THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 

 'MURDERER!" I SAID, "MURDERER! 1 
 
THE 
 
 BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 And Other Stories 
 
 BY 
 ROBERT HICHENS 
 
 Author of " The Garden of Allah," " The Woman 
 With the Fan," "Felix," etc. 
 
 WITH EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS BY 
 
 A. FOKESTIEK 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 
 PUBLISHERS 
 
Copyright, 1905, by 
 ROBERT HICHENS 
 
 This edition published in October, 
 
 Presswork by The University Press, Cambridge, U. S. A. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 FACE 
 
 THE BLACK SPANIEL . i 
 
 THE MISSION OF MR. EUSTACE GREYNE . . 147 
 
 DESERT AIR . . . . .231 
 
 " FIN TIREUR" . < . . .255 
 
 HALIMA AND THE SCORPIONS . . . 269 
 
 THE DESERT DRUM ..... 287 
 
 THE PRINCESS AND THE JEWEL DOCTOR . . 307 
 
 THE FIGURE IN THE MIRAGE . . .321 
 
 SAFTI'S SUMMER DAY .... 337 
 
 SMAIN ...... 343 
 
 THE SPINSTER . . . . . 351 
 
 PANCRAZIA'S HAIR . . . . 371 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 "Murderer! " I said, "Murderer!" . . Frontispiece 
 
 FACING 
 PAGE 
 
 She and her Companions were obviously Italians . 4 
 
 As I walked back I thought over Vernon's last words . 26 
 
 As he vanished, Deeming appeared at the hall -door . 63 
 
 " That dog there," saidVernon; "how long have you 
 
 had him ? " . . . . . -73 
 
 While I was there Deeming came back unexpectedly . 131 
 
 I went out into the night carrying it in my arms . 145 
 
PART I THE DEATH 
 
 IN the big hall of the Grand Hotel at Rome 
 I introduced Peter Deeming to Vernon 
 Kersteven. 
 
 The two men were friends of mine, and I 
 wanted them to like each other; and, perhaps 
 because they were both fond of me, I thought 
 that they would get on well together, and that 
 we should form a happy and a lively trio at 
 dinner. Was this the fancy of an egoist? I 
 have sometimes wondered since. 
 
 At the time I speak of I had known Deem- 
 ing for over two years, having met him first 
 in London at a friend's house. Vernon was 
 a comparatively recent acquaintance whom I 
 had encountered when I was travelling in Al- 
 geria ; but already in my heart I gave him the 
 dearer title, for I had come to like him greatly, 
 and I knew that my sympathy was returned. 
 
 The two men were very different in their 
 appearance, their natures, their ways of life 
 but differences sometimes seem to make for 
 pleasant intercourse, and even for intimacy. 
 We often love ourselves ; but do we generally 
 love those who markedly resemble us? 
 
 1 
 
T&E BLiACK SPANIEL 
 
 Vernon usually spent his winters in Rome, 
 where he had a delightful house on the Trinita 
 dei Monti. Deeming had come from Eng- 
 land to take a long holiday, as his health had 
 partially broken down from overwork. He 
 was a very successful London doctor, devoted 
 to his profession. Vernon was a rich man, 
 passionately interested in the arts and in trav- 
 el. How well I remember that first evening 
 we spent together, that I had almost written 
 fatal evening ! We were dining in the restau- 
 rant, and directly I had made my friends 
 known to each other we went in and sat down 
 at our table, which was in the middle of the 
 room. 
 
 Deeming was a very thin man, nearly forty, 
 clean shaven, with iron-grey thick hair, narrow 
 clear-cut features, and a tremendously deci- 
 sive mouth and chin, betokening power and 
 resolution. His face was pale, and bore traces 
 of his recent illness. In his long, rather col- 
 ourless grey eyes, penetrating and usually 
 calm, one could see the slightly anxious and 
 irritable expression of a man whose nerves had 
 been, and still were, overwrought. His hands 
 were delicate, with thin fingers curving back- 
 ward perceptibly at the tips. He leaned for- 
 ward as he sat in his chair, glancing over the 
 crowd of English, Americans, and foreigners 
 who were busily eating and talking round us. 
 
 Vernon was tall and fair, younger than 
 Deeming by some five or six years, with medi- 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL; 
 
 tative, almost gentle, and very kind brown 
 eyes, a sensitive, though not handsome, face, 
 with a clear boyish colour in it, a voice that was 
 generally low unless he got much interested 
 in the subject he was discussing, and an ex- 
 tremely fascinating manner, whose fascina- 
 tion sprang from his great courtesy, combined 
 with a perfectly natural self-possession, as of 
 a man who seldom thought about himself, and 
 who was desirous of making things go easily 
 and pleasantly for those with whom he was 
 brought into contact. 
 
 I saw Deeming look at him steadily, rather 
 as a doctor looks at a new patient, more than 
 once as we drank our soup, and I knew that 
 with his invariable acuteness he was taking 
 stock of his new acquaintance. Vernon, on 
 the other hand, showed at first no special in- 
 terest in Deeming, did not regard him earnest- 
 ly, but was gracefully agreeable to him as he 
 was to everyone. He was far more what is 
 generally called a man of the world than 
 Deeming, whose devotion to, and great success 
 in, his profession had kept him bound to the 
 wheel of work in London, and had prevented 
 him from having the opportunity of knowing 
 the nations and mixing perpetually with so- 
 ciety which Vernon had enjoyed. 
 
 At first we talked quietly, almost languidly, 
 of Rome, of its changes and its tourists, of the 
 influence of America upon its society, of its 
 climate, of the differences between life in 
 
 3 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 England and life abroad, and so forth. It 
 was not till the middle of dinner that anything 
 occurred to wake us up into great animation. 
 Then a stout, dark, and very vivacious little 
 lady, with a commanding air, came into the 
 restaurant followed by two men, and sat down 
 at a table near us. She and her companions 
 were obviously Italians, and almost directly 
 she screwed up her eyes at Vernon and nodded 
 to him. He returned her salute with em- 
 pressement. 
 
 " Would you mind telling me who that lady 
 is? " said Deeming. 
 
 " Margherita Terrascalchi," replied Ver- 
 non. 
 
 "What the famous authoress?" I said. 
 " The writer of 'Pieta'?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Deeming stared hard at the little lady, who 
 was beginning to eat with extraordinary, al- 
 most comical, gusto. 
 
 " I have read that book," he said. " In a 
 translation." 
 
 "What do you think of it?" asked Ver- 
 non. 
 
 " No doubt it is well done and calculated to 
 move the ordinary reader." 
 
 " Only the ordinary reader? " said Vernon, 
 with a slight upward movement of his eye- 
 brows. 
 
 " I think it wrongheaded and sentimental," 
 said Deeming, with more energy than he had 
 
'SHE AND HER COMPANIONS WERE OBVIOUSLY ITALIANS.' 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 yet shown. " She appears to wish to elevate 
 the animals above humanity, to take them out 
 of their proper place." 
 
 " What would you say is their proper 
 place? " 
 
 4 They are in the world, in my opinion, to 
 be the servants of humanity, to minister to our 
 comfort, our pleasure, our necessities, to help 
 to increase our knowledge and satisfy our ap- 
 petites, to give us ease and to gain us money. 
 Don't you think so? " 
 
 " No doubt many scientists, many sports- 
 men, and most, if not all, butchers do." 
 
 I laughed. 
 
 " But you, Vernon," I said, " are neither sci- 
 entist, sportsman, nor butcher, and Deeming 
 asks you what you think." 
 
 Vernon was looking less tranquil, less gentle 
 than usual at this moment. His face was lit 
 up by a fire I had never seen burning in his 
 eyes before. 
 
 " My sympathies march with Madame Ter- 
 rascalchi's," he answered, " though perhaps 
 she expresses them with a feminine enthusiasm 
 that may seem to some almost hysterical, and 
 is carried away by her passion of pity into an 
 excess of animosity against men and women, 
 who often err against the animal world more 
 from lack of imagination than from any defi- 
 nite bias towards cruelty." 
 
 ' The question is, are we to be the servants 
 of the animals or they to be our servants? " 
 
 5 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 Deeming said rather drily. " I notice that 
 Madame Terrascalchi is eating something that 
 looks remarkably like a veal cutlet at this very 
 moment." 
 
 " Oh," said Vernon, with his pleasant smile. 
 " I hold no brief for her. I believe her, in fact, 
 to be very shall I say human? But as to 
 what you were saying. Is it wholly a matter 
 of whether we are to be masters or slaves? 
 Cannot we and the animals we are not, of 
 course, discussing dangerous wild beasts be 
 friends, or, let us say, could we not be friends, 
 good and close friends, they serving us in their 
 way, we serving them in ours? " 
 
 " How are we to serve the animals? " asked 
 Deeming, still drily. 
 
 " By considering them far more than we 
 generally do, by studying them, their natures, 
 habits, desires, likes and dislikes far more 
 closely, by encouraging their affection for us, 
 and giving them more of ours." 
 
 " I think that would be a great waste of 
 time." 
 
 " Deeming is a terribly busy man, Vernon," 
 I said. 
 
 ' I know my London well enough to know 
 it," Vernon remarked politely. " Still, I think 
 we might find time for that; even that we 
 ought to find time for it. I am rather what 
 you might call a ' crank ' on the subject of the 
 animal world." 
 
 " I didn't know it," I said. 
 6 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 " Oh, yes, I am." 
 
 The almost fierce light again shone in his 
 eyes. 
 
 " I love all animals. Ouida speaks of their 
 * mysterious lives,' spent side by side with ours, 
 and comparatively little noticed, little sympa- 
 thised with by us. I know that many animal- 
 lovers would raise a cry of protest against 
 this. ' Look,' they would say, ' how dogs are 
 worshipped and petted, how horses are loved 
 by their owners, how cats are stroked and fon- 
 dled! ' and so forth. Yes, it is true. Out of 
 the great world of the animals, we those of 
 us who are fond of animals select a few who, 
 we think, can minister to our pleasure, and we 
 give them, or think we give them, a good time. 
 But these pet animals who enjoy life are few 
 in number compared with the many who are 
 made to suffer by man; the dogs that are kept 
 everlastingly tied up, or are half -starved, or 
 are perpetually cuffed and kicked and beaten ; 
 the cats that are abandoned to die when their 
 thoughtless owners change home; the horses 
 that are overdriven, tortured by tight bearing- 
 reins, lashed with the whip, made to draw 
 loads that are too heavy for them; the birds 
 let me include them that are forced to spend 
 their lives in tiny cages in dark places. To 
 any real, observant lover of animals, even of 
 the so-called pet animals excluding the 
 beasts of burden, donkeys, mules, oxen, and 
 the beasts that form part of our food supply, 
 
 7 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 and the dumb creatures that are given over to 
 the tender mercies of the sportsman : the hares 
 that are coursed, the foxes and stags and deer 
 that are hunted, the pigeons that are let out of 
 traps (their eyes pierced to make them fly in 
 a given direction) to be shot and are often left 
 maimed to die, the sea-birds that the Cockney 
 * wings ' and abandons to starve and rot, float- 
 ing helpless on the waves of the sea, the pheas- 
 ants that, wounded in a battue, are crushed 
 one on the top of the other into bags to perish 
 of suffocation; excluding all these to any 
 real and observant lover of animals the lack of 
 sympathy, or the actual cruelty of man, is a 
 perpetual source of disturbance, of anxiety, 
 even of lively distress and misery." 
 
 I was quite amazed at the energy with which 
 Vernon had spoken, at the vigour and force 
 of his manner. He paused for a moment, then 
 he added 
 
 " My love of animals has given me very 
 many horrible moments in my life, moments 
 in which I confess that my heart has been 
 turned to bitterness and I have longed to make 
 men suffer as they were making animals suf- 
 fer. Yes, I have longed to see the cursed 
 Cockney sportsman drifting face to face with 
 a lingering death upon the sea, the callous 
 game-preserver wounded in one of his traps 
 and alone in the darkness of night in the for- 
 est, the careless hunter at bay with hounds 
 rushing in upon him. But especially have I 
 
 8 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 known the longing to turn one whom I have 
 seen being cruel to a pet animal into that ani- 
 mal, and to be his master for a little while. 
 You know some hold that theory." 
 
 ' What theory? " said Deeming. 
 
 :< That what we do is eventually done to us 
 in another life ; for instance, that if a man has 
 been brutal to an animal, at death his soul 
 passes into a similar animal, which endures 
 the fate he once meted out when he was a 
 
 man." 
 
 "Good heavens!" exclaimed Deeming. 
 " You surely can't believe such unscientific 
 nonsense! " 
 
 " I did not say I believed it, but I should 
 not be sorry to." 
 
 He sipped his champagne. Then, more 
 lightly, he said 
 
 " I told you I was a bit of a crank. I am 
 even hand-in-glove with Arthur Gernham." 
 
 At the mention of this name, Deeming 
 moved, and I saw his eyes flash. 
 
 " The prominent anti-vivisectionist? " he 
 said. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And you share his views? " 
 
 " To a considerable extent, though I don't 
 always approve of what he writes or of what 
 he says." 
 
 "I'm glad of that. We doctors, you know, 
 ab well, we don't love that eager gentleman. 
 If he had his way humanity would undoubt- 
 
 9 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 edly suffer far more in the future than it will. 
 For I don't think his sentimentalities and wild 
 exaggerations will ever gain over our legisla- 
 tors to his views." 
 
 " Perhaps not. But I sometimes wonder 
 whether anyone has the right, whether anyone 
 was intended by the Creator to have the right, 
 to avoid suffering at the cost of inflicting it, 
 even to save life by causing death. However, 
 the vivisection question is hardly a pleasant 
 one for the dinner- table, eh ! " 
 
 There was a moment's silence. Then Deem- 
 ing said 
 
 " Of course you never shoot or hunt? " 
 
 " Never." 
 
 " I do," I said. " But I am not such a 
 contemptible hypocrite as to deny that cru- 
 elty, and often very gross cruelty, enters into 
 sport." 
 
 Deeming slightly smiled. 
 
 "Do you keep any pets?" said Vernon to 
 him, rather sharply. 
 
 " Yes. I have a dog at home, a black span- 
 iel; and you?" 
 
 " No. For years I have kept no animals. 
 I shall never keep one again." 
 
 " That surprises me. You would give them 
 a remarkably good time, I feel sure." 
 
 " I have a reason." 
 
 "May I ask what it is?" 
 
 " Certainly. I once had a dog that I that 
 I cared about. She was out with me one day 
 
 10 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 in London and disappeared. I made every 
 possible inquiry, offered a reward, went to 
 the Dogs' Home, but I couldn't find her. 
 Eventually, through an odd chain of circum- 
 stances that I needn't trouble you with, I 
 learnt her fate." 
 
 1 What was it? "I asked. 
 
 "She had been picked up by a dog-stealer 
 and sold to the proprietor of an establishment 
 called ' Lilac Hall,' near London." 
 
 " An establishment? " I said, struck by the 
 tone in which he had uttered the words. 
 
 ' Where a large number stock, I'll say 
 of animals of all kinds, horses, cats, rabbits, 
 guinea-pigs, dogs, was kept on hand for sci- 
 entific purposes. My companion and friend 
 died under the knife of the vivisector. What 
 do you think of the food here? They've got 
 a new chef" 
 
 " I I oh, it's very good, I think; it's ex- 
 cellent." 
 
 Deeming seemed startled by the sudden 
 change of topic, and when we went into the 
 hall to smoke he tried to return to the discus- 
 sion. But Vernon did not rise to the bait he 
 threw out, and at last frankly said 
 
 " You'd much better not get me on to the 
 subject of animals. I am really a bore when I 
 let myself loose, as I did at dinner. And I 
 am quite sure you" and he met Deeming's 
 eyes " don't agree with my views. Are you 
 staying long in Rome? " 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 :< Till I feel quite set up again and ready 
 for work." 
 
 ' Then 111 hope you'll come and see me." 
 
 He gave his card to Deeming, and soon 
 after went away. 
 
 I felt sure he had asked Deeming to call in 
 order to please me. My two friends, I feared, 
 had not taken a fancy to each other. One 
 curious thing struck me as I watched Vernon's 
 tall figure going out through the doorway to 
 the street. It was this that I knew a side of 
 Vernon's, and a side of Deeming's character 
 that had been hitherto completely concealed 
 from me. Each had elicited a frankness from 
 the other that I, of whom they were fond, had 
 not been able to bring forth. 
 
 Their two enmities so I thought of it 
 had clashed together and struck out sparks of 
 truth. 
 
 By the way, Vernon's last remark to me in 
 the outer hall of the hotel, whither I had ac- 
 companied him, leaving Deeming in the win- 
 ter-garden, was this 
 
 " I shouldn't care to be Deeming's black 
 spaniel." 
 
II 
 
 A DAY or two afterwards Deeming said to me, 
 "I'm going to call on your friend Vernon this 
 afternoon. When is he likely to be in? " 
 
 " He's generally at home between six and 
 seven," I said. After a moment I added, 
 ' You want to find him then? " 
 
 ' Why yes. He's a very agreeable fellow. 
 Did you think I disliked him? " 
 
 " Disliked him no, hardly that. But, 
 somehow, I scarcely fancied you two were 
 quite in sympathy the other night." 
 
 " Oh, you mean that animal- versus-human- 
 being discussion. Now it is just because of 
 that I want to meet him again." 
 
 ' To win him over to your views? " 
 
 "Well, I confess that I should like to get 
 him to see how harmful such a man as his 
 friend Gernham is or may become to the world 
 of men understood. He's probably got all 
 kinds of absurd notions as to how vivisection 
 is carried on. I should like to have a quiet, 
 reasonable talk with him." 
 
 " Go to-day, then, at six. You're almost 
 sure to find him." 
 
 " I will." 
 
 13 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 And Deeming set his lips together with 
 determination. 
 
 I was, I confess, a little curious as to the 
 result of the interview. I heard something 
 about it the same evening from Vernon, who 
 sent round a note asking me to dine with him 
 alone. 
 
 " Your friend Deeming has been here," he 
 said, almost directly I was in the house. 
 
 " I know. Did you have a pleasant time ? " 
 
 " He's extremely intelligent got a great 
 deal of character, real force. That ruthless 
 mouth and chin of his tell the truth." 
 
 At this moment the servant said that dinner 
 was ready. We continued our conversation in 
 the dining-room, which was hung with sacred 
 pictures, gentle-eyed Madonnas one by Lu- 
 ini Saints, an Agony in the Garden by an 
 unnamed painter, the little children coming to 
 Christ, the Magi offering their gifts, watched 
 by calm-eyed beasts in a dim stable. 
 
 " Yes," I said. " Deeming is very deci- 
 
 sive." 
 
 : ' To me there's something very strange in 
 the thought that he is a healer." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Well do you mind my speaking frankly 
 about a friend of yours ? " 
 
 " Not a bit." 
 
 " I shall startle you, perhaps. You know 
 one reads sometimes in the papers of people 
 who are afflicted with what is called the mania 
 
 14 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 to persecute. There was a trial of a woman 
 not long ago a Mrs. Denby." 
 
 " I know. But " 
 
 " And there have been various instances in 
 distant Colonial possessions of France and 
 Belgium and, perhaps, of other countries 
 various instances of men placed practically in 
 the position of tyrants who have indulged in 
 orgies of persecution of natives." 
 
 " But, my dear Vernon, you surely don't 
 mean that you think Deeming has the blood- 
 lust because he believes good can come of vivi- 
 section. Upon my word, if you don't take 
 care, I shall begin to think you really are a 
 crank." 
 
 " It isn't that. It isn't what the man says. 
 I can quite understand that as a doctor he 
 wishes by every means to advance the spread 
 of medical knowledge. No, no; it's the man 
 himself. Do you know him well? " 
 
 " I have seen a good deal of him in London. 
 Not a great deal, because he's such a busy man. 
 But I have often been with him." 
 
 " Often in his house? " 
 
 " More often at his club, and in my own 
 house and at restaurants. Being a bachelor, 
 when he entertains he nearly always does so 
 at Claridge's, or the Savoy, or one of those 
 places. But, of course, I have been in his 
 house." 
 
 " Have you ever seen his dog, that black 
 spaniel he spoke of ? " 
 
 15 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 " No, I can't remember that I have." 
 
 For a moment Vernon spoke of a certain 
 dish that had just been brought in, a special 
 plat for which his cook was famous. Then he 
 said 
 
 " That dog I spoke of the other night the 
 dog I lost you remember? " 
 
 ' Yes." 
 
 " She was a black spaniel." 
 
 His tone in saying this was so peculiar that 
 I was misled and exclaimed : "But you told us 
 the poor beast was killed in that house in 
 Lilac Hall!" 
 
 " So she was." 
 
 " I thought really, by the way you spoke, 
 you led me to imagine that perhaps you fan- 
 cied Deeming had got possession of your 
 dog." 
 
 " Oh, dear no! Whisper is dead, years ago. 
 I seldom speak of her." 
 
 " I never heard you mention her till the 
 other night." 
 
 " The other night I showed you a side of 
 me that you had never suspected the existence 
 of, didn't I?" 
 
 ' You did indeed." 
 
 " Well, having broken through my reserve, 
 I feel that I don't mind being frank with 
 you." 
 
 His eyes began to shine as they had shone in 
 the restaurant when he spoke of man's cruelty 
 to animals. 
 
 16 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 " My dog was the greatest solace in my 
 life," he said. " I am not a sentimental fool. 
 There is nothing either sentimental or foolish 
 in loving that which, with a whole heart and 
 perfectly, loves you. And a dog's devotion 
 really is one of the most perfect, one of the 
 most touching, and one of the most complete 
 sentiments that can be manifested by one liv- 
 ing creature to another. Not to respond to it 
 would be absolutely devilish. But one can't 
 help oneself if one isn't made of stone. I 
 won't bore you with a long account of Whis- 
 per's devotion and fidelity. Why should I? 
 It's enough to say that she loved me as much 
 as a dog can love, and in a dog's way, with ab- 
 solute unselfishness, with entire singlehearted- 
 ness. I never felt lonely when she was with 
 me, scarcely ever even dull. When I had been 
 out without her, and, on my return, she met 
 me at the door, almost hysterically eager to 
 show her rapture, I well, I was glad to be 
 alive, and felt that life was worth while so long 
 as I could evoke such a tempest of delight in 
 any living creature. A faithful dog, believe 
 me, is the best bulwark against the coming of 
 cynicism. You can't be a cynic when a dog's 
 cold nose is pushed into your hand, or a dog's 
 paw is placed gently and solemnly upon your 
 knee. When I lost Whisper, when I found 
 out what had been her fate, I felt something 
 that was more than grief " he leaned over the 
 table and laid his hand on my arm " I felt 
 
 17 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 hatred, burning hatred, against those who had 
 snared and murdered her, against all who use 
 animals cruelly for the purposes of men." 
 
 His face was transformed. I seemed to see 
 before me a man whom I had never seen be- 
 fore. This man, I felt, could be not only gen- 
 tle, but vindictive, and would be quite capable 
 of expressing himself not only in words, but 
 also through actions. 
 
 " I can understand your bitterness," I said. 
 " But does not this recalling of a painful event 
 only stir up recollections that ? " 
 
 He interrupted me almost roughly. 
 
 " That doesn't matter at all. I want to tell 
 you now. I prefer to." 
 
 " Go on, then," I said. 
 
 He took his hand from my arm, and con- 
 tinued 
 
 " The fate of my companion altered me. It 
 either stirred from sleep, or actually woke 
 into life, a fierceness that till then I had not 
 known existed, or could exist, in me. It made 
 me understand that, in certain circumstances 
 and to certain people, I could be implacable, 
 almost ferocious; that I could deny the sole 
 right of Providence you know the text : why 
 quote it? to administer that gorgeous justice 
 we name vengeance; that I could stand up 
 and exclaim, ' I will repay,' and repay with- 
 out fear, without flinching, and even to the 
 uttermost farthing. But that was not all it 
 did to me. With this awakening, or this cre- 
 
 18 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 ation of fierceness in me, there came a deepen- 
 ing of pity, of tenderness for the slaves of 
 man. Yet I was selfish, and I have remained 
 selfish." 
 
 " How? " I asked, wondering. 
 
 " It was, and is, in my power to make at 
 least some animals happy, as I had made my 
 dead dog happy. I could not, and cannot, 
 bring myself to do that. I feared and I fear 
 too much to suffer again as I suffered when I 
 lost Whisper, and when I learnt the truth 
 about her end. That end has been a night- 
 mare to me ever since. I cannot think of it 
 even now without torture." 
 
 " My dear fellow," I said. " Don't dwell 
 upon it. To do so is really morbid." 
 
 " I don't dwell upon it, as .a rule. Have I 
 ever even mentioned this subject to you be- 
 fore? " 
 
 " No, no. But " 
 
 ' That man, your friend Deeming, has 
 roused me up. I I tell you that I hate that 
 it is almost unbearable to me to think of his 
 having a dog a black spaniel, like Whisper 
 in his power." 
 
 He said the last words with extraordinary 
 vehemence. 
 
 " That was what you meant then!" I ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 " When you mistook me just now? Yes, 
 that!" 
 
 He relapsed into silence, but kept his still 
 19 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 glowing eyes fixed upon me. I seemed to read 
 in them that he had more to tell me, to see that 
 there was some project, some intention of ac- 
 tion, blazing in his mind. 
 
 " Look here, Vernon," I said, determined 
 to be quite frank with him at whatever cost, 
 "Deeming is a friend of mine." 
 
 " I know." 
 
 " That being so, I don't think you can ex- 
 pect me to be ready to harbour foul suspicions 
 of him without any reason for them being ad- 
 duced. If he were to be suspicious of you, 
 and told me so, I should speak to him as I 
 speak to you now. What on earth has the man 
 done or said to make you so violent yes, my 
 dear friend, that is the word against him? " 
 
 He did not look angry at my energy, but, 
 on the other hand, he did not look doubtful or 
 disposed towards modification. He only said, 
 " How well do you know Deeming ? " 
 
 " Not very intimately, but well enough to 
 feel sure that he is a humane man. Patients 
 of his have spoken to me of him, of his skill, 
 his care, and devotion in the highest terms." 
 
 " I don't doubt it. I don't doubt that he is 
 humane as a doctor. Anyone can see that he 
 is devoted to his profession, and his profes- 
 sion is to heal human suffering. Ambition 
 alone would cause him to be humane as a 
 doctor." 
 
 ' You said yourself you were a bit of a 
 20* 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 crank. Aren't you ever afraid that your 
 crankiness may lead you now do forgive me ! 
 into something approaching malice ? " 
 
 I thought he might be angry, but he wasn't. 
 
 " My intuition apart from anything else," 
 he said "my intuition tells me that Deeming 
 is a cruel man." 
 
 " I don't believe it. Vivisection " 
 
 "I'm not thinking of that now. What I 
 am thinking is that I should like to see Deem- 
 ing's dog." 
 
 ' That wouldn't be difficult, I imagine." 
 
 ' You don't mean that she is with him here, 
 in Rome?" 
 
 " Oh no. A dog in a hotel is apt to be a 
 
 nuisance." 
 
 " I don't agree with you." 
 
 ' Well, well ; but you always come to Lon- 
 don in the late summer. I suppose you'll do 
 so this year? " 
 
 " Probably." 
 
 " Call on Deeming. He's a hospitable man, 
 and if you entertain him here in Rome, he is 
 sure to ask you out in London. There you can 
 see for yourself whether his dog isn't properly 
 treated, as I'll swear she is, and as happy as 
 dog can be." 
 
 I spoke lightly, even with a deliberately jo- 
 cose and chaffing air. He listened to me 
 gravely. 
 
 " I will invite Deeming here," he said. " In- 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 deed, I intended to in any case, as he is a friend 
 of yours." 
 
 " Thank you." 
 
 " But you say he usually entertains in res- 
 taurants when he is in London. I have no 
 reason to think I shall ever set my foot inside 
 his house." 
 
 The extreme gravity of his manner, the 
 earnestness of the eyes that were fixed upon 
 me, made me realise how strong was his 
 strange desire, and therefore, how strong was 
 his as I thought then absurd and unreason- 
 able suspicion. I might have continued to 
 laugh at it, and chaff him about it, but I did 
 not. Something in his face and manner made 
 me unable to do so, made me suddenly con- 
 scious that, however much I laughed, I could 
 never laugh him out of his curious, and surely 
 morbid, anxiety to verify, or lull to rest, his 
 fears. And I must confess so easily are we 
 influenced by certain convinced people whom 
 we care for that I, too, was becoming, at that 
 moment, oddly interested in this matter of 
 Deeming and his black spaniel. Why had I 
 never seen the dog, never heard Deeming 
 mention it till the other night? 
 
 " If Deeming doesn't invite you to his 
 house," I said, changing my tone, " there's a 
 very easy method of getting into it." 
 
 " What method? " said Vernon eagerly. 
 
 " Go to him as a patient." 
 
 I had scarcely said the words before I felt 
 22 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 
 
 uncomfortable, almost traitorous. Here was 
 I entering into something that was like a 
 plot with one friend to get at a knowledge 
 of another which that other had never volun- 
 tarily tendered to me. I was angry with 
 myself. 
 
 " Upon my word, Vernon," I exclaimed, 
 " I'm ashamed of myself! Don't let us discuss 
 this matter any longer. Deeming and you are 
 both my friends, and I wish to act always fair- 
 ly and squarely by you both." 
 
 ;< What unfairness is there in enabling me 
 to prove the folly and falseness of my suspi- 
 cions? " he rejoined quickly. 
 
 "I know I know; but oh, the whole 
 thing is really absurd. It is madness to think 
 such things of a man with no evidence to go 
 upon." 
 
 " How do you know that I have no evi- 
 dence? " 
 
 " How can you have any? " 
 
 "Are a man's words no evidence? Is his 
 face while he says them no evidence? " 
 
 " Did you talk about his dog when he was 
 here this afternoon ? " I asked abruptly, 
 moved by a sudden impression that he was 
 keeping something from me. 
 
 "He wouldn't talk about her. I am quite 
 certain of one thing." 
 
 ' What is that? " 
 
 " That Deeming wishes now that he had 
 never mentioned to us that he had a dog." 
 
 23 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 I suppose I looked incredulous, for he add- 
 ed, without giving me time to speak 
 
 " When you see him again, try to turn the 
 conversation upon the black spaniel, and see 
 how he takes it. And now let us talk of some- 
 thing else." 
 
 During the rest of the evening Deeming 
 and his dog were not mentioned. Vernon re- 
 sumed, almost like a garment, his old self, the 
 self I had always known, cultured, gentle in 
 manner, full of interest in every topic that 
 lent itself to quiet discussion and amiable de- 
 bate. The evil spirit I thought of it as al- 
 most that had departed out of him, and when 
 I got up to go I could hardly believe that I 
 had ever been the recipient of his vehemence, 
 or seen his eyes blazing with the light of scarce- 
 ly controlled passion. He came with me to the 
 hall-door and let me out into the quiet night. 
 
 " Good-bye," he said, pressing my hand. 
 
 " Good-bye," I answered. 
 
 I hesitated. Then I said 
 
 " Doesn't this calm of the night embracing 
 Rome make you make you feel that in your 
 suspicions of Deeming you have been unrea- 
 sonable; that, after all, it is unlikely he should 
 be what you have fancied him to be? " 
 
 In an instant all the calmness, all the gentle- 
 ness went out of his face. But he only an- 
 swered 
 
 " When you get back to the hotel talk to 
 24 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL, 
 
 him about his black spaniel, and see how he 
 takes it. Good-night." 
 
 Before I could say anything more he had 
 drawn back into his house and shut the door 
 quickly behind him. 
 
 25 
 
Ill 
 
 As I walked back to the Grand Hotel I 
 thought over Vernon's last words and the 
 way in which he had said them. Should I 
 obey his injunctions? I confessed to my- 
 self with reluctance that my conversation with 
 him that evening had made me suspicious of 
 a friend. Yet I had Vernon's own word for 
 it that he was a crank on the subject of ani- 
 mals, and my recent experience of him almost 
 forced me to the conclusion that in his nature, 
 usually so gentle, there must be an odd strain 
 of fanaticism. My mind was troubled, and I 
 reached the hotel without coming to a deci- 
 sion as to whether I would speak to Deeming 
 about his dog or not. As I came into the outer 
 hall I saw him through the glass door sitting 
 alone in the winter garden, smoking, with a 
 paper, which he was not reading, lying on his 
 knee. He did not see me, and, for a moment, 
 I watched him with a furtive curiosity of which 
 I was secretly half -ashamed. Perhaps stirred 
 by my gaze, he suddenly looked up, caught 
 sight of me, smiled, and made a slight gesture, 
 as if beckoning me to come in and have a talk. 
 I took off my overcoat and joined him. 
 
 "I've just come from Vernon," I said, sit- 
 ting down and lighting a cigar. 
 
 26 
 
AS I WALKED BACK, I THOUGHT OVER VERNON'S LAST 
 WORDS." 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 "Ah!" said Deeming. 
 
 He uncrossed his legs, crossed them again, 
 and added: 
 
 " He's got a beautiful house." 
 
 ' Yes, one of the most beautiful in Rome. 
 He wants you to dine with him one night, I 
 believe. Probably he'll ask you in a day or 
 two." 
 
 ' Very good of him." 
 
 His voice was scarcely cordial. 
 
 " He's a curious fellow," he continued. 
 " Easy in his manner, but difficult really to 
 know, I fancy." 
 
 "If you dine with him you may find him 
 less reserved," I said, rather perfunctorily. 
 
 " I don't suppose he'll ask me alone." 
 
 " Oh, I shouldn't wonder." 
 
 " I don't think he cares much about me," 
 Deeming continued abruptly. " Do you? " 
 
 " My dear fellow, he hardly knows you," 
 I exclaimed. ' You haven't been quarrelling 
 over the animal world this afternoon, have 
 you?" 
 
 And I laughed, but without much cordial- 
 ity, I fear. 
 
 "Did he say we had?" 
 
 " Good heavens, no! But you differ on the 
 dog question, and so " 
 
 Deeming frowned. 
 
 "The dog question!" he said. "Why on 
 earth should you call it that?" 
 
 "Well, I mean that he's very sensitive since 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 he lost his dog, and that perhaps makes him a 
 little unreasonable at times, though I must say 
 that till the other night when he dined here I 
 never heard him mention the subject of ani- 
 mals and their relation with man. And, by 
 the way, you've been equally silent. Till the 
 other night I never knew you possessed a 
 dog." 
 
 "Is it such an important matter that I 
 should go about proclaiming it? " 
 
 His tone was suddenly hard and impatient. 
 
 " No, of course not." 
 
 " I hate people who bother their friends 
 about their pets. It's almost as bad as the 
 women who are always talking about the mar- 
 vellous beauty and genius of their squalling 
 babies." 
 
 He set his lips together as if he never meant 
 to open them again, and I saw a look as of 
 acute nervous irritation in his eyes. It warned 
 me not to persevere in the conversation, and 
 made me vexed with myself for having given 
 way to Vernon's desire. 
 
 "Let's have a nightcap," I said. "What 
 do you think of doing to-morrow? What do 
 you say to getting a carriage and driving over 
 to lunch at Tivoli?" 
 
 He looked more easy. 
 
 " If it is fine I should enjoy it immensely," 
 he said in a calmer voice. 
 
 And we talked of old gardens and the beau- 
 ty of rushing water. 
 
 28 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 We spent the following day together at 
 Tivoli. When we came back towards evening, 
 the hall-porter handed to Deeming a note. It 
 was from Vernon, inviting him to dine two 
 days later. 
 
 " You see how he hates you! " I said chafF- 
 ingly when he told me. " Do you mean to 
 go?" 
 
 "Oh, yes. Why not? " 
 
 He spoke lightly, holding the note open in 
 his hand. 
 
 He did not go, however, and for this reason. 
 On the morning of the day he was to dine with 
 Vernon, he left Rome for England. An ur- 
 gent summons from a patient, he told me, 
 made it necessary for him to go to London 
 without a moment's delay. 
 
 I remonstrated with him, but in vain. 
 
 " I've had quite enough rest," he said. " I'm 
 all right. And this is an important matter. 
 It means a very large sum of money." 
 
 " Health's more than money." 
 
 " Certainly, but I feel quite my own man 
 again." 
 
 He did not look it, but I said no more. 
 
 I knew that argument would be useless. He 
 sent a note to Vernon, and, when I bade him 
 good-bye, begged me to express his regret at 
 being obliged to cancel the dinner. 
 
 " But I hope some day he'll come to dine 
 with me in London. Do tell him so," he 
 said, as he stepped into the omnibus to go to 
 
 29 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 the station. " I should like to meet him 
 again." 
 
 Those were his last words. I repeated them 
 to Vernon. 
 
 " I shall not forget that invitation, I assure 
 you," he said quietly. "And I may be able to 
 enjoy Deeming's hospitality sooner than he, 
 perhaps, expects." 
 
 ' Why? You're surely not going to Lon- 
 don yet awhile? I thought you loved your 
 June in Rome better than any other month of 
 the year." 
 
 " But I've had so many Junes in Rome that 
 I think I shall make a change. By the way, 
 when will you be in London? " 
 
 " Oh, certainly by the last week in April." 
 
 " If I asked to travel back with you, would 
 you object to my company? " 
 
 "My dear fellow! Of course I should be 
 delighted." 
 
 ' Let us consider it a bargain, then." 
 
 He spoke decisively, and shook me by the 
 hand as if to clinch the bargain. Nor did he 
 forget it. 
 
 The third week in April found us in Paris, 
 and on the twenty-second of that month we 
 stepped into the rapide at the Gare du Nord, 
 bound for England. 
 
 We sat opposite to one another in the com- 
 partment, with, at first, ramparts of London 
 papers between us; but, as we drew near to 
 Boulogne, first Vernon's rampart fell, and 
 
 30 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 then mine. The thought of the nearness of 
 England had got hold of us both. London 
 ideas were taking possession of us, and, as 
 the train rushed on towards the sea, we became 
 restless, as if the roar of the great city were 
 already in our ears. 
 
 " Do you know," I said, breaking our mu- 
 tual silence, " that, familiar as I am with Lon- 
 don, I can never return to it after an absence 
 without a feeling of apprehension. It always 
 seems to me that in its black and smoky arms 
 it must hold some disaster which it is waiting 
 to give to me." 
 
 "I've had that sensation, too," said Vernon. 
 " Among the cities of the world London is the 
 monster, not merely by right of size but by 
 other, and more mysterious rights. It affects 
 my imagination more than any of the Euro- 
 pean capitals, but rather frightfully than 
 agreeably. I feel that it is the city of adven- 
 ture, but that every adventure there must have 
 a fearsome ending." 
 
 " No doubt we are affected by its climate 
 and its atmosphere." 
 
 " I dare say. Still, if anything very strange, 
 very uncommon, should ever happen to me, I 
 am quite sure that it will be in London." 
 
 I smiled. 
 
 " My experience," I said, " has been that in 
 London I am perpetually expectant of gloomy 
 and mysterious events, but that my life there 
 is remarkably unromantic and commonplace." 
 
 31 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 ' You speak almost regretfully. Do you 
 wish for gloomy and mysterious events in your 
 life?" 
 
 " I suppose not. Yet there is a spirit hidden 
 in one which does sigh plaintively for the 
 strange." 
 
 " Perhaps this time it will be gratified." 
 
 Something in the tone of his voice moved 
 me to say 
 
 " Do you expect it to be gratified? " 
 
 "I! Why should I?" 
 
 " I don't know. Something in your voice 
 made me fancy that you did." 
 
 He laughed. 
 
 " The London atmosphere is, perhaps, af- 
 fecting me already," he said. " The London 
 influence is taking hold of me. I told you it 
 always stirred my imagination." 
 
 "At Boulogne-sur-mer! " I said, as the 
 train ran into the station. " The monster's 
 arms are longer than Goliath's! " 
 
 The stoppage of the train interrupted our 
 conversation. We got out to stretch our legs 
 for a moment, and as we did so I found myself 
 wondering why Vernon, generally a very 
 frank man, at any rate with me, should have 
 met my plain question with an attempt at 
 laughing subterfuge. It was a very slight 
 matter, of course. In another man I should, 
 perhaps, scarcely have noticed it. But it was 
 not Vernon's way, and therefore it struck me. 
 I felt that he wished to prevent me from get- 
 
 32 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 ting at the truth of his mind at this moment. 
 Usually, his desire certainly was that the truth 
 of his mind should be known to me. 
 
 We travelled to Calais in silence. Then 
 came the bustle of going aboard the steamer 
 and fortifying ourselves against the painful 
 attentions of a sharp north-easterly wind. 
 When we were established in our deck-chairs, 
 and closely wrapped in rugs, we glanced 
 round to see whether we had any acquaint- 
 ances among our fellow-passengers. The 
 steamer was just casting off, and some, like 
 ourselves, were already settled down for the 
 voyage, while others were tramping up and 
 down briskly, with an air of determination, 
 as if bent upon making their blood circulate, 
 and getting the maximum of benefit out of 
 the crossing. Among the latter was an elder- 
 ly man, with pepper-and-salt hair and a thin, 
 aristocratic face. 
 
 " Hullo," I said, " there's Lord Elyn. I 
 wonder where he's come from." 
 
 Turning in his walk, he was in front of us 
 almost as I said the words, and, seeing me, 
 stopped, and, bending down, shook my hand. 
 
 " Where do you hail from? " he asked. 
 
 " Paris," I answered. " I've been in Rome. 
 And you? " 
 
 " Calais." 
 ' You've been staying at Calais? " 
 
 " No. I'm here for my medicine. I live 
 on the Channel at present, or nearly. My 
 
 33 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 doctor, Peter Deeming he'll be Sir Peter 
 before long, I suppose has prescribed the 
 double voyage, from Dover and back, every 
 day of the week for a month. I sleep at the 
 Burlington and eat bceuf-a-la-mode at the 
 Calais buffet every midday of my life just 
 
 now." 
 
 " Deeming's a friend of mine of ours," I 
 jsaid. " May I introduce Mr. Kersteven 
 Lord Elyn." 
 
 The two men bowed. 
 
 " It's a pity he doesn't take his own medi- 
 cine," said Lord Elyn. " I've tried to persuade 
 him, but in vain so far. However, I've got his 
 promise to come down to-night Saturday, 
 you know and stay till Monday, and make 
 the voyage with me to-morrow. I expect 
 to find him at the Burlington when I get 
 back." 
 
 I saw a sharp look of eagerness come into 
 Vernon's face. 
 
 "Is .Deeming looking ill, Lord Elyn?" 
 he asked. " You say it is a pity he doesn't take 
 the medicine he prescribes for you." 
 
 " I think him looking very ill pale and 
 worried and played out. He is too great a 
 success and pays the penalty works too hard, 
 like most successful men. He ought to have 
 prolonged his holiday in Rome. I can't imag- 
 ine why he hurried back to town so unex- 
 pectedly." 
 
 " Oh," I said, " I can explain that. He 
 34 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 was summoned to town by an important pa- 
 tient." 
 
 "Really!" said Lord Elyn. "I never 
 heard of it." 
 
 He sounded slightly incredulous. 
 
 " I saw him almost directly he arrived," he 
 added; "and when I inquired why he had 
 shortened his trip to Italy, he merely told me 
 that he was all right and had got sick of doing 
 nothing." 
 
 "Well," I answered, "he left Rome at a 
 moment's notice, and gave me the reason I 
 told you." 
 
 " Oh! Well, then, of course, it was so. A 
 pity for him though not for us, eh? He's a 
 wonderful doctor. No one like him. And 
 now, if you'll excuse me, I must take exer- 
 cise. I keep walking the whole time, by com- 
 mand." 
 
 He nodded, and went off up the deck at a 
 brisk pace. 
 
 " I'm sorry to hear that about Deeming," I 
 said to Vernon. 
 
