly tax his predecessor with having written the
anonymous warning, and to ask him to explain the
fact that he should have anticipated so exactly that
which had actually occurred. The Professor was


THE JEW'S BREASTPLATE 255
from my sleep by a tap upon my bedroom door. It
was a messenger with a note from Mortimer.
"Do come round," it said; "the matter is becoming
more and more extraordinary."
When I obeyed his summons I found him pacing
excitedly up and down the central room, while the
old soldier who guarded the premises stood with mili-
tary stiffness in a corner.
"My dear Jackson," he cried, "I am so delighted
that you have come, for this is a most inexplicable
business."
"What has happened, then?"
He waved his hand towards the case which con-
tained the breastplate.
"Look at it," said he.
I did so, and could not restrain a cry of surprise.
The setting of the middle row of precious stones had
been profaned in the same manner as the upper ones.
Of the twelve jewels eight had been now tampered
with in this singular fashion. The setting of the
lower four was neat and smooth. The others jagged
and irregular.
"Have the stones been altered?" I asked.
"No, I am certain that these upper four are the
same which the expert pronounced to be genuine, for
I observed yesterday that little discoloration on the
edge of the emerald. Since they have not extracted
the upper stones, there is no reason to think the lower
have been transposed. You say that you heard
nothing, Simpson?"
"No, sir," the commissionaire answered. "But
when I made my round after daylight I had a special
look at these stones, and I saw at once that some one
had been meddling with them. Then I called you, sir,


256 THE JEW'S BREASTPLATE
and told you. I was backwards and forwards all the
night, and I never saw a soul or heard a sound."
"Come up and have some breakfast with me," said
Mortimer, and he took me into his own chambers.—
"Now, what do you think of this, Jackson?" he asked.
"It is the most objectless, futile, idiotic business that
ever I heard of. It can only be the work of a mono-
maniac."
"Can you put forward any theory?"
A curious idea came into my head. "This object
is a Jewish relic of great antiquity and sanctity," said
I. "How about the anti-Semitic movement? Could
one conceive that a fanatic of that way of thinking
might desecrate"
"No, no, no!" cried Mortimer. "That will never
do! Such a man might push his lunacy to the length
of destroying a Jewish relic, but why on earth should
he nibble round every stone so carefully that he can
only do four stones in a night? We must have a better
solution than that, and we must find it for ourselves,
for I do not think that our inspector is likely to help
us. First of all, what do you think of Simpson, the
porter?"
"Have you any reason to suspect him?"
"Only that he is the one person on the premises."
"But why should he indulge in such wanton de-
struction? Nothing has been taken away. He has no
motive."
"Mania?"
"No, I will swear to his sanity."
"Have you any other theory?"
"Well, yourself, for example. You are not a
somnambulist, by any chance?"
"Nothing of the sort, I assure you."


258 THE JEW'S BREASTPLATE
that it would be impossible for any one looking up
from below to detect that he was overlooked. We
cleared a small piece at each corner, which gave us
a complete view of the room beneath us. In the cold
white light of the electric lamps everything stood out
hard and clear, and I could see the smallest detail of
the contents of the various cases.
Such a vigil is an excellent lesson, since one has no
choice but to look hard at those objects which we
usually pass with such half-hearted interest. Through
my little peep-hole I employed the hours in studying
every specimen, from the huge mummy-case which
leaned against the wall to those very jewels which had
brought us there, gleaming and sparkling in their
glass case immediately beneath us. There was much
precious gold-work and many valuable stones scat-
tered through the numerous cases, but those wonderful
twelve which made up the urim and thummim glowed
and burned with a radiance which far eclipsed the
others. I studied in turn the tomb-pictures of Sicara,
the friezes from Karnak, the statues of Memphis, and
the inscriptions of Thebes, but my eyes would always
come back to that wonderful Jewish relic, and my
mind to the singular mystery which surrounded it.
I was lost in the thought of it when my companion
suddenly drew his breath sharply in, and seized my
arm in a convulsive grip. At the same instant I saw
what it was which had excited him.
I have said that against the wall—on the right-hand
side of the doorway (the right-hand side as we looked
at it, but the left as one entered)—there stood a large
mummy-case. To our unutterable amazement it was
slowly opening. Gradually, gradually the lid was
swinging back, and the black slit which marked the