 " Yes. It's a pity he was called away from 
 Rome." 
 
 His voice, too, sounded incredulous. 
 
 "Why d'you say it like that?" I asked. 
 " You don't think he told us a lie? " 
 
 "Why put it so cruelly? He may have 
 made an excuse. When one receives a boring 
 dinner-invitation, one has sometimes a previ- 
 ous engagement." 
 
 35 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 "A dinner-invitation! Surely you don't 
 
 ? " 
 
 ' Well, he was to have dined with me the 
 night of the day he left. But, of course, it 
 may have been a pure coincidence." 
 
 Lord Elyn passed us again, and repassed. 
 
 " I say, Luttrell," Vernon added, " what do 
 you say to one more night out of London? 
 What do you say to a night at the Burling- 
 ton? " 
 
 " At Dover? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "But the luggage! It's all registered 
 through." 
 
 "We've got our dressing-cases, and my 
 man has a bag with my pyjamas. Evening 
 dress doesn't matter for a night. I'm sure the 
 Burlington will forgive us, especially if we 
 engage a sitting-room." 
 
 " Oh, yes, that doesn't matter." 
 
 " What do you say, then? " 
 
 " I don't know that I mind, but what's 
 made you think of it all of a sudden? Have 
 you taken a violent fancy to Lord Elyn? " 
 
 My voice was challenging. He only smiled 
 quietly. 
 
 " A very violent fancy. I like obedient 
 
 men." 
 
 Lord Elyn passed once more with a serious, 
 determined air. He did not look at us. He 
 was intent on his medicine. 
 
 " You're joking." 
 
 36 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 " So were you." 
 
 I laughed. 
 
 " Of course. You don't choose to tell me 
 your reason for wishing to stop at Dover? " 
 
 " I think you've guessed it." 
 
 He unrolled the rug from his legs and got 
 up. 
 
 "I'm going to take some medicine, too. 
 Think over the Burlington and tell me pres- 
 ently." 
 
 In a moment I saw him join Lord Elyn, 
 and they walked up and down together, talk- 
 ing busily. 
 
 Of course, I had " guessed it." He wanted 
 to meet Deeming again, to meet him directly 
 we landed in England. My previous suspicion 
 it had been almost more than a suspicion 
 was confirmed. I felt positive now that Ver- 
 non had cut short his stay in Rome, given up 
 his June there, in order to follow Deeming to 
 London and try to see more of him. The 
 obsession of the black spaniel I called it that 
 now in my mind for the first time was still 
 upon him, had been upon him ever since the 
 night when I had made my two friends ac- 
 quainted with each other in the winter garden 
 of the Grand Hotel. And Deeming? Had he 
 really invented an imaginary patient in order 
 to have a good excuse for leaving Rome and 
 so avoiding Vernon's dinner? If that were so, 
 then I was assisting at a sort of man-hunt, in 
 which two of my friends were pursued and 
 
 37 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 pursuer. I began to feel as if I were going 
 to be involved in something extraordinary. 
 And yet how vague, how fantastic it all was! 
 And my own position? I tried to review it. 
 If I assisted Vernon in any way, could I be 
 called or rather, should I be, that was the 
 only thing that mattered disloyal to 'Deem- 
 ing? I felt rather uncomfortable, and yet 
 and this was strange rather excited. I 
 thought of my conversation with Vernon 
 about London. I had been absent from it for 
 some time, yet already, and on the sea, I felt 
 affected by its powerful and dreadful influ- 
 ence, felt that curious sense of apprehension 
 which I had mentioned to Vernon in the train. 
 Suddenly I resolved to fall in with my friend's 
 wish to stay the night at Dover. After all, 
 what did it matter? He and Deeming would 
 certainly meet in London. Why strive to 
 postpone the meeting? It seemed to me I 
 was thinking somewhat absurdly, I acknowl- 
 edge it that it would be better, safer, that the 
 encounter should take place at Dover, under 
 the white cliffs, with the sea-wind coming in, 
 perhaps, through open windows. London was 
 mephitic, and turned one to gloomy and mor- 
 bid imaginations. The sea-wind might blow 
 away Vernon's extraordinary suspicions of 
 Deeming, and lay to rest the obsession of the 
 black spaniel. 
 
 Moved by this idea, when Vernon presently 
 stopped before me with Lord Elyn, I said 
 
 38 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 " I give my vote for a night at the Bur- 
 lington." 
 
 " Capital! " said Vernon. " I've been tell- 
 ing Lord Elyn we thought of staying, and he 
 is sure our tweeds and coloured ties will be for- 
 given us." 
 
 39 
 
IV 
 
 AT the Burlington in the hall we found 
 Deeming. I saw him before he was aware 
 of us, and was startled by the change in his 
 face. There was the stamp of nervous ex- 
 haustion upon it. The complexion was grey, 
 the mouth was drawn, the eyes were anxious, 
 almost feverish. When he turned and faced 
 us fully he made an abrupt movement which 
 was certainly not caused by pleasure, and I 
 saw the fingers of his two hands clench them- 
 selves violently in the palms. Then he recov- 
 ered himself, came forward, and greeted us 
 with self-possession. 
 
 " I never expected to see you in England 
 so soon," he said to Vernon. " I thought you 
 usually spent part of the summer in Rome." 
 
 " I often do. But this year something has 
 called me to London." 
 
 " Oh. Well, all the better. We shall see 
 something of you. I hope we shall bring off 
 our dinner together in town. Only you must 
 let me be the host." 
 
 " Thank you. I shall be delighted." 
 
 The note of cordiality was, I thought, 
 forced by both men. Few more words were 
 spoken, for it was getting late, and the hour 
 of dinner was approaching. As we went up- 
 stairs I said to Vernon 
 
 40 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 " Deeming does certainly want medicine of 
 one sort or another. Don't you think he looks 
 horribly ill? " 
 
 "He has a strung-up expression. I should 
 say he's overworking. Did you notice how 
 he started when he saw us? " 
 
 "Did he?" I answered, disingenuously I 
 confess. " Naturally he was surprised. He 
 had no idea we were in England." 
 
 " Exactly. Here are our rooms. 'Au re- 
 voir at dinner." 
 
 The dinner I need not chronicle at length. 
 It took place downstairs, although we had en- 
 gaged the sitting-room to appease a manage- 
 ment shocked at our lack of evening clothes. 
 The talk ran easily enough, helped by Lord 
 Elyn's unconsciousness of the obsession of the 
 black spaniel, which sometimes seemed to me 
 to be hovering about our table, creeping be- 
 neath our chairs, a shadow importunate, ser- 
 vile, yet menacing. I felt that the thoughts 
 of Deeming and Vernon, interlacing and in- 
 imical, were on this whining, whimpering, un- 
 easy shadow, that had called the latter from 
 his home in Italy, that had stopped him here 
 by the grey sea. I knew it as if those thoughts 
 were spread before me by my plate. And all 
 the time we chatted, glancing from subject to 
 subject without great earnestness, laughing 
 lightly at the last London absurdity, or dis- 
 cussing with apparent animation the chances 
 of politics and the trend of art, I felt that our 
 
 41 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 conversation was but a thin veil spread over 
 a depth in which were other voices than ours, 
 murmuring, in which the pale forms of future 
 events glided, like spectres, to and fro. 
 
 Directly after dinner Lord Elyn excused 
 himself. 
 
 " The eyes of the nurse are upon me," he 
 said, jocosely. " I see them saying: ' Master 
 Elyn, it's time for you to go to bed ! ' Eh, 
 Deeming? " 
 
 " Quite right, Lord Elyn," answered Deem- 
 ing, smiling. 
 
 ' Well, good-night. You'd much better 
 come too, Deeming." 
 
 " Oh, I couldn't sleep yet. I haven't been 
 on the sea. I think I shall go out and take a 
 breath of air on the front." 
 
 " Perhaps it may do you good. I feel full 
 of sleep." 
 
 And he went off, leaving us in the hall. 
 ' Will you come out? " asked Deeming. 
 
 The invitation seemed addressed to both of 
 us. I expected Vernon to accept it with alac- 
 rity, but, to my surprise, he took up the West- 
 minster Gazette. 
 
 "I'm a bit tired," he answered. " I think 
 I'll stay here." 
 
 " I'll come with you," I said. 
 
 " Right. I want a turn or two to summon 
 slumber." 
 
 There was something almost pathetic in his 
 voice. It moved me to ask, as we went down 
 
 42 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 the steps, and along the row of houses to the 
 sea-front 
 
 " Have you been sleeping badly, then? " 
 
 " Pretty badly. I say, what's brought Ver- 
 non over so soon? " 
 
 The question was sharply suspicious. 
 
 " He didn't tell me," I answered. 
 
 " Then you don't know? " 
 
 We turned to the left and walked along 
 the parade towards the cliff. No one was 
 about in the cold and gusty night. Now and 
 then a light flashed out across the sea, swept 
 it in a half circle, and vanished in the dark- 
 ness. 
 
 " Oh, I'm not in all Vernon's secrets," I 
 said. 
 
 Directly I had spoken I regretted my choice 
 of words. 
 
 "Secrets!" he said. 
 
 " I only mean that Vernon's not specially 
 given to making confidences. If he has any 
 particular reason for coming to England at 
 this time of year, he hasn't told it to me. But 
 why should he have any special reason? " 
 
 Deeming shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " Where is he going to stay in town? " he 
 asked. 
 
 "At Claridge's, I believe; at any rate, for 
 a time." 
 
 " Then he means to make a long stay? " 
 
 His voice still sounded intensely suspicious. 
 Suddenly I felt as if I could not stand all this 
 
 43 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 subterfuge, as if I must brush away from me 
 the spider's web of mutual distrust in which 
 my two friends were entangling me with each 
 other. 
 
 "My dear fellow!" I exclaimed. 'You 
 really make me feel as if I were under cross- 
 examination. I begin to wish I had never in- 
 troduced you and Vernon to each other." 
 
 Deeming stopped dead, and looked at me. 
 
 " Perhaps it would have been better," he 
 said. " Much better." 
 
 " You think so, too? Why? " 
 
 " Can't you see that Vernon hates me? " 
 he said, with violence. 
 
 " What earthly reason can he have for hat- 
 ing you? " 
 
 " Some men don't ask for reasons. There 
 is something about me which is antipathetic 
 to Vernon, and he's a strange fellow. You 
 think him gentle, I know. But I well, I 
 believe that underneath his apparent gentle- 
 ness hides the soul of a fanatic, a black fa- 
 natic." 
 
 We were still standing face to face. Now 
 I looked into his eyes and said: 
 
 " I'm going to be very rude to you." 
 
 " Go on. I'll bear it.'] 
 
 " I am perfectly certain you are suffering 
 from nervous exhaustion. You have all the 
 symptoms. You are horribly pale and shaky, 
 and full of irritability and suspicion, ready 
 to entertain any dark idea that may present 
 
 44 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 itself to you, unable to see things in a clear 
 light of reason." 
 
 " And you, Luttrell; do you know what you 
 are?" 
 
 "I!" 
 
 " Yes. I'm going to be rude to you. You 
 are either a self -deceiver or a well, something 
 one doesn't care to call a man. You know 
 quite well, in your heart, that Vernon has come 
 over so soon because because 
 
 Suddenly he hesitated, faltered, broke off. 
 
 I seemed to hear the whimper of a dog near 
 us in the night. 
 
 " I've had enough of the wind," he said. 
 " I'm going in." 
 
 And we went back to the hotel without an- 
 other word. 
 
 Next morning, Vernon and I went up to 
 town by an early train, leaving Lord Elyn 
 and Deeming to take their Channel trip. At 
 Charing Cross, as we were parting, Vernon 
 to go to Claridge's and I to my flat in Albe- 
 marle Street, Vernon said, " By the way, what 
 is Deeming's address? " 
 
 ' Three hundred, Wimpole Street," I said. 
 
 He took out a card and a pencil. 
 
 " Three hundred, Wimpole Street," he re- 
 peated slowly, as he wrote it down. " Good- 
 bye. Let's meet to-morrow. Come and lunch 
 with me." 
 
 He got into a hansom and drove away. I 
 followed in a moment. As my cab came out 
 
 45 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 of the station yard and crossed Trafalgar 
 Square I was enveloped in what I called to 
 myself " the London feeling." The day was 
 warm, but dull and grey. The tall buildings, 
 the statue of Gordon, the Nelson column, the 
 lions, looked sad and phantom-like to my eyes, 
 for many months accustomed to the pellucid 
 clearness of African landscapes, to the bril- 
 liant blue of Italian skies. And the well- 
 known depression which always settles down 
 upon me like a fog when I first return to Lon- 
 don came to me once more, bathing me in a 
 gloom which I strove in vain to shake off. In 
 this gloom I seemed to see, like shadows pass- 
 ing in a fog, the forms of Vernon, of Deem- 
 ing, and another form, small, black, and cring- 
 ing, the form of a dog. 
 
 "P'f!" I said to myself. " Am I going 
 to be the slave of a too sensitive imagina- 
 tion? " 
 
 And I resolutely began to think of pleasant 
 things, of the friends, of the amusements, of 
 the occupations that would solace me. Yet, 
 when I reached Albemarle Street, I was 
 heavy-hearted, and all that day and the next 
 my depression persisted. Even a cheerful 
 lunch with Vernon at Claridge's and the re- 
 newal of many old acquaintanceships failed 
 to restore me to my normal temper. 
 
 A week passed by, and I had not seen 
 Deeming. I was beginning to wonder what 
 had become of him, when I received from him 
 
 46 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 a note asking me to dine with him at the 
 Carlton on the following evening to meet 
 Vernon. I was, unfortunately, already en- 
 gaged to dine with some American friends 
 and go to the play; so I wrote to excuse 
 myself, and added this postscript 
 
 " May your dinner banish your mutual mis- 
 understanding. Remember that it will always 
 be a grief to me if my two friends are at cross- 
 purposes." 
 
 The day after the dinner, when I had just 
 come in from the club at seven o'clock in 
 the evening, my servant announced " Doctor 
 Deeming," and Deeming walked into the 
 room. I saw at once that he was in a condi- 
 tion of unusual excitement. We shook hands, 
 and directly my man had gone out and the 
 door was shut, Deeming, who was still stand- 
 ing and who did not seem to see the chair I 
 offered to him, exclaimed 
 
 " Of course, you have heard about Number 
 301?" 
 
 "Number 301? What the deuce do you 
 mean? " I asked. 
 
 " Number 301, Wimpole Street, the house 
 next door to mine." 
 
 " What about it? Has it been burgled, or 
 burnt down, or what? " 
 
 "Burnt down! Nonsense! It's been to 
 let for the last three months. Yesterday 
 morning I found the board was down, and 
 last night Vernon told me that he has taken 
 
 47 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 it. He's taken it as it is, furnished, and is 
 going in at once." 
 
 I was surprised, and, I suppose, showed that 
 I was in my face, for he continued 
 
 "Oh, then you didn't know! He hadn't 
 told you!" 
 
 " He has told me nothing." 
 
 " It's a strange business. I I " 
 
 He began to walk to and fro. 
 
 ' Why should lie come to live next door to 
 me? Why should he ?" 
 
 He stopped in front of me. 
 
 " Did you tell him where I lived? " he said, 
 almost menacingly. 
 
 I resented his tone. 
 
 " Look here, Deeming," I said, quietly. 
 " If we are to continue friends, there must 
 really be an end of all this mystery and suspi- 
 cion about nothing. Why shouldn't I tell 
 Vernon where you live? " 
 
 "Did you tell him?" 
 
 " Certainly. He asked me, and of course 
 I answered. Are you a criminal hiding from 
 justice, and is Vernon a detective? Upon my 
 word 
 
 I felt I was getting hot, and was silent. He 
 stood quite still, staring at me for a moment 
 with eyes that were almost fierce. Then he 
 sat down on a sofa a little way from me, and 
 said in a calmer voice 
 
 " Yes, of course there was no reason. Still, 
 it's very odd. You must see that," 
 
 48 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 "What is there odd in it? If it's a good 
 house, why shouldn't Vernon take it as well 
 as anyone else? " 
 
 " It's a fairly good house." 
 
 He moved, and leaned towards me. 
 
 " Originally," he said, speaking slowly, 
 " originally it was one with mine. The two 
 houses were thrown into one. That was when 
 Renold, the author, lived there. Afterwards, 
 it was as it is now. But it's still almost like 
 one house. "4 
 
 "How can that be?" 
 
 ' Well, the alteration was very flimsily car- 
 ried out, I suppose; for in the one house one 
 can I hope to goodness Vernon isn't much 
 of a musician." 
 
 ' You're afraid of being disturbed? " 
 
 " If he plays the piano by Jove! " 
 
 He burst into a laugh. 
 
 " Look out in the papers very soon," he 
 said. " I shall probably be bringing a case 
 against him for annoyance. I can't stand a 
 hullabaloo next door after I've finished my 
 day's work. I want rest and peace. It's no 
 joke being a successful physician, I can tell 
 you." 
 
 I laughed too, almost as unnaturally as he 
 had. 
 
 " Oh," I said, " you needn't be afraid. Ver- 
 non does play, but I'm sure, if you ask him, 
 he'll put his piano against the wall of the other 
 house, and keep the windows shut when he is 
 
 49 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 Eractising. Why didn't you speak about it 
 ist night? " 
 
 "I'll ask no favours of Vernon," he said 
 sternly. 
 
 Then he got up. 
 
 "I thought I'd just tell you," he said. 
 " Now I can't stop. I've got a patient to see." 
 
 He gave me a feverish hand, and went 
 quickly out of the room. 
 
 While he was with me, I had endeavoured 
 to make light of his news, to deceive him into 
 the belief that I thought Vernon's action a 
 chance one, but directly I was alone I felt, 
 though less agitated, nearly as angry at this 
 aif air as he did. It was a strange business 
 this pursuit. [Deeming had said to me at 
 Dover that Vernon was a " black fanatic " ; 
 what if it were so? What if my friend, so 
 kind, so calm, even so unusually gentle in or- 
 dinary life, well balanced and eminently sane 
 in his outlook upon men and affairs, really 
 had a " screw loose " to use the current 
 phrase? What if the fate of his dog had actu- 
 ally affected his mind? I knew that there are 
 men in the world who are sound on all subjects 
 except one. Touch upon that subject, and 
 they show an eccentricity that is akin to mad- 
 ness. It might be so with Vernon. I began 
 to feel as if it must be so, and a great restless- 
 ness, a great uneasiness, beset me. Driven 
 by it, I caught up my hat, hurried down- 
 stairs, hailed a hansom, and went to Claridge's. 
 
 50 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 The hall-porter informed me that Mr. Ker- 
 steven was out. 
 
 " Do you happen to know where he has 
 gone? " I asked. 
 
 " No, sir; he didn't leave any word." 
 
 My cab was waiting. I jumped into it again 
 and called to the man 
 
 " Go to 301, Wimpole Street." 
 
 My instinct told me that I should find Ver- 
 non there. 
 
 Night was now falling. It was the hour 
 when, to me, London presents its dreariest as- 
 pect. The streets are not yet thronged with 
 those who, having worked during the day, are 
 beginning to seek their nocturnal pleasures. 
 The just-lit lamps are waging a feeble com- 
 bat with the last fading rays of the flickering 
 twilight. There is a sense of something closing 
 in, like a furtive enemy, upon the great' city. 
 As I neared Wimpole Street I noticed that a 
 fine rain was beginning to fall. The air was 
 damp, without freshness, oppressive. In the 
 gloom the cabman mistook the number and 
 stopped at Deeming's door. I got out quick- 
 ly, paid and dismissed him, and was about to 
 move on to Number 301, when it seemed to 
 me that I heard the shrill, short whine of a 
 dog. It startled me, and I remained where I 
 was, listening in the rain. The sound was not 
 repeated. I looked down the dismal street, 
 but I saw no animal. I had not been able to 
 locate the noise. I glanced at Deeming's 
 
 51 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 house. It was dark. Only from a window in 
 the area shone a pale gleam of light. After 
 two or three minutes' hesitation I moved away, 
 ascended the step of Number 301, and pressed 
 the electric-bell. There was no response. I 
 pressed it again and kept my finger upon it 
 for at least a minute. This time my sum- 
 mons was answered, though in a rather un- 
 orthodox fashion. A window on the first-floor 
 was pushed up, and I saw a vague face look- 
 ing out at me from above. 
 
 " Vernon," I said, " is it you? " 
 
 No voice replied, but the window was 
 shut down, and almost directly, through some 
 glass above the hall-door, I saw a bright light 
 start up, and I heard a faint movement 
 within. Then the door was opened and Ver- 
 non stood before me. He looked greatly sur- 
 prised. 
 
 " You? " he said. " How on earth did you 
 know I was here? " 
 
 " I didn't know it. Can I come in? " 
 
 "Yes. Why not?" 
 
 But he still stood in the doorway, blocking 
 up the entrance. 
 
 "You're alone?" he asked, rather suspi- 
 ciously. 
 
 " Quite alone." 
 
 " Come in." 
 
 I stepped into a hideous passage, and he at 
 once shut the door. 
 
 " Well? " he said. 
 
 52 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 Not only his voice, but his attitude ques- 
 tioned me. 
 
 " I went to Claridge's. They told me you 
 were out, so I came on here on the chance 
 that you might be looking over your new 
 abode." 
 
 " So Deeming's been with you! " 
 
 6 Yes, he came in for a minute, and men- 
 tioned casually that you had taken this house." 
 
 "Oh! he mentioned it casually, did he? 
 Well, come and have a look at it, won't you? " 
 
 " If you don't mind." 
 
 He spoke with constraint, and so did I. In- 
 deed, I had never before felt so uncomfortable 
 with Vernon as I did at this moment. I did 
 not know exactly what I had expected of him 
 if I found him at the house; but it certainly 
 was not this cold reserve, as of one who scarce- 
 ly knew me, and to whom my appearance was 
 unwelcome. 
 
 " It's not a bad house," he said, as we went 
 towards the stairs. " It will do very well for 
 me for the season." 
 
 " You're in luck, then." 
 
 The words faltered on my lips even while 
 I strove to speak carelessly, for, in truth, 
 knowing Vernon as I did, knowing his house 
 in Rome, it was almost impossible not to ex- 
 press my amazement at his choice or, no, 
 perhaps not that, for I could no longer be in 
 any doubt as to why he had rented Number 
 301 but it was almost impossible to keep up 
 
 53 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 the ridiculous pretence, forced upon me by his 
 words and manner, that I thought he had 
 rented Number 301 because it had seemed to 
 him a suitable London home. 
 
 A more dreadful house I have seldom seen. 
 The stamp of bad taste, of pretentious middle- 
 class vulgarity, was upon it, showing in every 
 detail, in the colouring of walls, in the pat- 
 terns of carpets, in the shapes of the furniture, 
 in the tiles of the hearths, in the very balus- 
 ters and fire-irons. The mirrors were painted 
 with bulrushes, poppies, tulips. Cushions of 
 brown and sulphur-coloured plush lay upon 
 settees that imitated shells. Chocolate-hued 
 portieres hung across double doors, upon which 
 were views of Swiss lakes and Alpine heights. 
 There were ceilings that represented the starry 
 firmament, and there were floors that sug- 
 gested the vegetable-monger's shop. In 
 " cosy corners," thick with dusty draperies, 
 nestled imitation beetles and frogs, among 
 Japanese fans and squads of photographs of 
 possibly well-known actresses, roofed in by 
 open umbrellas of paper, from whose spokes 
 hung gilded balls. 
 
 And there were yellow spotted palms in 
 pots, wrapped, like a face distraught with 
 toothache, in smothering cloths of bilious yel- 
 low and of shrieking green. 
 
 " Not a bad house, is it? " said Vernon once 
 more, when we had partially explored it. By 
 the words, by his manner, I was made at once 
 
 54 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 to realise that from this moment he intended to 
 keep me out of his confidence. Why this was 
 so I could only try to surmise. As to action, 
 all I could do was to accept the situation and 
 follow him in travesty with as good a grace as 
 possible. It was evident that Vernon's sus- 
 picions of my good faith had been aroused by 
 my unexpected visit, following so immediately 
 upon Deeming's announcement of the taking 
 of the house, and that he had resolved to show 
 me that he would not permit any criticism, 
 even any discussion of his doings, however 
 strange, however hostile to 'Deeming they 
 must seem to me in the light of recent events. 
 
 " Not at all bad," I answered. 
 
 We were standing at the moment in the ter- 
 rible double drawing-room. I carefully ab- 
 stained from looking round. There was an 
 instant of, to me, rather embarrassing silence. 
 Then Vernon said 
 
 ' Well, shall we go out together? It's get- 
 ting rather late. You hadn't anything special 
 to say to me, I suppose? " 
 
 " No, nothing. I just called at the hotel, 
 and thought, as you were out, I might find you 
 examining your new abode." 
 
 Even as I spoke I involuntarily shuddered; 
 I thought at the idea of Vernon living in 
 this house, this inmost sanctuary of Philistin- 
 ism. 
 
 " Why did you do that? " he said sharply. 
 
 "What?" ' 
 
 55 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 " Shiver like that. Did you did you hear 
 anything?" 
 
 His eyes searched mine; and once more I 
 saw the fierce light in them. 
 
 "Hear? No. What should I hear? " 
 
 He did not answer; but continued to stare 
 at me as if he doubted my words. Then he 
 said abruptly: 
 
 " Let us be off, then." 
 
 We descended the stairs and let ourselves 
 out into the darkness and the rain. As we 
 passed Deeming's house I seemed once more 
 to hear the shrill whimper of a dog. I won- 
 dered if Vernon had heard it too, for he hesi- 
 tated by the step of the door, almost as if he 
 thought of mounting it, and glanced swiftly 
 down to the area, from which still shone the 
 ray of light. But he said nothing, and we 
 walked on, and were soon in the bustle of Ox- 
 ford Street. 
 
 56 
 
AFTER seeing Vernon that evening in No. 
 301, Wimpole Street, I knew two things 
 for certain. One was that he had taken the 
 house in order to be next door to Deeming; 
 the other, that whatever project he might 
 have formed, whatever intention or desire 
 was driving him on into a strange path, he 
 did not mean me to know of it through him. 
 I was to be shut out from his confidence. 
 
 This fact, while it irritated me, also relieved 
 me. It rendered my position as the friend of 
 both men more tenable than it could have been 
 had Vernon confided in me. Now, if at any 
 time Deeming were suspicious of me, I should 
 be able to confront him with the complacency 
 of a complete innocence, whereas hitherto I 
 had more than once experienced the discom- 
 fort of I hope I may say it without offence 
 an honourable man who is forced by cir- 
 cumstance to practise a mild deceit. This was 
 a relief. 
 
 Nevertheless, I did feel both irritation and 
 surprise at Vernon's attitude towards me. It 
 seemed to throw a chill over our friendship. 
 If he had never spoken to me of Deeming and 
 his black spaniel, the matter would not have 
 troubled me, but a confidence begun and then 
 abruptly discontinued surely implies that one's 
 
 57 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 friendship is doubted. I could no longer feel 
 quite at ease when I was with Vernon. A dark 
 and cringing shadow separated us. 
 
 Vernon moved into his dreadful house two 
 days after I had first seen it. I naturally ex- 
 pected that, being a rich man, he would im- 
 mediately begin to tear down draperies, to get 
 in new furniture, to lay down carpets that did 
 not recall the vegetable-monger's, to turn out 
 the frogs and the beetles, and to 'do away with 
 the paper umbrellas. I was mistaken. He 
 left things much as they were. 
 
 " I don't suppose I shall be here long," he 
 said. 
 
 " I thought you had the house on a year's 
 lease? " I rejoined. 
 
 " The owner wouldn't let it for a shorter 
 time. But I don't expect to be here for twelve 
 months, or anything like it. I may be out of 
 it in a month. Who knows? " 
 
 He glanced at me as if he expected me to 
 find some hidden meaning in his words, some 
 meaning which he did not choose to put before 
 me. 
 
 "I'm not even going to be bothered with a 
 staff of servants," he continued. " I shall only 
 have my man, Cragg, and one woman who can 
 do all that is necessary for me." 
 
 " Really! What does Cragg think of it? " 
 I ventured. 
 
 " Oh, Cragg has been with me for years and 
 thoroughly understands me." 
 
 58 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 I knew that; I knew, too, that Cragg was a 
 rare being, a confidential servant who was ab- 
 solutely faithful. But, still, Cragg was unac- 
 customed to such a peculiar kind of " rough- 
 ing it " as was now in prospect. 
 
 " I hope you'll be comfortable," I said, rath- 
 er lamely. 
 
 " Oh, yes. Of course, I don't intend to en- 
 tertain here. I shall imitate Deeming. I shall 
 exercise all my hospitality in restaurants. The 
 Englishman's house is more than ever his 
 castle since the restaurant came into fashion." 
 
 And he laughed. 
 
 " But perhaps, now I'm next door, Deem- 
 ing may ask me in sometimes in the evening," 
 he said. " We ought to be neighbourly." 
 
 Something in his voice, as he said the last 
 words, turned me cold. I felt quite sure, for 
 the first time, that hatred was blazing in his 
 heart, hatred against Deeming. Of course, 
 I could not speak of my new certainty now 
 that I was confronted by his reserve, but a 
 sudden idea sprang up within my brain. There 
 was one way, and one way only, of brushing 
 aside this spider's-web of suspicion and in- 
 trigue, which was being woven day by day, and 
 it was this. If I could only ascertain for my- 
 self, and prove to Vernon, that the mysterious 
 black spaniel was happy as had been his 
 " Whisper," well-cared- for, well-loved, these 
 two men who were at secret enmity would 
 doubtless at once be reconciled, and I should 
 
 59 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 no longer have to endure the vexation of be- 
 ing on uneasy terms with both. Vernon knew 
 me well enough to know that if I made a sol- 
 emn statement he could absolutely rely upon 
 it. Deeming disliked him, as men generally 
 and naturally dislike those who, without good 
 reason, are suspicious of them. But though 
 he was now cold and distant with me, I could 
 not think that he disliked me. Where Vernon 
 would probably fail, I might surely succeed. 
 It was such a simple matter after all. I merely 
 wanted to see a dog with his master, Deeming 
 with his black spaniel. That could surely be 
 managed without much difficulty and before 
 many days had elapsed. I said nothing to 
 Vernon of my project. Indeed, I resolved 
 not to seek a meeting with him until I had ac- 
 complished it. Our present intercourse was 
 too restrained to be particularly agreeable. 
 The London season was setting in and there 
 was much to be got through. I could easily 
 avoid Vernon for a few days and, when I had 
 the news I wanted, go to him and put an end 
 to a condition of things at once painful and 
 so I called it resolutely to myself ridiculous. 
 
 Having made up my mind, I had only to 
 act. I must see Deeming's black spaniel, and 
 see him with his master. 
 
 I began my campaign by calling one even- 
 ing at Deeming's house at an hour when I 
 thought it probable that the last sufferer 
 would have gone. But I had miscalculated 
 
 60 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 his popularity as a doctor. His extremely thin 
 and sympathetic butler informed me in a whis- 
 pering voice that the waiting-room was still 
 thronged with anxious patients. 
 
 ' When is he free? " I inquired. 
 
 " He is engaged all day, Sir, at this season 
 of the year." 
 
 " Does he never get out for a breath of 
 air? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, Sir, when he drives out to the hos- 
 pital." 
 
 " And on a Sunday, I suppose. No doubt" 
 I tried to make my voice very natural and 
 careless at this point " he goes out on a 
 Sunday if it's fine, to give the dog a run, 
 eh?" 
 
 It seemed to me that the butler's pale face 
 slightly twisted as I said the last words, as if 
 he made a sudden effort not to show in it some 
 expression which would have betrayed a feel- 
 ing; as if he suppressed, perhaps, a smile, or 
 concealed a knowing leer. 
 
 ' The Doctor's generally shut up on a Sun- 
 day, writing, Sir," he murmured, " or pursu- 
 ing his researches." 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 There seemed nothing more to be done 
 just then, and as I saw a patient coming out 
 and looking for his hat in the hall, I went 
 away. 
 
 That evening I wrote to Deeming, telling 
 him I had called to see if I could persuade him 
 
 61 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 to take a stroll, as I was sure his health needed 
 some rest, air, and relaxation. 
 
 " Will you come for a walk in Regent's 
 Park some Sunday morning? " I ended, re- 
 gardless of the butler's information. 
 
 He answered, by return, that he would 
 come, if I liked, on the following Sunday. I 
 replied, fixing the hour, and saying I would 
 call for him. This done, I went out and 
 bought a dog. 
 
 It was a gay fox-terrier, young, full of 
 abounding life, and quite ready to attach it- 
 self to anyone who was kind to it. When Sun- 
 day arrived, it was already devoted to me, and 
 gleefully accompanied me to Wimpole Street 
 to fetch Deeming for the promised walk. 
 While I rang the bell it squatted on the step, 
 wagging its short tail, and looking eagerly ex- 
 pectant. The butler opened the door. 
 
 " The Doctor is quite ready, Sir," he said, 
 when he saw me. " Will you step in? " 
 
 Suddenly he caught sight of the dog, who 
 had jumped up when the door was opened, 
 and was evidently preparing for explora- 
 tion. 
 
 " Is that your dog, Sir? " 
 
 " Yes," I said. 
 
 " I don't think the Doctor Get back, 
 
 you little beast!" 
 
 The last exclamation came in a voice so dif- 
 ferent from the whispering one I was accus* 
 tomed to that I could hardly believe it was the 
 
 62 
 
"AS HE VANISHED, DEEMING APPEARED AT THE HALL DOOR.' 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 butler who had spoken. At the same moment 
 my dog dodged his outstretched foot and van- 
 ished, pattering, into the house. 
 
 " Call him back, Sir; call him back, for the 
 Lord's sake, or there'll be trouble ! " exclaimed 
 the butler, turning sharply with the evident 
 intention of trying to catch the little culprit. 
 But he had no time to act nor I to call. Al- 
 most as he spoke there came from within the 
 house the piercing cry of a dog in pain, and 
 the fox-terrier darted out of the hall, down 
 the street, and disappeared, yelping shrilly as 
 he went, with his ears set flat against his head, 
 and his tail tucked down in his back. As he 
 vanished, Deeming appeared at the hall-door. 
 
 " How dare you let stray dogs into my 
 house? " he said to the butler in a savage voice. 
 
 " I beg pardon, Sir," stammered the butler; 
 " but it was this gentleman's dog, and 
 
 " It was your dog, was it? " said Deeming, 
 turning to me. " I did not know you had a 
 dog." 
 
 I was feeling so angry that I could hardly 
 trust myself to speak. 
 
 " Certainly it's mine," I said curtly. " I 
 must go and find it." 
 
 And without another word I walked away 
 down the street. I could not discover the dog. 
 Its terror had evidently been so great that it 
 had fled blindly and far. From that day to 
 this I have never seen it or heard anything of 
 it. When it rushed out of Deeming's house it 
 
 63 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 rushed out of my life. Having failed to find 
 it, after walking some distance, I gave up the 
 search and stood still. The natural thing, I 
 suppose, would have been to retrace my steps 
 to Wimpole Street, where Deeming was wait- 
 ing for me. But this I did not do. I felt 
 that I could not do it. An invincible re- 
 pulsion against Deeming's society had come 
 into my heart. When I thought of him I saw 
 the fox-terrier fleeing, with his ears set back 
 against his head; I heard the yelping of a 
 dog. 
 
 I stood, therefore, for a moment, and then 
 walked home to Albemarle Street. 
 
 I had bought the dog in order to find out, 
 if possible, how Deeming was with animals, 
 how they comported themselves towards him. 
 Secondarily I had thought of using the dog as 
 a pretext for introducing the subject of the 
 black spaniel. I had meant, when Deeming 
 came out, to point to my dog and suggest that, 
 as I had mine with me for the walk, he should 
 bring out his. 
 
 Well, my curiosity had surely been satisfied. 
 I had not, it is true, seen the mysterious black 
 spaniel; but I could hardly remain in doubt as 
 to Deeming's attitude towards pet animals. 
 The expression upon his face as he came out 
 from the hall had been ferocious. Vernon was 
 right. Deeming was a cruel man. 
 
 As I realised that, I began to wonder more 
 64 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 about the black spaniel. Why should such a 
 man keep a pet a man, too, who was so in- 
 cessantly occupied that he had no time for 
 amusement, for almost any relaxations? And 
 why had the butler for I now felt sure that 
 I had seen his face contorted for an instant on 
 the evening when I had spoken to him of the 
 black spaniel why had the butler felt such 
 amazement, or bitter contempt, or sardonic 
 amusement, when I had alluded to the possi- 
 bility of Deeming giving the black spaniel a 
 run? 
 
 It almost began to seem to me just then as 
 if the black spaniel were a baleful chimera, 
 like the creation of a madman's brain, a noth- 
 ingness that yet can govern, can terrify, can 
 cause tragic events and lead to bitterness and 
 crime. Who had ever seen this creature? 
 Where was it, in what place of concealment? 
 Did it ever come forth into the light of day? 
 I longed to know something of it, of its exist- 
 ence in that house, of its relations with its 
 master. 
 
 Perhaps Vernon knew or would know. He 
 lived next door. He had gone there to dis- 
 cover; of that I was sure. He watched at his 
 window to see the spaniel let out. He listened 
 at his wall at night, perhaps, to hear its whin- 
 ing. 
 
 Perhaps Vernon knew or would know. 
 
 And when he knew, would he tell me? 
 . 65 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 In the afternoon of that day I received a 
 note from Deeming 
 
 I waited for you to come back for an age. What was 
 the matter? I am very sorry about your dog. The fact 
 is I am not very well and in a nervous condition, and it 
 startled me to come suddenly upon it in the dimly lighted 
 hall. Let me know when we can meet. 
 
 P. D. 
 
 That was the note. I read it several times 
 before I threw it into the waste-paper basket. 
 But I did not answer it. I felt that I did not 
 want to meet Deeming again for some time. 
 
 I felt that. Fate willed it that I should 
 never look upon him again as mortal man. 
 Within two days from that time I was called 
 to the North of England by the serious illness 
 of my dear mother, who lived in Cumberland. 
 And there I remained until she died. Her 
 death took place on the twenty-seventh of 
 June. Her funeral was three days later. Af- 
 ter it was over I returned to the house where I 
 had been born, where I was now quite alone 
 with the servants. I had to wind up many af- 
 fairs, to put many things in order, to sort and 
 examine papers and pay off some of the house- 
 hold. Despite my grief I was obliged to be 
 busy, to be practical. For several days I was 
 so much occupied that I did not look at a news- 
 paper. I even set aside the letters that came 
 by the post letters of condolence, I felt sure 
 they were, most of them wishing to read 
 
 66 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 them and answer them all together when I had 
 leisure, and felt less miserable and deserted, 
 and more able to take an interest in such af- 
 fairs as were not actually forced upon me. 
 
 At last one evening I had got through ev- 
 erything. I had dined, and was sitting alone 
 in the drawing-room, where my mother had al- 
 ways sat, feeling really almost as if I dwelt in 
 a world unpeopled, or peopled only by the 
 spectres of those who once had lived, when a 
 servant came in with the last post. There were 
 no letters, only two or three papers from Lon- 
 don. Without interest, merely to do some- 
 thing, I tore the paper covering from one and 
 unfolded it. My eyes fell at once upon the 
 following paragraph 
 
 As so many rumours have been put into circulation with 
 regard to the lamented decease of Dr. Peter Deeming, 
 which took place on the 30th of June, we are glad to be 
 able to state authoritatively that the actual cause of death 
 was blood-poisoning, which was, it seems, set up by the 
 bite pf a dog. Doctor Deeming, like many other emi- 
 nent medical men, while solicitous for the health of 
 others, was singularly careless about his own. The bite 
 was severe, but he took little heed of it, although he had 
 the dog, which was a pet, destroyed. He has now paid 
 the penalty of his regrettable carelessness, and society is 
 the poorer. For no West End physician was more trusted 
 and esteemed by his patients than Dr. Deeming. 
 
 The paper dropped from my hand. 
 So Deeming and the black spaniel were 
 dead! And each had destroyed the other! 
 
 67 
 
PART II THE RESURRECTION 
 VI 
 
 PETER DEEMING died on the thirtieth of June, 
 in the year 1900. In June of the following 
 year, as I was walking past the Knightsbridge 
 Barracks, I met Vernon strolling along in the 
 sunshine, with a cigarette in his mouth. 
 When he saw me, he stopped, took my hand, 
 and clasped it warmly. 
 
 "Back at last! "he said. 
 
 1 Yes. I only arrived yesterday. Did you 
 winter in Rome, as usual? " 
 
 " No. I've not been out of England." 
 
 "Good Heavens!" I exclaimed. "You 
 don't mean to say you've been facing the Lon- 
 don fogs while I've been in Africa and Sicily?" 
 
 He nodded. 
 ' What can have been your reason? " 
 
 He put his arm through mine. 
 
 " Let's go into the Park," he said. " We'll 
 take a stroll, and I'll tell you." 
 
 We turned into the Park by the nearest 
 gate, and walked gently along under the trees. 
 It was a strangely radiant day for London 
 a day that seemed full of hope and gaiety. 
 Many children were about laughing, playing, 
 calling to each other. Poor people basked in 
 
 68 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 the sunshine, stretched upon the short grass. 
 Carriages rolled by, drawn by fine horses. 
 In the trees the birds were singing, as inno- 
 cently as they sing in retired country places. 
 And I felt glad and at ease. It was pleasant 
 to be with Vernon once more, pleasant to be 
 once more in my own land among my own 
 people. 
 
 ' Well, Vernon? " I said. 
 
 " First," he answered, " you must tell me 
 something. You must tell me why you left 
 England after the death of your mother, 
 without coming to say good-bye to me." 
 
 " I felt upset, broken down, as if I didn't 
 want to see anyone, as if I wanted to get 
 away and be alone among new scenes and peo- 
 ple who were strangers." 
 
 " That was it? " 
 
 I heard the doubt in his voice, and added 
 
 " There was another reason, too, an under- 
 
 reason." 
 
 'Yes?" 
 
 " That sudden death of poor Deeming, com- 
 ing just after my mother's, upset my nerves, 
 I think. It made me feel as if as if I had 
 been cruel. It filled me with regret." 
 
 " Cruel! I don't understand." 
 
 " No. How could you? But when a man's 
 dead, one thinks very differently about him 
 often. And I had been suspicious of Deem- 
 ing. At the end, indeed, I had been unfriend- 
 
 iy." 
 
 69 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 " I am quite in the dark," he said, rather 
 coldly, I thought. 
 
 I explained to him what I meant. I told 
 him of my last meeting with Deeming, of the 
 incident of the fox-terrier, of Deeming's note 
 to me, of how I had left it unanswered. He 
 listened with a profound attention. 
 
 " When I read of his death in the paper I 
 wished I had answered his note," I concluded. 
 " I wished it more than I can tell you. And I 
 regretted bitterly that the last weeks of our 
 intercourse had been clouded by suspicion, by 
 misunderstanding." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 His voice still sounded cold. After a mo- 
 ment he said : 
 
 " And you didn't come to see me be- 
 cause 
 
 ' Well, you had been mixed up with my sus- 
 picion of Deeming, and 
 
 " Now I understand. You felt a very nat- 
 ural longing to be away from all that recalled 
 sadness to you, that might deepen your grief 
 or serve to irritate your nerves." 
 
 " I suppose that was it. I went right away. 
 I wanted to forget, to escape out of a dark 
 cloud into a clear atmosphere. But you? 
 Why have you been in London all this time? " 
 
 "I've been working." 
 
 "Working! You?" 
 
 " Even I idler, dilettante.'' 
 
 " Music? " 
 
 70 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 " I've been working with Arthur Gern- 
 ham." 
 
 "For the animals?" 
 
 " Exactly. For our brothers and sisters 
 who do not speak our language. I've been 
 writing pamphlets, I've been gathering sub- 
 scriptions, I've been stirring people up, and by 
 doing so I've been stirring myself up, my 
 slothful, sluggish, unpractical self." 
 
 "Wonderful!" 
 
 " Isn't it? Do you know that I've toured 
 the United Kingdom giving lectures on the 
 subject of man's duty to the animals, that I've 
 helped to form a league of kindness? Luttrell, 
 I'm a busy man now, and I am an enthusias- 
 tic man." 
 
 While he spoke his animation had been 
 growing, and as he ended his voice was full of 
 energy. 
 
 " And when did the impulse come to you to 
 begin this new life? " I asked. 
 
 " I can tell you the very day," he said. " It 
 was on June the 30th of last year." 
 
 " June the 30th! " I said. " Why, that was 
 the day that Deeming died! " 
 
 " Well, it was on that day." 
 
 I looked at him sharply. I had never 
 yet heard any details connected with the 
 accident that had brought about Deeming's 
 illness and so caused his death. I wondered 
 if Vernon knew any. He had lived next 
 door. I longed to ask him, but something, 
 
 71 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 some inner voice of my nature, advised me not 
 to. 
 
 " Is Gernham a good fellow? " I said care- 
 lessly. 
 
 " A splendid fellow. You must know him." 
 
 " As you have changed so much," I contin- 
 ued, " have you altered that resolution of 
 yours? " 
 
 "What resolution?" 
 
 " Never to make another animal happy as 
 you made your spaniel, Whisper, happy? " 
 
 " Ah, that no ! I could never have anoth- 
 er pet. I suffered too much from my affec- 
 tion, Luttrell. I am resolved not to suffer 
 again in that way. The mountains may fall, 
 but I shall never keep another dog." 
 
 He spoke with a decision that carried con- 
 viction. At that moment I should have been 
 ready to stake my entire fortune on his 
 sticking to his assertion and backing it up 
 by his acts. If anyone had come to me 
 that night and said, " Your friend Vernon 
 has just bought a dog and taken it home to 
 live with him," I should have laughed, and 
 answered in polite terms, " You're a liar." 
 But one cannot deny the evidence of one's 
 own eyes. 
 
 Now this is exactly what occurred. 
 
 While we walked along beneath the trees, 
 not very far from the Statue of Achilles, I 
 saw in the distance a man approaching us, lead- 
 ing a number of dogs by strings and carrying 
 
 72 
 
THAT DOG THERE,'' SAID VERNON; "HOW LONG HAVE YOU 
 HAD HIM?" 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 a couple of puppies under his arms. He wore 
 a fur cap and earrings, a short, loud-pat- 
 terned coat with tails, and a pair of very tight 
 trousers. As he drew near I saw that among 
 the dogs who accompanied him there was a 
 fine black spaniel. 
 
 " Here comes a choice assortment of dumb 
 friends," I said to Vernon. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 I saw him looking at the dogs, which were 
 sniffing the air, and pulling at their leads in 
 the endeavour to investigate delicious smells. 
 Suddenly he stopped short, just as the man was 
 passing us. At the same moment I saw the 
 black spaniel shrink back and cower down 
 against the ground, pressing his broad, flap- 
 ping ears against his head. 
 
 ' What is it, Vernon? " I said. 
 
 He did not reply. He was staring at the 
 spaniel. The owner of the dogs saw a possi- 
 ble purchaser, and at once, in a soft and very 
 disagreeable voice, began to enumerate their 
 merits. 
 
 " H'sh! " Vernon hissed at him. 
 
 The man stopped in astonishment. 
 'That dog there," said Vernon, pointing 
 to the black spaniel, which was still shrinking 
 down, and pulling back from his lead in an ef- 
 fort to get away. " How long have you had 
 him? " 
 
 " Ever since he was baun, gen'leman," re- 
 
 73 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 plied the man. " 'E's the gentlenist, the best- 
 mannered dawg as hiver " 
 
 " How old is he? What's his age? " 
 
 " Just upon a year, Sir, a year Vll be this 
 very selfsame month. 'E was one of as fine a 
 litter o' pups as " 
 
 " You bred him? " 
 
 " Yes, Sir." 
 
 "A year old, is he?" 
 
 " Just upon, Sir. The thirtieth's the day, 
 Sir the thirtieth of this selfsame month. 
 Law bless you, I knows the birthdays of hivery 
 dawg as hiver " 
 
 ' What's his price? " 
 
 The man licked his lips, and I saw a gleam 
 in his small eyes. 
 
 " Well, Sir, I dunno as I'm dispoged to part 
 with 'im. You see, I gets to love " 
 
 "How much?" 
 
 The tone was sharp. The words came al- 
 most like a pistol-shot. 
 
 " Ten puns, Sir," said the man. " I should 
 say, fifteen puns, Sir." 
 
 " I'll give you twelve." 
 
 " I reely couldn't tike it, Sir. The dawg's 
 the very happle of " 
 
 " There's my address 301, Wimpole 
 Street." He gave the man his card. " Bring 
 the dog there at six o'clock this evening, and 
 you shall have twelve pounds, not a penny 
 more. Good-day." 
 
 74 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 I'll be there, Sir. You can trust me, you 
 
 can- 
 
 We walked on. As we did so, the spaniel 
 whimpered, ran to his master, and fawned 
 about his legs as if demanding protection. 
 
 For several minutes neither Vernon nor I 
 said a word. I was in amazement. What had 
 just happened may seem to some a very small 
 matter. To me it seemed extraordinary, mys- 
 terious, even I could not tell why horrible. 
 There had been something peculiar in Ver- 
 non's attitude, in his face, while he stood look- 
 ing at the spaniel, something fatal that had 
 affected my nerves. Then my wonder was 
 naturally great that such a man should thus 
 abruptly go back from his word. And the 
 spaniel's cringing attitude of terror when 
 Vernon had gazed at him, had spoken to his 
 master, was disagreeable to me, acutely dis- 
 agreeable in the remembrance of it ! It seemed 
 to me very strange and unnatural that such an 
 ardent lover of animals as Vernon was should 
 inspire an animal with fear. Animals have an 
 instinct that always tells them who loves them. 
 This spaniel was apparently without this in- 
 stinct. 
 
 Perhaps it was this lack in him that made 
 me now think of him with a faint dislike, even 
 a faint disgust, such as the healthy-minded 
 feel when brought into contact with anything 
 unnatural. 
 
 I broke the silence first. 
 75 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 " I did not know you were a changeable 
 man," I said. 
 
 ' You mean that I have changed my mind 
 about keeping a dog." 
 
 ' Yes, and with such extraordinary sudden- 
 
 ness." 
 
 " I suppose it does seem odd," he remarked. 
 " But who knows what he will do? " 
 
 " But what was your reason? " 
 
 He looked at me, very strangely, I thought. 
 
 " A sudden impulse," he answered. " A 
 memory, perhaps, moved me." 
 
 " The memory of Whisper? " 
 
 " Of Whisper of course." 
 
 His voice seemed to me just then as strange 
 as his face. Perhaps seeing that I still won- 
 dered, he added 
 
 ' That spaniel appeared to be nervous, terri- 
 fied. Perhaps that man is cruel to it." 
 
 " Oh, but " I began, and stopped. 
 
 ' What is it?" 
 
 " You didn't think it seemed to me that it 
 was you who inspired the dog with fear." 
 
 "I!" He laughed. " My dear fellow, a 
 dog-lover like myself cannot inspire a dog with 
 fear. You must be mistaken. Animals al- 
 ways know who loves them." 
 
 " Yes. It's very strange," I murmured. 
 
 "What is strange?" he asked, in rather a 
 hard voice. 
 
 " Oh, I don't know nothing," I answered 
 evasively. " Here we are at the gate." 
 
 76 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 4 Yes. Well, you are coming to see me? " 
 
 " Of course. You are still in that house? " 
 
 " Oh, yes. It suits me. When will you 
 come? " 
 
 ' Whenever you like." 
 
 He stood for a moment, making patterns 
 with his stick on the pavement and looking 
 down. Then he glanced up at me. 
 
 " Come and have a cup of tea this after- 
 noon at half -past five, will you? " he said. 
 
 I immediately thought of the man with the 
 earrings and the fur cap. Then I was to see 
 the transfer of the black spaniel. 
 
 " I'll come," I answered. 
 
 "Right!" 
 
 Vernon nodded and walked away slowly in 
 the direction of Hamilton Place. 
 
 77 
 
VII 
 
 AT a quarter past five that day I started 
 for Wimpole Street, filled with a sensation 
 of strong curiosity, for which, in mental de- 
 bate with myself, I could not quite satisfac- 
 torily account. It was a very ordinary mat- 
 ter, surely, this selling and buying of a dog. 
 Why, then, did it seem to me an affair of 
 importance? I asked myself that question 
 while I waited. The only answer I could find 
 was that the dog was a black spaniel, and that 
 before the sad death of my friend Deeming a 
 black spaniel, the creature that had caused the 
 tragedy, had mysteriously complicated, and 
 indeed altered, my pleasant relations both with 
 him and with Vernon. But all that was a year 
 ago. The past does not return, and therefore 
 it was absurd to be to be what? What was 
 really the exact nature of the emotion that now 
 beset me? Had I been strictly truthful with 
 myself I should, perhaps, have called it appre- 
 hension. But we are not always strictly truth- 
 ful even with ourselves. I think that day I 
 named it nervousness. I was nervous, out of 
 sorts, a little bit depressed. Vernon's volte- 
 face had surprised me. The dog's cringing 
 fear had made an unpleasant impression upon 
 me. And so, now, as I drew near to Wimpole 
 
 78 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 Street I was slightly strung 1 up. That was 
 the long and short of it. 
 
 In some such fashion I think I spoke to my- 
 self, explanatorily, falsely. 
 
 When I turned into Wimpole Street the 
 image of poor Deeming was very present in 
 my mind, and I could scarcely believe that he 
 did not still inhabit the house to which I had 
 come that Sunday morning. I wondered who 
 lived there now, who was Vernon's neighbour; 
 and when I reached the house I looked towards 
 it with a sad curiosity, which quickly changed 
 to surprise. The house was transformed. 
 Where once had been a doorstep there was 
 now an area railing. The front door had van- 
 ished. In its place was a window, with a box 
 in which roses and geraniums were blooming. 
 In a moment I realised what had happened. 
 Formerly the two houses Nos. 300 and 301 
 had been one house. Since I had been there 
 they had once more been thrown together. 
 Vernon, then, was living now in the house 
 that had been -Deeming's. As I grasped this 
 fact, Vernon appeared at a window of what 
 had been the second house. Seeing me, he 
 smiled and waved his hand. Before I could 
 ring, the door was opened by Cragg, his faith- 
 ful man. 
 
 " Glad to see you again, Sir," said Cragg, 
 with a respectful bow which he had learnt, I 
 think, in Italy. 
 
 He had several little foreign ways, but was 
 79 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 extremely English in appearance calm, solid, 
 neat, and closely shaven. 
 
 I returned his greeting and stepped in. 
 
 " Ah," I said, looking round. " So it's all 
 changed." 
 
 "Yes, Sir. After Doctor Deeming's death 
 we got rid of the old stuff, and Mr. Kersteven 
 bought the Doctor's house and threw the two 
 houses into one. It's more suitable now." 
 
 " It was awful before." 
 ' Well, Sir, it was scarcely to Mr. Ker- 
 steven's taste. We rather roughed it for a 
 time, Sir." 
 
 He took my hat and stick and showed me 
 upstairs into a charming drawing-room, in 
 which I at once recognised many beautiful 
 things from Vernon's house in Rome. Here 
 Vernon met me with an outstretched hand. 
 
 " By Jove, what a transformation ! " I ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 " To be sure, you haven't seen it since 
 
 " Since the frogs and the beetles and the 
 Japanese umbrellas were turned out. No. 
 And so now you've got Deeming's house too?" 
 
 " Yes. I have joined the two together, but 
 I use his chiefly for my work in connection 
 with our dumb friends." 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 His voice was significant in that last sen- 
 tence, and I realised that in him imagination 
 was often the guide, leading him strangely, 
 dominating him powerfully. 
 
 80 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 Tea was ready, and we sat down. 
 
 Giving expression to my thought, I said, 
 " Strange that you should be living in Deem- 
 ing's house." 
 
 < Why so?" 
 
 " Oh, well, you were antagonists, weren't 
 you?" 
 
 " Could the difference between us be called 
 antagonism? " he asked, pouring out the 
 tea. 
 
 * Wasn't it? Once Deeming told me that 
 he knew 
 
 I hesitated. 
 
 ; 'Knew what?" 
 
 ' Knew that you hated him." 
 
 " Really. Did he say that? " 
 
 " Was it true? " 
 
 'Why discuss it?" 
 
 ' You're right. It's all over now. And he, 
 poor chap, has gone beyond the reach of 
 earthly love or hate." 
 
 He made no rejoinder, and I had an odd 
 feeling as if he were silent because I had said 
 something with which he did not agree; yet 
 that was not possible. 
 
 " Do you think," I said, to change the sub- 
 ject, " do you think that fellow will come? " 
 
 ' The dog-fancier? Oh, I suppose so. He 
 won't let slip a chance of making twelve 
 pounds. His dog isn't worth more than six." 
 
 * Then why do you give double? " 
 " A caprice." 
 
 81 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 " I begin to think you are a capricious 
 man," I said. 
 
 " The dilettante generally is." 
 
 He drew out his watch. 
 
 " It's close upon six. That chap ought to 
 be here in a moment. Ah, there's the bell! 
 He's come, no doubt." 
 
 I was conscious of a certain discomfort, but 
 scarcely knew its cause. Putting down my 
 cup, I sat listening intently. Vernon, too, was 
 listening. There was in his face an expres- 
 sion of strained attention. When the door 
 opened gently, I started and looked hastily 
 round. 
 
 "Lord Elyn!" said Vernon, getting up 
 from his chair. 
 
 ' Yes. Glad to find you at home. Hulloa, 
 Luttrell! So you're back at last! I haven't 
 seen you since the death of our poor friend 
 Deeming." 
 
 He shook my hand. 
 
 ' That was a sad business. No one to take 
 his place. No one like him, is there? " 
 
 He sat down and stretched his legs. I said 
 something suitable, but with rather an uncer- 
 tain voice. This unexpected arrival irritated 
 me. And yet I thoroughly liked Lord Elyn. 
 Vernon, too I felt sure of it was vexed by 
 his arrival, but he was charmingly courteous, 
 though, in the trifling conversation that fol- 
 lowed, he showed traces of absent-mindedness. 
 I knew he was listening for the sound of the 
 
 8O 
 a 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 bell. I knew he was eagerly awaiting the 
 arrival of the black spaniel. Six o'clock 
 struck. The hand of a clock on the mantel- 
 piece pointed to five minutes, then to ten min- 
 utes past six. Vernon began to betray a cer- 
 tain restlessness, a certain uneasiness. He 
 twice changed his place in the room. Finally, 
 he got up and remained standing. 
 
 ' You are expecting someone? " said Lord 
 Elyn, looking at him in some surprise. 
 
 ' Yes. The fact is I've bought a dog or 
 named my price for one and he ought to be 
 brought here this evening." 
 
 " Oh, I'm very fond of dogs. Kept them 
 all my life. What sort of animal is this one? " 
 
 "A black there's the bell!" 
 
 He broke off, went swiftly over to the win- 
 dow and looked out. As he stood with his 
 back turned to us I heard him utter a low 
 exclamation. 
 
 " What did you say, Vernon? " I asked 
 sharply. 
 
 I had not heard a word, but there was a 
 thrilling sound in his voice which startled me. 
 I got up also from my chair, possessed, 
 gnawed by an inexplicable restlessness. Ver- 
 non turned round from the window. I saw 
 the strange light in his eyes which I had some- 
 times noticed there when he talked about the 
 animals and their relation with man. 
 
 " It's the spaniel," he said. 
 
 The words were simple enough, but the 
 
 83 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 way in which he said them was not simple. It 
 sounded cruel and triumphant. 
 
 Lord Elyn looked more surprised. He also 
 got up. 
 
 ' The arrival of this dog seems quite an 
 event," he said. 
 
 ' Yes, quite an event," repeated Vernon, 
 looking towards the door. " It's years since 
 I've had a pet." 
 
 " If you please, Sir, there's a person here 
 with a dog." 
 
 " I know. I expected him." 
 
 " Indeed, Sir. Am I to admit him? " 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " And the dog, Sir? Is he to come in too? " 
 
 " Of course. It's the dog I want, not the 
 
 man." 
 
 Cragg remained in the doorway, looking at 
 his master. 
 
 'What is it, Cragg?" asked Vernon. 
 " What the deuce is the matter? " 
 
 " Well, Sir, I don't see I don't, really 
 how we are ever going to get that dog into 
 the house." 
 
 "What do you mean? " said Vernon. 
 
 On his lips there was playing a slight smile. 
 
 " I never see an animal in such a state, Sir; 
 I really never did. Hark, Sir! " 
 
 He lifted his hand. From below there came 
 to us the sound of a long-drawn howling. 
 Again I felt a cold chill go over me. Lord 
 
 84 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 Elyn, too, was unpleasantly affected. Hd 
 shook his shoulders, and said 
 
 "Good God, what a dreadful noise! It 
 sounds like something being tortured." 
 
 Vernon was still smiling. 
 
 " Oh! " he said; " it's only the natural ner- 
 vousness of a dog brought to a strange house 
 to change one master for another. Go along, 
 Cragg. Show the man into my study. I'll 
 come down in a moment." 
 
 Still looking very doubtful, Cragg disap- 
 peared, shutting the door. We three remained 
 silent for a moment. Then Vernon said 
 
 "I'm afraid you're having a very fussy 
 visit, Lord Elyn. Do sit down. I'll go and 
 pay the man, and be back in a minute." 
 
 It was evident to me that he wanted 
 wanted ungovernably to see the dog brought 
 into the house. As he stopped speaking he 
 was gone. He had almost darted out of the 
 room. 
 
 " Dear me I " said Lord Elyn. " Dear me." 
 
 He was a delicate, naturally nervous man, 
 and highly sensitive. I could see plainly that 
 he was upset, mystified by this affair of the 
 arrival of the dog. He looked at me as if 
 inquiring of me what it all meant. 
 
 " I wonder ' he began. 
 
 Then he broke off. After a pause he said 
 
 " If the dog often howls as he did 
 just now, Vernon won't have much peace. I 
 
 85 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 never in my life heard a more distressing noise, 
 eh?" 
 
 " It was very distressing," I assented. 
 
 Lord Elyn did not sit down, but went to 
 and fro in the room like one disturbed. 
 
 "A most distressing noise!" he repeated, 
 uncomfortably. " Most distressing. It really 
 almost sounded like a human being in agony, 
 didn't it? " 
 
 " Yes, it did." 
 
 " What sort of dog is it? " he asked pres- 
 ently, standing before me. " Do you know? " 
 
 " A black spaniel." 
 
 "A spaniel? They're the most sensitive 
 breed of dog I know, intensely nervous and 
 easily frightened, but very affectionate. They 
 attach themselves in an extraordinary manner 
 to those who are kind to them." 
 
 "Hulloa!" he exclaimed. The door had 
 reopened, and Vernon came in. 
 
 " Well," he said, " it's all right. I've got 
 the dog for twelve pounds." 
 
 ' Where is it? " said Lord Elyn. 
 
 " Downstairs in my study. I've had to tie 
 him up for the moment. Poor fellow, he's 
 nervous at getting into a strange house." 
 
 " Let's have a look at him," said Lord Elyn. 
 
 I saw that Vernon hesitated, and thought 
 he was going to refuse the request, natural 
 though it was. But if he had intended to do 
 so, he quickly changed his mind. 
 
 " Certainly," he said. " Come downstairs. 
 86 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 My study is in the part of the house that once 
 belonged to 'Deeming." 
 
 Lord Elyn went out of the room, I fol- 
 lowed, and Vernon came last. 
 
 ' To the right! " he said, when we reached 
 the bottom of the staircase. " This corridor 
 unites the two houses." 
 
 We followed the direction indicated. 
 
 " Here's the study," said Vernon. " It's a 
 real workroom, dedicated to the cause of our 
 dumb friends." 
 
 "The animals?" said Lord Elyn. "It 
 seems to me, after this evening, that dumb is 
 scarcely the appropriate adjective to apply to 
 them." 
 
 Vernon laughed. He had his hand on the 
 door of his study, and was still laughing as 
 he 'opened it. 
 
VIII 
 
 LORD ELYN went in first. I followed. The 
 study was, as Vernon had said, a real work- 
 room. There was little furniture in it, and 
 what there was was plain and serviceable. 
 Near the one window, which looked out at the 
 back on to the backs of other houses, was 
 a large writing-table covered with documents, 
 pamphlets, magazines, address-books, gum- 
 bottles, elastic bands, balls of string, a Rem- 
 ington typewriter, piles of paper bands for 
 fastening newspapers and manuscripts, etc. 
 In the midst of this ordered rummage stood a 
 cabinet photograph of a man. I did not 
 examine it then, but I knew later that it was 
 Arthur Gernham, the notorious anti-vivisec- 
 tionist. A few chairs, a thick Turkey carpet, 
 and two revolving bookcases completed the 
 furniture. The walls were tinted a dull red, 
 and there were red curtains at the window. 
 There were no pictures or ornaments. On 
 the mantelpiece stood a clock which struck the 
 quarter after six as we came in. 
 
 " Where's the oh, there he is! " said Lord 
 Elyn. 
 
 The black spaniel was lying crouched upon 
 the floor in a corner near the window, a dark 
 
 88 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 patch against the red of the curtain which 
 touched him. He had been tied by a piece of 
 cord to the writing-table, but had shrunk back, 
 as if in an effort to escape, until he could go 
 no farther. Now he lay with his face turned 
 towards the door, motionless, staring. When 
 we saw him he did not move. He only looked 
 at us. 
 
 He only looked at us, I have said. Then 
 why did Lord Elyn stop short just inside the 
 door, as if startled? Why did I feel an almost 
 invincible desire to get out of this room, even 
 out of this house of my friend? It must have 
 been the violence of terror in the dog's eyes 
 contrasted with the absolute stillness, the 
 stillness as of death, of his body. Yes, I think 
 it must have been that which affected us. For 
 in violence there is always contained the sug- 
 gestion of intense activity, the suggestion of 
 movement, and the dog's eyes conveyed to me 
 the feeling that his soul was rushing from us, 
 while his body lay there before us against the 
 red curtain like a carven thing. 
 
 "There he is!" Lord Elyn repeated in a 
 low voice. 
 
 He looked at me and then at Vernon. I 
 thought he was going out of the room, and I 
 am sure he wanted to do so; but he stood 
 where he was in silence and again looked to- 
 wards the spaniel. 
 
 4 Well, what do you think of him? " asked 
 Vernon. 
 
 89 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 The sound of his voice perhaps made Lord 
 Elyn conscious that we were behaving some- 
 what absurdly, that we were almost huddling 
 together, he and I, beside the door. For he 
 took a step but only a step forward, and 
 answered, with an evident effort to speak more 
 naturally : 
 
 " Oh, he looks a good specimen. He's well 
 bred; I should say, well bred yes." 
 
 Again he glanced at me as if questioning 
 me. All this time the spaniel did not move, 
 but lay staring at us with eyes full of horror. 
 His stillness appalled me. 
 
 " And what do you think, Luttrell? " said 
 Vernon. 
 
 It was with a difficulty that was extraor- 
 dinary to me that I answered him. 
 
 " You'll have a lot of trouble with him," I 
 said. 
 
 " Why? " said Vernon quickly. 
 
 " Why? Why, he's evidently a very ner- 
 vous dog. I should think it'll take time to 
 reconcile him with his new home and his new 
 master." 
 
 " Good God! " said Lord Elyn. 
 
 As I finished speaking the dog had sud- 
 denly howled again. Involuntarily I stepped 
 back. 
 
 Vernon laughed once more. 
 
 " Why, anybody would think you were 
 afraid of him," he said. " What's the mat- 
 ter? " 
 
 90 
 
BBIBHH 
 
 "POOR 11KAST! POOR BEAST!" 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 I tried to laugh too to laugh at myself. 
 
 " He gave tongue so very unexpectedly," 
 I said. " Poor fellow! Poor fellow! " 
 
 I was speaking to the dog, but I did not go 
 towards him. The faint disgust with which 
 he had already inspired me in the Park was 
 stronger now that I was with him in a room. 
 I was conscious of an almost invincible desire 
 to go straight out of the house, to get into 
 the open air, quickly, without delay. But with 
 this feeling blended another, more subtle, one 
 that surprised me by its force. 
 
 I longed, before I went, to untie that 
 crouching dog, to let him escape from the 
 room, the house, to set him free. With the 
 disgust of him mingled a curious pity for him 
 that was inexplicable to me then. 
 
 I think Lord Elyn shared my feelings, but 
 he acted differently from me. For, whereas 
 I now moved away to go, he suddenly, with 
 determination, walked forward towards the 
 spaniel. Seeing this, I stopped just outside 
 the door in the corridor. From there I wit- 
 nessed a sight that increased my sensation of 
 pity, and at the same time deepened my sensa- 
 tion of disgust. 
 
 Lord Elyn, when he was near the spaniel, 
 bent down a little, snapping his fingers and 
 saying, " Poor beast! poor beast! " whereupon 
 the dog suddenly sprang up from the floor 
 against his breast, in an obvious attempt to 
 nestle into his arms as if for protection 
 
 91 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 against some danger. Lord Elyn, surprised, 
 tried to hold him, but failed, and let him drop 
 heavily to the floor. 
 
 Vernon interposed. Going forward quick- 
 ly he said, "I'm awfully sorry, Lord Elyn. 
 He's muddied you. Come out and Cragg 
 shall brush it off." 
 
 The dog shrank back against the curtain. 
 
 " Oh, it doesn't matter," Lord Elyn began. 
 
 But Vernon took his arm and drew him with 
 a sort of gentle inflexibility towards the door 
 and into the corridor where I was standing. 
 
 " Cragg," Vernon called; "Cragg." 
 
 " Sir," said the man coming from the hall. 
 
 Vernon shut the door of the study sharply. 
 
 " Just get a brush, will you? The dog has 
 put his dirty paws on Lord Elyn's coat." 
 
 "Certainly, Sir." 
 
 He turned on the electric light. Lord Elyn 
 stood under it to be brushed. I noticed that 
 his face looked very white, but thought it 
 might be the effect of the light upon it. When 
 Cragg had finished, Lord Elyn said 
 
 " Good-night, Vernon," and walked hastily 
 towards the hall door. 
 
 " May I come with you? " I said. 
 
 " Do." 
 
 I bade Vernon good-bye with a word and a 
 hand-grasp, and in a moment Lord Elyn and 
 I were out in the street. 
 
 "Ouf!" said Lord Elyn, blowing out his 
 breath. 
 
 92 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 He stood still, looking towards that part of 
 the house which had been Deeming's. 
 
 " By Jove! " he said, as if speaking to him- 
 self. 
 
 Then, suddenly conscious that he was not 
 alone, he exclaimed 
 
 " Pray forgive me, Luttrell, but the fact 
 is I well, I don't know why, but that dog has 
 made a very disagreeable impression on me, 
 very disagreeable. D'you know, when he 
 sprang upon me just now I felt a sensation 
 by Jove, it was a sensation of horror, of abject 
 horror." 
 
 He walked on slowly. 
 
 " I noticed you were looking very pale in 
 the hall," I said. 
 
 "Pale? I should think so! The whole 
 business I say, what did you think of it, 
 eh?" 
 
 " How do you mean? " I asked evasively. 
 
 ' What d'you think of the dog? " 
 
 :c Poor beast! It seemed very nervous." 
 
 " Nervous ! It was half -mad with terror. 
 I never saw a dog in such a state before. And 
 Vernon such a lover of animals, too! That's 
 the strange part of it." 
 
 " You think it was Vernon it was afraid 
 of?" 
 
 ' To be sure. Didn't you see it spring upon 
 me for protection, and directly he approached 
 it shrank away like a thing demented? Now, 
 I've been with animals all my life brought 
 
 93 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 up among 'em and never before have I seen 
 an animal's instinct betray it. Animals know 
 in a second the men that are fond of 'em and 
 the men who hate 'em. But this dog's all at 
 sea. It thinks Vernon's a regular devil a dog- 
 torturer. It's half-crazed with fear of him. 
 That is as plain as a pikestaff. The thing's un- 
 natural, Luttrell it's d d unnatural!" 
 
 He spoke with a vehemence that showed how 
 greatly his nerves were upset. I could not 
 contradict, because I absolutely agreed with 
 him. 
 
 "That dog," he added, "gives me the 
 shudders." 
 
 "Poor wretch!" I said. 
 
 " You pity him too? " he asked. 
 
 ' Yes. But when he gets to know Vernon 
 it will be all right. Vernon has a positive 
 passion for animals." 
 
 I strove to speak with conviction, for I 
 was trying to convince myself. 
 
 " I know he has. And yet >" 
 
 He hesitated. 
 
 "What, LordElyn." 
 
 ' Well, didn't it strike you that he looked 
 at the dog very queerly? " 
 
 " Queerly? " 
 
 " Yes, not as if he had a great fancy for it." 
 
 I said nothing. 
 
 " What made him buy it? " said Lord Elyn. 
 
 "I've no idea," I answered. 
 94 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 And indeed at that moment I was wonder- 
 ing, wondering almost passionately. 
 
 " I'll swear he doesn't like the dog," said 
 Lord Elyn, still with vehemence. " He may be 
 as fond of animals as you like, but he isn't 
 fond of this one." 
 
 " If he hadn't taken a liking to it why 
 should he buy it? " 
 
 " That's more than I can say. It's a queer 
 business. I had an idea that that you per- 
 haps, had some inkling what was up." 
 
 And again his look questioned me. 
 
 " I haven't indeed," I said. 
 
 And I spoke the truth. I was in the dark, 
 in blackness. 
 
 A hansom passed us slowly at this moment. 
 Lord Elyn hailed it. 
 
 " I must get home," he said. " I'm dining 
 out. Shall I give you a lift? " 
 
 "No, thank you. I'll walk. I like the 
 
 exercise." 
 
 " Good-bye, then." 
 
 He stepped into the cab and drove off, 
 while I walked slowly back to Albemarle 
 Street. 
 
 Lord Elyn had made my thoughts clearer 
 to me by his blunt expressions. He had asked 
 me if I had any inkling of what was up, and, 
 w r hen he said that, I knew quite certainly that, 
 to use that slangy phrase, I thought something 
 was up. Vernon had been moved by some 
 strange impulse to buy the black spaniel, had 
 
 95 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 some strange purpose in connection with it. 
 I felt sure of this. My instinct told me that 
 it was so. What had caused this impulse? 
 What was this purpose? 
 
 I wondered, but could not tell. 
 
 I reviewed Vernon's character as I knew it 
 carefully, considered all that I had heard of 
 him from others, trying to find a clue that 
 would guide me to comprehension. But I re- 
 mained perplexed. I knew good of him. I 
 had always heard praise of him, except from 
 one person, the man who was dead and in 
 whose house he now lived. Deeming had said 
 to me once that Vernon was a black fanatic; 
 the phrase was strong, brutal even. It recurred 
 to my mind as I walked, and stayed there. 
 Then I thought of the terror in the spaniel's 
 eyes as it lay motionless against the red curtain 
 of the workroom. And I was troubled, I was 
 strangely ill at ease. It seemed to me that in 
 my friend, hidden away like a thing hidden in 
 a cave, was something mysterious, something 
 even terrible, and that the black spaniel was 
 connected with it. But how could that be? 
 Vernon loved all animals. He was at this 
 very moment devoting his life to the advance- 
 ment of their welfare. For them he had 
 thrown off his long idleness of the lounging 
 traveller, the luxurious art-lover, who wan- 
 dered from country to country buying to 
 please his whim. For them he stayed in Eng- 
 land and lived laborious days. Why, then, 
 
 96 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 when I thought of the spaniel shut up in his 
 study, should I be chilled with fear? I rea- 
 soned with myself, but in vain. The sense of 
 fear, of mystery, remained with me. It was 
 deepened by an incident which occurred six 
 days later. 
 
 During those days I had not seen Vernon; 
 I had heard nothing of him or of the black 
 spaniel. 
 
 The incident to which I alluded was my 
 meeting for the first time with Arthur Gern- 
 ham. 
 
 At a man's dinner, given by a famous 
 throat-specialist renowned not only as a sur- 
 geon but as a host, I found myself sitting op- 
 posite to a very remarkable-looking man of 
 about forty years of age. I had not been in- 
 troduced to him, and had no idea who he was, 
 but he at once attracted my attention by his 
 air of fiery vitality and his unconventional at- 
 tire. Instead of the ordinary evening dress, 
 he wore a pair of black trousers, a loose silk 
 shirt with a turned-down collar and very small 
 black tie, and a double-breasted smoking-coat 
 which concealed his waistcoat, if he had one. 
 His powerful, sinewy wrists were unfettered 
 by cuffs, and his powerful throat was free 
 from the stiff linen ramparts over which 
 the average Englishman faces the world 
 in the evening. He was evidently a man 
 who hated restraint. His face was pale, of 
 the hatchet type, with a long hooked nose, the 
 
 97 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 bridge of which was unusually marked ; a large 
 mouth, unsmiling but not unkind; a narrow, 
 very high forehead, and gleaming hazel eyes. 
 His head was sparsely covered with odd tufts 
 of light-brown hair. 
 
 During dinner Gernham talked a great deal 
 in a rasping voice. His conversation was in- 
 teresting, for he w r as not only intelligent, but 
 obviously an enthusiast, and one who was en- 
 tirely fearless of the opinion of others. I 
 wondered much who he was, and as we were 
 getting up from the table I found an oppor- 
 tunity to ask my host. 
 
 "Arthur Gernham," he said. " Very down 
 on us doctors, but an interesting fellow. In 
 another age he'd have courted persecution for 
 the faith that is in him. Let me introduce 
 you." 
 
 And he did so. 
 
 Gernham shook me warmly by the hand. 
 
 " My dear colleague Kersteven has often 
 spoken of you," he said. ' You sympathise 
 with our efforts, don't you? " 
 
 He jerked his head upwards and looked at 
 me keenly. I said something I've forgotten 
 what and he continued abruptly 
 
 " Come along. Let's have a good talk. 
 Have a cigar." 
 
 He gave me a very large one, flung himself 
 down in an armchair, and talked enthusias- 
 tically of Vernon. 
 
 " I've been almost living in his house this 
 98 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 last week," he said. " We're preparing a fresh 
 campaign on behalf of the blessed beasts, our 
 brothers. We've got together some statistics 
 that'll startle the comfortable elbow-chair 
 Englishmen, I can tell you. I'll never rest till 
 I've roused the country to the horrors that are 
 being perpetrated every day, every hour, every 
 minute, upon the defenceless animals God has 
 committed to us to be good to. And Vernon 
 what a splendid chap he is! What a col- 
 league! All pity! The man's made of pity, 
 made of tenderness. Ah, but you know 
 that!" 
 
 "Yes!" I said. 
 
 I thought of the black spaniel. Here was 
 an opportunity to find out how Vernon and his 
 pet were getting on together. 
 
 " You've been in the house with Vernon a 
 great deal lately? " I began. 
 
 " Every day and all day," he said, " this last 
 week." 
 
 "How's that new pet of his?" I asked. 
 " Reconciled and happy in his new home? " 
 
 "Pet?" said Gernham. 
 'Yes, the dog." 
 
 " He hasn't got ,one. Don't you know 
 the hideous story? He once had a spaniel 
 called " 
 
 " I know," I interrupted. " And he's got 
 another." 
 
 " Not he! " rejoined Gernham, with sledge- 
 hammer certainty. " He'll never have an- 
 
 99 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 other. I understand the poor chap's feelings. 
 At the same time 
 
 But here I interrupted again, and told 
 Gernham the story of Vernon's acquisition of 
 the spaniel. He heard me with an amazement 
 he did not try to conceal. 
 
 "And you mean to say the dog's in the 
 house now? " he cried, when I had finished. 
 
 " I suppose so, unless he's got rid of it al- 
 ready." 
 
 Gernham sat quite still with his thin hands 
 spread out on his knees staring at me hard. 
 
 " This is extraordinary," he said at last, with 
 a sort of biting decision. 
 
 " You mean that he didn't mention the fact 
 that he had a dog? " 
 
 " I mean more than that. I mean that he 
 concealed it from me." 
 
 " Concealed it? " 
 
 " Certainly. I've got any amount of ani- 
 mals dogs, cats, the whole show and I'm 
 always urging Kersteven to set up a happy 
 family. We preach kindness, he and I. We 
 ought to practise it actively as much as we can. 
 But his feelings about his dead dog have al- 
 ways stood in the way. I'm perpetually try- 
 ing to convert him to my view. I've been at 
 it this week." 
 
 " And he said he hadn't a dog? " 
 
 " No. But he never said he had one. It's 
 much the same thing under the circumstances. 
 
 100 
 
THE BLACK 
 
 I should never have thought Kersteven could 
 be deceitful. I don't like it. I I hate it!" 
 
 At this moment we were interrupted. Two 
 of the other men came up and we had no more 
 private talk that evening. When I was going 
 away Gernham said 
 
 " Come and see me will you? Here's my 
 card." 
 
 He gave it to me, shook my hand, and as 
 I turned to go said 
 
 " You've spoilt my evening, I can tell you 
 that." 
 
 I thought, " And you've spoilt mine," but 
 I did not say it. 
 
 101 
 
IX 
 
 I WENT home that night wondering whether 
 Vernon had got rid of the black spaniel. 
 Perhaps he had found it impossible to rec- 
 oncile it to its new quarters, and had sold 
 it or given it back to the man with the 
 fur cap. Or perhaps it was still in the house. 
 If that were so, it was very strange, very un- 
 like Vernon to have concealed the fact from 
 Arthur Gernham. But, in either case, he had 
 been deceitful, deliberately deceitful, with a 
 friend, and a friend whom he greatly admired 
 and respected. 
 
 This incident of my meeting with Gernham 
 deepened my sense of fear, of mystery. My 
 instinct I now felt sure of it was right. 
 Some strange under side of Vernon's character 
 was active at this moment. I knew him only 
 in part; much of him I did not know. A 
 stranger now seemed to confront me in the 
 night, a stranger by whose feet crouched some- 
 thing black and terrified. What was this 
 stranger's purpose? What could it be? 
 
 I reviewed carefully my whole acquaintance 
 with Vernon, but especially the latter part of 
 my acquaintance with him, when Deeming was 
 in relation with us both. It was then, when 
 
 102 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 Deeming came into his life, and only then, 
 that Vernon had shown me for the first time a 
 man in him whose presence I had not suspected, 
 whose exact nature I did not know. This man 
 was roused by Deeming. I should have let 
 him sleep. But, having been roused, he had 
 surely been sleepless ever since. Yes, that was 
 so. Thus far, things were clear to me. Some- 
 thing the strange man in Vernon had been 
 wakeful, ardent ever since, was wakeful, ar- 
 dent now. This man it was who worked shoul- 
 der to shoulder with Gernham. This man it 
 was who had bought the black spaniel. 
 
 So far, light. But now came the darkness. 
 What had been Vernon's purpose in buying 
 the black spaniel? When he saw it he had 
 looked at it fatally. At that moment, while he 
 looked at it, his purpose had sprung up full- 
 grown in his mind, full-grown and fierce. I 
 was not to know that purpose. Arthur Gern- 
 ham was not to know it. He now had some 
 purpose in connection with an animal that Ar- 
 thur Gernham, his close friend and colleague, 
 his leader in a campaign of kindness, of pity, 
 to which he was dedicating all his activities 
 and giving all his enthusiasm, was not to know 
 or even suspect. That purpose, since it was 
 in connection with an animal, must surely be 
 one of kindness, of pity. 
 
 But here my instinct rebelled violently 
 against my knowledge of Vernon. My in- 
 stinct said that it was not so; that Vernon's 
 
 103 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 purpose in buying the black spaniel had been 
 sad, even perhaps terrible. Yet how could that 
 be? 
 
 The dog's eyes haunted me. They seemed 
 to me to know what I did not know, to know 
 what Vernon's purpose was. 
 
 Deeming again I thought of him, of Ver- 
 non's short and strange connection with him. 
 Once Vernon had said to me that he believed 
 Deeming was a man haunted by a mania for 
 persecution. He had spoken without knowl- 
 edge then. Later, he had travelled to Eng- 
 land to gain knowledge. He had taken the 
 house in Wimpole Street to gain knowledge. 
 Had he gained it? I did not know. Vernon 
 had never told me. Was that why I was in 
 the dark now? It began to seem to me that, 
 perhaps, if I could find out what Vernon knew 
 of Deeming I should understand something 
 of his present purpose, of his purpose in buy- 
 ing the black spaniel. 
 
 At this stage in my mental debate I reached 
 the Piccadilly corner of Albemarle Street, and 
 was just going to turn towards my house, 
 when a familiar face, a face respectable, close- 
 shaven, English, looked upon me in the lamp- 
 light, and a bowler hat was deferentially 
 lifted. 
 
 "Cragg!" I said. 
 
 " Good-night, Sir," said Cragg. " A fine 
 night, Sir." 
 
 " Yes wait a minute, Cragg." 
 104 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 " Certainly, Sir." 
 
 Vernon's man stood still. 
 
 " Just walk with me to my door, will you? " 
 
 ' With pleasure, Sir." 
 
 We turned side by side into the comparative 
 quiet of Albemarle Street. 
 
 " How is Mr. Kersteven, Cragg? " 
 
 "Well, Sir- The man slightly hesi- 
 
 tated. " Oh, Sir, he's in his usual health, I 
 think." 
 
 " Working hard, isn't he? " 
 
 " Very hard, Sir." 
 
 " With Mr. Gernham." 
 
 ' Yes, Sir, with Mr. Gernham." 
 
 "And and how's the dog, Cragg?" 
 
 I looked at him as I spoke, arid saw his fore- 
 head contract. 
 
 ' The dog, Sir? oh, the dog is getting on 
 all right so far as I am aware." 
 
 " How do you mean so far as you are 
 aware? " 
 
 " Well, Sir, I don't see much of it. That's 
 a fact." 
 
 "Really. How's that?" 
 
 I was pumping the man, I acknowledge it. 
 I can make no excuse for it. I was driven by 
 something that seemed to me then more than 
 an ignoble curiosity. 
 
 ' Well, Sir, Mr. Kersteven keeps the dog 
 shut up mostly. I suppose he thinks that till 
 it gets accustomed to the place and to us it's 
 better." 
 
 105 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 " But if it's always shut up, how can it get 
 accustomed to you? " 
 
 ' That's more than I can say, Sir." 
 
 I could see that the man was constrained, 
 was not telling me something of which his 
 mind was full. We had now reached my door, 
 and I had no further excuse for keeping him 
 with me. 
 
 " Well, Cragg," I said. " Good-night." 
 
 " Good-night, Sir." 
 
 " I hope the dog will settle down and be 
 friendly with you." 
 
 "Friendly with me, Sir! That dog! The 
 Lord forbid! " cried Cragg. 
 
 He seemed startled by the sound of his own 
 lamentable exclamation, looked at me as if 
 asking pardon, lifted his hat, and walked 
 quickly away into the darkness. I stood star- 
 ing after him. I longed to follow him, to ques- 
 tion him, to find out what he meant. But how 
 could I? 
 
 That night it was late before I went to 
 sleep. The black spaniel seemed to be crouch- 
 ing at the foot of the bed. I seemed to see its 
 yellow eyes fixed upon me, trying to tell me 
 what I longed to know. 
 