THE JEW'S BREASTPLATE
259
opening was becoming wider and wider. So gently
and carefully was it done that the movement was al-
most imperceptible. Then, as we breathlessly watched
it, a white thin hand appeared at the opening, push-
ing back the painted lid, then another hand, and finally
a face—a face which was familiar to us both, that of
Professor Andreas. Stealthily he slunk out of the
mummy-case, like a fox stealing from its burrow, his
head turning incessantly to left and to right, stepping,
then pausing, then stepping again, the very image of
craft and of caution. Once more some sound in the
street struck him motionless, and he stood listening,
with his ear turned, ready to dart back to the shelter
behind him. Then he crept onwards again upon tip-
toe, very, very softly and slowly, until he had reached
the case in the centre of the room. There he took a
bunch of keys from his pocket, unlocked the case, took
out the Jewish breastplate, and, laying it upon the glass
in front of him, began to work upon it with some sort
of small, glistening tool. He was so directly under-
neath us that his bent head covered his work, but
we could guess from the movement of his hand that
he was engaged in finishing the strange disfigurement
which he had begun.
I could realise from the heavy breathing of my com-
panion, and the twitchings of the hand which still
clutched my wrist, the furious indignation which filled
his heart as he saw this vandalism in the quarter of all
others where he could least have expected it. He, the
very man who a fortnight before had reverently bent
over this unique relic, and who had impressed its an-
tiquity and its sanctity upon us, was now engaged in
this outrageous profanation. It was impossible, un-
thinkable—and yet there, in the white glare of the


260 THE JEW'S BREASTPLATE
electric light beneath us, was that dark figure with
the bent grey head, and the twitching elbow. What
inhuman hypocrisy, what hateful depth of malice
against his successor must underlie these sinister noc-
turnal labours. It was painful to think of and dread-
ful to watch. Even I, who had none of the acute
feelings of a virtuoso, could not bear to look on and
see this deliberate mutilation of so ancient a relic. It
was a relief to me when my companion tugged at my
sleeve as a signal that I was to follow him as he softly
crept out of the room. It was not until we were within
his own quarters that he opened his lips, and then I saw
by his agitated face how deep was his consternation.
"The abominable Goth!" he cried. "Could you
have believed it?"
"It is amazing."
"He is a villain or a lunatic—one or the other. We
shall very soon see which. Come with me, Jackson,
and we shall get to the bottom of this black business."
A door opened out of the passage which was the
private entrance from his rooms into the museum.
This he opened softly with his key, having first kicked
off his shoes, an example which I followed. We crept
together through room after room, until the large hall
lay before us, with that dark figure still stooping and
working at the central case. With an advance as
cautious as his own we closed in upon him, but softly
as we went we could not take him entirely unawares.
We were still a dozen yards from him when he looked
round with a start, and uttering a husky cry of terror,
ran frantically down the museum.
"Simpson! Simpson!" roared Mortimer, and far
away down the vista of electric lighted doors we saw
the stiff figure of the old soldier suddenly appear. Pro-


264 THE JEW'S BREASTPLATE
he wished here. This state of things was only termi-
nated by the fact of my resignation of my official duties
and my retirement to Norwood, where I hoped to have
the leisure to write a considerable work which I had
planned.
"It was immediately after this—within a week or
so—that I first realized the true nature and character
of the man whom I had so imprudently introduced
into my family. The discovery came to me through
letters from my friends abroad, which showed me that
his introductions to me had been forgeries. Aghast at
the revelation, I asked myself what motive this man
could originally have had in practising this elaborate
deception upon me. I was too poor a man for any
fortune-hunter to have marked me down. Why, then,
had he come? I remembered that some of the most
precious gems in Europe had been under my charge,
and I remembered also the ingenious excuses by which
this man had made himself familiar with the cases in
which they were kept. He was a rascal who was plan-
ning some gigantic robbery. How could I, without
striking my own daughter, who was infatuated about
him, prevent him from carrying out any plan which he
might have formed? My device was a clumsy one,
and yet I could think of nothing more effective. If
I had written a letter under my own name, you would
naturally have turned to me for details which I did
not wish to give, I resorted to an anonymous letter,
begging you to be upon your guard.
"I may tell you that my change from Belmore Street
to Norwood had not affected the visits of this man,
who had, I believe, a real and overpowering affection
for my daughter. As to her, I could not have believed
that any woman could be so completely under the in-