 Late in the afternoon of the next day I 
 received a very unexpected visit from Arthur 
 Gernham. When I saw him come into my 
 room, dressed in a suit of homespun, with a 
 flannel shirt and a red tie, and holding a soft 
 brown wideawake in his hand, I jumped up 
 
 106 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 from my chair eagerly. I guessed at once that 
 he had something to say with reference to our 
 conversation of the previous night. 
 
 "How are you?" he said, in his rasping, 
 energetic voice. " I got your address from 
 the Red Book." 
 
 He sat down and stretched out his long legs. 
 
 "I'm delighted to see you," I said. 
 " You've been at work with Vernon? " 
 
 "I've been with him." 
 
 He ran one hand over his tufts of scanty 
 hair. 
 
 " I'm disappointed in Kersteven," he said. 
 " I never should have thought he was a shifty 
 fellow." 
 
 The word shifty, applied to Vernon, roused 
 my sense of friendship. 
 
 " Oh, you're mistaken," I exclaimed. "Ver- 
 non's not a shifty man." 
 
 " I beg your pardon he is." 
 
 I waited in silence for him to explain him- 
 self. I saw plainly that he was going to. 
 There was a sledge-hammer honesty about 
 Gernham that was startling but rather re- 
 freshing. He now proceeded to give me a 
 specimen of it. 
 
 " I can't stomach a friend who isn't perfect- 
 ly straight with me," he said; "and what's 
 more, I'm bound to tell him so. I can't keep 
 anything in. Whatever I feel I have to out 
 with it. That's my nature. It's got me into 
 
 107 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 plenty of trouble, and it will get me into plen- 
 ty more. Fights were my lot at Eton, and 
 fights have been my lot, more or less, ever 
 since." 
 
 He unbuttoned one of the cuffs of his flan- 
 nel shirt, pushed the flannel higher up his arm, 
 and went on: 
 
 " With Kersteven I got on magnificently 
 until to-day." 
 
 " Have you had a wordy fight with Vernon 
 to-day, then? " I asked. 
 
 " I went straight to him this morning and 
 told him I'd met you last night. He asked me 
 how I liked you, and I told him, ' Very much.' 
 Then I said, plump out, ' You've been tricky 
 with me, Kersteven.' ' 
 
 "Oh!" I exclaimed. 
 
 He took no notice of my interruption, and 
 went on 
 
 " 'You've let me make a fool of myself with 
 you. That's nothing. One makes a fool of 
 oneself most days one way or another.' ' What 
 do you mean? ' he asked. ' That you've al- 
 lowed me to think that you would never keep 
 a dog or animal of any kind in your house, that 
 you've sat here and listened to me trying to 
 persuade you to keep one, while all the 
 time there is or was one perhaps within a 
 few feet of me. You've let me think what 
 wasn't true, you've made me think what wasn't 
 true. I don't know what your reason is, but 
 I know that I hate your action, and that I 
 
 108 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 never thought you were capable of doing such 
 a low thing to a friend.' ' 
 
 "Pretty strong," I said. "How did he 
 take it?" 
 
 " That's the nastiest part of all. He took it 
 lying down." 
 
 " Lying down? " 
 
 "Yes. Merely said the matter of the dog 
 was such a trifle he hadn't thought it would 
 interest me to know of it, that he wasn't sure 
 of keeping it for any time, that he'd been so 
 busy with me that etc., etc. The lamest ex- 
 cuses man ever offered to man. I was disgust- 
 ed, and showed it. It's my way to show things 
 can't help doing it. ' Let's get to work,' he 
 said, trying to change the subject. ' No,' I 
 said. ' I can't work with you to-day. That's 
 certain.' And I took up my hat and went." 
 
 " And you you didn't see the dog? " 
 
 " Oh, dear no. But it wasn't that I cared 
 about." 
 
 " I wish you had seen it. I wish you would 
 see it." 
 
 I was speaking almost involuntarily, as if 
 the words were forced from me, words scarce- 
 ly prompted by any thought in me, words that 
 were uttered for me. 
 
 " Why? " he asked. " Why? What do you 
 mean? " 
 
 His face and manner were always alert, but 
 now they had suddenly become intense with a 
 sort of quivering vivacity. 
 
 109 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 " What's wrong about the dog? " 
 
 :< I don't know that anything is wrong." 
 
 "Know! Do you suspect anything is 
 wrong? " 
 
 I waited a minute. I was repeating to my- 
 self Gernham's question. 
 
 " Yes," I said at last, " I do. But I don't 
 know why I suspect, and I don't know what 
 I suspect. That's the honest truth and vague 
 enough. But I can't help it." 
 
 He looked me straight in the eyes for a 
 full minute, I should think. Then he said 
 
 " I want you to be less vague, Luttrell; and 
 I think you can. A man doesn't say such a 
 thing as you've said without more meaning 
 than you've acknowledged." 
 
 " I assure you " I began. 
 
 But he stopped me. 
 
 " Now look here," he said. " One often has 
 a thought behind one's thought, like a body be- 
 hind its shadow. You've found the shadow; 
 now look for the body, and I'll bet you'll find 
 that too." 
 
 His words seemed to clear away some 
 mystery from my mind, but I shrank from 
 what was now revealed the body behind the 
 shadow. 
 
 " I see you know now what you suspect," he 
 said, still looking into my eyes with intensity. 
 " What is it? " 
 
 " I do know now," I answered. " But it's 
 monstrous, and upon my word I'm ashamed to 
 
 110 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 say it. For you must know that I've a great 
 regard for Vernon." 
 
 " And so have or had I. His tenderness 
 for the suffering of the animal world drew me 
 to him. I can't forget that even now, after 
 this beastly affair of the dog." 
 
 " His tenderness for the animal world," I 
 repeated. " It's just that just my knowl- 
 edge of that, which makes my suspicion so 
 monstrous." 
 
 " Let's have it, I must have it ! " he said. 
 * You're no backbiter, you're an honest fellow. 
 I can see that. Go ahead. I shan't mistake 
 your motives." 
 
 There was a compelling frankness about 
 him. I yielded to it. 
 
 " My suspicion is that perhaps Vernon is 
 being cruel to that dog," I said. 
 
 Gerriham sat quite still. I saw that my 
 words had deeply astonished him. But he 
 did not burst forth, as many another man 
 would have done, in a denial of the possibil- 
 ity of my suspicion being roused by a horrid 
 fact, being well founded. He was a very 
 quick man, and full of finesse despite his 
 bluntness. 
 
 "What are your reasons?" he said slowly. 
 
 " I can scarcely say I have any. Let me 
 think, though." 
 
 After a minute I described to him minutely 
 how Vernon had regarded the spaniel in the 
 Park, the dog's fear there, its much greater 
 
 111 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 terror on being brought into the house in 
 Wimpole Street, Vernon's strange excitement 
 on its arrival, and excitement in which there 
 seemed to be an admixture of triumph, his 
 laughter as he opened the door of the room 
 in which the spaniel was confined; the dog's 
 rush for safety to Lord Elyn, and shrinking 
 away when Vernon approached it. When I 
 had finished, I added 
 
 " There's one thing more." 
 
 4 What is it?" 
 
 Then I related to him my meeting with 
 Cragg on the previous night, and what the 
 man had told me about Vernon's keeping the 
 spaniel perpetually shut up. 
 
 " That's all," I ended. " Not much, is it? " 
 
 " D' you know," he said, " what's far the 
 most striking fact in all that you've told me? " 
 
 "What? "I asked. 
 
 " The dog's horror of Kersteven. The rest 
 may be nothing fancy of yours or oddity of 
 manner on Kersteven's part. But the dog's 
 horror of Kersteven is very strange, and un- 
 less your suspicion is correct, which God for- 
 bid very unnatural." 
 
 " Unnatural that's just what Lord Elyn 
 called it." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 " And his trying to keep the fact of the dog 
 being in the house from you. Isn't that very 
 strange? " 
 
 "Certainly it is. But by Jove! the 
 112 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 strangest thing of all would be that Kersteven 
 should be cruel to an animal." 
 
 " Yes, that's true. I can't no, I can't be- 
 lieve it possible." 
 
 " What could be his motive? " 
 
 " I can't conceive." 
 
 " I know the man. He has a passion of pity 
 in him for the sufferings of the animals, a real 
 passion. Only one thing could account for his 
 being cruel, deliberately and persistently 
 cruel, to a dog." 
 
 " What?" 
 
 " If he were mad." 
 
 " Oh, that impossible! " 
 
 " It would be the only thing," he repeated. 
 " I know something of insanity. A chief fea- 
 ture of it is this, that it often creates in a man 
 the reverse of what he was before it took pos- 
 session of him. Thus the kind, sane man be- 
 comes the cruel madman ; the lively, mercurial 
 sane man the bitter, melancholy madman 
 and so on. You take me? " 
 
 " Vernon isn't mad," I said with conviction. 
 
 " Then he isn't being cruel to his dog," he 
 said with equal conviction. 
 
 " I can't understand it," I said dubiously. 
 :< The whole thing's a mystery. Why should 
 he buy the dog after swearing he would never 
 have another? A whim, he said it was, a ca- 
 price. But I don't believe that. No, there 
 was some deeper, stranger reason. What 
 could it be?" 
 
 113 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 I was asking myself, not him. 
 
 Gernham got up to go. 
 
 " One thing I promise you," he said. " I'll 
 set at rest your doubts in a very short time. 
 I'll find out for certain that Kersteven is treat- 
 ing that dog properly. I devote my life to our 
 dumb friends, as you know. Well, they shan't 
 find me wanting now, though a man who has 
 been my chum and my colleague is concerned 
 in this matter." 
 
 ' What are you going to do? " 
 ' To-morrow I ought to be working with 
 'Kersteven. After to-day I didn't mean to go, 
 I didn't feel as if I could go. But now I will, 
 and I'll see the spaniel and see him with Ker- 
 steven. Never fear! " 
 
 He spoke with biting decision. I looked at 
 him and felt that he would do what he said. 
 
 " Brush my suspicions away," I said, " and 
 I'll be only too thankful. Good-bye." 
 
 He went off quickly. 
 
 When the door was shut behind him I 
 thought how strange it was that Gernham's 
 purpose in connection with Vernon was ex- 
 actly the same as had been Vernon's in connec- 
 tion with Deeming when he left Rome for 
 London. 
 
 He had wanted to see a black spaniel with 
 Deeming. Gernham wanted to see a black 
 spaniel with him. 
 
 114 
 
X 
 
 JUST before lunch the next day Gernham was 
 announced. 
 
 " Good morning," he said, coming into the 
 room close upon the heels of my man. " Can 
 I lunch with you? " 
 
 " Certainly. Lunch for two, Bates." 
 'Yes, Sir." 
 
 The man went out and shut the door. Then 
 I turned to Gernham. 
 
 1 You've been to Wimpole Street? " I asked. 
 
 " Yes. Do you remember I told you yester- 
 day that Kersteven had taken my punishment 
 lying down? " 
 
 " Of course I do." 
 
 ' Well, since then he's thought it over, and 
 got up." 
 
 ' What do you mean? " 
 
 "Yesterday I declined to work with him. 
 To-day, he's declined to work with me. He's 
 refused me admittance to his house. See 
 that!" 
 
 He put a note down on the table beside me. 
 I took it and read as follows : 
 
 DEAR GERNHAM I don't know whether you will come 
 to-day ; but should you do so, I've told Cragg to give you 
 this. I did not care to quarrel with a man in my own 
 
 115 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 house ; and so yesterday, when you were impertinent to 
 me, I did not appear to resent it. As you know, I ad- 
 mire your character and respect your enthusiasm, and it 
 has been a great pleasure to me to be associated with you 
 in a work which I love with my whole heart and soul. 
 But I allow no man to criticise my conduct as you have 
 chosen to criticise it. I am sorry, therefore, that unless 
 you feel inclined to apologise, I cannot admit you to my 
 house. Believe me, faithfully, 
 
 VERNON KERSTEVEN. 
 
 " What do you think of that, eh? " asked 
 Gernham, when I finished reading the note. 
 "Pretty blunt, isn't it?" 
 
 " Vernon has decidedly got up," I said. 
 
 I looked again at the note. 
 ' Tell me just what you think," Gernham 
 said. 
 
 ' Well," I answered, with some hesitation, 
 " it's an abrupt change of front after his be- 
 haviour yesterday." 
 
 " Too abrupt," he said. " I don't like it; I 
 don't like it at all. You were right, Luttrell; 
 there is a mystery here a mystery connected 
 with that dog. But I haven't got your opinion 
 yet!" 
 
 He was a persistent man, and did not read- 
 ily lose sight of his object. 
 
 " You want to know how I explain Vernon's 
 change of front." 
 
 " Exactly." 
 
 " It seems to me that he has thought things 
 over since yesterday, and resolved to avail him- 
 
 116 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 self of this pretext to keep you out of his 
 house." 
 
 "That's it!" exclaimed Gernham. "I've 
 given him his opportunity like a fool, and he's 
 taken it, like a clever man. But where an 
 animal is concerned I'm not so easily dished. 
 A good many people who've appeared in the 
 London police-courts know that." 
 
 " When you got this note, what did you 
 do?" 
 
 " I tried to question Cragg." 
 
 "And the result?" 
 
 " Nil. Directly I mentioned the dog, he 
 looked as grim as death, and became mono- 
 syllabic. There's something up, and Cragg 
 has an inkling of it. But he'll never tell it to 
 me. You've got to go into this, Luttrell." 
 
 At this moment lunch was announced, and 
 the rest of the conversation took place in the 
 dining-room. Directly after lunch Gernham 
 hurried away, leaving me pledged to act where 
 he could not act, pledged to probe to the bot- 
 tom, and without delay, the mystery of the 
 black spaniel. 
 
 My relation with Vernon was now almost 
 exactly similar to his former relation with 
 Deeming, and Gernham was to be the inactive 
 watcher, the waiter on events engineered by 
 others, that I had formerly been. But there 
 was a difference in this new situation which 
 had followed so strangely upon the death of 
 Deeming. Vernon had never been Deeming's 
 
 117 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 friend. From the first moment when they met 
 the two men had been instinctively hostile to 
 one another. But I was Vernon's friend. I 
 cared for him. Till now I had believed in him. 
 This fact complicated matters painfully. And 
 yet I did not hesitate, did not feel that in my 
 understanding with Gernham I was being 
 treacherous, disloyal. 
 
 For the eyes of the black spaniel haunted 
 me, summoned me, seemed to force me to go 
 on, to investigate this mystery. By them I 
 was driven to do as I did. By them I was 
 told that in my friend a new man, a stranger, 
 had arisen, and that in attacking this stranger 
 if attack were necessary I should not be 
 false to my friendship with the man who had 
 lived in Rome, the quiet lover of pictures, the 
 gentle, idle, cultivated Vernon of the Trinita 
 dei Monti. 
 
 Vernon was generally at home after six in 
 the evening. I resolved to seek him at that 
 hour on the same day, and carried my resolu- 
 tion into effect. Cragg opened the door to me. 
 
 " Mr. Kersteven at home, Cragg? " 
 
 " Yes, Sir." 
 
 "Can I see him?" 
 
 " If you'll wait a moment, Sir, Til ask." 
 
 He paused, then added in explanation 
 
 " I don't think Mr. Kersteven is very well 
 to-day, Sir. Perhaps he may not wish to be 
 disturbed, even by you. You'll excuse me, 
 Sir." 
 
 118 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 " Of course. Go and see. I'll stay here." 
 
 " Pray take a seat, Sir." 
 
 He placed a chair for me in the little hall, 
 and went discreetly away up the stairs. 
 
 I sat down and waited. 
 
 The hall was quiet and dim. Somewhere a 
 large clock was ticking. Now and then I heard 
 a carriage roll by outside. As I sat there I 
 fell into deep thought. Whdt was I going to 
 do? I had come to the house without making 
 any plan. I could not make any plan till I 
 had seen Vernon. His demeanour, his action, 
 must guide me. Would he see me? I thought 
 it probable. There was evidently no one with 
 him. Had there been, Cragg would have told 
 me; and, if I saw him, should I find the black 
 spaniel with him? I glanced round me. On 
 the opposite side of the hall, close to where I 
 was sitting, opened the short corridor, or pas- 
 sage, which linked the two houses in one. I 
 could see the darkness of what had been Deem- 
 ing's house where the passage stretched away 
 beyond the door of Vernon's workroom. Poor 
 Deeming! Gone, with all his fine abilities, his 
 energy, his persistence, his ambition his 
 cruelty, perhaps! Had he been cruel? Possi- 
 bly Vernon knew. If he had, he was perhaps 
 now being punished in that other mysterious 
 world of which we know nothing, of which we 
 seldom think in health, but which seems to 
 loom near us when we are ill, or weary, or in 
 trouble of mind to loom as a great vault be- 
 
 119 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 fore whose entrance we stand, gazing but see- 
 ing naught. As I stared down the corridor 
 into the dimness of the other house, the thought 
 of Deeming haunted me, came to me vividly, 
 till I almost fancied that something of him, 
 some thrown-out essence of his personality, of 
 his strong soul, still remained in the dwelling 
 that had been his, still knew what went on 
 there, still watched the coming and going of 
 the man who governed where he had governed 
 once. 
 
 I fancied, did I say? It was more than that. 
 I felt as if he were near me, as if he were even 
 intent upon me. 
 
 Then from the thought of him, and still 
 with that sensation of his nearness, of his at- 
 tention, upon me, my mind travelled to the 
 black spaniel. His dog, that mysterious crea- 
 ture never seen by me, had pattered in the dim- 
 ness towards which I was gazing. And now, 
 as Deeming's place was taken by Vernon, its 
 place was taken by the black spaniel Vernon 
 had first seen in the Park cowering down 
 against the earth, its ears laid back, its body 
 trembling, its eyes full of a message of voice- 
 less fear. Perhaps it was close to me now, this 
 successor of Deeming's pet or victim. Per- 
 haps it was shut up in the room in which I had 
 seen it lying against the red curtain. I could 
 see the door of the room. It was shut. A few 
 steps would bring me to it. I glanced towards 
 the staircase. Cragg was not coming down. 
 
 120 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 I got up. Again I had the sensation that 
 Deeming was near me, was intent upon me, 
 wanted something of me, and with this sensa- 
 tion was mysteriously linked my consciousness 
 of the nearness of the black spaniel, till till 
 the two sensations seemed to merge the one in- 
 to the other, to become one, in some indefinable, 
 fantastic way. I can hardly explain exactly 
 what I felt at this moment, but my feeling was 
 connected with Vernon's workroom. It was 
 as if as if I almost knew that, did I but take 
 those few steps to the shut door, did I but open 
 that door, I should find awaiting me within the 
 room not only the black spaniel, but the dead 
 man, Deeming, with it. It was as if as 
 
 if 
 
 I moved across the hall, walking softly, 
 reached the corridor, gained the door, stood by 
 it, listening for the uneasy movement, for the 
 whimper of a dog, for the stir, for the mur- 
 mur of a dead man. But there was no sound 
 within. There was no sound, and yet I felt 
 positive that the spaniel was inside the room, 
 separated from me only by a piece of wood. 
 Once, twice, I put my fingers upon the handle 
 of the door, yet refrained from turning it. 
 I felt a strong desire to open the door, yet 
 at the critical moment I was held back from 
 doing so by an imperious reluctance which 
 seemed to me to be physical, as if my body 
 sickened and protested against what my mind 
 told it to do. 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 How long I stood thus uncertainly before 
 the door I do not know. It seemed to me a 
 very long time. At last in the struggle be- 
 tween mind and body, if it were that the 
 body conquered. I turned to move away with- 
 out opening the door. I even took a step to- 
 wards the hall. But I was arrested by a sound 
 that startled me, that sent I could not tell 
 why a chill through me. 
 
 I heard the scratching of a dog against the 
 inside of the door. 
 
 I stood still, held my breath, and listened. 
 The scratching was repeated, prolonged. It 
 was gentle, surreptitious almost, yet insistent, 
 a summons to me to return. 
 
 Again my body sickened. I was physically 
 afflicted. Nausea seized me. But now my 
 mind rose up and protested against the condi- 
 tion, against the domination of my body, like 
 a thing angry and ashamed. Suddenly I took 
 a resolution. I would open the door without 
 delay in answer to the appeal of the black 
 spaniel. Swiftly I went back to the door, 
 grasped the handle, turned it, pushed. The 
 door resisted me. It was locked. As I real- 
 ised this I heard from within the desolate 
 whining of a dog imprisoned. 
 
 "Luttrell! Luttrell!" 
 
 Vernon's voice called to me from above, and 
 at the same time I heard a footstep. Cragg 
 was coming down. I moved swiftly back into 
 the hall and met him. He glanced at me in- 
 
 122 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 quiringly, looked down the passage, then at 
 me again. His face for an instant was elo- 
 quent with inquiry with was it sympathy? 
 Then he was once more the discreet servant, 
 saying in a formal voice 
 
 "Please come up, Sir; Mr. Kersteven will 
 be very glad to see you." 
 
 Vernon met me on the landing by the draw- 
 ing-room door. I saw at once that he was not 
 well. His face was very pale, and had a pe- 
 culiar look, as if the skin were drawn upward 
 towards the wrinkled forehead, which I had 
 sometimes noticed in people suffering from 
 prolonged insomnia. It gave a horribly 
 strained appearance to his countenance, in 
 which the eyes looked unnaturally eager and 
 full of curious observation. 
 
 "Were you in the hall? " he said, taking my 
 hand for the fraction of an instant, and then 
 dropping it as if with relief. 
 
 " I waited in the hall," I replied evasively. 
 
 " You were there then while Cragg was up 
 here?" 
 
 " He asked me to wait there," I said. 
 " While he went to see if you were well enough 
 to receive me. I'm sorry to hear you're seedy." 
 
 " Oh, it's of no consequence. Come in." 
 
 We went into the drawing-room. 
 
 " What's been the matter? " I asked, as we 
 sat down. 
 
 " Oh, I don't know. I've been overworking, 
 I suppose." 
 
 123 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 " With Gernham? " I said. 
 
 " Gernham! " he looked at me narrowly. 
 " You have you seen Gernham to-day? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Oh." 
 
 He sat silent for a moment. I could see 
 that he was hesitating whether to tell me about 
 his breach with Gernham or not. 
 
 "How d'you like Gernham?" he said at 
 length. "He likes you. He told me so." 
 
 " I know him very slightly, but one can't 
 help respecting such a genuine fellow," I re- 
 plied. 
 
 " Genuine yes, he's that." 
 
 " If he undertook a thing, nothing would 
 stop him from going through with it." 
 
 "You think so?" 
 
 He slightly smiled. 
 
 " But suppose he were to encounter an op- 
 position as thorough as his own attack? What 
 then? " 
 
 I knew at once that he was thinking of 
 Gernham and himself. 
 
 " Then," I said, " there would be a battle 
 royal." 
 
 "A battle royal, would there? Yes, no 
 doubt." 
 
 With the last words his interest seemed to 
 fail suddenly. He slightly drooped his head, 
 and sat like one listening for some distant 
 sound. I watched him closely. Gernham's 
 declaration that if Vernon were maltreating 
 
 m 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 the spaniel he must be mentally diseased was 
 present in my mind. I was looking for symp- 
 toms that would guide me to a conclusion one 
 way or the other. I saw a great change in 
 Vernon a painful change. He looked like a 
 man suffering under some terrible distress, 
 which had altered, for the time, his whole 
 outlook upon life. But I felt that I was 
 with a perfectly sane man. As I regarded 
 him he seemed to recover his consciousness 
 of my presence, glanced up, and met my 
 scrutiny. 
 
 " What is it? " he said. " Why do you look 
 at me like that?" 
 
 I felt embarrassed. 
 
 ' What's Gernham been saying to you? " he 
 added sharply. 
 
 " Gernham oh, you know him," I an- 
 swered. ' You know where his heart is, with 
 the animals. What an enthusiast he is! " 
 
 " He's been talking to you about his work 
 then. Well, did he tell you that we've had a 
 quarrel, he and I? " 
 
 "He said your work together had come to 
 a stop, for the moment. Why should it? " 
 
 'Why? Oh, well, sometimes Gernham is 
 too blunt, says more than he, than any man 
 ought to say to another. There is a limit to 
 frankness; occasionally he oversteps it. He 
 overstepped it with me, and I resented it. 
 Don't you think I was right? " 
 
 I felt that he was being strangely insincere 
 125 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 with me as he had been insincere with Gern- 
 ham, trying to raise a cloud which would ob- 
 scure the reality of his mind, the true scope of 
 his intentions. 
 
 " I see no reason why two such men as you 
 should quarrel," I answered. " Especially if 
 it interrupts, and perhaps, to some extent, 
 cripples a splendid work. You should sink 
 your little differences, and go on together, 
 hand in hand, to further the noble cause you 
 love." 
 
 He had been trying to play me. I was now 
 trying to play him. Yet, as I finished, a gen- 
 uine warmth came, I think, into my voice. It 
 moved him. I could see that, for he looked up 
 at me as if demanding my sympathy. Sud- 
 denly I felt a profound pity for him, a pro- 
 found desire to help him. But how? Against 
 what? 
 
 " Perhaps we shall be friends again," he 
 said. " But he misunderstands me, and you, 
 Luttrell, perhaps you misunderstand me too." 
 
 "I!" 
 
 " Yes you. Are you sure that, in these 
 last days, you have never had any cruel sus- 
 picions of me? Are you sure you have not 
 any cruel suspicions of me now? " 
 
 " If I had, if I have, you could easily clear 
 them up," I answered. " By the way, how's 
 the dog getting on? All right? " 
 
 His face changed at once, hardened. 
 
 "Oh, yes! "he said. 
 
 126 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 " I should like to have another look at him," 
 I said. "Where is he?" 
 
 " He's downstairs in the study. Didn't you 
 know it?" 
 
 " I I did think I heard something scratch- 
 ing and whining. Why do you keep him shut 
 up?" 
 
 " He hasn't got accustomed to being with 
 me yet. If I let him out he might bolt." 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 " I don't w r ant to have spent my twelve 
 pounds for nothing," he added. 
 
 His face had hardened. Now his voice was 
 hard too hard and fatal. 
 
 " May I have a look at him? " I said. 
 
 The sense of mystery was returning upon 
 me. I tried to combat it by speaking bluntly, 
 expressing my desire plainly. At least, I 
 would no longer deal in subterfuge. Instead 
 of answering my question he said, throwing a 
 curious, wavering glance upon me, " Are you 
 engaged to-night? " 
 
 I was, but I said at once, "I'm entirely at 
 your service, Vernon." 
 
 " Dine with me, then." 
 
 "Here?" 
 
 " Yes, here." 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " That's right. And now let's have some 
 music. I've got a new piano since last year." 
 
 We spent the next hour with Richard 
 Strauss and Saint- Saens. 
 
 127 
 
XI 
 
 NIGHT had closed in. Vernon and I were 
 seated opposite to one another at the oval 
 dining-table. Cragg waited upon us. Now 
 and then, as he moved softly to and fro, 
 I glanced at him, and I thought I detected 
 in his well-trained face a flicker of anxiety 
 as his eyes rested upon his master, a flicker 
 of appeal as they rested upon me. It 
 seemed to me at such times that he wanted 
 me to do something to help Vernon, that 
 he was longing to have a word with me 
 alone. 
 
 The dinner was excellent, but Vernon ate 
 scarcely anything. He talked, however, a good 
 deal, though hardly with his usual nerve and 
 relish. When dessert was on the table, he 
 said 
 
 " Bring us our coffee here, Cragg; at least, 
 one black coffee." 
 
 " Yes, Sir." 
 
 " I won't take it," Vernon said to me. " I've 
 been sleeping wretchedly lately. Morphia 
 would be more the thing for me than coffee." 
 
 " I knew you had been suffering from in- 
 
 somnia." 
 
 He laughed drearily. 
 
 " I don't look up to much, do I? 
 
 128 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 Cragg brought my coffee and cigars. 
 
 "You can leave us now, Cragg; go and 
 have your supper; go downstairs." 
 
 The man looked slightly surprised, but said 
 nothing and went away. 
 
 When he had gone Vernon lit a cigar, 
 puffed out some rings of smoke, watched them 
 curling up towards the ceiling, then said 
 
 " You wanted to have a look at the spaniel, 
 didn't you? " 
 
 " Yes," I said. 
 
 c Well, if I bring him in, be careful with 
 him, will you? " 
 
 " Careful with him! Why? Is he danger- 
 ous?" 
 
 " I don't say that. But he's got an odd tem- 
 per. I keep him muzzled." 
 
 ' In the house?" 
 
 ( Yes, always. I don't want to be bitten. 
 You remember how Deeming died? Well, I 
 don't want to die like that." 
 
 His mention of Deeming gave me an oppor- 
 tunity of which I at once availed myself. 
 
 " That was a sad business," I said. " Did 
 you see much of him before he died, as you 
 were living next door? " 
 
 " Oh," he interrupted, " Deeming was not a 
 friendly neighbour. Do you know that I took 
 your advice? " 
 
 "What advice?" 
 
 " To get into his house as a patient." 
 
 "You really did that!" 
 129 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 * Yes. One morning, as he never invited 
 me in as a friend, I went in as a patient." 
 
 " How did he take it? " 
 
 * Well, he could hardly decline to treat me. 
 It happened that I was really unwell at the 
 time, so I had a good excuse." 
 
 " And and your strange suspicions" I 
 was almost stammering, conscious, painfully 
 conscious of my own "your strange suspi- 
 cions did you ever find out whether they were 
 justified? " 
 
 " They were justified, fully justified. But 
 the dog took its own part in the end and killed 
 its persecutor." 
 
 I felt a sensation of horror take hold upon 
 me. 
 
 " Do you really mean that Deeming was 
 treating his spaniel cruelly? " I asked. 
 
 "I do. He had the mania for persecution 
 that I suspected. He was venting it upon his 
 dog. The servants had some inkling of the 
 truth, especially his butler. He knew, I be- 
 lieve, all that was going on. But he was 
 well paid, very well paid." 
 
 I remembered my Sunday morning call, and 
 the butler's exclamation when the fox-terrier 
 ran into the house. 
 
 " This is horrible, Vernon," I said. " Are 
 you sure of what you say? " 
 
 " Quite sure. I heard well, I Heard things 
 at night, and at last I saw the dog." 
 
 " How? " 
 
 130 
 
"WHILE I WAS THERE DEEMING CAME BACK UNEXPECTEDLY." 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 " I got into the house when Deeming was 
 out. I bribed his butler, paid him more than 
 Deeming did, I suppose. Anyhow, I got in. 
 I think the man was sympathetic; was anxious 
 really that an end should be put to the disgust- 
 ing business. I burst open the door of the 
 room in which the spaniel was confined, and 
 then I saw no matter what. It was quite 
 enough. While I was there Deeming came 
 back unexpectedly." 
 
 "Good God!" I exclaimed. "What a 
 ghastly situation! " 
 
 " It was not exactly pleasant. I saw the 
 man's soul naked that night stark naked. It 
 was on that occasion the dog bit him." 
 
 "Ouf!"Isaid. 
 
 Again nausea seized me. 
 
 Vernon looked at me steadily. 
 
 " Don't you think Deeming deserved any- 
 thing he got? " he asked. " Anything he could 
 ever get? " 
 
 " But he was mad he must have been mad I " 
 
 " I suppose that sort of thing is what might 
 be called a form of madness. Unfortunately a 
 good many sane people have it people as sane 
 as you or I in all other respects." 
 
 When he said the words "or I" a flush, I 
 think, came to my cheek. It seemed to me that 
 he spoke with significance as if he knew what 
 Gernham and I had spoken of the day before. 
 
 " As sane as you or I," he repeated. " This 
 work I've been doing with Gernham has 
 
 131 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 opened my eyes to a good deal in human na- 
 ture that they were shut to before. I once said 
 to you in Rome, to you and Deeming, that 
 man's cruelty sprang often from a lack of 
 imagination. Sometimes it springs from just 
 the opposite, from a diseased imagination 
 that lusts for gratification in ways we won't 
 discuss." 
 
 " But Deeming that he should be such a 
 man, he whose profession it was to make 
 whole!" 
 
 ' Yes, that made the thing more strange 
 and, to him, more enticing." 
 
 " Enticing! " I exclaimed. 
 
 My voice was full of the bitterness of dis- 
 gust mingled with incredulity that I was feel- 
 ing. 
 
 " Just that," he said. " He healed, as it 
 were, with one hand, and destroyed with the 
 other. Deeming was one of the human devils 
 who have an insatiable craze for contrast. 
 They revel in virtue because it is so different 
 from vice. They revel in vice because it is so 
 different from virtue. Deeming quivered with 
 happiness when the last patient was gone 
 and he could steal to the room where the 
 spaniel " 
 
 "Enough! Enough!" I exclaimed. "I 
 won't hear any more! Thank God he's dead! 
 Thank God it's all over now! Why did you 
 do that? " Vernon had suddenly laughed. 
 < 132 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 "Why did you do that?" I repeated. 
 " What is there to laugh at? " 
 
 " I was laughing at your certainty, Luttrell, 
 at the calm assurance with which we poor, 
 ignorant beings that we are assert this or 
 that regarding the fate of a soul, without 
 knowing anything of the purposes of the 
 Creator." 
 
 " I don't understand." 
 
 " And yet you say ' Thank God, it's all 
 over now! ' 
 
 He looked at me so strangely that I was 
 struck to silence. I opened my lips to speak, 
 but, while his eyes were upon me, I could say 
 nothing. He made me feel as if, indeed, I 
 were plunged in a profound gulf of igno- 
 rance, as if he watched me there from some 
 height of understanding, of knowledge. 
 
 " Now I'll go and fetch the spaniel," he said. 
 
 And he got up and quietly left the room. 
 
 I turned in my chair and sat facing the door. 
 The room was softly lit by wax candles, and on 
 the walls were the pictures of gentleness, of 
 mercy, of goodness and adoration which had 
 hung upon the walls of Vernon's dining-room 
 in Rome. My glance ran over them, while my 
 mind dwelt upon the horrors of Vernon's nar- 
 rative horrors that seemed all the greater be- 
 cause he had told me so little, had left my 
 imagination so unfettered. Then I looked 
 again towards the door, and listened intently. 
 Presently I heard a door shut, the sound of a 
 
 133 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 step. Vernon was coming with the spaniel. I 
 had asked to see the dog; I had wished to see 
 it. Yet now my wish was about to be gratified 
 I felt an extreme repugnance invade me. I 
 longed to escape from the fulfilment of my 
 wish. I was seized with was it fear? It was 
 something cold, something that lay upon my 
 nerves like ice, that surely turned the blood in 
 my veins to water. But, I could do nothing 
 now, nothing to escape. Something within 
 me seemed to make a furious effort to take up 
 some weapon and attack the cold heavy thing 
 that was striving to paralyse me. I was con- 
 scious of battle. In the midst of the battle the 
 door opened and Vernon came in. 
 
 He was carrying the black spaniel in his 
 arms. 
 
 He walked in slowly, kicked the door back- 
 wards with his heel to shut it, came to the table 
 and sat down, still keeping the dog in his arms. 
 
 The dog was muzzled, and had on a collar 
 to which a steel chain was attached; but, for 
 the first moment, the only thing that struck me 
 was his thinness. He was excessively thin al- 
 most emaciated. He sat on his master's knee, 
 with his chin on the edge of the table and his 
 yellow eyes gazing at me. .A long trembling 
 ran through his body, ceased, and was renewed 
 with a regularity that reminded me of the tick- 
 ing of a clock. Vernon kept his two hands up- 
 on the spaniel. They shuddered on the dog's 
 back when he shuddered. 
 
 134 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 "Well," Vernon said. ".What do you 
 think of him? " 
 
 " He's horribly thin," I said. " Horribly." 
 
 I turned my eyes from the spaniel to Ver- 
 non's face. 
 
 " Do you think " I began and hesitated. 
 
 " What? " he asked calmly. 
 
 "Do you think you give him enough to 
 eat? " I said. 
 
 " Oh, it's very bad for dogs to overfeed," 
 he answered. "Nothing ruins their health 
 like overeating, and spaniels are like pugs, in- 
 clined to be greedy." 
 
 I noticed that he had not answered my ques- 
 tion. 
 
 He lifted one hand, laid it on the spaniel's 
 head, and smoothed the black hair, moving his 
 hand backwards to the neck. The dog turned 
 its head back towards him and showed his 
 white teeth, as if his master's hand drew him 
 but to a demonstration of hatred, not of affec- 
 tion. Vernon smiled, lifted his hand, and re- 
 peated the action. The dog gave a low growl 
 ending in a whine. 
 
 " Now you haven't told me what you think 
 of him," Vernon continued, " and I want to 
 know. I want very much to know." 
 
 I looked into the spaniel's eyes, and again 
 something cold lay upon my nerves like ice. 
 
 "Why?" I said. "What does it matter 
 what I think? " 
 
 135 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 "Do answer my question!" Vernon said 
 with unwonted irritation. 
 
 " There's something about the dog," I said, 
 " that's that's- 
 
 " Yes? " he said sharply. 
 
 " That's uncanny." 
 
 " Ah! " The word was a long-drawn sigh. 
 "You think that!" 
 
 " Yes, I shouldn't care to have him about 
 me. I shouldn't care to sleep with him in my 
 
 room." 
 
 "Sleep! Heaven forbid!" 
 
 His exclamation was almost shrill. It 
 startled me. 
 
 "Where does the dog sleep?" I asked. 
 " Where do you put him at night? " 
 
 " There's a dressing-room opening out of 
 my bedroom. He's shut in there." 
 
 " And you you say you've been sleeping 
 badly lately? " 
 
 " I haven't been sleeping at all." 
 
 " Does he whine? Does he disturb you? " 
 
 " He never makes a sound at night. I think 
 he's afraid that if he did I should punish him. 
 He's evidently had an unkind master, poor 
 fellow." 
 
 There was something so hideously insincere 
 in Vernon's voice as he said the last words that 
 I could not help expressing the thought, the 
 suspicion that had been, that was haunting 
 me. 
 
 " Has he got a kind master now? " I said. 
 136 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 I fixed my eyes on Vernon's. 
 
 " Has he? " I repeated. 
 
 At that moment I wanted to force things. 
 The entrance of the dog had deepened my 
 sense of moving in mystery until it became ab- 
 solutely intolerable. A hard determination 
 took hold upon me to compel Vernon to ex- 
 plain what? I did not know. But that there 
 was something to be explained, some strange 
 undercurrent of motive, of desire, of intention, 
 deep and furtive, I seemed to be aware. 
 
 " 'What do you mean? " Vernon said. 
 " Surely you know my feeling for animals." 
 
 " I do." 
 
 " Then what do you mean? " 
 
 " I mean that as regards this animal, this 
 spaniel, I don't I can't trust you," I said. 
 " I don't know why it is, I don't understand, I 
 don't understand anything. But I don't trust 
 you, Vernon. That's the truth. It's best to 
 speak it." 
 
 To my great surprise, he did not indignant- 
 ly resent my words, nor did he look guilty or 
 ashamed. Indeed, it seemed to me that an ex- 
 pression of something like relief flitted across 
 his face as I finished speaking. 
 
 " I knew it," he said. " I knew quite well 
 you didn't trust me. And Gernham? Have 
 you spoken to him of your mistrust? " 
 
 "He knows I don't understand why you 
 bought this dog, and what you're going to do 
 
 137 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 to him. He knows I'm I'm afraid of of 
 what you may be going to do." 
 
 He was silent, and again drew his hand 
 across the spaniel's soft black coat. The dog 
 struggled. He struck his open hand down on 
 the dog's head, and the dog lay still, cowering 
 upon his master's knees. 
 
 " Gernham doesn't enter into this," he said 
 inflexibly. 
 
 "And I?" 
 
 'You! That's different. You introduced 
 me to Deeming." 
 
 Again the dog began to struggle upon his 
 knees, but this time more violently. 
 
 Vernon lifted his hand again. 
 
 " Put him down ! " I said. " For God's sake 
 put him down! Don't strike him! " 
 
 " Very well." 
 
 He dropped the spaniel to the floor. The 
 spaniel ran under the dining-table. I sprang 
 up from my seat. 
 
 "Don't, don't! "I began. 
 
 " It's all right," said Vernon. " I've got him 
 by the chain." He dragged the spaniel out, 
 and fastened him up to the sideboard at the far 
 end of the room. 
 
 "Why, you're trembling!" he said, as he 
 came back to his chair. 
 
 "Am I?" I said, ashamed, "I'm not a 
 coward, but but this dog I can't stand him 
 near me, close to me, when I can't see what 
 he's doing." 
 
 138 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 I cleared my throat, went to the window, 
 threw it open, leaned out, and spat. Leaving 
 the window open, I came back to the table. 
 The spaniel was now lying down on the floor, 
 close to the sideboard. 
 
 'What is it?" I said, almost fiercely, I 
 think, in my inexplicable physical distress, 
 " what is it that's wrong with the dog? What 
 is it that's unnatural about him? " 
 
 " You have no idea? " said Vernon. 
 
 " Not the slightest. The poor beast seems 
 harmless enough, though he's terrified. One 
 can see that." 
 
 " Exactly. He is terrified." 
 
 "And the strange thing is that his terror 
 terrifies me." 
 
 " Now you're getting to it," Vernon said. 
 ' Why should the spaniel be terrified? " 
 
 "Why? How should I know? Isn't that 
 for you to say? " 
 
 "Sit down again," he said. " The dog can't 
 get to you now." 
 
 As he spoke, he sat down. I glanced to- 
 wards the dog, saw that what Vernon had said 
 was true, and followed his example. 
 
 " The dog's terror," he said. " Think of 
 that, Luttrell! Seek for an explanation in 
 that." 
 
 " I have, but I haven't found one." 
 
 " Whom is it terrified of? " 
 
 " Of you," I answered. " The first time we 
 
 139 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL' 
 
 saw him, I noticed that he was abjectly: terri- 
 fied of you." 
 
 " Perfectly true. Why should that be? Is 
 it natural? " 
 
 " Utterly unnatural," I said. " Unless he's 
 been badly, brutally treated, and is afraid of 
 everybody." 
 
 " He is not afraid of everybody. He is only 
 afraid of me. Was he afraid of Lord Elyn? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " He is only afraid of me." 
 
 " Are you certain? " 
 
 " Would you like to test it? " 
 
 "How?" I asked. 
 
 " I will leave the room for a moment leave 
 y;ou alone with the dog." 
 ' "No! "I exclaimed. 
 
 6 You are afraid? " 
 
 " I'm not a coward, but there's something 
 about this spaniel which horrifies my imagina- 
 tion as a spectre might horrify it." 
 
 " Nevertheless, you must summon your 
 courage. I wish it. I wish to know how the 
 spaniel will be with you when you are alone to- 
 gether. Come, make the experiment." 
 
 He got up and went towards the door. I did 
 not try to keep him. 
 
 " I'll be back in a moment," he said. 
 
 And he went softly out of the room and 
 shut the door behind him. 
 