THE JEW'S BREASTPLATE 265
fluence of a man as she was. His stronger nature
seemed to entirely dominate her. I had not realised
how far this was the case, or the extent of the con-
fidence which existed between them, until that very
evening when his true character for the first time was
made clear to me. I had given orders that when he
called he should be shown into my study instead of to
the drawing-room. There I told him bluntly that I
knew all about him, that I had taken steps to defeat
his designs, and that neither I nor my daughter desired
ever to see him again. I added that I thanked God
that I had found him out before he had time to harm
those precious objects which it had been the work
of my life-time to protect.
"He was certainly a man of iron nerve. He took
my remarks without a sign either of surprise or of
defiance, but listened gravely and attentively until I
had finished. Then he walked across the room with-
out a word and struck the bell.
"Ask Miss Andreas to be so kind as to step this
way,' said he to the servant.
"My daughter entered, and the man closed the door
behind her. Then he took her hand in his.
"'Elise,' said he, 'your father has just discovered
that I am a villain. He knows now what you knew
before.'
"She stood in silence, listening.
"'He says that we are to part for ever,' said he.
"She did not withdraw her hand.
"'Will you be true to me, or will you remove the
last good influence which is ever likely to come into
my life?'
"'John,' she cried, passionately, 'I will never aban-


266
THE JEW'S BREASTPLATE
don you! Never, never, not if the whole world were
against you.'
"In vain I argued and pleaded with her. It was
absolutely useless. Her whole life was bound up in
this man before me. My daughter, gentlemen, is
all that I have left to love, and it filled me with agony
when I saw how powerless I was to save her from
her ruin. My helplessness seemed to touch this man
who was the cause of my trouble.
"It may not be as bad as you think, sir,' said he,
in his quiet, inflexible way. 'I love Elise with a love
which is strong enough to rescue even one who has
such a record as I have. It was but yesterday that I
promised her that never again in my whole life would
I do a thing of which she should be ashamed. I have
made up my mind to it, and never yet did I make up
my mind to a thing which I did not do.'
"He spoke with an air which carried conviction
with it. As he concluded he put his hand into his
pocket and he drew out a small cardboard box.
"'I am about to give you a proof of my determina-
tion,' said he. 'This, Elise, shall be the first-fruits
of your redeeming influence over me. You are right,
sir, in thinking that I had designs upon the jewels
in your possession. Such ventures have had a charm
for me, which depended as much upon the risk run
as upon the value of the prize. Those famous and
antique stones of the Jewish priest were a challenge to
my daring and my ingenuity. I determined to get
them.'
"'I guessed as much.'
"'There was only one thing that you did not guess.'
"'And what is that?'
"'That I got them. They are in this box.'


THE JEW'S BREASTPLATE 267
"He opened the box, and tilted out the contents upon
the corner of my desk. My hair rose and my flesh
grew cold as I looked. There were twelve magnifi-
cent square stones engraved with mystical characters.
There could be no doubt that they were the jewels of
the urim and thummim.
"'Good God!' I cried. 'How have you escaped
discovery?'
"'By the substitution of twelve others, made es-
pecially to my order, in which the originals are so
carefully imitated that I defy the eye to detect the dif-
ference.'
"'Then the present stones are false?' I cried.
"'They have been for some weeks.'
"We all stood in silence, my daughter white with
emotion, but still holding this man by the hand.
"'You see what I am capable of, Elise,' said he.
"'I see that you are capable of repentance and resti-
tution,' she answered.
"'Yes, thanks to your influence! I leave the stones
in your hands, sir. Do what you like about it. But
remember that whatever you do against me, is done
against the future husband of your only daughter.
You will hear from me soon again, Elise. It is the last
time that I will ever cause pain to your tender heart,'
and with these words he left both the room and the
house.
"My position was a dreadful one. Here I was with
these precious relics in my possession, and how could
I return them without a scandal and an exposure? I
knew the depth of my daughter's nature too well to
suppose that I would ever be able to detach her from
this man now that she had entirely given him her heart.
I was not even sure how far it was right to detach