 When he had gone, I sat where I was, look- 
 ing at the black blot on the floor by the side- 
 
 140 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 board. A strong curiosity was awake in me 
 fighting my strange physical repulsion. I 
 longed to put the thing to the test, yet I feared 
 to approach the spaniel. How long I sat there 
 I do not know, how long I might have sat 
 there I cannot tell had nothing occurred to bias 
 me towards action. But something did occur. 
 The spaniel suddenly whimpered softly, as if 
 to attract my attention, whimpered again and 
 struck his feathery tail upon the floor. Those 
 natural sounds of an anxious dog reassured 
 me. I got up quickly and went over to the 
 sideboard. Instantly, with a sort of strangled 
 wail, the spaniel sprang up, put his forepaws 
 on my legs, and thrust his hot nose into my 
 hand, pushing, pushing hard, as if he sought 
 to hide himself in a friendly shelter. I felt a 
 wetness on my hand, the wetness of an ani- 
 mal's tears. Then all my horror vanished and 
 only pity remained. I knelt down on the car- 
 pet. I put my arms round the dog. I felt his 
 trembling body with my hands. He was thin, 
 hideously thin. His piteous eyes begged some- 
 thing of me. Still holding him with one arm, 
 I stretched out the other, and opened a door in 
 the sideboard. Within I saw a basket with 
 some cut bread in it. I took out the bread. The 
 spaniel sprang upon it passionately, tore it out 
 of my hand, and devoured it ravenously. Then 
 a wave of hot indignation went over me. At 
 that moment I hated Vernon with all my soul. 
 I hated him so much that I lost all sense of 
 
 141 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 everything except my fury against him. I 
 held the dog tightly as I knelt on the floor, and, 
 turning my head towards the door, I called 
 out 
 
 "Vernon! Vernon!" 
 
 Instantly the door opened and Vernon ap- 
 peared. The dog looked as he had looked 
 when he was being brought into the house. 
 
 " Vernon," I said, " you're a d d black- 
 guard! " 
 
 "Why?" he said. 
 
 " This dog is starving. You're starving 
 him! D'you hear? You're starving him!" 
 
 " I know I am," he answered. 
 
 I got up. The spaniel rushed against my 
 legs and leaned against them as I stood. 
 
 " Then Gernham was right," I said. * You 
 are a madman." 
 
 " Is it madness to see what is when others 
 are blind to it? " 
 
 "To see to see?" I exclaimed. 'What 
 is there to see but this dog, this spaniel that 
 you are torturing? " 
 
 " There is this spaniel yes. Look at him. 
 Look into his eyes. Look at the soul in them." 
 
 There was something compelling, some- 
 thing almost mystical, in his voice. I looked 
 down into the yellow eyes of the spaniel. 
 They met mine, then looked away from mine 
 as if unable to bear my gaze. 
 
 " What is it? " 1 said, in a whisper. " What 
 is it?" 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 1 
 
 Again I was assailed by the sensation which 
 had come to me when I waited in the hall to 
 know if Vernon would receive me, a sensation 
 that, with the black spaniel, linked with it, 
 mysteriously mingled with it, was something 
 of the man who was dead something of 
 Deeming. 
 
 " Deeming! " I stammered. " Deeming! " 
 
 I did not know what I meant, but I was 
 compelled to pronounce the name of my 
 friend. 
 
 " Deeming? " I said once more, looking to- 
 wards Vernon. 
 
 "Don't you feel that he is here?" said 
 Vernon. 
 
 " But he is dead." 
 
 " Don't you feel that He is here? " > 
 
 " Yes," I said. " But it can't be. He is 
 dead." 
 
 " His body is dead yes. But his soul, is 
 that dead?" 
 
 When he said that, I understood what he 
 meant, and I recoiled from the black spaniel 
 as from a nameless horror. 
 
 ' Vernon ! " I said. " Vernon ! " 
 
 " Do you understand now? " he asked. " Do 
 you understand why I bought the spaniel, why 
 I have kept the spaniel here in the house where 
 he tortured his dog? It was to punish him as 
 he punished it, to torture him as he tortured it. 
 Directly I saw the spaniel crouching down in 
 the Park, directly I looked into his eyes, I 
 
 143 
 
THE BLACK SPANIEL 
 
 knew. Deeming died on the 30th of June, the 
 spaniel was born on that very day. The soul 
 of the dog-torturer passed at the death of the 
 body of the man into the body of the dog. I 
 am not mad no. I am only just. I am the 
 instrument of the justice of Providence. 
 Deeming's soul has been sent back into the 
 world to pay its penalty. And I am here to 
 see that the penalty is paid." 
 
 There was blazing in his eyes the light which 
 I had seen in them for the first time in the res- 
 taurant in Rome, the light which had made 
 Deeming say that in Vernon there was the 
 spirit of a black fanatic. 
 
 " It's not true ! " I said. " It can't be true ! " 
 
 " But Lord Elyn has felt it, Cragg has felt 
 it, you have felt it the strangeness of the 
 spaniel. You know now, you know that what 
 I say is true. Deny that you know it is true! 
 Deny it then!" 
 
 I opened my lips to deny it, but they refused 
 to speak. I was filled with a horror of the 
 imagination, but I was resolved not to succumb 
 to it. I seized the steel chain that was attached 
 to the collar of the spaniel, and untied it from 
 the sideboard. 
 
 "What are you doing?" said Vernon 
 sharply. 
 
 " Good-night, Vernon," I said, trying to 
 keep my voice calm; " I am going to take the 
 spaniel with me." 
 
 As I spoke I moved towards the door. The 
 144 
 
'I WENT OUT INTO THE NIGHT CARRYING IT IN MY ARMS.' 
 
THE BLACEj SP AN Ti2iJ 
 
 spaniel slunk along beside me, with its belly 
 close to the floor, trying to press itself against 
 my legs. 
 
 "What!" said Yernon, "to happiness 
 to affection !" 
 
 I was close to the door. I had my fingers 
 upon the handle. 
 
 "That!" he cried with violence. "No! 
 Rather than that, let it end now and here ! " 
 
 He made a rapid movement; the spaniel 
 howled and cowered against the door. I heard 
 the crack of a pistol-shot. I felt the chain 
 leap in my hand as the spaniel sprang upwards 
 and fell on the floor. 
 
 I bent down, touched him, turned him over. 
 
 He was dead. 
 
 Then I faced Vernon. 
 
 " Murderer! " I said. " Murderer! " 
 
 " But he was only a black spaniel! " Ver- 
 non said, laying the revolver down on the 
 table. 
 
 "Murderer!" I repeated. 
 
 Then I lifted up the corpse of the spaniel, 
 and went out into the night carrying it in my 
 arms. 
 
 145 
 
THE MISSION OF MR. EU- 
 STACE GREYNE 
 
 MRS. EUSTACE GREYNE (pro- 
 nounced Green) wrinkled her fore- 
 head that noble, that startling forehead 
 which had heen written about in the news- 
 papers of two hemispheres laid down her 
 American Squeezer pen, and sighed. It was 
 an autumn day, nipping and melancholy, full 
 of the rustle of dying leaves and the faint 
 sound of muffin bells, and Belgrave Square 
 looked sad even to the great female novelist 
 who had written her way into a mansion there. 
 Fog hung about with the policeman on the 
 pavement. The passing motor cars were like 
 shadows. Their stertorous pantings sounded 
 to Mrs. Greyne's ears like the asthma of dying 
 monsters. She sighed again, and murmured in 
 a deep contralto voice: " It must be so." Then 
 she got up, crossed the heavy Persian carpet 
 which had been bought with the proceeds of a 
 short story in her earlier days, and placed her 
 forefinger upon an electric bell. 
 
 Like lightning a powdered giant came. 
 
 " Has Mr. Greyne gone out? " 
 
 " No, ma'am." 
 
THE MISSION OF 
 
 "Where is he?" 
 
 :< In his study, ma'am, pasting the last of the 
 cuttings into the new album." 
 
 Mrs. Greyne smiled. It was a pretty pic- 
 ture the unconscious six-footer had conjured 
 up. 
 
 " I am sorry to disturb Mr. Greyne," she 
 answered, with that gracious, and even curling 
 suavity which won all hearts; "but I wish to 
 see him. Will you ask him to come to me for a 
 moment? " 
 
 The giant flew, silk-stockinged, to obey the 
 mandate, while Mrs. Greyne sat down on a 
 carved oaken chair of ecclesiastical aspect to 
 await her husband. 
 
 She was a famous woman, a personage, this 
 simply-attired lady. With an American 
 Squeezer pen she had won fame, fortune, and 
 a mansion in Belgrave Square, and all without 
 the sacrifice of principle. Respectability in- 
 carnate, she had so dealt with the sorrows and 
 evils of the world that she had rendered them 
 utterly acceptable to Mrs. Grundy, Mr. 
 Grundy, and all the Misses Grundy. People 
 said she dived into the depths of human nature, 
 and brought up nothing that need scandalise a 
 curate's grandmother, or the whole-aunt of an 
 archdeacon; and this was so true that she had 
 made a really prodigious amount of money. 
 Her large, her solid, her unrelenting books lay 
 upon every table. Even the smart set kept 
 them, uncut like pretty sinners who have 
 
 148 
 
MR. EUSTACE GREYNE 
 
 never been " found out " to give an air of 
 hap-hazard intellectuality to frisky boudoirs. 
 All the clergy, however unable to get their 
 tithes, bought them. All bishops alluded to 
 them in " pulpit utterances." Fabulous prices 
 were paid for them by magazine editors. They 
 ran as serials through all the tale of months. 
 The suburbs battened on them. The provinces 
 adored them. Country people talked of no 
 other literature. In fact, Mrs. Eustace Greyne 
 was a really fabulous success. 
 
 Why, then, should she heave these Heavy 
 sighs in Belgrave Square? Why should she 
 lift an intellectual hand as though to tousle 
 the glossy chestnut bandeaux which swept back 
 from her forcible forehead, and screw her re- 
 assuring features into these wrinkles of per- 
 plexity and distress? 
 
 The door opened, and Mr. Eustace Greyne 
 appeared, " What is it, Eugenia? " upon his 
 lips. 
 
 Mr. Greyne was a number of years younger 
 than his celebrated wife, and looked even 
 younger than his years. He was a very smart 
 man, with smooth, jet-black hair, which he 
 wore parted in the middle ; pleasant, dark eyes 
 that could twinkle gently; a clear, pale com- 
 plexion; and a nice, tall figure. One felt, in 
 glancing at him, that he had been an Eton 
 boy, and had at least thought of going into 
 the militia at some period of his life. His his- 
 tory can be briefly told. 
 
 149 
 
THE MISSION OF 
 
 Scarcely had he emerged into the world be- 
 fore he met and was married to Mrs. Eustace 
 Greyne, then Miss Eugenia Hannibal-Barker. 
 He had had no time to sow a single oat, wild 
 or otherwise; no time to adore a barmaid, or 
 wish to have his name linked with that of an 
 actress ; no time to do anything wrong, or even 
 to know, with the complete accuracy desired 
 by all persevering young men, what was real- 
 ly wrong. Miss Eugenia Hannibal-Barker 
 sailed upon his horizon, and he struck his flag 
 to matrimony. Ever since then he had been 
 her husband, and had never, even for one sec- 
 ond, emerged beyond the boundaries of the 
 most intellectual respectability. He was the 
 most innocent of men, although he knew all 
 the important editors in London. Swaddled 
 in money by his successful wife, he considered 
 her a goddess. She poured the thousands into 
 Coutts' Bank, and with the arrival of each 
 fresh thousand he was more firmly convinced 
 that she was a goddess. To say he looked up 
 to her would be too mild. As the Cockney 
 tourist in Chamounix peers at the summit of 
 Mont Blanc, he peered at Mrs. Greyne. And 
 when, finally, she bought the lease of the man- 
 sion in Belgrave Square, he knew her Delphic. 
 
 So now he appeared in the oracle's retreat 
 respectfully, " What is it, Eugenia? " upon his 
 admiring lips. 
 
 " Sit down, my husband," she murmured. 
 
 Mr. Greyne subsided by the fire, placing 
 150 
 
MR. EUSTACE GREYNE 
 
 his pointed patent-leather toes upon the bur- 
 nished fender. Without the fog grew deeper, 
 and the chorus of the muffin bells more plain- 
 tive. The fire-light, flickering over Mrs. 
 Greyne's majestic features, made them look 
 Rembrandtesque. Her large, oxlike eyes were 
 fixed and thoughtful. After a pause, she 
 said: 
 
 " Eustace, I shall have to send you upon a 
 
 mission." 
 
 " A mission, Eugenia ! " said Mr. Greyne 
 in great surprise. 
 
 " A mission of the utmost importance, the 
 utmost delicacy." 
 
 " Has it anything to do with Romeike & 
 Curtice?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 :< Will it take me far?" 
 
 " That is my trouble. It will take you very 
 far." 
 
 "Out of London?" 
 
 " Oh, yes." 
 
 " Out of not out of England? " 
 
 " Yes ; it will take you to Algeria." 
 
 " Good gracious ! " cried Mr. Greyne. 
 
 Mrs. Greyne sighed. 
 
 "Good gracious!" Mjr. Greyne Repeated 
 after a short interval. " Am I to go alone? " 
 " Of course you must take Darrell." Dar- 
 rell was Mr. Greyne's valet. 
 
 " And what am I to do at Algiers? " 
 
 " You must obtain for me there the whole 
 151 
 
THE MISSION OF 
 
 of the material for book six of c Catherine's 
 Repentance.' ' " Catherine's Repentance " 
 was the gigantic novel upon which Mrs. 
 Greyne was at that moment engaged. 
 
 " I will not disguise from you, Eustace," 
 continued Mrs. Greyne, looking increasingly 
 Rembrandtesque, " that, in my present work, 
 I am taking a somewhat new departure." 
 
 ' Well, but we are very comfortable here," 
 said Mr. Greyne. 
 
 With each new book they had changed 
 their abode. " Harriet " took them from 
 Phillimore Gardens to Queensgate Terrace; 
 " Jane's Desire " moved them on to a corner 
 house in Sloane Street; with " Isobel's For- 
 tune " they passed to Curzon Street; " Susan's 
 Vanity" landed them in Coburg Place; and, 
 finally, " Margaret's Involution " had planted 
 them in Belgrave Square. Now, with each 
 of these works of genius Mrs. Greyne had 
 taken what she called " a new departure." Mr. 
 Greyne's remark is, therefore, explicable. 
 
 " True. Still, there is always Park Lane." 
 
 She mused for a moment. Then, leaning 
 more heavily upon the carved lions of her chair, 
 she continued : 
 
 " Hitherto, although I have sometimes dealt 
 with human frailty, I have treated it gently. 
 I have never betrayed a Zola-spirit." 
 
 "Zola! My darling!" cried Mr. Eustace 
 Greyne. " You are surely not going to betray 
 anything of that sort now! " 
 
 152 
 
MR. EUSTACE GREYNE 
 
 " If she does we shall soon have to move 
 off to West Kensington," was his secret 
 thought. 
 
 " No. But in book six of c Catherine ' I 
 have to deal with sin, with tumult, with Afri- 
 can frailty. It is inevitable." 
 
 She sighed once more. The burden of the 
 new book was very heavy upon her. 
 
 "African frailty!" murmured the aston- 
 ished Eustace Greyne. 
 
 " Now, neither you nor I, my husband, know 
 anything about this." 
 
 " Certainly not, my darling. How should 
 we? We have never explored beyond Lu- 
 
 cerne." 
 
 * We must, therefore, get to know about 
 it at least you must. For I cannot leave 
 London. The continuity of the brain's travel- 
 ling must not be imperiled by any violent bodi- 
 ly activity. In the present stage of my book a 
 sea journey might be disastrous." 
 
 " Certainly you should keep quiet, my love. 
 But then 
 
 " You must go for me to Algiers. There 
 you must get me what I want. I fear you 
 will have to poke about in the native quarters 
 a good deal for it, so you had better buy two 
 revolvers, one for yourself and one for Dar- 
 rell." 
 
 Mr. Greyne gasped. The calmness of his 
 wife amazed him. He was not intellectual 
 enough to comprehend fully the deep imag- 
 
 153 
 
THE MISSION OF 
 
 inings of a mighty brain, the obsession work is 
 in the worker. 
 
 " African frailty is what I want," pursued 
 Mrs. Greyne. " One hundred closely-printed 
 pages of African frailty. You will collect for 
 me the raw material, and I shall so manipulate 
 it that it will fall discreetly, even elevatingly, 
 into the artistic whole. Do you understand 
 me, Eustace? " 
 
 " I am to travel to Algiers, and see all the 
 wickedness to be seen there, take notes of it, 
 and bring them back to you." 
 
 " Precisely." 
 
 " And how long am I to stay? " 
 
 " Until you have made yourself acquainted 
 with the depths." 
 
 "A fortnight?" 
 
 " I should think that would be enough. 
 Take Brush's remedy for seasickness and 
 plenty of antipyrin, your fur coat for the 
 crossing, and a white helmet and umbrella for 
 the arrival. You have lead pencils? " 
 
 " Plenty." 
 
 " A couple of Merrin's exercise-books should 
 be enough to contain your notes." 
 ' When am I to go? " 
 
 " The sooner the better. I am at a standstill 
 for want of the material. You might catch the 
 express to Paris to-morrow; no, say the day 
 after to-morrow." She looked at him tender- 
 ly. " The parting will be bitter." 
 
 " Yery bitter," Mr. Eustace Greyne replied. 
 154 
 
MR. EUSTACE GREYNE 
 
 He felt really upset. Mrs. Greyne laid the 
 hand which had brought them from Phillimore 
 Gardens to Belgrave Square gently upon his. 
 
 "Think of the result," she said. "The 
 greatest book I have done yet. A book that 
 will last. A book that will 
 
 " Take us to Park Lane," he murmured. 
 
 The Rembrandtesque head nodded. The 
 noble features, as of a strictly respectable Ro- 
 man emperor, relaxed. 
 
 " A book that will take us to Park Lane." 
 
 At this moment the door opened, and the 
 footman inquired: 
 
 " Could Mademoiselle Verbena see you for 
 a minute, ma'am? " 
 
 Mademoiselle Verbena was the French gov- 
 erness of the two little Greynes. The great 
 novelist had consented to become a mother. 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 In another moment Mademoiselle Verbena 
 was added to the group beside the fire. 
 
 155 
 
THE MISSION OF 
 
 II 
 
 WE have said that Mademoiselle Verbena 
 was the French governess of little Adolphus 
 and Olivia Greyne, and so she was to this 
 extent that she taught them French, and 
 that Mr. and Mrs. Greyne supposed her to 
 be a Parisian. But life has its little ironies. 
 Mademoiselle Verbena in the house of this 
 great and respectable novelist was one of them; 
 for she was a Levantine, born at Port Said of 
 a Suez Canal father and a Suez Canal mother. 
 Now, nobody can desire to say anything 
 against Port Said. At the same time, few 
 mothers would inevitably pick it out as the 
 ideal spot from which a beneficent influence 
 for childhood's happy hour would be certain 
 to emanate. Nor, it must be allowed, is a Suez 
 Canal ancestry specially necessary to a trainer 
 of young souls. It may not be a drawback, 
 but it can hardly be described as an advantage. 
 This, Mademoiselle Verbena was intelligent 
 enough to know. She, therefore, concealed 
 the fact that her father had been a dredger of 
 Monsieur de Lesseps' triumph, her mother a 
 bar-lady of the historic coal wharf where the 
 ships are fed, and preferred to suppose and 
 to permit others to suppose that she had first 
 
 156 
 
MR. EUSTACE GREYNE 
 
 seen the light in the Rue St. Honore, her par- 
 ents being a count and countess of some old 
 regime. 
 
 This supposition, retained from her earliest 
 years, had affected her appearance and her 
 manner. She was a very neat, very trim, even 
 a very attractive little person, with dark brown, 
 roguish eyes, blue-black hair, a fairy-like fig- 
 ure, and the prettiest hands and feet imagin- 
 able. She had first attracted Mrs. Greyne's 
 attention by her devotion to St. Paul's Cathe- 
 dral, and this devotion she still kept up. 
 Whenever she had an hour or two free she 
 always so she herself said spent it in ff ce 
 charmant St. Paul." 
 
 As she entered the oracle's retreat she cast 
 down her eyes, and trembled visibly. 
 
 " What is it, Miss Verbena? " inquired Mrs. 
 Greyne, with a kindly English accent, calcu- 
 lated to set any poor French creature quite at 
 ease. 
 
 Mademoiselle Verbena trembled more. 
 
 " I have received bad news, madame." 
 
 " I grieve to hear it. Of what nature? " 
 
 " Mamma has une bronchite ires grave" 
 
 " A what, Miss Verbena? " 
 
 " Pardon, madame. A very grave bron- 
 chitis. She cries for me." 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 " The doctors say she will die." 
 
 1 This is very sad." 
 
 The Levantine wept. Even Suez Canal folk 
 157 
 
THE MISSION OF 
 
 are not proof against all human sympathy. 
 Mr. Greyne blew his nose beside the fire, and 
 Mrs. Greyne said again : 
 
 " I repeat that this is very sad." 
 
 " Madame, if I do not go to mamma to- 
 morrow I shall not see her more." 
 
 Mrs. Greyne looked very grave. 
 
 "Oh!" she remarked. She thought pro- 
 foundly for a moment, and then added: " In- 
 deed!" 
 
 "It is true, madame." 
 
 Suddenly Mademoiselle Verbena flung her- 
 self down on the Persian carpet at Mrs. 
 Greyne's large but well-proportioned feet, 
 and, bathing them with her tears, cried in a 
 heartrending manner: 
 
 " Madame will let me go! madame will per- 
 mit me to fly to poor mamma to close her 
 dying eyes to kiss once again 
 
 Mr. Greyne was visibly affected, and even 
 Mrs. Greyne seemed somewhat put about, for 
 she moved her feet rather hastily out of reach 
 of the dependant's emotion, and made her 
 scramble up. 
 
 6 Where is your poor mother? " 
 
 " In Paris, madame. In the Rue St. Hon- 
 ore, where I was born. Oh, if she should die 
 there! If she should " 
 
 Mrs. Greyne raised her hand, commanding 
 silence. 
 
 1 You wish to go there? " 
 
 " If madame permits." 
 158 
 
MR. EUSTACE GREYNE 
 
 "When?" 
 
 " To-morrow, madame." 
 
 " To-morrow? This is decidedly abrupt." 
 
 " Mais la bronchite,, madame, she is abrupt, 
 and death, she may be abrupt." 
 
 "True, One moment!" 
 
 There was an instant's silence for Mrs. 
 Greyne to let loose her brain in. She did so, 
 then said: 
 
 " You have my permission. Go to-morrow, 
 but return as soon as possible. I do not wish 
 Adolphus to lose his still uncertain grasp upon 
 the irregular verbs." 
 
 In a flood of grateful tears Mademoiselle 
 Verbena retired to make her preparations. On 
 the morrow she was gone. 
 
 The morrow was a day of much perplexity, 
 much bustle and excitement for Mr. Greyne 
 and the valet, Darrell. They were preparing 
 for Algiers. In the morning, at an early hour, 
 Mr. Greyne set forth in the barouche with 
 Mrs. Greyne to purchase African necessaries: 
 a small but well-supplied medicine chest, a pith 
 helmet, a white-and-green umbrella, a Bae- 
 deker, a couple of Smith & Wesson Spring- 
 field revolvers with a due amount of cartridges, 
 a dozen of Merrin's exercise-books on mature 
 reflection Mrs. Greyne thought that two would 
 hardly contain a sufficient amount of African 
 frailty for her present purpose a packet of 
 lead pencils, some bottles of a remedy for sea- 
 sickness, a silver flask for cognac, and various 
 
 159 
 
THE MISSION OF 
 
 other trifles such as travellers in distant conti- 
 nents require. 
 
 Meanwhile Darrell was learning French 
 for the journey, and packing his own and his 
 master's trunks. The worthy fellow, a man of 
 twenty-five summers, had never been across 
 the Channel the Greynes being by no means 
 prone to foreign travel and it may, therefore, 
 be imagined that he was in a state of consid- 
 erable expectation as he laid the trousers, coats, 
 and waistcoats in their respective places, se- 
 lected such boots as seemed likely to wear well 
 in a tropical climate, and dropped those shirts 
 which are so contrived as to admit plenty of 
 ventilation to the heated body into the case 
 reserved for them. 
 
 When Mr. Greyne returned from his shop- 
 ping excursion the barouche, loaded almost to 
 the gunwale if one may be permitted a nauti- 
 cal expression in this connection had to be 
 disburdened, and its contents conveyed up- 
 stairs to Mr. Greyne's bedroom, into which 
 Mrs. Greyne herself presently entered to give 
 directions for their disposing. Nor was it till 
 the hour of sunset that everything was in due 
 order, the straps set fast, the keys duly turned 
 in the locks the labels "Mr. Eustace 
 Greyne: Passenger to Algiers: via Marseilles" 
 carefully written out in a full, round hand. 
 Rook's tickets had been bought; so now every- 
 thing was ready, and the last evening in Eng- 
 land might be spent by Mr. Greyne in the 
 
 160 
 
MR. EUSTACE GREYNE 
 
 drawing-room and by Darrell in the servants' 
 hall quietly, socially, perhaps pathetically. 
 
 The pathos of the situation, it must be con- 
 fessed, appealed more to the master than to 
 the servant. Darrell was very gay, and inclined 
 to be boastful, full of information as to how he 
 would comport himself with " them there 
 Frenchies," and how he would make " them 
 pore, godless Arabs sit up." But Mr. Greyne's 
 attitude of mind was very different. As the 
 night drew on, and Mrs. Greyne and he sat 
 by the wood fire in the magnificent drawing- 
 room, to which they always adjourned after 
 dinner, a keen sense of the sorrow of departure 
 swept over them both. 
 
 " How lonely you will feel without me, Eu- 
 genia," said Mr. Greyne. " I have been think- 
 ing of that all day." 
 
 " And you, Eustace, how desolate will be 
 your tale of days! My mind runs much on 
 that. You will miss me at every h6ur." 
 
 4 You are so accustomed to have me within 
 call, to depend upon me for encouragement in 
 your life-work. I scarcely know how you will 
 get on when I am far across the sea." 
 
 " And you, for whom I have labored, for 
 whom I have planned and calculated, what will 
 be your sensations when you realize that a 
 gulf the Gulf of Lyons is fixed irrevocably 
 between us? " 
 
 So their thoughts ran. Each one was full 
 of tender pity for the other. Towards bed- 
 
 161 
 
THE MISSION OF 
 
 time, however, conscious that the time for col- 
 loquy was running short, they fell into more 
 practical discourse. 
 
 " I wonder," said Mr. Greyne, " whether I 
 shall find any difficulty in gaining the informa- 
 tion you require, my darling. I suppose these 
 places " he spoke vaguely, for his thoughts 
 were vague " are somewhat awkward to come 
 at. Naturally they would avoid the eye of 
 day." 
 
 Mrs. Greyne looked profound. 
 
 " Yes. Evil ever seeks the darkness. You 
 will have to do the same." 
 
 " You think my investigations must take 
 place at night? " 
 
 " I should certainly suppose so." 
 
 " And where shall I find a cicerone? " 
 
 " Apply to Rook." 
 
 " In what terms? You see, dearest, this is 
 rather a special matter, isn't it? " 
 
 " Very special. But on no account hint that 
 you are in Algiers for ' Catherine's ' sake. It 
 would get into the papers. It would be cabled 
 to America. The whole reading world would 
 be agog, and the future interest of the book 
 discounted." 
 
 Mr. Greyne looked at his wife with rever- 
 ence. In such moments he realized, almost too 
 poignantly, her great position. 
 
 " I will be careful," he said. ' What would 
 you recommend me to say? " 
 
 " Well " Mrs. Greyne knit her superb 
 162 
 
MR. EUSTACE GREYNE 
 
 forehead " I should suggest that you present 
 yourself as an ordinary traveler, but with a 
 specially inquiring bent of mind and a slight 
 tendency towards the the er hidden things 
 of life." 
 
 " I suppose you wish me to visit the public 
 houses? " 
 
 " I wish you to see everything that has part 
 or lot in African frailty. Go everywhere, see 
 everything. Bring your notes to me, and I 
 will select such fragments of the broken com- 
 mandments as suit my purpose, which is, as al- 
 ways, the edifying of the human race. Only 
 this time I mean to purge it as by fire." 
 
 " That corner house in Park Lane, next to 
 the Duke of Ebury's, would suit us very 
 well," said Mr. Greyne reflectively. 
 
 "We could sell our lease here at an advance," 
 his wife rejoined. " You will not waste your 
 journey, Eustace? " 
 
 " My love," returned Mr. Greyne with de- 
 cision, " I will apply to Rook on arrival, and, 
 if I find his man unsatisfactory, if I have any 
 reason to suspect that I am not being shown 
 everything more especially in the Kasbah 
 region, which, from the guide-books we bought 
 to-day, is, I take it, the most abandoned por- 
 tion of the city I will seek another cice- 
 
 rone." 
 
 " Do so. And now to bed. You must sleep 
 well to-night in preparation for the journey." 
 It was their invariable habit before retiring 
 163 
 
THE MISSION OF 
 
 to drink each a tumbler of barley water, which 
 was set out by the butler in Mrs. Greyne's 
 study. After this nightcap Mrs. Greyne 
 wrote up her anticipatory diary, while Mr. 
 Greyne smoked a mild cigar, and then they 
 went to bed. To-night, as usual, they repaired 
 to the sanctum, and drank their barley water. 
 Having done so, Mr. Greyne drew forth his 
 cigar-case, while Mrs. Greyne went to her writ- 
 ing-table, and prepared to unlock the drawer 
 in which her diary reposed, safe from all pry- 
 ing eyes. 
 
 The match was struck, the key was inserted 
 in the lock, and turned. As the cigar end 
 glowed the drawer was opened. Mr. Greyne 
 heard a contralto cry. He turned from the 
 arm-chair in which he was just about to seat 
 himself. 
 
 " My love, is anything the matter? " 
 
 His wife was bending forward with both 
 hands in the drawer, telling over its con- 
 tents. 
 
 " My diary is not here! " 
 
 "Your diary!" 
 
 " It is gone." 
 
 " But " he came over to her " this is very 
 serious. I presume, like all diaries, it is full 
 
 of " Instinctively he had been about to 
 
 say " damning " ; he remembered his dear 
 one's irreproachable character and substituted 
 "precious secrets." 
 
 "It is full of matter which must never be 
 164 
 
MR. EUSTACE GREYNE 
 
 given to the world my secret thoughts, my 
 aspirations. The whole history of my soul is 
 there." 
 
 " Heavens! It must be found." 
 
 They searched the writing-table. They 
 searched the room. No diary. 
 
 " Could you have taken it to my room, and 
 left it there? " asked Mr. Greyne. 
 
 They hastened thither, and looked in vain. 
 By this time the servants were gone to bed, and 
 the two searchers were quite alone on the 
 ground floor of their magnificent mansion. 
 Mrs. Greyne began to look seriously per- 
 turbed. Her Roman features worked. 
 
 " This is appalling," she exclaimed. " Some 
 thief, knowing it priceless, must have stolen 
 the diary. It will be published in America. It 
 will bring in thousands but to others, not to 
 
 us." 
 
 She began to wring her hands. It was near 
 midnight. 
 
 " Think, my love, think! " cried Mr. Greyne. 
 " Where could you have taken it? You had it 
 last night?" 
 
 " Certainly. I remember writing in it that 
 you would be sailing to Algiers on the General 
 Bertrand on Thursday of this week, and that 
 on the night I should be feeling widowed here. 
 The previous night I wrote that yesterday I 
 should have to tell you of your mission. You 
 know I always put down beforehand what I 
 shall do, what I shall even think on each suc- 
 
 165 
 
THE MISSION OF 
 
 ceeding day. It is a practice that regulates the 
 mind and conduct, that helps to uniformity." 
 
 " How true! Who can have taken it? Do 
 you ever leave it about? " 
 
 " Never. Am I a madwoman? " 
 
 " My darling, compose yourself! We must 
 search the house." 
 
 They proceeded to do so, and, on coming 
 into the schoolroom, Mrs. Greyne, who was in 
 front, uttered a sudden cry. 
 
 Upon the table of Mademoiselle Verbena 
 lay the diary, open at the following entry: 
 
 On Thursday next poor Eustace will be on 
 board the General Bertrand, sailing for Al- 
 giers. I shall be here thinking of myself, and 
 of him in relation to myself. God help us both. 
 Duty is sometimes stern. Mem. The corner 
 house in Park Lane, next the Duke of 
 Ebury's, has sixty years still to run; the lease, 
 that is. Thursday poor Eustace! 
 
 "What does this portend?" cried Mrs. 
 Greyne. 
 
 " My darling, it passes my wit to imagine," 
 replied her husband. 
 
 166 
 
MR. EUSTACE GREYNE 
 
 III 
 
 THE parting of Mr. and Mrs. Greyne on the 
 following morning was very affecting. It took 
 place at Victoria Station, in the midst of a 
 small crowd of admiring strangers, who had 
 recognised the commanding presence of the 
 great novelist, and had gathered round to ob- 
 serve her manifestations. 
 
 Mrs. Greyne was considerably shaken by the 
 event of the previous night. Although, on the 
 discovery of the diary, the house had been 
 roused, and all the servants closely questioned, 
 no light had been thrown upon its migration 
 from the locked drawer to the schoolroom 
 table. Adolphus and Olivia, jerked from 
 sleep by the hasty hands of a maid, could only 
 weep and wan. The powdered footmen, one 
 and all, declared they had never heard of a 
 diary. The butler gave warning on the spot, 
 keeping on his nightcap to give greater effect 
 to his pronunciamento. It was all most unsat- 
 isfactory, and for one wild moment Mrs. 
 Greyne seriously thought of retaining her hus- 
 band by her as a protection against the myster- 
 ious thief who had been at work in their midst. 
 Could it be Mademoiselle Verbena? The 
 dread surmise occurred, but Mr. Greyne re- 
 jected it. 
 
 167 
 
THE MISSION OF 
 
 " Her father was a count," he said. " Be- 
 sides, my darling, I don't believe she can read 
 English; certainly not unless it is printed." 
 
 So there the matter rested, and the moment 
 of parting came. 
 
 There was a murmur of respectful sympa- 
 thy as Mrs. Greyne clasped her husband tend- 
 erly in her arms, and pressed his head against 
 her prune-coloured bonnet strings. The 
 whistle sounded. The train moved on. Lean- 
 ing from a reserved first-class compartment, 
 Mr. Greyne waved a silk pocket-handkerchief 
 so long as his wife's Roman profile stood out 
 clear against the fog and smoke of London. 
 But at last it faded, grew remote, took on the 
 appearance of a feebly-executed crayon draw- 
 ing, vanished. He sank back upon the cush- 
 ions alone. Darrell was travelling second 
 with the dressing-case. 
 
 It was a strange sensation, to be alone, and 
 en route to Algiers. Mr. Greyne scarcely 
 knew what to make of it. A schoolboy sud- 
 denly despatched to Timbuctoo could hardly 
 have felt more terribly emancipated than he 
 did. He was so absolutely unaccustomed to 
 freedom, he had been for so long without the 
 faintest desire for it, that to have it thrust up- 
 on him so suddenly was almost alarming. He 
 felt lonely, anxious, horribly unmarried. To 
 divert his thoughts he drew forth a Merrin's 
 exercise-book and a pencil, and wrote on the 
 first page, in large letters, ff African Frailty, 
 
 168 
 
MR. EUSTACE GREYNE 
 
 Notes for" Then he sat gazing at the title 
 of his first literary work, and wondering what 
 on earth he was going to see in Algiers. 
 
 Vague visions of himself in the bars of Afri- 
 can public-houses, in mosques, in the two-pair- 
 backs of dervishes, in bazaars which he pic- 
 tured to himself like those opened by royalties 
 at the Queen's Hall in Moorish inte- 
 riors surrounded by voluptuous ladies with 
 large oval eyes, black tresses, and Turkish 
 trousers of spangled muslin, flitted before his 
 mental gaze. When the train ran upon Dover 
 Pier, and the white horses of the turbulent 
 Channel foamed at his feet, he started as one 
 roused from a Rip Van Winkle sleep. Severe 
 illness occupied his whole attention for a time, 
 and then recovery. 
 
 In Paris he dined at the buffet like one in a 
 dream, and, at the appointed hour, came forth 
 to take the rapide for Marseilles. He looked 
 for Darrell and the dressing-case. They were 
 not to be seen. There stood the train. Passen- 
 gers were mounting into it. Old ladies with 
 agitated faces were buying pillows and nib- 
 bling biscuits. Elderly gentlemen with yellow 
 countenances and red ribands in their coats 
 were purchasing the Figaro and the Gil Bias. 
 Children with bare legs were being hauled into 
 compartments. Rook's agent was explaining 
 to a muddled tourist in a tam-o'-shanter the ex- 
 act difference between the words ff Oui " and 
 (f Non" The bustle of departure was in the 
 
 169 
 
THE MISSION OF 
 
 air, but Darrell was not to be seen. Mr. 
 Greyne had left him upon the platform with 
 minute directions as to the point from which 
 the train would start and the hour of its going. 
 Yet he had vanished. The most frantic search, 
 the most frenzied inquiries of officials and total 
 strangers, failed to elicit his whereabouts, and, 
 finally, Mr. Greyne was flung forcibly upward 
 into the wagonlit, and caught by the controleur 
 when the train was actually moving out of the 
 station. 
 
 A moment later he fell exhausted upon the 
 pink-plush seat of his compartment, realising 
 his terrible position. He was now utterly 
 alone; without servant, hair-brushes, tooth- 
 brushes, razors, sponges, pajamas, shoes. It 
 was a solitude that might be felt. He thought 
 of the sea journey with no kindly hand to min- 
 ister to him, the arrival in Africa with no hum- 
 ble companion at his side, to wonder with him 
 at the black inhabitants and help him through 
 the customs to say nothing of the manners. 
 He thought of the dread homes of iniquity in- 
 to which he must penetrate by night in search 
 of the material for the voracious " Catherine." 
 He had meant to take Darrell with him to 
 them all Darrell, whose joyful delight in the 
 prospect of exploring the Eastern fastnesses 
 of crime had been so boyish, so truly English 
 in its frank, its even boisterous sincerity. 
 
 And now he was utterly alone, almost like 
 Robinson Crusoe. 
 
 170 
 
MR. EUSTACE GREYNE 
 
 The controleur came in to make the bed. 
 Mr. Greyne told him the dreadful story. 
 
 " No doubt he has been lured away, mon- 
 sieur. The dressing-case was of value? " 
 
 " Crocodile, gold fittings." 
 
 " Probably monsieur will never see him 
 again. As likely as not he will sleep in the 
 Seine to-night, and at the morgue to-morrow." 
 
 Mr. Greyne shuddered. This was an ill 
 omen for his expedition. He drank a stiff 
 whisky-and-soda instead of the usual barley 
 water, and went to bed to dream of bloody 
 murders in which he was the victim. 
 
 When the train ran into Marseilles next 
 morning he was an unshaven, miserable man. 
 
 " Have I time to buy a tooth-brush," he in- 
 quired anxiously at the station, " before the 
 boat sails for Algiers?" 
 
 The chef de gare thought so. Monsieur had 
 four hours, if that was sufficient. Mr. Greyne 
 hastened forth, had a Turkish bath, purchased 
 a new dressing-case, ate a hasty dejeuner., and 
 took a cab to the wharf. It was a long drive 
 over the stony streets. He glanced from side 
 to side, watching the bustling traffic, the hurry 
 of the nations going to and from the ships. 
 His eyes rested upon two Arabs who were 
 striding along in his direction. Doubtless they 
 were also bound for Algiers. He thought they 
 looked most wicked, and hastily took a note 
 of them for " African Frailty." Beside his 
 sense of loss and loneliness marched the sense 
 
 171 
 
THE MISSION OF 
 
 of duty. The great woman at home in Bel- 
 grave Square, founder of his fortunes, mother 
 of his children, she depended upon him. Even 
 in his own hour of need he would not fail her. 
 He took a lead pencil, and wrote down : 
 
 Saw two Arab ruffians. Bare legs. Look 
 capable of anything. Should not be surprised 
 to hear that they had 
 
 There he paused. That they had what? 
 Done things. Of course, but what things? 
 That was the question. He exerted his imag- 
 ination, but failed to arrive at any conclusion 
 as to their probable crimes. His knowledge 
 of wickedness was really absurdly limited. 
 For the first time he felt slightly ashamed of 
 it, and began to wish he had gone into the 
 militia. He comforted himself with the 
 thought that in a fortnight he would probably 
 be fit for the regular army. This thought 
 cheered him slightly, and it was with a slight 
 smile upon his face that he welcomed the first 
 glimpse of the General Bertrand, which was 
 lying against the quay ready to cast off at the 
 stroke of noon. Most of the passengers were 
 aboard, but, as Mr. Greyne stepped out of his 
 cab, and prepared to pay the Maltese driver, 
 a trim little lady, plainly dressed in black, and 
 carrying a tiny and rather coquettish hand-bag, 
 was tripping lightly across the gangway. Mr. 
 Greyne glanced at her as he turned to follow, 
 glanced, and then started. That back was 
 
 173 
 
MR. EUSTACE GREYNS 
 
 surely familiar to him. Where could he have 
 seen it before? He searched his memory as the 
 little lady vanished. It was a smart, even a 
 chic back, a back that knew how to take care 
 of itself, a back that need not go through the 
 world alone, a back, in fine, that was most dis- 
 tinctly attractive, if not absolutely alluring. 
 Where had he seen it before, or had he ever 
 seen it at all? He thought of his wife's back, 
 flat, powerful, uncompromising. This was 
 very different, more how should he put it to 
 himself? more Algerian, perhaps. He could 
 vaguely conceive it a back such as one might 
 meet with while engaged in adding to one's 
 stock of knowledge of well African frailty. 
 
 At this moment the steward appeared to 
 show him to his cabin, and his further reflec- 
 tions were mainly connected with the Gulf of 
 Lyons. 
 
 Twilight was beginning to fall when, so far 
 as he was capable of thinking, he thought he 
 would like a breath of air. For some moments 
 he lay quite still, dwelling on this idea which 
 had so mysteriously come to him. Then he got 
 up, and thought again, seated upon the cabin 
 floor. He knew there was a deck. He remem- 
 bered having seen one when he came aboard. 
 He put on his fur coat, still sitting on the cabin 
 floor. The process took some time he fancied 
 about a couple of years. At last, however, it 
 was completed, and he rose to his feet with 
 the assistance of the washstand and the berth. 
 
 173 
 
THE MISSION OF 
 
 The ship seemed very busy, full of almost 
 American activity. He thought a greater 
 calm would have been more decent, and waited 
 in the hope that the floor would presently cease 
 to forget itself. As it showed no symptoms of 
 complying with his desire he endeavoured to 
 spurn it, and, in the fulness of time, gained the 
 companion. 
 
 It was very strange, as he remembered af- 
 terwards, that only when he had gained the 
 companion did the sense of his utter loneliness 
 rush upon him with overwhelming force: one 
 of the ironies of life, he supposed. Eventually 
 he shook the companion off with a good deal 
 of difficulty, and found himself installed upon 
 planks under a grey sky, and holding fast to 
 a railing, which was all that interposed be- 
 tween him and eternity. 
 
 At first he was only conscious of greyness 
 and the noise of winds and waters, but pres- 
 ently a black daub seemed to hover for a sec- 
 ond somewhere on the verge of his world, to 
 hover and disappear. He wondered what it 
 was. A smut, perhaps. He rubbed his face. 
 The daub returned. It was very large for a 
 smut. He strove to locate it, and found that 
 it must be somewhere on his left cheek. With 
 a great effort he took out his pocket-handker- 
 chief. Suddenly the daub assumed monstrous 
 proportions. He turned his head, and per- 
 ceived the lady in black whom he had seen trip- 
 ping over the gangway on his arrival. 
 
 174 
 
MR. EUSTACE GREYNE 
 
 She was a few steps from him, leaning upon 
 the rail in an attitude of the deepest dejection, 
 with her face averted; yet it struck him that 
 her right shoulder was oddly familiar, as her 
 hack had surely been. The turn of her head, 
 too he coughed despairingly. The lady 
 took no notice. He coughed again. Interest 
 was quickening in him. He was determined to 
 see the lady's face. 
 