268 THE JEW'S BREASTPLATE
her if she had such an ameliorating influence over
him. How could I expose him without injuring her—
and how far was I justified in exposing him when
he had voluntarily put himself into my power? I
thought and thought until at last I formed a resolution
which may seem to you to be a foolish one, and yet,
if I had to do it again, I believe it would be the best
course open to me.
"My idea was to return the stones without any one
being the wiser. With my keys I could get into the
museum at any time, and I was confident that I could
avoid Simpson, whose hours and methods were familiar
to me. I determined to take no one into my confidence
—not even my daughter—whom I told that I was
about to visit my brother in Scotland. I wanted a free
hand for a few nights, without inquiry as to my com-
ings and goings. To this end I took a room in Hard-
ing Street that very night, with an intimation that I
was a Pressman, and that I should keep very late
hours.
"That night I made my way into the museum, and
I replaced four of the stones. It was hard work,
and took me all night. When Simpson came round I
always heard his footsteps, and concealed myself in
the mummy-case. I had some knowledge of gold-
work, but was far less skilful than the thief had been.
He had replaced the setting so exactly that I defy any
one to see the difference. My work was rude and
clumsy. However, I hoped that the plate might not be
carefully examined, or the roughness of the setting ob-
served, until my task was done. Next night I re-
placed four more stones. And to-night I should have
finished my task had it not been for the unfortunate


XIII
THE NIGHTMARE ROOM
The sitting-room of the Masons was a very singular
apartment. At one end it was furnished with con-
siderable luxury. The deep sofas, the low, luxurious
chairs, the voluptuous statuettes, and the rich curtains
hanging from deep and ornamental screens of metal-
work made a fitting frame for the lovely woman who
was the mistress of the establishment. Mason, a
young but wealthy man of affairs, had clearly spared
no pains and no expense to meet every want and every
whim of his beautiful wife. It was natural that he
should do so, for she had given up much for his sake.
The most famous dancer in France, the heroine of a
dozen extraordinary romances, she had resigned her life
of glittering pleasure in order to share the fate of the
young American, whose austere ways differed so widely
from her own. In all that wealth could buy he tried
to make amends for what she had lost. Some might
perhaps have thought it in better taste had he not pro-
claimed this fact—had he not even allowed it to be
printed—but save for some personal peculiarities of
the sort, his conduct was that of a husband who has
never for an instant ceased to be a lover. Even the
presence of spectators would not prevent the public
exhibition of his overpowering affection.
But the room was singular. At first it seemed
familiar, and yet a longer acquaintance made one real-
ise its sinister peculiarities. It was silent—very silent.
No footfall could be heard upon those rich carpets
270


THE NIGHTMARE ROOM 271
and heavy rugs. A struggle—even the fall of a body
—would make no sound. It was strangely colourless
also, in a light which seemed always subdued. Nor
was it all furnished in equal taste. One would have
said that when the young banker had lavished thou-
sands upon this boudoir, this inner jewel-case for his
precious possession, he had failed to count the cost
and had suddenly been arrested by a threat to his
own solvency. It was luxurious where it looked out
upon the busy street below. At the farther side it was
bare, spartan, and reflected rather the taste of a most
ascetic man than of a pleasure-loving woman. Per-
haps that was why she only came there for a few
hours, sometimes two, sometimes four, in the day,
but while she was there she lived intensely, and within
this nightmare room Lucille Mason was a very differ-
ent and a more dangerous woman than elsewhere.
Dangerous—that was the word. Who could doubt
it who saw her delicate figure stretched upon the great
bearskin which draped the sofa. She was leaning
upon her right elbow, her delicate but determined chin
resting upon her hand, while her eyes, large and lan-
guishing, adorable but inexorable, stared out in front
of her with a fixed intensity which had in it something
vaguely terrible. It was a lovely face—a child's face,
and yet Nature had placed there some subtle mark,
some indefinable expression, which told that a devil
lurked within. It had been noticed that dogs shrank
from her, and that children screamed and ran from her
caresses. There are instincts which are deeper than
reason.
Upon this particular afternoon something had
greatly moved her. A letter was in her hand, which


272
THE NIGHTMARE ROOM
she read and re-read with a tightening of those deli-
cate little eyebrows and a grim setting of those de-
licious lips. Suddenly she started, and a shadow of
fear softened the feline menace of her features. She
raised herself upon her arm, and her eyes were fixed
eagerly upon the door. She was listening intently—
listening for something which she dreaded. For a
moment a smile of relief played over her expressive
face. Then with a look of hon or she stuffed her letter
into her dress. She had hardly done so before the
door opened, and a young man came briskly into the
room. It was Archie Mason, her husband—the man
whom she had loved, the man for whom she had sacri-
ficed her European fame, the man whom now she
regarded as the one obstacle to a new and wonderful
experience.
The American was a man about thirty, clean-shaven,
athletic, dressed to perfection in a closely-cut suit, which
outlined his perfect figure. He stood at the door with
his arms folded, looking intently at his wife, with a
face which might have been a handsome, sun-tinted
mask save for those vivid eyes. She still leaned upon
her elbow, but her eyes were fixed on his. There was
something terrible in the silent exchange. Each inter-
rogated the other, and each conveyed the thought that
the answer to their question was vital. He might
have been asking, "What have you done?" She in her
turn seemed to be saying, "What do you know?"
Finally, he walked forward, sat down upon the bear-
skin beside her, and taking her delicate ear gently be-
tween his fingers, turned her face towards his.
"Lucille," he said, "are you poisoning me?"