 This time she looked around, showing a pale 
 countenance bedewed with tears, and totally 
 devoid of any expression which he could con- 
 nect with a consciousness of his presence. For 
 a moment she stared vacantly at him, while he, 
 with almost equal vacancy, regarded her. 
 Then a thrill of surprise shook him. A sud- 
 den light of knowledge leaped up in him, and 
 he exclaimed: 
 
 " Mademoiselle Verbena! " 
 
 " Monsieur? " murmured the lady, with an 
 accent of surprise. 
 
 "Mademoiselle Verbena! Surely it is it 
 must be! " 
 
 He had staggered sideways, nearing her. 
 
 " Mademoiselle Verbena, do you not know 
 me? It is I, Eustace Greyne, the father of 
 your pupils, the husband of Mrs. Eustace 
 Greyne? " 
 
 An expression of stark amazement came in- 
 to the lady's face at these words. She leaned 
 forward till her eyes were close to Mr. 
 Greyne's then gave a little cry. 
 
 175 
 
THE MISSION OF 
 
 "" Mon Dieu! It is true ! You are so altered 
 that I could not recognise. And then what 
 are you doing here, on the wide sea, far from 
 madame? " t 
 
 "I was just about to ask you the very same 
 question! " cried Mr. Greyne. 
 
 176 
 
MR. EUSTACE GREYNE 
 
 IV 
 
 "ALAS, monsieur!" said Mademoiselle Ver- 
 bena in her silvery voice, " I go to see my poor 
 mother." 
 
 " But I understood that she was dying in 
 Paris." 
 
 " Even so. But, when I reached the Rue 
 St. Honore, I found that they had removed to 
 Algiers. It was the only chance, the doctor 
 said a warm climate, the sun of Africa. 
 There was no time to let me know. They took 
 her away at once. And now I follow per- 
 haps to find her dead." 
 
 Large tears rolled down her cheeks. Mr. 
 Greyne was deeply affected. 
 
 "Let us hope for the best," he exclaimed, 
 seized by a happy inspiration. 
 
 The Levantine strove to smile. 
 
 "But you, monsieur, why are you here? 
 Ah! perhaps madame is with you! Let me go 
 
 to her ! Let me kiss her dear hands once more 
 
 j> 
 
 Mr. Greyne mournfully checked her fond 
 excitement. 
 
 " I am quite alone," he said. 
 
 A tragic expression came into the Levan- 
 tine's face. 
 
 "But, then " she began. 
 
 177 
 
THE MISSION OF 
 
 It was impossible for him to tell her about 
 "Catherine." He was, therefore, constrained 
 to subterfuge. 
 
 " I I was suddenly overtaken by by in- 
 fluenza," he said, in some confusion. " The 
 doctor recommended change of air, of scene. 
 He suggested Algiers " 
 
 ff Mon Dieu! It is like poor mamma!" 
 
 " Precisely. Our constitutions are are 
 doubtless similar. I shall take this opportu- 
 nity also of improving my knowledge of Afri- 
 can manners and and customs." 
 
 A strange smile seemed to dawn for a sec- 
 ond on Mademoiselle Verbena's face, but it 
 died instantaneously in a grimace of pain. 
 
 " My teeth make me bad," she said. " Ah, 
 monsieur, I must go below, to pray for poor 
 mamma " she paused, then softly added, 
 " and for monsieur." 
 
 She made a movement as if to depart, but 
 Mr. Greyne begged her to remain. In his lone- 
 liness the sight even of a Levantine whom he 
 knew solaced his yearning heart. He felt quite 
 friendly towards. this poor, unhappy girl, for 
 whom, perhaps, such a shock was preparing 
 upon the distant shore. 
 
 " Better stay! " he said. " The air will do 
 you good." 
 
 " Ah, if I die, what matter? Unless mam- 
 ma lives there is no one in the world who cares 
 for me, for whom I care." 
 
 " There there is Mrs. Greyne," said her 
 178 
 
MR. EUSTACE GREYNE 
 
 husband. "And then St. Paul's remember 
 St. Paul's." 
 
 " Ah ce charmant St. Paul's! Shall I ever 
 see him more? " 
 
 She looked at Mr. Greyne, and suddenly 
 he knew not why Mr. Greyne remembered 
 the incident of the diary, and blushed. 
 
 " Monsieur has fever! " 
 
 Mr. Greyne shook his head. The Levantine 
 eyed him curiously. 
 
 " Monsieur wishes to say something to me, 
 and does not like to speak." 
 
 Mr. Greyne made an effort. Now that he 
 was with this gentle lady, with her white face, 
 her weeping eyes, her plain black dress, the 
 mere suspicion that she could have opened a 
 locked drawer with a secret key, and filched 
 therefrom a private record, seemed to him un- 
 pardonable. Yet, for a brief instant, it had 
 occurred to him, and Mrs. Greyne had serious- 
 ly held it. He looked at Mademoiselle Ver- 
 bena, and a sudden impulse to tell her the truth 
 overcame him. 
 
 " Yes," he said. 
 
 " Tell me, monsieur." 
 
 In broken words the ship was still very 
 busy Mr. Greyne related the incident of the 
 loss and finding of the diary. As he spoke a 
 slight change stole over the Levantine's face. 
 It certainly became less pale. 
 
 "But you have fever now!" cried Mr. 
 Greyne anxiously. 
 
 179 
 
THE MISSION OF 
 
 " I! No; I flush with horror, not with fev- 
 er! The diary, the sacred diary of madame, 
 exposed to view, read by the children, per- 
 haps the servants! That footman, Thomas, 
 with the nose of curiosity! Ah! I behold 
 that nose penetrating into the holy secrets 
 of the existence of madame! I behold it 
 ah!" 
 
 She burst into a fit of hysterics, the laugh- 
 ing species, which is so much more terrible than 
 the other sort. Mr. Greyne was greatly con- 
 cerned. He lurched to her, and implored her 
 to be calm; but she only laughed the more, 
 while tears streamed down her cheeks. The 
 vision of Thomas gloating over Mrs.Greyne's 
 diary seemed utterly to unnerve her, and Mr. 
 Greyne was able to measure, by this ebullition 
 of horror, the depth of the respect and affec- 
 tion entertained by her for his beloved wife. 
 When, at length, she grew calmer he escorted 
 her towards her cabin, offering her his arm, 
 on which she leaned heavily. As soon as they 
 were in the narrow and heaving passage she 
 turned to him, and said : 
 
 " Who can have taken the diary? " 
 
 Mr. Greyne blushed again. 
 
 " We think it was Thomas," he said. 
 
 Mademoiselle Verbena looked at him stead- 
 ily for a moment, then she cried : 
 
 " God bless you, monsieur! " 
 
 Mr. Greyne was startled by the abruptness 
 of this pious ejaculation. 
 
 180 
 
MR. EUSTACE GREYNE 
 
 "Why? "he inquired. 
 
 " You are a good man. You, at least, would 
 not condescend to insult a friendless woman 
 by unworthy suspicions. And madame?" 
 
 " Mrs.Greyne " stammered Mr.Greyne 
 " is convinced that it was Thomas. In fact 
 in fact, she was the first to say so." 
 
 Mademoiselle Verbena tenderly pressed his 
 hand. 
 
 " Madame is an angel. God bless you 
 both!" 
 
 She tottered into her cabin, and, as she shut 
 the door, Mr. Greyne heard the terrible, laugh- 
 ing hysterics beginning again. 
 
 The next day an influence from Africa 
 seemed spread upon the sea. Calm were the 
 waters, calm and blue. No cloud appeared in 
 the sky. The fierce activities of the ship had 
 ceased, and Mademoiselle Verbena tripped up- 
 on the deck at an early hour, to find Mr. 
 Greyne already installed there, and looking 
 positively cheerful. He started up as he per- 
 ceived her, and chivalrously escorted her to a 
 chair. 
 
 Everyone who has made a voyage knows 
 that the sea breeds intimacies. By the time 
 the white houses of Algiers rose on their hill 
 out of the bosom of the waves Mademoiselle 
 Verbena and Mr. Greyne were shall we say 
 like sister and brother? She had told him all 
 about her childhood in dear Paris, the death 
 of her father the count, murmuring the name 
 
 181 
 
THE MISSION OF 
 
 of Louis XVI., the poverty of her mother the 
 countess, her own resolve to put aside all aris- 
 tocratic prejudices and earn her own living. 
 He, in return, had related his Eton days, his 
 momentary bias towards the militia, his mar- 
 riage as an innocent youth with Miss Eu- 
 genia Hannibal-Barker. Coming to later 
 times, he was led to confide to the tender- 
 hearted Levantine the fact that he hoped to 
 increase his stock of knowledge while in Afri- 
 ca. Without alluding to "Catherine," he 
 hinted that the cure of influenza was not his 
 only reason for foreign travel. 
 
 "I wish to learn something of men and 
 and women," he murmured in the shell-like 
 ear presented to him. "Of their passions, their 
 desires, their their follies." 
 
 "Ah!" cried Mademoiselle Verbena. 
 
 c Would that I could assist monsieur! But I 
 
 am only an ignorant little creature, and know 
 
 nothing of the world! And I shall be ever at 
 
 the bedside of mamma." 
 
 6 You will give me your address? You will 
 let me inquire for the countess? " 
 
 "Willingly; but I do not know where I shall 
 be. There will be a message at the wharf. To 
 what hotel goes monsieur? " 
 
 " The Grand Hotel." 
 
 " I will write there when I have seen mam- 
 ma. And meanwhile " 
 
 They were coming into harbour. The 
 heights of Mustapha were visible, the woods 
 
 182 
 
MR. EUSTACE GREYNE 
 
 of the Bois de Boulogne, the towers of the 
 Hotel Splendid. 
 
 " Meanwhile, may I beg monsieur not to 
 She hesitated. 
 
 " Not to what? " asked Mr. Greyne most 
 softly. 
 
 " Not to let anyone in England know that 
 I am here? " 
 
 She paused. Mr. Greyne was silent, won- 
 dering. Mademoiselle Verbena drooped her 
 head. 
 
 " The world is so censorious. It might seem 
 strange that I that monsieur a man 
 young, handsome, fascinating the same ship 
 I have no chaperon enfin " 
 
 She could get out no more. Her deli- 
 cacy, her forethought touched Mr. Greyne to 
 tears. 
 
 " Not a word," he said. " You are right. 
 The world is evil, and, as you say, I am a not 
 a word! " 
 
 He ventured to press her hand, as an elder 
 brother might have pressed it. For the first 
 time he realised that even to the husband of 
 Mrs. Eustace Greyne the world might attrib- 
 ute Goodness gracious! What might not 
 the militia think, for instance? 
 
 He felt himself, for one moment, potential- 
 ly a dog. 
 
 They parted in a whirl of Arabs on the 
 quay. Mr. Greyne would have stayed to assist 
 Mademoiselle Verbena, but she bade him go. 
 
 183 
 
THE MISSION OF 
 
 She whispered that she thought it " better " 
 that they should not seem to enfin! 
 
 61 1 will write to-morrow," she murmured. 
 <e Au revoir!" 
 
 On the last word she was gone. Mr. Greyne 
 saw nothing but Arabs and hotel porters. 
 Loneliness seemed to close in on him once 
 more. 
 
 That very evening, after a cup of tea, he 
 presented himself at the office of Rook near 
 the Place du Gouvernement. As he came in 
 he felt a little nervous. There were no tour- 
 ists in the office, and a courteous clerk with a 
 bright and searching eye at once took him in 
 hand. 
 
 " What can we do for you, sir? " 
 
 " I am a stranger here," began Mr. Greyne. 
 
 " Quite so, sir, quite so." 
 
 The clerk twiddled his business-like thumbs, 
 and looked inquiring. 
 
 " And being so," Mr. Greyne went on, " it 
 is naturally my wish to see as much of the 
 town as possible; as much as possible, you un- 
 derstand." 
 
 " You want a guide? Alphonso! " 
 
 Turning, he shouted to an inner room, from 
 which in a moment emerged a short, stout, 
 swarthy personage with a Jewish nose, a 
 French head, an Arab eye with a squint in it, 
 and a markedly Maltese expression. 
 
 " This is an excellent guide, sir," said the 
 clerk. " He speaks twenty-five languages." 
 
 184 
 
MR. EUSTACE GREYNE 
 
 The stout man, who as Mr Greyne now 
 perceived had on a Swiss suit of clothes, a 
 panama hat, and a pair of German elastic- 
 sided boots, confessed in pigeon English, in- 
 terspersed occasionally with a word or two of 
 something which Mr. Greyne took to be Chi- 
 nese, that such was undoubtedly the case. 
 
 "What do you wish to see? The mosque, 
 the bazaars, St. Eugene, La Trappe, Mus- 
 tapha, the baths of the Etat-Major, the Jar- 
 din d'Essai, the Villa- Anti-Juif, the " 
 
 " One moment! " said Mr. Greyne. 
 
 He turned to the clerk. 
 
 " May I take a chair? " 
 
 " Be seated, sir, pray be seated, and confer 
 with Alphonso." 
 
 So saying, he gave himself to an enormous 
 ledger, while Mr. Greyne took a chair opposite 
 to Alphonso, who stood in a Moorish attitude 
 looking apparently in the direction of Mar- 
 seilles. 
 
 " I have come here," said Mr. Greyne, low- 
 ering his voice, " with a purpose." 
 
 " You wish to see the Belle Fatma. J will 
 arrange it. She receives every evening in her 
 house in the Rue 
 
 " One minute! One minute! You said the 
 something ' Fatma'?" 
 
 "The Belle Fatma, the most beautiful 
 woman of Africa. She receives every 
 
 " Pardon me! One moment! Is this lady 
 
 
 
 185 
 
THE MISSION OF 
 
 Mr. Greyne paused. 
 
 " Sir? " said Alphonso, settling his Spanish 
 neck-tie, and gazing steadily towards Mar- 
 seilles. 
 
 " Is this lady well, sinful? " 
 
 Alphonso threw up his hands with a wild 
 Asiatic gesture. 
 
 " Sinful! La Belle Fatma! She is a lady 
 of the utmost respectability known to all the 
 town. You go to her house at eight, you take 
 coffee upon the red sofas, you talk with La 
 Belle, you see the dances and hear the music. 
 Do not fear, sir; it is good, it is respectable 
 as England, your country : 
 
 " If it is respectable I don't want to see it," 
 interposed Mr. Greyne. " It would be a waste 
 of time." 
 
 The clerk lifted his head from the ledger, 
 and Alphonso, by means of standing with his 
 back almost square to Mr. Greyne, and look- 
 ing over his right shoulder, succeeded at length 
 in fixing his eye upon him. 
 
 " I have not travelled here to see respecta- 
 ble things," continued Mr. Greyne, with 'a 
 slight blush. " Quite the contrary." 
 
 " Sir? " 
 
 The voice of Alphonso seemed to have 
 changed, to have taken on a hard, almost a 
 menacing tone. Mr. Greyne thought of his 
 beloved wife, of Merrin's exercise-books, and 
 clenched his hands, endeavouring to feel, and 
 to go on, like a militiaman. 
 
 186 
 
MR. EUSTACE GREYNE 
 
 "Quite the contrary," he repeated firmly; 
 
 "my object in coming to Africa is to to 
 
 search about in the Kasbah, and the disrep 
 
 He choked, recovered himself, and 
 
 continued: "Disreputable quarters of Algiers 
 
 hem " 
 
 1 What for, sir? " 
 
 The voice of Alphonso was certainly 
 changed. 
 
 "What for?" said Mr. Greyne, growing 
 purple. " For frailty." 
 
 "Sir?" 
 
 "For frailty for wickedness." 
 
 A slight cackle emanated from the ledger, 
 but immediately died away. A dead silence 
 reigned in the office, broken only by the dis- 
 tant sound of the sea, and by the hard breath- 
 ing of Alphonso, who had suddenly begun to 
 pant. 
 
 " I wish to go to all the wicked places 
 all!" 
 
 The ledger cackled again more audibly. 
 Mr. Greyne felt a prickling sensation run over 
 him, but the thought of " Catherine " nerved 
 him to his awful task. 
 
 " It is my wife's express desire that I should 
 do so," he added desperately, quite forgetting 
 Mrs. Greyne's injunction to keep her dark in 
 his desire to stand well with Rook's. 
 
 The ledger went off into a hyena imitation, 
 and Alphonso, turning still more away from 
 Mr. Greyne, so as to get the eye fuller upon 
 
 187 
 
THE MISSION OF 
 
 him, exclaimed, in a mixture of Aryan and 
 Eurasian languages : 
 
 " Sir, I am a respectable, unmarried man. 
 I was born in Buenos Ayres, educated in 
 Smyrna, came of age in Constantinople, and 
 have practised as guide in Bagdad and other 
 particular cities. I refuse to have anything 
 to do with you and your wife." 
 
 So saying, he bounced into the inner room, 
 and banged the door, while the ledger gave 
 itself up to peals of merriment, and Mr. 
 Greyne tottered forth upon the sea-front, 
 bathed in a cold perspiration, and feeling more 
 guilty than a murderer. 
 
 It was a staggering blow. He leaned over 
 the stone parapet of the low wall, and let the 
 soft breezes from the bay flit through his hair, 
 and thought of Mrs. Greyne spurned by Al- 
 phonso. What was he to do? Kicked out of 
 Rook's, to whom could he apply? There must 
 be wickedness in Algiers, but where? He saw 
 none, though night was falling and stout 
 Frenchmen were already intent upon their ab- 
 sinthe. 
 
 " Does monsieur wish to see the Kasbah 
 to-night? " 
 
 Was it a voice from heaven? He turned, 
 and saw standing beside him a tall, thin, au- 
 dacious-looking young man, with coal-black 
 moustaches, magnificent eyes, and an air that 
 was half -languid, half -serpentine. 
 
 " Who are you?" 
 
 188 
 
MR. EUSTACE GREYNE 
 
 " I am a guide, monsieur. Here are my cer- 
 tificates." 
 
 He produced from the inner pocket of his 
 coat a large bundle of dirty papers. 
 
 "If monsieur will deign to look them 
 
 over." 
 
 But Mr. Greyne waved them away. What 
 did he care for certificates? Here was a guide 
 to African frailty. That was sufficient. He 
 was in a desperate mood, and uttered desper- 
 ate words. 
 
 " Look here," he said rapidly, " are you 
 wicked? " 
 
 " Very wicked, monsieur." 
 
 "Good!" 
 
 " Wicked, monsieur." 
 
 "Right!" 
 
 " Wrong, monsieur." 
 
 " I mean that it is good for me that you are 
 wicked." 
 
 " Monsieur is very good." 
 
 "Yes; but I wish to be that is, to see the 
 other thing. Can you undertake to show me 
 everything shocking in Algiers? " 
 
 " But certainly, monsieur. For a considera- 
 tion." 
 
 " Name your price." 
 
 " Two hundred pounds, monsieur." 
 
 Mr. Greyne started. It seemed a high 
 figure. 
 
 "Monsieur thought it would be more? I 
 make a special price, because I have taken a 
 
 189 
 
THE MISSION OF 
 
 fancy to monsieur. I remove fifty pounds. 
 Monsieur, of course, will pay all expenses." 
 
 " Of course, of course." 
 
 It was no time to draw back. 
 
 " How long will it take? " 
 
 " To see all the shocking? " 
 
 " Precisely." 
 
 " There is a good deal. A fortnight, three 
 weeks. It depends on monsieur. If he is 
 strong, and can do without sleep 
 
 " We shall have to be up at night? " 
 
 " Naturally." 
 
 " I shall go to bed during the day, and get 
 through it in a fortnight." 
 
 : ' Perfectly." 
 
 " Be at the Grand Hotel to-night at ten 
 o'clock precisely." 
 
 " At ten o'clock I will be there. Monsieur 
 will pay a little in advance? " 
 
 " Here are twenty pounds," cried Mr. 
 Greyne recklessly. 
 
 The audacious-looking young man took the 
 notes with decision, made a graceful salute, 
 and disappeared in the direction of the quay, 
 while Mr. Greyne walked to his hotel, flushed 
 with excitement, and feeling like the most des- 
 perate criminal in Africa. If the militia could 
 see him now! 
 
 At dinner he drank a bottle of champagne, 
 and afterwards smoked a strong cigar over his 
 coffee and liqueur. As he was finishing these 
 frantic enjoyments the head waiter a per- 
 
 190 
 
MR. EUSTACE GREYNE 
 
 sonage bearing a strong resemblance to an en- 
 larged edition of Napoleon the First ap- 
 proached him rather furtively, and, bending 
 down, whispered in his ear : 
 
 " A gentleman has called to take monsieur 
 to the Kasbah." 
 
 Mr. Greyne started, and flushed a guilty 
 red. 
 
 " I will come in a moment," he answered, 
 trying to assume a nonchalant voice, such as 
 that in which a hardened major of dragoons 
 announces that in his time he was a devil of a 
 fellow. 
 
 The head waiter retired, looking painfully 
 intelligent, and Mr. Greyne sprang upstairs, 
 seized a Merrin's exercise-book and a lead 
 pencil, put on a dark overcoat, popped one of 
 the Springfield revolvers into the pocket of it, 
 and hastened down into the hall of the hotel, 
 where the audacious-looking young man was 
 standing, surrounded by saucy chasseurs in 
 gay liveries and peaked caps, by Algerian 
 waiters, and by German- Swiss porters, all of 
 whom were smiling and looking choke-full of 
 sympathetic comprehension. 
 
 " Ha! " said Mr. Greyne, still in the major's 
 voice. " There you are! " 
 
 " Behold me, monsieur." 
 
 " That's good." 
 
 ' Wicked, monsieur." 
 
 ' Well, let's be off to the mosque." 
 
 One of the chasseurs a child of eight who 
 191 
 
THE MISSION OF 
 
 was thankful that he knew no better burst 
 into a piping laugh. The waiters turned has- 
 tily away, and the German- Swiss porters re- 
 treated to the bureau with some activity. 
 
 :< To the mosque precisely, monsieur," re- 
 turned the guide, with complete self-posses- 
 sion. 
 
 They stepped out at once upon the pave- 
 ment, where a carriage was in waiting. 
 
 " Where are we going? " inquired Mr. 
 Greyne in an anxious voice. 
 
 ' We are going to the heights to see the 
 Ouled," replied the guide. ff En avant! " 
 
 He bounded in beside Mr. Greyne, the 
 coachman cracked his .whip, the horses trotted. 
 They were off upon their terrible pilgrimage. 
 
 192 
 
MR. EUSTACE GREYNE 
 
 ON the following afternoon, at a quarter to 
 three, when Mr. Greyne came down to break- 
 fast, he found, lying beside the boiled eggs, 
 a note directed to him in a feminine handwrit- 
 ing. He tore it open with trembling fingers, 
 and read as follows: 
 
 1 RUE DU PETIT NEGRE. 
 
 DEAR MONSIEUR, I am here. Poor mamma is in the 
 hospital. I am allowed to see her twice a day. At all 
 other times I remain alone, praying and weeping. I 
 trust that monsieur has passed a good night. For me, I 
 was sleepless, thinking of mamma. I go now to church. 
 
 ADELE VERBENA. 
 
 He laid this missive down, and sighed deep- 
 ly. How strangely innocent it was, how sim- 
 ple, how sincere! There were white souls in 
 Algiers yes, even in Algiers. Strange that 
 he should know one! Strange that he, who 
 had filled a Merrin's exercise-book with tiny 
 writing, and had even overflowed on to the 
 cover after " crossing " many pages, should 
 receive the child-like confidences of one! "I 
 go now to the church." Tears came into his 
 eyes as he laid the letter down beside a pile 
 of buttered toast over which the burning after- 
 noon sun of Africa was shining. 
 
 193 
 
THE MISSION OF 
 
 " Monsieur will take milk and sugar? " 
 
 It was the head waiter's Napoleonic voice. 
 Mr. Greyne controlled himself. The man was 
 smiling intelligently. All the staff of the hotel 
 smiled intelligently at Mr. Greyne to-day 
 the waiters, the porters, the chasseurs. The 
 child of eight who was thankful that he knew 
 no better had greeted him with a merry laugh 
 as he came down to breakfast, and an " Oh, la, 
 la!" which had elicited a rebuke from the pro- 
 prietor. Indeed, a wave of human sympathy 
 flowed upon Mr. Greyne, whose ashy face and 
 dull, washed-out eyes betrayed the severity of 
 his night-watch. 
 
 " Monsieur will feel better after a little 
 food." 
 
 The head waiter handed the buttered toast 
 with bland majesty, at the same time shooting 
 a reproving glance at the little chasseur, who 
 was peeping from behind the door at the after- 
 noon breakf aster. 
 
 " I feel perfectly well," replied Mr. Greyne, 
 with an attempt at cheerfulness. 
 
 " Still, monsieur will feel much better after 
 a little food." 
 
 Mr. Greyne began to toy with an egg. 
 
 " You know Algiers? " he asked. 
 
 " I was born here, monsieur. If monsieur 
 wishes to explore to-night again the Kasbah 
 I can " 
 
 But Mr. Greyne stopped him with a gesture 
 that was almost fierce. 
 
 194 
 
MR. EUSTACE GREYNE 
 
 i 
 
 " Where is the Rue du Petit Negre? " 
 
 " Monsieur wishes to go there to-night? " 
 
 " I wish to go there now, directly I have fin- 
 ished break lunch." 
 
 The head waiter's face was wreathed with 
 humorous surprise. 
 
 "But monsieur is wonderful superb! 
 Never have I seen a traveller like monsieur! " 
 
 He gazed at Mr. Greyne with tropical ap- 
 preciation. 
 
 " Monsieur had better have a carriage. The 
 street is difficult to find." 
 
 " Order me one. I shall start at once." 
 
 Mr. Greyne pushed away the sunlit but- 
 tered toast, and got up. 
 
 " Monsieur is superb. Never have I seen a 
 traveller like monsieur! " 
 
 Napoleon's voice was almost reverent. He 
 hastened out, followed slowly by Mr. Greyne. 
 
 "A carriage for monsieur! Monsieur de- 
 sires to go to the Rue du Petit Negre! " 
 
 The staff of the hotel gathered about the 
 door as if to speed a royal personage, and Mr. 
 Greyne noticed that their faces too were 
 touched with an almost startled reverence. He 
 stepped into the carriage, signed feebly, but 
 with determination, to the Arab coachman, 
 and was driven away, followed by a parting 
 "Oh, la, la! " from the chasseur, uttered in a 
 voice that sounded shrill with sheer amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 Through winding, crowded streets he went, 
 195 
 
THE MISSION OF 
 
 by bazaars and Moorish bath-houses, mosques 
 and Catholic churches, barracks and cafes, till 
 at length the carriage turned into an alley that 
 crept up a steep hill. It moved on a little way, 
 and then stopped. 
 
 " Monsieur must descend here," said the 
 coachman. " Mount the steps, go to the right 
 and then to the left. Near the summit of the 
 hill he will find the Rue du Petit Negre. Shall 
 I wait for monsieur? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 The coachman began to make a cigarette, 
 while Mr. Greyne set forth to follow his direc- 
 tions, and, at length, stood before an arch, 
 which opened into a courtyard adorned with 
 orange-trees in tubs, and paved with blue and 
 white tiles. Around this courtyard was a 
 three-storey house with a flat roof, and from a 
 bureau near a little fountain a stout French- 
 woman called to demand his business. He 
 asked for Mademoiselle Verbena, and was at 
 once shown into a saloon lined with chairs cov- 
 ered with yellow rep, and begged to take a 
 seat. In two minutes Mademoiselle Verbena 
 appeared, drying her eyes with a tiny pocket- 
 handkerchief, and forcing a little pathet- 
 ic smile of welcome. Mr. Greyne clasped 
 her hand in silence. She sat down in a rep 
 chair at his right, and they looked at each 
 other. 
 
 "Mais, mon Dieu! How monsieur is 
 changed! " cried the Levantine. " If madame 
 
 196 
 
MR. EUSTACE GREYNE 
 
 could see him! What has happened to mon- 
 sieur? " 
 
 "Miss Verbena," replied Mr. Greyne, "I 
 have seen the Ouled on the heights." 
 
 A spasm crossed the Levantine's face. She 
 put her handkerchief to it for a moment. 
 
 " What is an Ouled? " she inquired, with- 
 drawing it. 
 
 " I dare not tell you," he replied sol- 
 emnly. 
 
 " But indeed I wish to know, so that I may 
 sympathise with monsieur." 
 
 Mr. Greyne hesitated, but his heart was 
 full ; he felt the need of sympathy. He looked 
 at Mademoiselle Verbena, and a great longing 
 to unburden himself overcame him. 
 
 " An Ouled," he replied, " is a dancing-girl 
 from the desert of Sahara." 
 
 " Mon Dieu! How does she dance? Is it a 
 valse, a polka, a quadrille? " 
 
 " No. Would that it werel " 
 
 And Mr. Greyne, unable further to govern 
 his desire for full expression, gave Mademoi- 
 selle Verbena a slightly Bowdlerised descrip- 
 tion of the dances of the desert. She heard him 
 with amazement. 
 
 "How terrible!" she exclaimed when he 
 had finished. " And does one pay much to see 
 such steps of the Evil One? " 
 
 " I gave her twenty pounds. Abdallah 
 jack 
 
 "Abdallah Jack?" 
 
 197 
 
THE MISSION OF 
 
 " My guide informed me that was the price. 
 He tells me it is against the law, and that each 
 time an Ouled dances she risks being thrown 
 into prison." 
 
 " Poor lady! How sad to have to earn one's 
 bread by such devices, instead of by teaching 
 to the sweet little ones of monsieur the sym- 
 pathetic grammar of one's native country." 
 
 Mr. Greyne was touched to the quick by 
 this allusion, which brought, as in a vision, 
 the happy home in Belgrave Square before 
 him. 
 
 " You are an angel! " he exclaimed. 
 
 Mademoiselle Verbena shook her head. 
 
 " And this poor Ouled, you will go to her 
 again? " 
 
 4 Yes. It seems that she is in communica- 
 tion with all the the well, all the odd people 
 of Algiers, and that one can only get at them 
 through her." 
 
 "Indeed?" 
 
 "Abdallah Jack tells me that while I am 
 here I should pay her a weekly salary, and 
 that, in return, I shall see all the terrible cere- 
 monies of the Arabs. I have decided to do 
 ?> 
 
 " Ah, you have decided! " 
 
 For a moment Mr. Greyne started. There 
 seemed a new sound in Mademoiselle Ver- 
 bena's voice, a gleam in her dark brown eyes. 
 
 " Yes," he said, looking at her in wonder. 
 " But I have not yet told Abdallah Jack." 
 
 198 
 
MR, EUSTACE GREYNE 
 
 The Levantine looked gently sad again. 
 
 " Ah," she said in her usual pathetic voice, 
 " how my heart bleeds for this poor Ouled. By 
 the way, what is her name? " 
 
 " Aishoush." 
 
 " She is beautiful? " 
 
 " I hardly know. SEe was so painted, so 
 tattooed, so very so very different from Mrs. 
 Eustace Greyne." 
 
 "How sad! How terrible! Ah, but you 
 must long for the dear bonnet strings of ma- 
 dame? " 
 
 Did he? As she spoke Mr. Greyne asked 
 himself the question. Shocked as he was, fa- 
 tigued by his researches, did he wish that he 
 were back again in Belgrave Square, drinking 
 barley water, pasting notices of his wife's 
 achievements into the new album, listening 
 while she read aloud from the manuscript 
 of her latest novel? He wondered, and 
 how strange, how almost terrible he was not 
 sure. 
 
 " Is it not so? " murmured Mademoiselle 
 Verbena. 
 
 " Naturally I miss my beloved wife," said 
 Mr. Greyne with a certain awkwardness. 
 " How is your poor, dear mother? " 
 
 Tears came at once into the Levantine's 
 eyes. 
 
 '* Very, very ill, monsieur. Still there is a 
 chance just a chance that she may not die. 
 Ah, when I sit here all alone in this strange 
 
 199 
 
THE MISSION OF 
 
 place, I feel that she will perish, that soon I 
 shall be quite deserted in this cruel, cruel 
 world!" 
 
 The tears began to flow down her cheeks 
 with determination. Mr. Greyne was terribly 
 upset. 
 
 " You must cheer up," he exclaimed. " iYou 
 must hope for the best." 
 
 " Sitting here alone, how can I? " 
 
 She sobbed. 
 
 " Sitting here alone very true!" 
 
 A sudden thought, a number of sudden 
 thoughts, struck him. 
 
 " You must not sit here alone." 
 
 "Monsieur!" 
 
 ' You must come out. You must drive. 
 You must see the town, distract yourself." 
 
 " But how? Can a a girl go about alone 
 in Algiers ? " 
 
 "Heaven forbidj No; I will escort you." 
 
 "Monsieur!" 
 
 A smile of innocent, girlish joy trans- 
 formed her face, but suddenly she was grave 
 again. 
 
 " Would it be right, convendble? " 
 
 Mr. Greyne was reckless. The dog poten- 
 tial rose up in him again. 
 
 "Why not? And, besides, who knows us 
 here? Not a soul." 
 
 ' That is true." 
 
 " Put on your bonnet. Let us start at 
 once!" 
 
 200 
 
MR. EUSTACE GREYNE 
 
 "But I do not wear the bonnet. I am not 
 like madame." 
 
 " To be sure. Your hat." 
 
 And as she flew to obey him, Mr. Eustace 
 Greyne found himself impiously thanking the 
 powers that be for this strange chance of go- 
 ing on the spree with a toque. When Made- 
 moiselle Verbena returned he was looking al- 
 most rakish. He eyed her neat black hat and 
 close-fitting black jacket with a glance not 
 wholly unlike that of a militiaman. In her 
 hand she held a vivid scarlet parasol. 
 
 " Monsieur," she said, "it is terrible, this 
 ombrelle, when mamma lies at death's door. 
 But what can I do ? I have no other, and can- 
 not afford to buy one. The sun is fierce. I 
 dare not expose myself to it without a shelter." 
 
 She seemed really distressed as she opened 
 the parasol, and spread the vivid silk above her 
 pretty black-clothed figure; but Mr. Greyne 
 thought the effect was brilliant, and ventured 
 to say so. As they passed the bureau by the 
 fountain on their way out the stout French- 
 woman cast an approving glance at Made- 
 moiselle Verbena. 
 
 " The little rat will not see much more of 
 the little negro now," she murmured to her- 
 self. "After all, the English have their uses." 
 
 201 
 
THE MISSION OF, 
 
 VI 
 
 IN Belgrave Square Mrs. Eustace Greyne 
 was beginning to get slightly uneasy. Several 
 things combined to make her so. In the first 
 place, Mademoiselle Verbena had never re- 
 turned from her mother's Parisian bedside, and 
 had not even written a line to say how the dear 
 parent was, and when the daughter's nursing 
 occupation was likely to be over. In the sec- 
 ond place, Adolphus, in consequence of the 
 Levantine's absence, had totally lost his grasp, 
 always uncertain, upon the irregular verbs. In 
 the third place, Darrell, the valet, had returned 
 to London the day after his departure from it, 
 minus not only his master's dressing-case, but 
 minus everything he possessed. His story was 
 that, while waiting at the station in Paris for 
 his master's appearance, he had entered into 
 conversation with an agreeable stranger, and 
 been beguiled into the acceptance of an ab- 
 sinthe at a cafe just outside. After swallow- 
 ing the absinthe he remembered nothing more 
 till he came to himself in a deserted waiting- 
 room at the Gare du Nord, back to which he 
 had been mysteriously conveyed. In his pocket 
 was no money, no watch, only the return half 
 of a second-class ticket from London to Paris. 
 He, therefore, wandered about the streets till 
 
 202 
 
MR. EUSTACE GREYNE 
 
 morning broke, and then came back to Lon- 
 don a crestfallen and miserable man, bemoan- 
 ing his untoward fate, and cursing "them 
 blasted Frenchies" from the bottom of his 
 British heart. 
 
 Mrs. Greyne's anxiety on her husband's be- 
 half, now that he was thrown absolutely unat- 
 tended upon the inhospitable shores of Africa, 
 was not lessened by a fourth circumstance, 
 which, indeed, worried her far more than all 
 the others put together. This was Mr. 
 Greyne's prolonged absence from her side. 
 Precisely one calendar month had now elapsed 
 since he had buried his face in her prune bon- 
 net strings at Victoria Station, and there 
 seemed no prospect of his return. He wrote 
 to her, indeed, frequently, and his letters were 
 full of wistful regret and longing to be once 
 more safe in the old homestead in Belgrave 
 Square, drinking barley water, and pasting 
 Romeike & Curtice notices into the new album 
 which lay, gaping for him, upon the table of 
 his sanctum. But he did not come ; nay, more, 
 he wrote plainly that there was no prospect of 
 his coming for the present. It seemed that the 
 wickedness of Africa was very difficult to 
 come at. It did not lie upon the surface, but 
 was hidden far down in depths to which the 
 ordinary tourist found it almost impossible to 
 penetrate. In his numerous letters Mr. 
 Greyne described his heroic and unremitting 
 exertions to fill the Merrin's note-books with 
 
 203 
 
THE MISSION OF 
 
 matter that would be suitable for the purging 
 of humanity. He set out in full his interview 
 with Alphonso at the office of Rook, and his 
 definite rejection by that cosmopolitan official. 
 According to the letters, after this event he 
 had spent no less than a fortnight searching 
 in vain for any sign of wickedness in the Al- 
 gerian capital. He had frequented the cafes, 
 the public bars, the theatres, the churches. He 
 had been to the Velodrome. He had sat by the 
 hour in the Jardin d'Essai. At night he had 
 strolled in the fairs and hung about the circus. 
 Yet nowhere had he been able to perceive any- 
 thing but the most innocent pleasure, the 
 simple merriment of a gay and guileless pop- 
 ulation to whom the idea of crime seemed 
 as foreign as the idea of singing the English 
 national anthem. 
 
 During the third week it was true that mat- 
 ters always according to Mr. Greyne's let- 
 ters home slightly improved. While walking 
 near the quay, in active search for nautical 
 outrage, he saw an Arab dock labourer, who 
 had been over-smoking kief, run amuck, and 
 knock down a couple of respectable snake- 
 charmers who were on the point of embarka- 
 tion for Tunis with their reptiles. This inci- 
 dent had filed up a half -score of pages in ex- 
 ercise-book number one, and had flooded Mr. 
 Greyne with hope and aspiration. But it was 
 followed by a stagnant lull which had lasted 
 for days, and had only been disturbed by the 
 
 204: 
 
MR. EUSTACE GREYNE 
 
 trifling incident of a gentleman in the Jewish 
 quarter of the town setting fire to a neigh- 
 bour's bazaar, in the very natural endeavour to 
 find a French half -penny which he had chanced 
 to drop among a bale of carpets while looking 
 in to drive a soft bargain. As Mrs. Greyne 
 wired to Algiers, such incidents were of no 
 value to " Catherine." 
 
 A very active interchange of views had gone 
 on between the husband and wife as time went 
 by, and the book was at a standstill. At first 
 Mrs. Greyne contented herself with daily let- 
 ters, but latterly she had resorted to wires, ex- 
 planatory, condemnatory, hortatory, and even 
 comminatory. She began bitterly to regret 
 her husband's well-proven innocence, and 
 wished she had despatched an uncle of hers by 
 marriage, an ex-captain in the Royal Navy, 
 who, she began to feel certain, would have 
 been able to find far more frailty in Algiers 
 than poor Eustace, in his simplicity, would 
 ever come at. She even began to wish that 
 she had crossed the sea in person, and herself 
 boldly set about the ingathering of the mate- 
 rial for which she was so impatiently waiting. 
 
 Her uneasiness was brought to a head by a 
 letter from a house agent, stating that the 
 corner mansion in Park Lane next to the 
 Duke of Ebury's was being nibbled at by a 
 Venezuelan millionaire. She wired this terri- 
 ble fact at once to Africa, adding, at an enor- 
 mous expenditure of cash: 
 
 205 
 
THE MISSION OF 
 
 This will never do. You are too innocent, and cannot 
 see what lies before you. Obtain assistance. Go to 
 the British consul. 
 
 Mr. Greyne at once cabled back: 
 
 Am following your advice. Will wire result. Regret 
 my innocence, but am distressed that you should so 
 utterly condemn it. 
 
 Upon receiving this telegram at night, be- 
 fore a lonely dinner, Mrs. Eustace Greyne 
 was deeply moved. She felt she had been 
 hasty. She knew that to very few women was 
 it given to have a husband so free from all 
 masculine infirmities as Mr. Greyne. At the 
 same time there was " Catherine," there was 
 the mansion in Park Lane, there was the' 
 Venezuelan millionaire. She began to feel 
 distracted, and, for the first time in her life, re- 
 fused to partake of sweetbreads fried in mush- 
 room ketchup, a dish which she had greatly af- 
 fected from the time when she wrote her first 
 short story. While she was in the very act of 
 waving away this delicacy a footman came in 
 with a foreign telegram. She opened it quick- 
 ly, and read as follows : 
 
 British consul horrified; was ignominiously expelled 
 from consulate ; great scandal ; am much upset, but will 
 never give in, for your sake. EUSTACE. 
 
 As the dread meaning of these words pene- 
 trated at length to Mrs. Greyne's voluminous 
 
 206 
 
MR. EUSTACE GREYNE 
 
 brain a deep flush overspread her noble fea- 
 tures. She rose from the table with a deter- 
 mination that struck awe to the hearts of the 
 powdered underlings, and, drawing herself up 
 to her full height, exclaimed: 
 
 " Send Mrs. Forbes at once to my study, if 
 you please at once, do you understand? " 
 
 In a moment Mrs. Forbes, who was the 
 great novelist's maid, appeared on the thresh- 
 old of the oracle's lair. She was a sober-look- 
 ing, black-silk personage, who always wore a 
 pork-pie cap in the house, and a Mother Hub- 
 bard bonnet out of it. Having been in service 
 with Mrs. Greyne ever since the latter penned 
 her last minor poetry Mrs. Greyne had been 
 a minor poet for three years soon after she put 
 her hair up Mrs. Forbes had acquired a cer- 
 tain literary expression of countenance and a 
 manner that was decidedly prosy. She read a 
 good deal after her supper of an evening, and 
 was wont to be the arbiter when any literary 
 matter was discussed in the servants' hall. 
 
 " Madam? " she said, respectfully entering 
 the room, and bending the pork-pie cap for- 
 ward in an attentive attitude. 
 
 Mrs. Greyne was silent for a moment. She 
 appeared to be thinking deeply. Mrs. Forbes 
 gently closed the door, and sighed. It was 
 nearly her supper-time, and she felt pensive. 
 
 " Madam? " she said again. 
 
 Mrs. Greyne looked up. A strange fire 
 burned in her large eyes. 
 
 207 
 
THE MISSION OF 
 
 " Mrs. Forbes," she said at length, with 
 weighty deliberation, " the mission of woman 
 in the world is a great one." 
 
 " Very true, madam. My own words to 
 Butler Phillips no longer ago than dinner this 
 midday." 
 
 " It is the protecting of man neither more 
 nor less." 
 
 " My own statement, madam, to Second 
 Footman Archibald this self -same day at the 
 tea-board." 
 
 " Man needs guidance, and looks for it to 
 us or rather to me." 
 
 At the last word Mrs. Forbes pinched her 
 lips together, and appeared older than her 
 years and sourer than her normal temper. 
 
 " At this moment, Mrs. Forbes," continued 
 Mrs. Greyne, with rising fervour, " he looks 
 for it to me from Africa. From that dark con- 
 tinent he stretches forth his hands to me in 
 humble supplication." 
 
 " Mr. Greyne has not been taken with an- 
 other of his bilious attacks, I hope, madam? " 
 said Mrs. Forbes. 
 
 Mrs. Greyne smiled. The ignorance of the 
 humbly born entertained her. It was so sim- 
 ple, so transparent. 
 
 " You fail to understand me," she an- 
 swered. " But never mind; others have done 
 the same." 
 