276
THE NIGHTMARE ROOM
not the man who could bring her peace of mind and
contentment of heart? He was too stern and self-
contained for that sunny volatile nature. He was of
the North, and she of the South, drawn strongly
together for a time by the law of opposites, but impos-
sible for permanent union. He should have seen to
this—he should have understood it. It was on him,
with his superior brain, that the responsibility for
the situation lay. His heart softened towards her as
it would to a little child which was in helpless trouble.
For a time he had paced the room in silence, his lips
compressed, his hands clenched till his nails had
marked his palms. Now with a sudden movement he
sat beside her and took her cold and inert hand in
his. One thought beat in his brain. "Is it chivalry,
or is it weakness?" The question sounded in his
ears, it framed itself before his eyes, he could almost
fancy that it materialised itself and that he saw it in
letters which all the world could read.
It had been a hard struggle, but he had conquered.
"You shall choose between us, dear," he said. "If
really you are sure—sure, you understand—that
Campbell could make you happy as a husband, I will
not be the obstacle."
"A divorce!" she gasped.
His hand closed upon the bottle of poison. "You
can call it that," said he.
A new strange light shone in her eyes as she looked
at him. This was a man who had been unknown to
her. The hard, practical American had vanished. In
his place she seemed to have a glimpse of a hero,
and a saint, a man who could rise to an inhuman 


THE NIGHTMARE ROOM 277
height of unselfish virtue. Both her hands were round
that which held the fatal phial.
"Archie," she cried, "you could forgive me even
that!"
He smiled at her. "You are only a little wayward
kiddie after all."
Her arms were outstretched to him when there
was a tap at the door, and the maid entered in the
strange silent fashion in which all things moved in that
nightmare room. There was a card on the tray. She
glanced at it.
"Captain Campbell! I will not see him."
Mason sprang to his feet.
"On the contrary, he is most welcome. Show him
up this instant."
A few minutes later a tall, sun-burned young soldier
had been ushered into the room. He came forward
with a smile upon his pleasant features, but as the
door closed behind him, and the faces before him re-
sumed their natural expressions, he paused irreso-
lutely and glanced from one to the other.
"Well?" he asked.
Mason stepped forward and laid his hand upon his
shoulder.
"I bear no ill-will," he said.
"Ill-will?"
"Yes, I know all. But I might have done the same
myself had the position been reversed."
Campbell stepped back and looked a question at the
lady. She nodded and shrugged her graceful shoul-
ders. Mason smiled.
"You need not fear that it is a trap for a confession.


278
We have had a frank talk upon the matter. See,
Jack, you were always a sportsman. Here's a bottle.
Never mind how it came here. If one or other of us
drink it, it would clear the situation." His manner
was wild, almost delirious. "Lucille, which shall it
be?" There had been a strange force at work in the
nightmare room. A third man was there, though not
one of the three who had stood in the crisis of their
life's drama had time or thought for him. How long
he had been there—how much he had heard—none
could say. In the corner farthest from the little group
he lay crouched against the wall, a sinister snake-like
figure, silent and scarcely moving save for a nervous
twitching of his clenched right hand. He was con-
cealed from view by a square case and by a dark cloth
drawn cunningly above it, so as to screen his features.
Intent, watching eagerly every new phase of the
drama, the moment had almost come for his inter-
vention. But the three thought little of that. Ab-
sorbed in the interplay of their own emotions they
had lost sight of a force stronger than themselves—
a force which might at any moment dominate the
scene.
"Are you game, Jack?" asked Mason.
The soldier nodded.
"No!—for God's sake, no!" cried the woman.
Mason had uncorked the bottle, and turning to the
side table he drew out a pack of cards. Cards and
bottle stood together.
"We can't put the responsibility on her," he said.
"Come, Jack, the best of three."









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