 She thought of her reviewers. Mrs. Forbes 
 smiled. She also could be entertained. 
 
 208 
 
MR. EUSTACE GREYNE 
 
 " Madam? " she inquired once more after a 
 pause. 
 
 " I shall leave for Africa to-morrow morn- 
 ing," said Mrs. Greyne. " You will accom- 
 pany me." 
 
 There was a dead silence. 
 
 6 You will accompany me. Do you under- 
 stand? Obtain assistance from the housemaids 
 in the packing. Select my quietest gowns, my 
 least conspicuous bonnets. I have my reasons 
 for wishing, while journeying to Africa and 
 remaining there, to pass, if possible, un- 
 noticed." 
 
 Again there was a pause. Mrs. Greyne 
 looked up at Mrs. Forbes, and observed a dog- 
 ged expression upon her countenance. 
 
 ' What is the matter? " she asked the maid. 
 
 " Do we go by Paris, madam? " said Mrs. 
 Forbes. 
 
 " Certainly." 
 ' Then, madam, I'm very sorry, but I 
 
 couldn't risk it, not if it was ever so " 
 
 ' Why not? Why this fear of Lutetia? " 
 
 " Madam, I'm not afraid of any Lutetia as 
 ever wore apron, but to go to Paris to be drug- 
 ged with absint, and put away in a third-class 
 waiting-room like a package I couldn't ma- 
 dam, not even if I have to leave your service.' 
 
 Mrs. Greyne recognised that the episode 
 of the valet had struck home to the lady's 
 maid. 
 
 " But you will not leave my side." 
 209 
 
THE MISSION OF 
 
 " They will absint you, madam." 
 
 " But you will travel first in a sleeping-car." 
 
 Mrs. Forbes put up her hand to her pork- 
 pie cap, as if considering. 
 
 " Very well, madam, to oblige you I will 
 undergo it," she said at length. " But I would 
 not do the like for another living lady." 
 
 " I will raise your wages. You are a faith- 
 ful creature." 
 
 " Does master expect us, madam? " asked 
 Mrs. Forbes as she prepared to retire. 
 
 A bright and tender look stole into Mrs. 
 Greyne's intellectual face. 
 
 " No," she replied. 
 
 She turned her large and beaming eyes full 
 upon the maid. 
 
 " Mrs. Forbes," she said, with an amount of 
 emotion that was very rare in her, " I am go- 
 ing to tell you a great truth." 
 
 " Madam? " said Mrs. Forbes respectfully. 
 
 :< The sweetest moments of life, those which 
 lift man nearest heaven, and make him thank- 
 ful for the great gift of existence, are some- 
 times those which are unforeseen." 
 
 She was thinking of Mr. Greyne's ecstasy 
 when, upon the inhospitable African shore 
 where he was now enduring such tragic mis- 
 fortunes, he perceived the majestic form of his 
 loved one his loved one whom he believed to 
 be in Belgrave Square coming towards him 
 to soothe, to comfort, to direct. She brushed 
 away a tear. 
 
 210 
 
MR. EUSTACE GREYNE 
 
 " Go, Mrs. Forbes," she said. 
 
 And Mrs. Forbes retired, smiling. 
 
 An epic might well be written on the great 
 novelist's journey to Africa, upon her depart- 
 ure from Charing Cross, shrouded in a black 
 gauze veil, her silent thought as the good ship 
 Empress rode cork-like upon the Channel 
 waves, her ascetic lunch a captain's biscuit 
 and a glass of water at the buffet at Calais, 
 her arrival in Paris when the shades of night 
 had fallen. An epic might well be written. 
 Perhaps some day it will be, by herself. 
 
 In Paris she suffered a good deal on ac- 
 count of Mrs. Forbes, who, in her fear of " ab- 
 sint," became hysterical, and caused not a little 
 annoyance by accusing various inoffensive 
 French travellers of nefarious designs upon 
 her property and person. _ In the Gulf of 
 Lyons she suffered even more, and as, unluck- 
 ily, the wind was contrary and the sea prodig- 
 ious during the whole of the passage across 
 the Mediterranean, both she and Mrs. Forbes 
 arrived at Algiers four hours late, in a condi- 
 tion which may be more easily imagined than 
 properly described. 
 
 Genius in thrall to the body, and absolutely 
 dependent upon green chartreuse for its flick- 
 ering existence, is no subject for even a sym- 
 pathetic pen. Sufficient to say that, when the 
 ship came in under the lights of Algiers, the 
 crowd of shouting Arabs was struck to silence 
 by the spectacle of Mrs. Greyne and Mrs. 
 
THE MISSION OF 
 
 Forbes endeavouring to disembark, in bonnets 
 that were placed seaward upon the head in- 
 stead of landward, unbuttoned boots, and 
 gowns soaked with the attentions of the 
 waves. 
 
 After being gently and permanently re- 
 lieved of their light hand-baggage, the mis- 
 tress and maid, who seemed greatly over- 
 whelmed by the sight of Africa, and who 
 moved or rather were carried as in a dream, 
 were placed reverently in the nearest omnibus, 
 and conveyed to the farthest hotel, which was 
 situated upon a lofty hill above the town. 
 Here a slightly painful scene took place. 
 
 Having been assisted by the staff into a 
 Moorish hall, Mrs. Greyne inquired in a ret- 
 icent voice for her husband, and was politely 
 informed that there was no person of the name 
 of Greyne in the hotel. For a moment she 
 seemed threatened with dissolution, but with 
 a supreme effort calling upon her mighty 
 brain she surmised that her husband was possi- 
 bly passing under a pseudonym in order to 
 throw America off the scent. She, therefore, 
 demanded to have the guests then present in 
 the hotel at once paraded before her. As there 
 was some difficulty about this the guests be- 
 ing then at dinner she whispered for the vis- 
 itors' book, thinking that, perchance, Mr. 
 Greyne had inscribed his name there, and that 
 the staff, being foreign, did not recognise it 
 as murmured by herself. The book was 
 
 212 
 
MR. EUSTACE GREYNE 
 
 brought, upon its cover in golden letters the 
 words: "Hotel Loubet et Majestic." Then 
 explanations of a somewhat disagreeable na- 
 ture occurred, and Mrs. Greyne and Mrs. 
 Forbes, after a heavy payment had been ex- 
 acted for their conveyance to a place they had 
 desired not to go to, were carried forth, and 
 consigned to another vehicle, which at length 
 brought them, on the stroke of nine, to the 
 Grand Hotel. 
 
 Having been placed reverently in the bril- 
 liantly-lighted hall, they were surrounded by 
 the proprietor, the maitre d'hotel and his as- 
 sistants, the porters, and the chasseurs, with 
 all of whom Mr. Greyne was now familiar. 
 Brandy and water having been supplied, to- 
 gether with smelling-salts and burnt feathers, 
 Mrs. Greyne roused herself from an acute at- 
 tack of lethargy, and asked for Mr. Greyne. 
 A joyous smile ran round the circle. 
 
 " Monsieur Greyne," said the proprietor, 
 " who is living here for the winter? " 
 
 " Mr. Eustace Greyne," murmured the 
 great novelist, grasping her bonnet with both 
 hands. 
 
 The maitre d'hotel drew nearer. 
 
 " Madame wishes to see Monsieur Greyne?" 
 he asked. 
 
 " I do at once." 
 
 A blessed consciousness of Mother Earth 
 was gradually beginning to steal over her. She 
 even strove feebly to sit up on her chair, a 
 
 213 
 
THE MISSION OF 
 
 German- Swiss porter of enormous size assist- 
 ing her. 
 
 " But Monsieur Greyne is out." 
 
 "Out?" 
 
 " Yes, madame. Monsieur Greyne is al- 
 ways out at night." 
 
 The eyes of the little chasseur who knew no 
 better began to twinkle. Mrs. Forbes gave a 
 slight cough. Tears filled the novelist's eyes. 
 
 "God bless my Eustace!" she murmured, 
 deeply touched by this evidence of his devo- 
 tion to her interests. 
 
 " Madame says " asked the proprietor. 
 
 "Where does Mr. Greyne go?" inquired 
 the novelist. 
 
 ' To the Kasbah, madame." 
 
 " I knew it! " cried Mrs. Greyne, with re- 
 turning animation. " I knew it would be so! " 
 
 " Madame is acquainted with Monsieur 
 Greyne?" said the maitre d'hotel, while the 
 little crowd gathered more closely about the 
 wave- worn group. 
 
 " I am Mrs. Eustace Greyne," returned the 
 great novelist recklessly. " I am the wife of 
 Mr. Eustace Greyne." 
 
 There was a moment of supreme silence. 
 Then a loud, an even piercing "Oh, la, la! " 
 broke upon the air, succeeded instantaneously 
 by a burst of laughter that seemed to thrill 
 with all the wild blessedness of boyhood. It 
 came, of course, from the little chasseur; it 
 came, and stayed. Nothing could stop it, and 
 
 214 
 
MR. EUSTACE GREYNE 
 
 eventually the happy child had to be carried 
 forth upon the sea-front to enjoy his innocent 
 mirth at leisure and in solitude beneath the 
 African stars. Mrs. Greyne did not notice his 
 disappearance. She was intent upon impor- 
 tant matters. 
 
 " At what time does Mr. Greyne usually set 
 forth? " she asked of the proprietor, whose 
 face now bore a strangely twisted appearance, 
 as if afflicted by a toothache. 
 
 " Immediately after dinner, madame, if not 
 before. Of late it has generally been before." 
 
 " And he stays out late? " 
 
 " Very late, madame." 
 
 The twisted appearance began to seem in- 
 fectious. It was visible upon the faces of most 
 of those surrounding Mrs. Greyne and Mrs. 
 Forbes. Indeed, even the latter showed some 
 signs of it, although the large shadow cast 
 over her features by the hind side of her 
 Mother Hubbard bonnet to some extent dis- 
 guised them from the public view. 
 
 " Till what hour? " pursued Mrs. Greyne in 
 a voice of almost yearning tenderness and 
 pity. 
 
 ' Well, madame " the proprietor dis- 
 played some slight confusion " I really can 
 hardly say. The maitre d'hotel can perhaps 
 inform you." 
 
 Mrs. Greyne turned her ox-like eyes upon 
 the enlarged edition of Napoleon the First. 
 
 " Monsieur Greyne seldom returns before 
 215 
 
THE MISSION OF 
 
 seven or eight o'clock in the morning, madame. 
 He then retires to bed, and comes down to 
 breakfast at about four o'clock in the after- 
 
 noon." 
 
 Mrs. Greyne was touched to the very quick. 
 Her husband was sacrificing his rest, his health 
 nay, perhaps even his very life in her ser- 
 vice. It was well she had come, well that a 
 period was to be put to these terrible re- 
 searches. They should be stopped at once, even 
 this very night. Better a thousand literary 
 failures than that her husband's existence 
 should be placed in jeopardy. She rose sud- 
 denly from her chair, tottered, gasped, recov- 
 ered herself, and spoke. 
 
 " Prepare dinner for me at once," she said, 
 " and order a carriage and a competent guide 
 to be before the door in half-an-hour." 
 
 " Madame is going out? But madame is ill, 
 tired!" 
 
 " It matters not." 
 
 " Where does madame wish to go? " 
 
 " I am going to the Kasbah to find my hus- 
 band." 
 
 " I will escort madame." 
 
 The proprietor, the maitre d'hdtelj the wait- 
 ers, the porters, the chasseurs, Mrs. Greyne 
 and Mrs. Forbes, all turned about to face the 
 determined speaker. 
 
 And there before them, his dark eyes gleam- 
 ing, his long moustaches bristling fiercely 
 there stood Abdallah Jack. 
 
 216 
 
MR. EUSTACE GREYNE 
 
 VII 
 
 MAN is a self -deceiver. It must, therefore, 
 ever be a doubtful point whether Mr. Eustace 
 Greyne, during his residence in Africa, abso- 
 lutely lost sight of his sense of duty; whether, 
 beguiled by the lively attentions of a fiercely 
 foreign town, he deliberately resolved to take 
 his pleasure regardless of consequences and of 
 the sacred ties of Belgrave Square. We pre- 
 fer to think that some vague idea of combin- 
 ing two duties that which he owed to himself 
 and that which he owed to Mrs. Greyne 
 moved him in all he did, and that the subter- 
 fuge into which he was undoubtedly led was 
 not wholly selfish, not wholly criminal. Nev- 
 ertheless, that he had lied to his beloved wife 
 is certain. Even while she sat over a cutlet 
 and a glass of claret in the white-and-gold 
 dining-room of the Grand Hotel, preparatory 
 to her departure to the Kasbah with Abdallah 
 Jack, the dozen of Merrin's exercise-books lay 
 upstairs in Mr. Greyne's apartments filled to 
 the brim with African frailty. Already there 
 was material enough in their pages to furnish 
 forth a library of " Catherines." Yet Mr. 
 Greyne still lingered far from his home, and 
 wired to that home fabricated accounts of the 
 singular innocence of Algiers. He even al- 
 
 217 
 
THE MISSION OF 
 
 lowed it to be supposed that his own innocence 
 stood in the way of his fulfilment of Mrs. 
 Greyne's behests he who could now have giv- 
 en points in knowledge of the world to whole 
 regiments of militiamen! 
 
 It was not right, and, doubtless, he must 
 stand condemned by every moralist. But let 
 it not be forgotten that he had fallen under 
 the influence of a Levantine. 
 
 Mademoiselle Verbena's mother, hidden in 
 some unnamed hospital of Algiers, appeared 
 to be one of those ingenious elderly ladies who 
 can hover indefinitely upon the brink of death 
 without actually dying. During the whole 
 time that Mr. Greyne had been in Africa her 
 state had been desperate, yet she still clung to 
 life. As her daughter said, she possessed ex- 
 traordinary vitality, and this vitality seemed 
 to have been inherited by her child. Despite 
 her grave anxieties Mademoiselle Verbena 
 succeeded in sustaining a remarkable cheeri- 
 ness, and even a fascinating vivacity, when in 
 the company of others. As she said to Mr. 
 Greyne, she did not think it right to lay her 
 burdens upon the shoulders of her neighbours. 
 She, therefore, forced herself to appear con- 
 tented, even at various moments gay, when she 
 and Mr. Greyne were lunching, dining, or 
 supping together, were driving upon the front, 
 sailing upon the azure waters of the bay, rid- 
 ing upon the heights beyond El-Biar, or, en- 
 sconced in a sumptuous private box, listening 
 
 218 
 
MR. EUSTACE GREYNE 
 
 to the latest French farce at one or another of 
 the theatres. Only one day, when they had 
 driven out to the monastery at La Trappe de 
 Staoueli, did a momentary cloud descend upon 
 her piquant features, and she explained this 
 by the frank confession that she had always 
 wished to become a nun, but had been hindered 
 from following her vocation by the necessity 
 of earning money to support her aged parents. 
 Mr. Greyne had never seen the Ouled since 
 his first evening in Algiers, but he still paid her 
 a weekly salary, through Abdallah Jack, who 
 explained to him that the interesting lady, in 
 a discreet retirement, was perpetually occu- 
 pied in arranging the exhibitions of African 
 frailty at which he so frequently assisted. She 
 was, in fact, earning her liberal salary. Made- 
 moiselle Verbena and Abdallah Jack had met 
 on several occasions, and Mr. Greyne had in- 
 troduced the latter to the former as his guide, 
 and had generously praised his abilities; but 
 Mademoiselle Verbena took very little notice 
 of him, and, as time went on, Abdallah Jack 
 seemed to conceive a most distressing dislike 
 of her. On several occasions he advised Mr. 
 Greyne not to frequent her company so as- 
 siduously, and when Mr. Greyne asked him to 
 explain the meaning of his monitions he 
 took refuge in vague generalities and East- 
 ern imagery. He had a profound contempt 
 for women as companions, which grieved 
 Mr. Greyne's Western ideas, and evidently 
 
 219 
 
THE MISSION OF 
 
 thought that Mademoiselle Verbena ought to 
 be clapped forthwith into a long veil, and put 
 away in a harem behind an iron grille. When 
 Mr. Greyne explained the English point of 
 view Abdallah Jack took refuge in a sulky 
 silence; but during the week immediately pre- 
 ceding the arrival of Mrs. Greyne his temper 
 had become actively bad, and Mr. Greyne be- 
 gan seriously to consider whether it would not 
 be better to pay him a last douceur, and tell 
 him to go about his business. 
 
 Before doing this, however, Mr. Greyne de- 
 sired to have one more interview with the mys- 
 terious Ouled on the heights, to whom he owed 
 the knowledge which would henceforth enable 
 him to cut out the militia. He said so to Ab- 
 dallah Jack. The latter agreed sulkily to ar- 
 range it; and matters so fell out that on the 
 night of Mrs. Greyne's arrival her husband 
 was seated in a room in one of the remotest 
 houses of the Kasbah, watching the Ouled's 
 mysterious evolutions, while Mademoiselle 
 Verbena as she herself had informed Mr. 
 Greyne sat in the hospital by the bedside of 
 her still dying mother. Abdallah Jack had 
 apparently been most anxious to assist at Mr. 
 Greyne's interview with the Ouled, but Mr. 
 Greyne had declined to allow this. The evil 
 temper of the guide was beginning to get thor- 
 oughly upon his employer's nerves, and even 
 the natural desire to have an interpreter at 
 hand was overborne by the dislike of Abdallah 
 
 220 
 
MR. EUSTACE GREYNE 
 
 Jack's morose eyes and sarcastic speeches 
 about women. Moreover, the Ouled spoke a 
 word or two of uncertain French. 
 
 Thus, therefore, things fell out, and such 
 was the precise situation when Mrs. Greyne 
 flicked a crumb from her chocolate brocade 
 gown, tied her bonnet strings, and rose from 
 table to set forth to the Kasbah with Abdallah 
 Jack. 
 
 It was a radiant night. In the clear sky the 
 stars shone brilliantly, looking down upon 
 the persistent convulsions of the little chasseur, 
 who had not yet recovered from his attack of 
 merriment on learning who Mrs. Greyne was. 
 The sea, quite calm now that the great novelist 
 was no longer upon it, lapped softly along the 
 curving shdres of the bay. The palm-trees of 
 the town garden where the band plays on 
 warm evenings waved lazily in the soft and 
 scented breeze. The hooded figures of the 
 Arabs lounged against the stone wall that gir- 
 dles the sea-front. In the brilliantly-illumi- 
 nated restaurants the rich French population 
 gathered about the little tables, while the with- 
 ered beggars stared in upon the oyster shells, 
 the champagne bottles, and the feathers in the 
 women's audacious hats. 
 
 When Mrs. Greyne emerged upon the pave- 
 ment before the Grand Hotel, attended by 
 Mrs. Forbes and the guide, she paused for a 
 moment, and cast a searching glance upon the 
 fairy -scene. In this voluptuous evening and 
 
 221 
 
THE MISSION OF 
 
 strange environment life seemed oddly dream- 
 like. She scarcely felt like Mrs. Greyne. 
 Possibly Mrs. Forbes also felt unlike herself, 
 for she suddenly placed one hand upon her left 
 side, and tottered. Abdallah Jack supported 
 her. She screamed aloud. 
 
 " Madam 1 " she said. " It is the vertigo. I 
 am overtook! " 
 
 She was really ill; her face, indeed, became 
 the colour of a plover's egg. 
 
 " Let me go to bed, madam," she implored. 
 "It is the vertigo, madam. I am overtook! " 
 
 Under ordinary circumstances Mrs. Greyne 
 would have prescribed a dose of Kasbah air, 
 but to-night she felt strange, and she wanted 
 strangeness. Mrs. Forbes with the vertigo, in 
 a small carriage, would be inappropriate. She, 
 therefore, bade her retire, mounted into the 
 vehicle with Abdallah Jack, and was quickly 
 driven away, her bonnet strings floating upon 
 the winsome wind. 
 
 " You know my husband? " she asked softly 
 of the guide. 
 
 Abdallah Jack replied in French that he 
 rather thought he did. 
 
 " How is he looking? " continued Mrs. 
 Greyne in a slightly yearning voice. " My 
 Eustace! " she added to herself, " my devoted 
 one!" 
 
 " Monsieur Greyne is pale as washed linen 
 upon the Kasbah wall;" replied Abdallah Jack, 
 lighting a cigarette, and wreathing the great 
 
 222 
 
MR. EUSTACE GREYNE 
 
 novelist in its grey-blue smoke. " He is thin 
 as the Spahi's lance, he is nervous as the leaves 
 of the eucalyptus-tree when the winds blow 
 from the north." 
 
 Mrs. Greyne was seriously perturbed. 
 
 4 Would I had come before!" she mur- 
 mured, with serious self-reproach. 
 
 " Monsieur Greyne is worse than all the 
 English," pursued Abdallah Jack in a voice 
 that sounded to Mrs. Greyne decidedly sin- 
 ister. " He is worse than the tourists of Rook, 
 who laugh in the doorways of the mosques and 
 twine in their hair the dried lizards of the 
 Sahara. Even the guide of Rook rejected him. 
 I only would undertake him because I am full 
 of evil." 
 
 Mrs. Greyne began to feel distinctly un- 
 comfortable, and to wish she had not been so 
 ready to pander to Mrs. Forbes' vertigo. She 
 stole a sidelong glance at her strange compan- 
 ion. The carriage was small. The end of his 
 bristling black moustache was very near. 
 What he said of Mr. Greyne did not disturb 
 her, because she knew that her Eustace had 
 sacrificed his reputation to do her service; but 
 what he said about himself was not reassur- 
 ing. 
 
 " I think you must be doing yourself an in- 
 justice," she said in a rather agitated voice. 
 
 "Madame?" 
 
 " I do not believe you are so bad as you im- 
 ply," she continued. 
 
 223 
 
THE MISSION OF 
 
 The carriage turned with a jerk out of 
 the brilliantly-lighted thoroughfare that runs 
 along the sea into a narrow side street, crowd- 
 ed with native Jews, and dark with shadows. 
 
 " Madame does not know me." 
 
 The exact truth of this observation struck 
 home, like a dagger, to the mind of Mrs. 
 Greyne. 
 
 " I am a wicked person," added Abdallah 
 Jack, with a profound conviction. " That is 
 why Monsieur Greyne chose me as his guide." 
 
 The novelist began to quake. Her choco- 
 late brocade fluttered. Was she herself to 
 learn at first hand, and on her first evening in 
 Africa, enough about African frailty to last 
 her for the rest of her life? And how much 
 more of life would remain to her after her 
 stock of knowledge had been thus increased? 
 The carriage turned into a second side street, 
 narrower and darker than the last. 
 
 " Are we going right? " she said apprehen- 
 sively. 
 
 "No, madame; we are going wrong we are 
 going to the wicked part of the city." 
 
 " But but you are sure Mr. Greyne will 
 be there?" 
 
 Abdallah Jack laughed sardonically. 
 
 " Monsieur Greyne is never anywhere else. 
 Monsieur Greyne is wicked as is a mad Tou- 
 areg of the desert." 
 
 " I don't think you quite understand my 
 husband," said Mrs. Greyne, feeling in duty 
 
 224: 
 
MR. EUSTACE GREYNE 
 
 bound to stand up for her poor, maligned 
 Eustace. " Whatever he may have done he 
 has done at my special request." 
 
 "Madame says?" 
 
 " I say that in all his proceedings while in 
 Algiers Mr. Greyne has been acting under my 
 directions." 
 
 Abdallah Jack fixed his enormous eyes 
 steadily upon her. 
 
 4 You are his wife, and told him to come 
 here, and to do as he has done? " 
 
 " Ye-yes," faltered Mrs. Greyne, for the 
 first time in her life feeling as if she were be- 
 ing escorted towards the criminal dock by a 
 jailer with Puritan tendencies. 
 
 " Then it is true what they say on the shores 
 of the great canal," he remarked composedly. 
 
 " What do they say? " inquired Mrs. 
 Greyne. 
 
 " That England is a land of female devils," 
 returned the guide as the carriage plunged in- 
 to a filthy alley, between two rows of blind 
 houses, and began to ascend a steep hill. 
 
 Mrs. Greyne gasped. She opened her lips 
 to protest vigorously, but her head swam 
 either from indignation or from fatigue and 
 she could not utter a word. The horses mount- 
 ed like cats upward into the dense blackness, 
 from which dropped down the faint sounds of 
 squealing music and of hoarse cries and laugh- 
 ter. The wheels bounded over the stones, sank 
 into the deep ruts, scraped against the sides 
 
 225 
 
THE MISSION OE 
 
 of the unlighted houses. And Abdallah Jack 
 sat staring at Mrs. Greyne as an English 
 clergyman's wife might stare at the appalling 
 rites of some deadly cannibal encountered in a 
 far-off land, with a stony wonder, a sort of 
 paralysed curiosity. 
 
 Suddenly the carriage stopped on a piece 
 of waste land covered with small pebbles. Ab- 
 dallah Jack sprang out. 
 
 'Why do we stop?" said Mrs. Greyne, 
 turning as pale as ashes. 
 
 " The carriage can go no farther. Madame 
 must walk." 
 
 Mrs. Greyne began to tremble. 
 
 ' We are to leave the coachman? " 
 
 " I shall escort madame, alone." 
 
 The great novelist's tongue cleaved to the 
 roof of her mouth. She felt like a Merrin's 
 exercise-book, every leaf of which was covered 
 with African frailty. However, there was no 
 help for it. She had to descend, and stand 
 among the pebbles. 
 
 ' Where are we going? " 
 
 Abdallah Jack waved his hand towards a 
 stone rampart dimly seen in the faint light 
 that emanated from the starry sky. 
 
 " Down there into the alley of the Dead 
 Dervishes." 
 
 Mrs. Greyne could not repress a cry of hor- 
 ror. At that moment she would have given a 
 thousand pounds to have Mrs. Forbes at her 
 side. 
 
 226 
 
MR. EUSTACE GREYNE 
 
 Abdallah Jack grasped her by the hand, and 
 led her ruthlessly forward. Gazing with ter- 
 ror-stricken eyes over the crumbling rampart 
 of the Kasbah, she saw the city far below her, 
 the lights of the streets, the lights of the ships 
 in harbour. She heard the music of a bugle, 
 and wished she were a Zouave safe in barracks. 
 She wished she were a German-Swiss porter, a 
 merry chasseur anything but Mrs. Eustace 
 Greyne. One thing alone supported her in 
 this hour of trial, the thought of her husband's 
 ecstasy when she appeared upon the dread 
 scene of his awful labours, to tell him that 
 he was released, that he need visit them no 
 more. 
 
 The alley of the Dead Dervishes is long and 
 winding. To Mrs. Greyne it seemed endless. 
 As she threaded it with faltering step, gripped 
 by the feverish hand of Abdallah Jack, who 
 now began to display a strange and terrible 
 excitement, she became a centre of curiosity. 
 Unwashed Arabs, rakish Zouaves in blue and 
 red, wandering Jews of various nationalities, 
 unveiled dancing-girls covered with jewels, 
 stared in wonder upon the chocolate brocade 
 and the floating bonnet strings, followed upon 
 her footsteps, pointing with painted fingers, 
 and making remarks of a personal nature in 
 French, Arabic, and other unknown tongues. 
 She moved in the midst of a crowd, on and on 
 before lighted interiors from which wild music 
 flowed. 
 
 227 
 
THE MISSION OF 
 
 " Shall we never be there? " she panted to 
 Abdallah Jack. " My limbs refuse their 
 office." She jogged against a Tunisian Jew- 
 ess in a pointed hat, and rebounded upon an 
 enormous Riff in a tattered sheep-skin. " I 
 can go no farther." 
 
 "We are there! Behold the house of the 
 Ouled!" 
 
 As he uttered the last word he burst into a 
 bitter laugh, and drew Mrs. Greyne, now 
 gasping for breath, through an open doorway 
 into a little hall of imitation marble, with 
 fluted pillars adorned with oilcloth, and walls 
 hung with imported oleographs. From a 
 chamber on the right, near a winding staircase 
 covered with blue-and-white tiles, came the 
 sound of laughter, of song, and of a hideous 
 music conveyed to the astonied ear by pipes 
 and drums. 
 
 "They are in there!" exclaimed Abdallah 
 Jack, folding his arms, and looking at Mrs. 
 Greyne. " Go to your husband! " 
 
 Mrs. Greyne put her hands to her magnifi- 
 cent forehead, and tottered forward. She 
 reached the door, she pushed it, she entered. 
 There upon a wooden dais, surrounded by gilt 
 mirrors and artificial roses, she beheld her hus- 
 band, in a check suit and a white Homburg 
 hat, performing the wildest evolutions, while 
 opposite him a lady, smothered in coloured 
 silks and coins, tattooed and painted, dyed and 
 scented, covered with kohl and crowned with 
 
 228 
 
MR. EUSTACE GREYNE 
 
 ostrich feathers, screamed a nasal chant of the 
 East, and bounded like an electrified monkey. 
 
 " Eustace! " cried Mrs. Greyne, leaning for 
 support against an oleograph. 
 
 Her husband turned. 
 
 "Eustace!" she cried again. "It is I!" 
 
 He stood as if turned to stone. Mrs. 
 Greyne hesitated, started, moved forward to 
 the dais, and stared upon the Ouled, who had 
 also ceased from dancing, and looked strange- 
 ly surprised, even confused, by the great nov- 
 elist's intrusion. 
 
 "Miss Verbena!" s^ie exclaimed. "Miss 
 Verbena in Algiers ! " 
 
 "Eugenia!" said Mr. Greyne in a husky 
 voice, " what is this you say? This lady is the 
 Ouled." 
 
 A sardonic laugh came from the doorway. 
 They turned. There stood Abdallah Jack. 
 He advanced roughly to the Ouled. 
 
 " Come," he said angrily. " Have we not 
 earned the money of the stranger? Have we 
 not earned enough? To-morrow you shall 
 marry me as you have promised, and we will 
 return to our own land, to the canal where you 
 and I were born. And nevermore shall the 
 Levantine instruct the babes of the English 
 devils, but dwell veiled and guarded in the 
 harem of her master." 
 
 " Mademoiselle Verbena! " said Mr. Greyne 
 in a more husky voice. " But but your dy- 
 ing mother? " 
 
 229 
 
MR. EUSTACE GREYNE 
 
 " She sleeps, monsieur, in the white sands 
 of Ismailia, beside the bitter lake. I trust that 
 madame can now go on with the respectable 
 ' Catherine.' J 
 
 And with an ironic reverence to Mrs. Eus- 
 tace Greyne she placed her hand in Abdallah 
 Jack's and vanished from the room. 
 
 " Catherine's Repentance," published in a 
 gigantic volume not many weeks ago, was pre- 
 ceded by Mr. Eustace Greyne's. When last 
 heard of he was seated in the magnificent 
 library of the corner house in Park Lane 
 next to the Duke of Ebury's, busily engaged 
 in pasting the newspaper notices of Mrs. 
 Greyne's greatest work into a superb new 
 album. 
 
 The Abdallah Jacks have returned to the 
 Suez Canal, bearing with them a snug little 
 fortune to be invested in the purchase of a coal 
 wharf at Port Said, and a remarkably hand- 
 some crocodile dressing-case, fitted with gold, 
 and monogrammed with the initials " E. G." 
 
 230 
 
DESERT AIR 
 
 ON an evening of last summer I was din- 
 ing in London at the Carlton with two 
 men. One of them was an excellent type of 
 young England, strong, healthy, athletic, and 
 straightforward. The other was a clever Lon- 
 don doctor who was building up a great prac- 
 tice in the West End. At dessert the conver- 
 sation turned upon a then recent tragedy in 
 which a great reputation had gone down, and 
 young England spoke rather contemptuously 
 of the victim, with the superior surprise human 
 beings generally express about the sin which 
 does not happen to be theirs. 
 
 " I can't understand it! " was his conclusion. 
 " It's beyond me." 
 
 " Climate," said the doctor quietly. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Climate. Air." 
 
 Young England looked inexpressively as- 
 tonished. 
 
 "But hang it all!" he exclaimed, "you 
 don't mean to say change of air means change 
 of nature? " 
 
 " Not to everyone. Not to you, perhaps. 
 Have you travelled much? " 
 
 231 
 
DESERT AIR 
 
 " Well, IVe been to Paris for the Grand 
 Prix, and to Monte 
 
 " For the gambling. That's hardly travel- 
 ling. Now, IVe studied this subject a little, 
 quietly in Harley Street. I'm no traveller my- 
 self, but I have dozens of patients who are. 
 And I'm convinced that the modern facilities 
 for travel, besides giving an infinity of pleas- 
 ure, bring about innumerable tragedies." 
 
 He turned to me. 
 
 " You go abroad a great deal. What do 
 you say? " 
 
 " That you're perfectly right. And I'm pre- 
 pared to affirm that, in highly-strung, imag- 
 inative, or over-worked people change of cli- 
 mate does sometimes actually cause, or seem to 
 cause, change of nature." 
 
 Young England, who was by no means 
 highly-strung or imaginative, looked politely 
 dubious, but the doctor was evidently pleased. 
 
 "An ally! "he cried. 
 
 He glanced at me for an instant, then 
 added: 
 
 1 You've got a case that proves it, at any 
 rate to you, in your mind." 
 
 " Quite true." 
 
 " Can you give it us? " 
 
 "Jove! let's have it!" exclaimed young 
 England. 
 
 " Certainly, if you like," I said. " I don't 
 know whether you ever heard of the Marnier 
 affair? " 
 
DESERT AIR 
 
 Young England shook his head, but the 
 doctor replied at once. 
 
 " Three years ago, wasn't it? " 
 
 " Four." 
 
 " And it happened in some remote place in 
 the Sahara Desert?" 
 
 " In Beni-Kouidar. I was with Henry 
 Marnier in Beni-Kouidar at the time." 
 
 " Go ahead! " said young England more 
 eagerly. 
 
 " Poor Marnier was not an old friend of 
 mine, but an acquaintance whom I had met 
 casually at Beni-Mora, which is known as a 
 health resort." 
 
 " I send patients there sometimes," said the 
 doctor. 
 
 " The railway stops at Beni-Mora. To 
 reach Beni-Kouidar one must go on horse or 
 camel back over between three and four hun- 
 dred kilometres of desert, sleeping on the way 
 at Travellers' Houses Bordjs as they are 
 called there. Beni-Kouidar lies in the midst 
 of immeasurable sands, and the air that blows 
 through its palm gardens, and round its 
 mosque towers, and down its alleys under the 
 arcades, is startling: dry as the finest cham- 
 pagne, almost fiercely pure and fresh, exhilar- 
 ating well, too exhilarating for certain peo- 
 ple." 
 
 The doctor nodded. 
 
 " Champagne goes very quickly to some 
 heads," he interjected. 
 
 233 
 
DESERT AIR 
 
 " Beni-Kouidar has nothing to say to mod- 
 ern civilisation. It is a wild and turbulent city, 
 divided into quarters the Arab quarter, the 
 Jews' quarter, the freed negroes' quarter, and 
 so on and furthermore, is infested at certain 
 seasons by the Sahara nomads, who camp in 
 filthy tents on the huge sand dunes round 
 about, and sell rugs, burnouses, and Touareg 
 work to the inhabitants, buying in return the 
 dates for which the palms of Beni-Kouidar 
 are celebrated. 
 
 " I wanted to see a real Sahara city to which 
 the Cook's tourist had not as yet penetrated, 
 and I resolved to ride there from Beni-Mora. 
 When Henry Marnier heard of it he asked if 
 he might accompany me. 
 
 " Marnier was a young man who had re- 
 cently left Oxford, and who had come out to 
 Beni-Mora only a week before to see his moth- 
 er, who was going through the sulphur cure. 
 He was what is generally called a ' serious- 
 minded young man ' ; intellectual, inclined to 
 grave reading and high thinking, totally de- 
 void of frivolity, a little cold in manner and 
 temperament, one would have sworn ; in fact, a 
 type of a very well-known kind of Oxford 
 undergraduate, the kind that takes a good tu- 
 torship for a year or so after leaving the Uni- 
 versity, and then becomes a schoolmaster or a 
 clergyman. Marnier, by the way, intended to 
 take orders. 
 
 " Now, this sort of young man is not pre- 
 234 
 
DESERT AIR 
 
 cisely my sort, and especially not my sort in 
 the Sahara Desert. But I did not want to be 
 rude to Marnier, who was friendly and agree- 
 able, and obviously anxious to increase his al- 
 ready considerable store of knowledge. So I 
 put my inclinations in my pocket, and, with 
 inward reluctance, I agreed. 
 
 " We set off with Safti, my faithful one- 
 eyed Arab guide, and after three long days of 
 riding and talking as I had feared Maeter- 
 link and Tolstoy, Henley and Verlaine (this 
 last being utterly corfcLemned by Marnier as a 
 man of weak character and degraded life) 
 we saw the towers of Beni-Kouidar aspiring 
 above the shifting sands, the tufted summits 
 of the thousands of palm-trees, and heard the 
 dull beating of drums and the cries of people 
 borne to us over the spaces of which silence is 
 the steady guardian. 
 
 " We were all pretty tired, but Marnier was 
 especially done up. He had recently been 
 working very hard for the * first ' with which 
 he had left Oxford, and was not in good con- 
 dition. We were, therefore, glad enough when 
 we rode through the wide street thronged with 
 natives, turned the corner into the great camel 
 market, and finally dismounted before the 
 door of the one inn, the ' Rendezvous des 
 Amis/ a mean, dusty, one-storey building, on 
 whose dirty white wall was a crude painting of 
 a preposterous harridan in a purple empire 
 gown, pouring wine for a Zouave who was 
 
 235 
 
DESERT AIR 
 
 evidently afflicted with elephantiasis. Yet, 
 tired as I was, I stepped out into the camel 
 market for a moment before going into the 
 house, emptied my lungs, and slowly filled 
 them. 
 
 " ' What air! ' I said to Marnier, who had 
 followed me. 
 
 ' It is extraordinary,' he answered in his 
 rather dry tenor voice. ' I should say like the 
 best champagne, if I did not happen to be a 
 teetotaller.' 
 
 " (The market, I must explain, was not at 
 that moment in active operation. ) 
 
 " After a bain de siege we both longed for 
 total immersion and some weak tea, in which 
 I mingled a spoonful of rum, we felt better, 
 but we reposed till dinner, and once again 
 Marnier, in his habitually restrained and criti- 
 cal manner, discussed contemporary literature, 
 and what Plato and Aristotle, judging by} 
 their writings, would have been likely to think 
 of it. And once again I felt as if I were in 
 the ' High ' at Oxford, and was almost in- 
 clined to wish that Marnier was the rowdy 
 type of undergrad, who ducks people in water 
 troughs and makes bonfires in quads." 
 
 " H'm! " said the doctor gravely. " Better, 
 perhaps, if he had been." 
 
 " Much better," I answered. " At seven 
 o'clock we ate a rather tough dinner in the 
 small, bare salle-a-manger , on the red brick 
 floor of which sand grains were lying. Our 
 
 236 
 
DESERT AIR 
 
 only companion was a bearded priest in a dirty 
 soutane, the aumonier of Beni-Kouidar, who 
 sat at a little table apart, and greeted our en- 
 trance with a polite bow, but did not then 
 speak to us. 
 
 " When the meal was ended, however, he 
 joined us as we stood at the inn door looking 
 out into the night. A moon was rising above 
 the palms, and gilding the cupolas of the Bu- 
 reau Arabe on the far side of the Market 
 Square. A distant noise of tomtoms and Afri- 
 can pipes was audible. And all down the hill 
 to our left for the l^nd rose to where the inn 
 stood fires gleamed, and we could see half- 
 naked figures passing and repassing them, and 
 others squatting beside, looking like monks in 
 their hooped burnouses. 
 
 " ' You are going out, messieurs? ' said the 
 aumonier politely. 
 
 " I looked at Marnier. 
 
 " ' You're too done up, I expect? ' I said to 
 him. 
 
 " His face was pale, and he certainly had 
 the demeanour of a tired man. 
 
 " * No/ he answered. ' I should like to stroll 
 in this wonderful air.' 
 
 " I turned to the priest. 
 
 " ' Yes, monsieur/ I said. 
 
 ' I come here to take my meals, but I 
 live at the edge of the town. Perhaps you 
 will permit me to accompany you for a little 
 way/ 
 
 237 
 
DESERT AIR 
 
 " ' We shall be delighted, and we know 
 nothing of Beni-Kouidar.' 
 
 " As we stepped out into the market Mar- 
 nier paused to light his pipe. But suddenly 
 he threw away the match he had struck. 
 
 ' No, it's a sin to smoke in this air,' he said. 
 
 " And he drew a deep breath, looking at the 
 round moon. 
 
 " The priest smiled. 
 
 ' I have lived here for four years,' he said, 
 ' and cannot resist my cigar. But you are 
 right. The air of Beni-Kouidar is extraor- 
 dinary. When first I came here it used to 
 mount to my head like wine.' 
 
 " ' Bad for you, Marnier! ' I said, laughing. 
 
 ' Then I added, to the aumonier: 
 
 " ' My friend never drinks wine, and so 
 ought to be peculiarly susceptible to such an 
 influence.' 
 
 238 
 
DESERT AIR 
 
 II 
 
 " OPPOSITE to the aumonier's dwelling was the 
 great dancing-house of the town, and when 
 we had bade him good-night, and turned to go 
 back to the inn, I rather tentatively suggested 
 to Marnier that, perhaps, it would be interest- 
 ing to look in there for a moment. 
 
 ' All right/ he responded, with his most 
 donnish manner. ' But I expect it will be 
 rather an unwashed crowd.' 
 
 " A quantity of native soldiers the sort 
 that used to be called Turcos were gathered 
 round the door. We pushed our way through 
 them, and entered. The cafe was large, with 
 big white pillars and a double row of divans 
 in the middle, and divans rising in tiers 
 all round. On the left was a large door- 
 way, in which gorgeously-dressed painted 
 women, with gold crowns on their heads, were 
 standing, smoking cigarettes, and laughing 
 with the Arabs; and at the end farthest from 
 the street entrance was a raised platform, on 
 which sat three musicians a wild-looking 
 demon of a man blowing into an instrument 
 with an immense funnel, and two men beating 
 tomtoms. The noise they made was terrific. 
 The piper wore a voluminous burnouse, and as 
 
 239 
 
DESERT AIR 
 
 the dancers came in in pairs from the big door- 
 way, which led into the court where they all 
 live together, each in her separate little room 
 with her own front door, they threw their door 
 keys into the hood that was attached to it. As 
 soon as they had finished dancing they w r ent to 
 the hood, and rummaged violently for them 
 again. And all the time the piper blew franti- 
 cally into his instrument, and rocked himself 
 about like a man in a convulsion. 
 
 ' We sat on one of the raised divans, with 
 coffee before us on a wooden stool, and Mar- 
 nier observed it all with a slightly supercilious 
 coldness. The women, who were dressed in 
 different shades of red, and were the most 
 amazing trollops I ever set eyes on, came and 
 went in pairs, fluttered their painted fingers, 
 twittered like startled birds, jumped and 
 twirled, wriggled and revolved, and inclined 
 their greasy foreheads to the impenetrable 
 spectators, who stuck silver coins on to the per- 
 spiring flesh. And Marnier sat and gazed at 
 them with the aloofness of one who watches 
 the creatures in puddle water through a micro- 
 scope. I could scarcely help laughing at him, 
 but I wished him away. For to me there was 
 excitement, there was even a sort of ecstasy, in 
 the utter barbarity of this spectacle, in the 
 moving scarlet figures with their golden 
 crowns and tufts of ostrich plumes, in the ser- 
 ried masses of turbaned and hooded specta- 
 tors, in the rocking forms of the musicians, in 
 
 240 
 
DESERT AIR 
 
 the strident and ceaseless uproar that they; 
 made. 
 
 " And through the doorway where the Tur- 
 cos I like the old name crowded I saw the 
 sand filtering in from the desert, and against 
 the black leaves of a solitary palm-tree, with 
 leaves like giant Fatma hands, I saw the silver 
 disc of the moon. 
 
 ' I vote we go,' said Marnier's light tenor 
 voice in my ear. ' The atmosphere's awful in 
 here.' 
 
 " ' Very well,' I said. 
 
 "I got up; but just then a girl, dressed 
 in midnight purple embroidered with silver, 
 came in from the doorway, and began to dance 
 alone. She was very young fourteen, I 
 found out afterwards and, in contrast to the 
 other women, extremely beautiful. There were 
 grace, seduction, mystery, and coquetry in her 
 face and in all her movements. Her long 
 black eyes held fire and dreams. Her flutter- 
 ing hands seemed beckoning us to the realms 
 of the thousand and one nights. I stood where 
 I had got up, and watched her. 
 
 " ' I say, aren't we going? ' said Marnier's 
 voice in my ear. 
 
 " I cursed the day when I had agreed to 
 take him with me, leaped down to the earth, 
 and struggled towards the door. As we neared 
 it the girl sidled down the room till she was ex- 
 actly in front of Marnier. Then she danced 
 before him, smiling with her immense eyes, 
 
 241 
 
DESERT AIR 
 
 which she fixed steadily upon him, and bend- 
 ing forward her pretty head, covered with a 
 cloth of silver handkerchief. 
 
 " ' Give her something,' I said to him, laugh- 
 ing, as he stared back at her grimly. 
 
 " He thrust his hand into his pocket, found 
 a franc, stuck it awkwardly against her oval 
 forehead, and followed me out. 
 
 :< When we were in the sandy street he 
 walked a few steps in silence, then stood still, 
 and, to my surprise, stared back at the 
 dancing-house. Then he put his hand to his 
 head. 
 
 1 Is the air having its alcoholic effect? ' I 
 asked in joke. 
 
 " As I spoke a handsome Arab, splendidly 
 dressed in a pale blue robe, red gaiters and 
 boots, and a turban of fine muslin, spangled 
 with gold, passed us slowly, going towards the 
 dancing-house. He cast a glance full of sus- 
 picion and malice at Marnier. 
 
 666 What's up with that fellow?' I said, 
 startled. 
 
 :< The Arab went on, and at that moment 
 the faithful Safti joined us. He never left 
 me long out of his sight in these outlandish 
 places. 
 
 " ' That is the Batouch Sidi, the brother of 
 the Caid of Beni-Kouidar/ he said. ' Algia, 
 the dancer to whom Monsieur Henri has just 
 given money, is his chere amie. But as the 
 government has just made him a sheik, he 
 
DESERT AIR 
 
 dares not have her in his house for fear of the 
 scandal. So he has put her with the dancers. 
 That is why she dances, to deceive everyone, 
 not to make money. She is not as the other 
 dancers. But everyone knows, for Batouch is 
 mad with jealousy. He cannot bear that 
 Algia should dance before strangers, but what 
 can he do? A sheik must not have a scandal in 
 his dwelling.' 
 
 ' We walked on slowly. When we got to 
 the door of the ' Rendezvous des Amis ' Mar- 
 nier stood still again, and looked down the de- 
 serted, moonlit camel market. 
 
 " ' I never knew air like this,' he said in a 
 low voice. 
 
 " And once more he expelled the air from 
 his lungs, and drew in a long, slow breath, as a 
 man does when he has finished his dumbbell 
 exercise in the morning. 
 
 " ' Don't drink too much of it,' I said. ' Re- 
 member what the aumoriier told us ! ' 
 
 " Marnier looked at me. I thought there 
 was something apprehensive in his eyes. But 
 he said nothing, and we turned in. 
 
 " The next day I rode out with Safti into 
 the desert to visit a sacred personage of great 
 note in the Sahara, Sidi El Ahmed Ben Daoud 
 Abderahmann. To my relief Marnier de- 
 clined to come. He said he was tired, and 
 would stroll about the city. When we got 
 back at sundown the innkeeper handed me a 
 note. I opened it, and found it was from the 
 
 243 
 
DESERT AIR 
 
 aumonier, saying that he would be greatly 
 obliged if I would call and see him on my re- 
 turn, as he had various little curiosities which 
 he would be glad to show me. Marnier was 
 not in the inn, and, as I had nothing particular 
 to do, I walked at once to the aumonier's house. 
 As I have said, it was the last in the town. The 
 dancing-house was on the opposite side of the 
 way; but the aumonier's dwelling jutted out 
 a little farther into the desert, and looked full 
 on a deep depression of soft sand bounded by 
 a big dune, which loomed up like a couchant 
 beast in the fading yellow light. 
 
 " The aumonier met me at his door, and es- 
 corted me into a pleasant room, where his col- 
 lection of Arab weapons, coins, and old vases, 
 cups, and various utensils, dug up, he told me, 
 at Tlemcen, was arranged. But to my sur- 
 prise he scarcely took time to show it to me be- 
 fore he said : 
 
 " ' Though a stranger, may I venture to 
 speak rather intimately to you, monsieur? ' 
 
 " ' Certainly,' I replied, in some astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 " ' Your friend is young.' 
 
 "'Marnier?' 
 
 "'Is that his name? Well, I would riot 
 leave him to stroll about too much alone, if I 
 were you.' 
 
 " ' Why, monsieur? ' 
 
 " * He is likely to get into trouble. The peo- 
 ple here are a wild and violent race. He would 
 
 244 
 
DESERT AIR 
 
 do well to bear in mind the saying of a travel- 
 ler who knew the desert men better than most 
 people: "If you want to be friendly with 
 them, and safe among them, give cigarettes to 
 the men, and leave the women alone." I see 
 a good deal, monsieur, owing to the situation 
 of my little house.' 
 
 " I looked at him in silence. Then I said: 
 
 " ' What have you seen? ' 
 
 " He led me to the door, and pointed to- 
 wards the great dune beyond the dancing- 
 house. 
 
 " I saw your friend this afternoon talking 
 there with one whom it is especially unsafe to 
 be seen with in Beni-Kouidar.' 
 
 " ' With whom? ' 
 
 " ' A dancer called Algia.' 
 
 " * Talking, monsieur! Marnier knows no 
 Arabic.' 
 
 " The aumonier pursed his lips in his black 
 beard. 
 
 " ' The conversation appeared to be carried 
 on by signs/ he responded. * That did not 
 make it less but more dangerous.' 
 
 "I'm afraid I was rude, and whistled softly. 
 
 " ' Monsieur 1'Aumonier,' I said, ' you must 
 forgive me, but this air is certainly the very 
 devil.' 
 
 " He smiled, not without irony. 
 
 " * I became aware of that myself, monsieur, 
 when first I came to live in Beni-Kouidar. But 
 I am a priest, and well, monsieur, I was giv- 
 
 245 
 
DESERT AIR 
 
 en the strength to say: " Get thee behind me, 
 Satan." 
 
 " A softer look came into his sunburnt, 
 wrinkled face. 
 
 " ' Better take your friend away as soon as 
 possible/ he added, ' or there will be trouble/ 
 
 246 
 
DESERT AIR 
 
 III 
 
 "THAT night I found myself confronted by a 
 Marnier whom I had never seen before. The 
 desert wine had gone to the lad's brain. That 
 was certain. No intonations of the Oxford 
 don lurked in the voice. No reminiscences of 
 the Oxford ' High ' clung about the manner. 
 A man sober and the same man drunk are 
 scarcely more different than the Marnier who 
 had ridden with me up the sandy street of 
 Beni-Kouidar the previous day and the man 
 who sat opposite to me at dinner in the ' Ren- 
 dezvous des Amis' that night. I knew in a 
 moment that the aumonier was right, and that 
 I must get the lad away at once from the in- 
 toxicant which nature poured out over this 
 far-away city. His eyes were shining fever- 
 ishly, and when I mentioned Mr. Ruskin in a 
 casual way he looked unutterably bored. 
 
 * Ruskin and all those fellows seem awful- 
 ly slow and out of place here,' he exclaimed. 
 * One doesn't want to bother about them in the 
 Sahara.' 
 
 " I changed the subject. 
 
 6 There doesn't seem very much to see 
 here,' I said carelessly. * We might get away 
 the day after to-morrow, don't you think? ' 
 
 " He drew his brows down. 
 247 
 
DESERT AIR 
 
 " ' The horses won't be sufficiently rested/ 
 he said curtly. 
 
 " ' Oh yes ; I fancy they will.' 
 
 " ' Well, I don't fancy I shall. The long 
 ride took it out of me.' 
 
 * Turn in to-night, then, directly after 
 dinner.' 
 
 " He looked at me with sharp Suspicion. 1 
 met his gaze blandly. 
 
 ' I mean to,' he said after a short pause. 
 
 " I knew he was telling me a lie, but I only 
 said : ' That's right ! ' and resolved to keep an 
 eye on him. 
 
 " Directly dinner was over he sprang up 
 from the table. 
 
 " * Good-night,' he said. 
 
 " And before I could reply he was out of the 
 salle-a-manger, and I heard him tramp along 
 the brick floor of the passage, go into his room, 
 and bang the door. 
 
 " The aumonier was getting up from his 
 little table, and shaking the crumbs from his 
 soutane. 
 
 " ' You are quite right, monsieur,' I said to 
 him. ' I must get my friend away.' 
 
 " * I shall be sorry to lose you,' replied the 
 good priest. ' But desert air, desert air! ' 
 
 " He shook his head, half wistfully, half 
 laughingly, bowed, put on his broad-brimmed 
 black hat, and went out. 
 
 " After a moment I followed him. I stood 
 in the doorway of the inn, and lit a cigar. I 
 
 248 
 
DESERT AIR 
 
 knew Marnier was not going to bed, and 
 meant to catch him when he came out, and join 
 him. In common politeness he could scarcely 
 refuse my company, since he had asked me as 
 a favour to let him come with me to Beni-Koui- 
 dar. I waited, watching the moon rise, till my 
 cigar was smoked out. Then I lit another. 
 Still he did not come. I heard the distant 
 throb of tomtoms beyond the Bureau Arabe 
 in the quarter of the freed negroes. They 
 were having a fantasia. I began to think that 
 I must have been mistaken, and that Marnier 
 had really turned in. So much the better. The 
 ash dropped from the stump of my second 
 cigar, and the deserted camel market was 
 flooded with silver from the moon-rays. I 
 knew there was only one door to the inn. 
 Slowly I lit a third cigar. 
 
 " A large cloud went over the face of the 
 moon. A gust of wind struck my face. Sud- 
 denly the night had changed. The moon 
 looked forth again, and was again obscured. 
 A second gust struck me like a blow, and my 
 face was stung by a multitude of sand grains. 
 I heard steps behind me in the brick passage, 
 turned swiftly, and saw the landlord. 
 
 " ' I must shut the door, m'sieu,' he said. 
 * There's a bad sandstorm coming up.' 
 
 " As he spoke the wind roared, and over the 
 camel market a thick fog seemed to fall ab- 
 ruptly. It was a sheet of sand from the sur- 
 rounding dunes. I threw away my cigar, 
 
 249 
 
DESERT AIR 
 
 stepped into the passage, and the landlord 
 banged the door, and drove home the heavy 
 bolts. 
 
 :< Then I went to Marnier 's room, and 
 knocked. I felt sure, but I thought I would 
 make sure before going to my room. 
 
 " No answer. 
 
 " I knocked again loudly. 
 
 " Again no answer. 
 
 ( Then I turned the handle, and entered. 
 
 ' The room was empty. I glanced round 
 quickly. The small window was open. All 
 the windows of the inn were barred, but, as I 
 learned later, a bar in Manner's had been 
 broken, and was not yet replaced when we ar- 
 rived at Beni-Kouidar. In consequence of this 
 it was possible to squeeze through into the ar- 
 cade outside. This was what Marnier had 
 done. My precise, gentlemanly, reserved, and 
 methodical acquaintance had deliberately giv- 
 en me the slip by sneaking out of a window 
 like a schoolboy, and creeping round the edge 
 of the inn to the fosse that lay in the shadow of 
 the sand dunes. As I realised this I realised 
 his danger. 
 
 " I ran to my room, fetched my revolver, 
 slipped it into my pocket, and hurried to the 
 front door. The landlord heard me trying to 
 undo the bolts, and came out protesting. 
 
 " ' M'sieu cannot go out into the storm.' 
 ' I must.' 
 
 " * But m'sieu does not know what Beni- 
 
 250 
 
DESERT AIR 
 
 Kouidar is like when the sand is blown on the 
 wind. It is enfer. Besides, it is not safe. In 
 the darkness m'sieu may receive a mauvais 
 coup.* 
 
 " ' Make haste, please, and open the door. I 
 am going to fetch my friend.' 
 
 " He pulled the bolts, grumbling and swear- 
 ing, and I went out into enfer. For he was 
 right. A sandstorm at night in Beni-Kouidar 
 is hell. 
 
 " Luckily, Safti joined me mysteriously 
 from the deuce knows where, and we staggered 
 to the dancing-house somehow, and struggled 
 in, blinded, our faces scored, our clothes heavy 
 with sand, our pockets, our very boots, weighed 
 down with it. 
 
 ' The tomtoms were roaring, the pipe was 
 yelling, blown by the frantic demon with his 
 hood full of latch keys, the impassible, bearded 
 faces were watching the painted women who, 
 in their red garments and their golden crowns, 
 promenaded down the earthen floor, between 
 the divans, fluttering their dyed fingers, smil- 
 ing grotesquely like idols, bending forward 
 their greasy foreheads to receive the tribute of 
 their admirers. 
 
 " I ran my eyes swiftly over the mob. Mar- 
 nier was not in it. I pushed my way towards 
 the doorway on the left which gave on to the 
 court of the dancers. 
 
 " Safti caught hold of my arm. 
 
 " ' It is not safe to go in there on such a 
 251 
 
DESERT AIR 
 
 night, Sidi. There are no lamps. It is black 
 as a tomb. And no one can tell who may be 
 there. Nomads, perhaps, men of evil from the 
 south. Many murders have been done in the 
 court on black nights, and no one can say who 
 has done them. For all the time men go in and 
 out to the rooms of the dancers.' 
 
 ' Nevertheless, Safti, I must ' 
 
 " I stopped speaking, for at this moment 
 Batouch,the brother of theCaid of Beni-Koui- 
 dar, came slowly in through the doorway from 
 the blackness of the sand-swept court. There 
 was a strange smile on his handsome face, and 
 he was caressing his black beard gently with 
 one delicate hand. He saw me, smiled more 
 till I caught the gleam of his white teeth, 
 passed on into the dancing-house, sat down on 
 a divan, and called for coffee. I could not take 
 my eyes from him. Every movement he made 
 fascinated me. He drew from his pale blue 
 robe a silver box, opened it, lifted out a pinch 
 of tobacco, and began carefully to roll a cigar- 
 ette. And all the time he smiled. 
 
 " A glacial cold crept over my body. As he 
 lit his cigarette I caught hold of Safti, and 
 hurried through the doorway into the black- 
 ness of the whirling sand." 
 
 Here I stopped. 
 
 ' Well? " said young England. " Well? 
 The doctor did not speak. 
 
 252 
 
DESERT AIR 
 
 "Well," I answered. " Algia danced that 
 night. While she was dancing we found a 
 dead body in the court. It was Marnier's. A 
 knife had been thrust into him from behind! " 
 
 "Ah! "said the doctor. 
 
 " But exclaimed young England, " it 
 was that fellow? It was Batouch? " 
 
 I shrugged my shoulders. 
 
 " Nobody ever found out who did it." 
 
 :< Well, but of course " 
 
 He checked himself, and an expression of 
 admiration dawned slowly over his healthy, 
 handsome face. 
 
 " I say," he said, " to be able to roll a cigar- 
 ette directly afterwards! What infernal 
 cheek!" 
 
 " Desert air! " I replied. " My dear chap 
 desert air! " 
 
 The doctor nodded. 
 
 253 
 
'FIN TIREUR* 
 
 TWO years ago I was travelling by dili- 
 gence in the Sahara Desert on the great 
 caravan route, which starts from Beni-Mora 
 and ends, they say, at Tombouctou. For four- 
 teen hours each day we were on the road, and 
 each evening about nine o'clock we stopped at 
 a Bordj,or Travellers' House, ate a hasty meal, 
 threw ourselves down on our gaudy Arab rugs, 
 and slept heavily till the hour before dawn, 
 drugged by fatigue and by the strong air of 
 the desert. In the late afternoon of the third 
 day of our journeying we drove into a sand- 
 storm. A great wind arose, carrying with it 
 innumerable multitudes of sand grains, which 
 whirled about the diligence and the struggling 
 horses, blotting out the desert as completely as 
 a London fog blots out the street on a Novem- 
 ber day. The cold became intense, and very 
 soon I began to long for the next halting- 
 place. 
 
 4 Where do we stop to-night? " I shouted to 
 the French driver, who, with his yellow toque 
 pulled down over his ears, was chirping en- 
 couragement to his horses. 
 
 " Sidi-Hamdane," he answered, without 
 turning his head. " At the inn of ' Fin 
 Tireur.' " 
 
 255 
 
"FIN TIREUR" 
 
 Three hours later we drew up before a low 
 building, from which a light shone kindly, and 
 I scrambled down stiffly, and lurched into the 
 longed-for shelter. 
 
 There was a man in the doorway, a short, 
 sturdy, middle-aged Frenchman, with strong 
 features, a tuft of grey beard, heavy eyebrows, 
 and dark, prominent eyes, with a hot, shining 
 look in them. 
 
 ec Bon soir, m'sieu," he said. 
 
 ff Bon soir" I answered. 
 
 This was my host, the innkeeper whom the 
 driver had called " Fin Tireur." 
 
 I found out afterwards that he was not only 
 landlord of the desolate inn, but cook, garcon ; 
 in fact, the whole personnel. He lived there 
 absolutely alone, and was the only European 
 in this Arab village lost in the great spaces of 
 the Sahara. This information I drew from 
 him while he waited upon me at dinner, which 
 I ate in solitude. My companions of the dili- 
 gence were Arabs, who had melted away like 
 ghosts into the desolation so soon as the dili- 
 gence had rolled into the paved courtyard 
 round which the one-storied house was built. 
 
 When I had finished dinner I lit a cigar. I 
 was now quite alone in the bare salle-a-manger. 
 The storm was at its height; the sand was driv- 
 en like hail against the wooden shutters of the 
 windows, and I felt dreary enough. The 
 French driver was no doubt supping in the 
 
 256 
 
"FIN TIREUR" 
 
 kitchen with the landlord, perhaps beside a 
 fire. I began to long for company, for 
 warmth, and I resolved to join them. I 
 opened the door, therefore, and peered out into 
 the passage. There was no sound of voices; 
 but I saw a light at a little distance, went to- 
 wards it, and found myself in a small kitchen, 
 where the landlord was sitting alone by a red 
 wood fire in the midst of his pots and pans, 
 smoking a thin black cigar, and reading a 
 dirty number of the Journal Anti-Juif of Al- 
 giers. He put it down politely as I came in. 
 ' You're alone, monsieur," I said. 
 ' Yes, m'sieu. The driver has gone to see 
 to the horses." 
 
 I offered him one of my Havanas, which he 
 accepted with alacrity, and drew up with him 
 before the fire. 
 
 " You have been living here long, mon- 
 sieur?" 
 
 " Twenty years, m'sieu." 
 ' Twenty years alone in this desert place! " 
 
 " Nineteen years alone, m'sieu. Before that 
 I had my little Marie." 
 
 "Marie?" 
 
 "My child, m'sieu. She is buried in the 
 sand behind the inn." 
 
 I looked at him in silence. His brown, 
 wrinkled face was calm, but in his prominent 
 eyes there was still the hot shining look I had 
 observed in them when I arrived. 
 
 257 
 
"FIN TIREUR" 
 
 " The palms begin there," he added. " Year 
 by year I have saved what I could, and now I 
 have bought all the palm-trees near where she 
 lies." 
 
 He puffed away at his Havana. 
 ' You come from France?" I asked pres- 
 ently. 
 
 " From the Midi I was born at Cassis, 
 near Marseille." 
 
 " Don't you ever intend to go back there? " 
 " Never, m'sieu. Would you have me desert 
 my child?" 
 
 ' But," I said gently, " she is dead." 
 ' Yes ; but I have promised her that her bon 
 papa will lie with her presently for company. 
 Leave her alone with the Arabs! " 
 
 A sudden look of horror came into his face. 
 ' You don't like the Arabs? " 
 "Like the dirty dogs! You haven't been 
 told about me, m'sieu? " 
 
 " Only that your name was ' Fin Tireur.' ' 
 1 Fin Tireur.' Yes; that's what they call 
 me in the desert." 
 
 ' You're a sportsman? A ' capital shot '? " 
 He laughed suddenly, and his laugh made 
 me feel cold. 
 
 " Oh! they don't call me ' Fin Tireur ' be- 
 cause I can hit gazelle, and bring them home 
 for supper. No, no! Shall I tell you why? " 
 He looked at me half defiantly, half wist- 
 fully, I thought. 
 
 " But if I do, perhaps your stomach will 
 258 
 
"FIN TIREUR" 
 
 turn against the food I cooked with these 
 hands," he added suddenly, stretching out 
 his hands towards me. "You are English, 
 m'sieu?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Then I daresay you won't understand." 
 
 " I think I shall," I answered, looking full 
 at him. 
 
 The way he had spoken of his child had 
 drawn me to him. Whatever he had done, I 
 felt that chivalry and tenderness were in this 
 man. 
 
 ' Why do they call you ' Fin Tireur '? " 
 
 :< The men of the Midi, m'sieu, are not like 
 the men of the rest of France," said Fin Tir- 
 eur "at least so they say. We are boasters, 
 perhaps; but we've got more love of adven- 
 ture, more wish to see the world, and do some- 
 thing big in it. They're talkers, you know, in 
 the Midi, and they tell of what they've done. 
 I heard them at Cassis when I was a boy, and 
 one day I saw a Zouave in front of the inn 
 balcony, where folks come on fete days to eat 
 the bouillabaisse. The talk I had heard made 
 me wish to rove; but when I saw the Zouave, 
 in his big red trousers and blue and red jacket, 
 I said to myself : ' As soon as my three years' 
 service is over I'll go to Africa, and make my 
 fortune.' I did my three years at Grenoble, 
 m'sieu, and when it was done I carried out my 
 resolve. I came to Africa; but I didn't come 
 alone." 
 
 259 
 
"FIN TIREUR" 
 
 He puffed at his cigar for a minute or two, 
 and the hot look in his eyes became more 
 definite, like a fanned flame. 
 
 " You took a comrade? " 
 
 " I took a wife, a girl of Cassis. A good 
 girl she was then." 
 
 He paused again, then continued, in rather 
 a loud voice: " She was good, m'sieu, because 
 she had seen nothing. That's often the way. 
 It was I who put it into her head that there 
 were things to be seen better than rocks, and 
 dead white dusty roads, and fishing boats 
 against the quay. I've thought of that since I 
 since I got my name of Fin Tireur. Her 
 name was Marie, and she was eighteen when 
 we stood before the priest. Next day we went 
 to Marseille, and took the boat for Algiers. 
 Our heads were full of I don't know what. 
 We thought we were clever ones, and should 
 do well in a country like Africa. And so we 
 did at first. We got into a hotel at Algiers. 
 She was housemaid, and I was porter in the 
 hall, and what with the goings and comings 
 strangers giving us a little when we'd done our 
 best for them we made some money, and we 
 saved it. And I wish to God we'd spent it, 
 every sou! " 
 
 His voice became fierce for a moment. Then 
 he continued, with an obvious effort to be 
 calm: "You see, m'sieu, at Algiers we had 
 nothing to say to the Arabs. With the money 
 we'd saved we left Algiers, and came into the 
 
 260 
 
"FIN TIREUR" 
 
 desert to take a cafe which was to let near the 
 station at Beni-Mora." 
 
 " I've just come from there." 
 
 " They call it ' Au Retour du Sahara.' " 
 
 " I've had coffee there." 
 
 " That was ours, and there little Marie 
 was born. In those days there weren't many 
 strangers in Beni-Mora. The railway had only 
 just come there, and it was wild enough. Very 
 few, except the Arabs. Well, they were often 
 our customers. We learned to talk a bit of 
 their language, and they a bit of ours; and, 
 having no friends out there, I might say we 
 made sort of friends with some of them. The 
 dirty dogs ! The camels ! " 
 
 He struck his clenched hand down on the 
 table. As he talked he had lost his former con- 
 sciousness of my close observation. 
 
 " But they know how to please women, 
 
 m'sieu." 
 
 ' They are often very handsome," I said. 
 
 " It isn't only that. They can stare a woman 
 down as a wild beast can, and that's what 
 women like. I never so much as looked on 
 them as men not in that way, for a Cassis 
 woman, m'sieu. But Marie 
 
 He choked, ground his teeth on his cigar 
 stump, let it drop, and stamped out the glow- 
 ing end on the brick floor with his heel. 
 
 " She served them, m'sieu," he resumed, af- 
 ter clearing his throat. " But I was mostly 
 there, and I don't see how but women can al- 
 
"FIN IIREUR" 
 
 ways find the way. Well, one day she went 
 to what they call a sand-diviner. She didn't 
 pretend anything. She told me she wanted 
 to go, and I was ready. I was always ready 
 that she should have any little pleasure. I 
 couldn't leave the cafe, so she went off alone 
 to a room he had by the Garden of the Ga- 
 zelles, at the end of the dancing-street." 
 
 " I know over the place where they smoke 
 the kief." 
 
 " She didn't answer, but went and sat down 
 under the arbour, opposite to where they wash 
 the clothes. I followed her, for she looked 
 ill. 
 
 " ' Did he read in the sand for you? ' I said. 
 
 "' Yes,' she said; 4 he did.' 
 6 What things did he read? ' 
 
 " She turned, and looked right at me. * That 
 my fate lies in the sand,' she said ' and yours, 
 and hers.' 
 
 " And she pointed at little Marie, who was 
 playing with a yellow kid we had then just by 
 the door. 
 
 " ' What's that to be afraid of ? ' I asked 
 her. ' Haven't we come to the desert to make 
 our fortune, and isn't there sand in the des- 
 ert?' 
 
 " ' Not much by here,' she said. 
 
 " And that's true, m'sieu. It's hard ground, 
 you know, at Beni-Mora." 
 
 " Yes," I said, offering him another cigar. 
 
 He refused it with a quick gesture. 
 262 
 
"FIN TIREUR" 
 
 " She never would say another word as to 
 what the sand-diviner had told her ; but she was 
 never the same from that day. She was as un- 
 easy as a lost bitch, m'sieu ; and she made me 
 uneasy too. Sometimes she wouldn't speak to 
 our little one when the child ran to her, and 
 sometimes she'd catch her up, and kiss her till 
 the little one's cheek was as red as if you'd 
 been striking it. And then one day, after 
 dark, she went." 
 
 4 Went!" 
 
 " I'd been ill with fever, and gone to spend 
 the night at the sulphur baths; you know, 
 m'sieu, Hammam-Salahkin, under the moun- 
 tains. I came back just at dawn to open the 
 cafe. When I got off my mule at the door I 
 heard " his face twitched convulsively " the 
 most horrible crying of a child. It was so 
 horrible that I just stood there, holding on to 
 the bridle of the mule, and listening, and didn't 
 dare go in. I'd heard children cry often 
 enough before; but mon Dieu! never like 
 that. At last I dropped the bridle, and went 
 in, with my legs shaking under me. I found 
 the little one alone in the house, and like a 
 mad thing. She'd been alone all night." 
 
 His face set rigidly. 
 
 " And her mother knew I should be all night 
 at the Hammam," he said. " Fin Tireur 
 yes, it was coming backhand finding my little 
 one left like that in such a place, made me earn 
 the name." 
 
 263 
 
"FIN TIREUR" 
 
 He fell suddenly into a moody silence. I 
 broke it by saying: "It was the sand- 
 diviner? " 
 
 He looked at me sharply. " I don't know." 
 
 " You never found out? " 
 
 " At Beni-Mora the women go veiled," he 
 said harshly. 
 
 Suddenly I realised the horror of the situa- 
 tion: the deserted husband living on with his 
 child in the midst of the ordained and close 
 secrecy of Beni-Mora, where many of the 
 women never set foot out of doors, and those 
 who do, unless they are the public dancers, are 
 so heavily veiled that their features cannot be 
 recognised. 
 
 ' What did you do? " I asked. 
 
 " I searched, as far as one can search in an 
 Arab town, and found out nothing. I wanted 
 to tear the veil from every woman in the place; 
 and then I was sent away from Beni-Mora." 
 
 "By whom?" 
 
 " The French authorities, my own country- 
 men," he laughed bitterly. " To save me 
 from getting myself murdered, m'sieu." 
 ' You would have been." 
 
 " Why not? Then I came here to keep the 
 inn for the diligence that carries the mails to 
 the south, for I wouldn't leave the country 
 till 
 
 He paused. 
 
 " And the sand-diviner? " 
 
 " I left him at Beni-Mora. He smiled, and 
 264 
 
"FIN TIREUR" 
 
 said he knew no more than I ; and perhaps he 
 didn't. How was I to tell? " 
 
 " But your name of Fin Tireur? " 
 " Ah! " the thing in his eyes glowed like a 
 thing red-hot "I'd been here eleven months 
 when, one afternoon of summer, just near sun- 
 set, I heard a noise of drums beating and Afri- 
 can pipes screaming, and the snarl of camels 
 on the road you came to-night. I was in the 
 house, in this room where we are sitting now, 
 and little Marie was playing just outside by 
 the well, so that I could see her through the 
 window. By the sounds, I knew a great cara- 
 van was coming up, and passing towards the 
 south. They always water at the well, and I 
 stood by the window to see them. Little Marie 
 stood too, shading her eyes with her bit of a 
 hand. The drums and pipes got louder, and 
 round the corner of the inn came as big a cara- 
 van as I've ever seen; near a hundred camels, 
 horsemen, and led mules and donkeys, Kabyle 
 dogs and goats, the music playing all the time, 
 and a Caid's flag flying in the front. They 
 made for the well, as I knew they would, and 
 little Marie stood all the while watching them. 
 M'sieu, there were square packs on some of the 
 camels, and veiled women on the packs." 
 He looked across at me hard. 
 ' Veiled women? " I repeated. 
 ' When they got to the well they made the 
 camels kneel for the women to get down; and 
 one of the women, when she was down, caught 
 
 265 
 
"FIN TIREUR" 
 
 sight of Marie standing there, with her little 
 hand shading her eyes. That woman gave a 
 great cry behind her veil. I heard it, m'sieu, 
 as I stood by the window there, and I saw the 
 woman run at the little one." 
 
 He got up from his seat slowly, and stood 
 by the wooden shutter, against which the sand 
 was driven by the wind. 
 
 " In a place like this, m'sieu, one keeps a 
 revolver here." 
 
 He put his hand to a pocket at the back of 
 his breeches, brought out a revolver, and 
 pointed it at the shutter. 
 
 " When I heard the woman cry I took my 
 revolver out. When I saw the woman run I 
 fired, and the bullet struck the veil." 
 
 He put the revolver back into his pocket, 
 and sat down again quietly. 
 
 " And that's why they call me Fin Tireur." 
 
 I said nothing, and sat staring at him. 
 
 " When the camels had been watered the 
 caravan went on." 
 
 " But but the Arabs " 
 
 " The Caid had the body tied across a don- 
 key they told me." 
 
 'You didn't see?" 
 
 " No. I took the little one in. She was 
 screaming, and I had to see to her. It was two 
 days afterwards, when I was at the market, 
 that a scorpion stung her. She was dead when 
 I came back. Well, m'sieu, are you sorry you 
 ate your supper? " 
 
 266 
 
"FIN TIREUR" 
 
 Before I could reply, the door opening into 
 the courtyard gaped, and the driver entered, 
 followed by a cloud of whirling sand grains. 
 
 ff Nom dfun chien! " he exclaimed. " Get 
 me a tumbler of wine, for the love of God, Fin 
 Tireur. My throat's full of the sand. Sacre 
 nom d'un nom dfun nom! " 
 
 He pulled off his coat, turned it upside 
 down, and shook the sand out of the pockets, 
 while Fin Tireur went over to the corner of 
 the kitchen where the bottles stood in a row 
 against the earthen wall. 
 
 267 
 
HALIMA AND THE 
 SCORPIONS 
 
 IN travelling about the world one collects a 
 number of those trifles of all sorts, usually 
 named " curiosities," many of them worthless 
 if it were not for the memories they recall. 
 The other day I was clearing out a bureau be- 
 fore going abroad, and in one of the drawers 
 I came across a hedgehog's foot, set in silver, 
 and hung upon a tarnished silver chain. I 
 picked it up in the Sahara, and here is its his- 
 tory. 
 
 
 
 Mohammed El Aid Ben Ali Tidjani, mara- 
 bout of Tamacine, is a great man in the Sa- 
 hara Desert. His reputation for piety reaches 
 as far as Tunis and Algiers, to the north of 
 Africa, and to the uttermost parts of the 
 Southern Desert, even to the land of the Tou- 
 aregs. He dwells in a sacred village of dried 
 mud and brick, surrounded by a high wall, 
 pierced with loopholes, and ornamented with 
 gates made of palm wood, and covered with 
 sheets of iron. In his mansion, above the en- 
 trance of which is written " L'Entree de Sidi 
 Laid," are clocks innumerable, musical boxes, 
 tables, chairs, sofas, and even framed photo- 
 graphs. Negro servants bow before him, 
 
 269 
 
HALIMA AND THE SCORPIONS 
 
 wives, brothers, children, and obsequious hang- 
 ers-on of various nationalities, black, bronze, 
 and cafe au lait in colour, offer him perpetual 
 incense. Rich worshippers of the Prophet and 
 the Prophet's priests send him presents from 
 afar; camels laden with barley, donkeys stag- 
 gering beneath sacks of grain, ostrich plumes, 
 silver ornaments, perfumes, red-eyed doves, 
 gazelles whose tiny hoofs are decorated with 
 gold-leaf or painted in bright colours. The 
 tributes laid before the tomb of Cheikh Sidi 
 El Hadj Ali ben Sidi El Hadj Ai'ssa are, 
 doubtless, his perquisites as guardian of the 
 saint. He dresses in silks of the tints of the au- 
 tumn leaf, and carries in his mighty hand a 
 staff hung with apple-green ribbons. And his 
 smile is as the smile of the rising sun in an 
 oleograph. 
 
 This personage one day blessed the hedge- 
 hog's foot I at present possess, and endowed 
 it solemnly with miraculous curative proper- 
 ties. It would cure, he declared, all the physi- 
 cal ills that can beset a woman. Then he gave 
 it into the hands of a great Agha, who was 
 about to take a wife, accepted a tribute of 
 dates, a grandfather's clock from Paris, and a 
 grinding organ of Barbary as a small acknow- 
 ledgment of his generosity, and probably 
 thought very little more about the matter. 
 
 Now, in the course of time, it happened that 
 the hedgehog's foot came into the possession 
 of a dancing-girl of Touggourt, called Hali- 
 
 270 
 
HALIMA AND THE SCORPIONS 
 
 ma. How Halima got hold of it I cannot say, 
 nor does anyone in Touggourt exactly know, 
 so far as I am aware. But, alas! even Aghas 
 are sometimes human, and play pitch and toss 
 with magical things. As Grand Dukes who 
 go to disport themselves in Paris sometimes 
 hie them incognito to the " Cafe de la Sor- 
 ciere," so do Aghas flit occasionally to Toug- 
 gourt, and appear upon the high benches of 
 the great dancing-house of the Ouled Nails 
 in the outskirts of the city. And Halima was 
 young and beautiful. Her eyes were large, 
 and she wore a golden crown ornamented with 
 very tall feathers. And she danced the dance 
 of the hands and the dance of the fainting fit 
 with great perfection. And the wives of 
 Aghas have to put up with a good deal. 
 However it was, one evening Halima danced 
 with the hedgehog's foot that had been blessed 
 dangling from her jewelled girdle. And there 
 was a great scandal in the city. 
 
 For in the four quarters of Touggourt, the 
 quarter of the Jews, of the foreigners, of the 
 freed negroes, and of the citizens proper, it 
 was known that the hedgehog's foot had been 
 blessed and endowed with magical powers by 
 the mighty marabout of Tamacine. 
 
 Halima herself affirmed it, standing at the 
 front door of her terraced dwelling in the 
 court, while the other dancers gathered round, 
 looking like a troop of macaws in their 
 feathers and their finery. With a brazen pride 
 
 271 
 
HALIMA AND THE SCORPIONS 
 
 she boasted that she possessed something worth 
 more than uncut rubies, carpets from Bag- 
 dad, and silken petticoats sewn with sequins. 
 And the Ouled Nails could not gainsay her. 
 Indeed, they turned their huge, kohl-tinted 
 eyes upon the relic with envy, and stretched 
 their painted hands towards it as if to a god 
 in prayer. But Halima would let no one 
 touch it, and presently, taking from her bosom 
 her immense door key, she retired to enshrine 
 the foot in her box, studded with huge brass 
 nails, such as stands by each dancer's bed. 
 
 And the scandal was very great in the city 
 that such a precious thing should be between 
 the hands of an Ouled Nail, a girl of no re- 
 pute, come thither in a palanquin on camel- 
 back to earn her dowry, and who would depart 
 into the sands of the south, laden with the gold 
 wrung from the pockets of loose livers. 
 
 Only Ben-Abid smiled gently when he 
 heard of the matter. 
 
 Ben-Abid belonged to the Tribu des blancs, 
 and was the singer attached to the cafe of the 
 smokers of the hashish. He it was who struck 
 each evening a guitar made of goatskin 
 backed by sand tortoise, and lifted up his voice 
 in the song " Lalia ": 
 
 Ladham Pacha who has left the heart of his enemies 
 trembling 
 
 O Lalia ! O Lalia ! 
 The love of women is no more sweet to me after thy love. 
 
 272 
 
HALIMA AND THE SCORPIONS 
 
 Thy hand is white, and thy bracelets are of the purest 
 
 silver 
 And I, Ladham Pacha, love thee, without thought of 
 
 what will come. 
 
 O Lalia! O Lalia!" 
 
 The assembled smokers breathed out under 
 the black ceiling their deep refrain of " Wur- 
 ra-Wurra! " and Larbi, in his Zouave jacket 
 and his tight, pleated skirt, threw back his 
 small head, exposing his long brown throat, 
 and danced like a tired phantom in a dream. 
 
 Ben-Abid smiled, showing two rows of lus- 
 trous teeth. 
 
 " Should Halima fall ill, the foot will not 
 avail to cure her," he murmured. "Ben Ali 
 Tidjani's blessing could never rest on an Ouled 
 Nail, who, like a little viper of the sand, has 
 stolen into the Agha's bosom, and filled his 
 veins with subtle poison. She deems she has 
 a treasure; but let her beware: that which 
 would protect a woman who wears the veil will 
 do naught for a creature who shows her 
 face to the stranger, and dances by night for 
 the Zouaves and for the Spahis who patrol 
 the dunes." 
 
 And he struck his long fingers upon the 
 goatskin of his instrument, while Koui'dah, 
 the boy who played upon the little glasses and 
 shook the tambourine of reeds, slipped foith 
 to tell in the city what Ben-Abid had spoken. 
 
 Halima was enraged when she heard of it, 
 273 
 
HALIMA AND THE SCORPIONS 
 
 more especially as there were found many to 
 believe Ben-Abid's words. She stood before 
 her room upon the terrace, where Zouaves 
 were playing cards with the dancers in the sun, 
 and she cursed him in a shrill voice, calling him 
 son of a scorpion, and requesting that Allah 
 would send great troubles upon his relations, 
 even upon his aged grandmother. That the 
 miraculous reputation of her treasure should 
 be thus scouted, and herself insulted, vexed her 
 to the soul. 
 
 "Let the son of a camel with a swollen 
 tongue dare to come to me and repeat what he 
 has said! " she cried. " Let him come out 
 from his lair in the cafe of the hashish smokers, 
 and, as Allah is great, I will spit in his face. 
 The reviler of women ! The son of a scorpion ! 
 Cursed be his- 
 
 And then once more she desired evil to the 
 grandmother of Ben-Abid, and to all his fam- 
 ily. And the Zouaves and the dancers laughed 
 over their card games. Indeed, the other 
 dancers were merry, and not ill-pleased with 
 Ben-Abid's words. For even in the Sahara 
 the women do not care that one of them should 
 be exalted above the rest. 
 
 Now, in Touggourt gossip is carried from 
 house to house, as the sand grains are carried 
 on the wind. Within an hour Ben-Abid heard 
 that his grandmother had been cursed, and him- 
 self called son of a scorpion, by Halima. 
 Kouidah, the boy, ran on naked feet to tell 
 
 274: 
 
HALIMA AND THE SCORPIONS 
 
 him in the cafe of the hashish smokers. When 
 he heard he smiled. 
 
 " To-night I will go to the dancing-house, 
 and speak with Halima," he murmured. And 
 then he plucked the guitar of goatskin that 
 was ever in his hands, and sang softly of the 
 joys of Ladham Pacha, half closing his eyes, 
 and swaying his head from side to side. 
 
 And Kouidah, the boy, ran hack across the 
 camel market to tell in the court of the dancers 
 the words of Ben-Abid. 
 
 That night, when the nomads lit their brush- 
 wood fires in the market; when the Kabyle 
 bakers, in their striped turbans and their close- 
 fitting jerseys of yellow and of red, ran to 
 and fro bearing the trays of flat, new-made 
 loaves; when the dwarfs beat on the ground 
 with their staffs to summon the mob to watch 
 their antics; and the story-tellers put on their 
 glasses, and sat them down at their boards be- 
 tween the candles; Ben-Abid went forth 
 secretly from the hashish cafe wrapped in his 
 burnous. He sought out in the quarter of the 
 freed negroes a certain man called Sadok, who 
 dwelt alone. 
 
 This Sadok was lean as a spectre, and had 
 a skin like parchment. He was a renowned 
 plunger in desert wells, and could remain be- 
 neath the water, men said, for a space of four 
 minutes. But he could also do another thing. 
 He could eat scorpions. And this he would do 
 for a small sum of money. Only, during the 
 
 275 
 
HALIMA AND THE SCORPIONS 
 
 fast of Ramadan, between the rising and the 
 going down of the sun, so long as a white 
 thread could be distinguished from a black, he 
 would not eat even a scorpion, because the 
 tasting of food by day in that time is forbid- 
 den by the Prophet. 
 
 When Ben-Abid struck on his door Sadok 
 came forth, gibbering in his tangled beard, 
 and half naked. 
 
 " Oh, brother! " said Ben-Abid. " Here is 
 money if thou canst find me three scorpions. 
 One of them must be a black scorpion." 
 
 Sadok shot out his filthy claw, and there 
 was fire in his eyes. But Ben-Abid's fingers 
 closed round the money paper. 
 
 " First thou must find the scorpions, and 
 then thou must carry them with thee to the 
 court of the dancers, walking at my side. For, 
 as Allah lives, I will not touch them. After- 
 wards thou shalt have the money." 
 
 Sadok's soul drew the shutters across his 
 eyes. Then he led the way by tortuous alleys 
 to an old and ruined wall of a zgag, in which 
 there were as many holes as there are in a 
 honeycomb. Here, as he knew, the scorpions 
 loved to sleep. Thrusting his fingers here and 
 there he presently drew forth three writhing 
 reptiles. And one of them was black. He 
 held them out, with a cry, to Ben-Abid. 
 
 "The money! The money!" he shrieked. 
 
 But Ben-Abid shrank back, shuddering. 
 
 " Thou must bring them to the dancers' 
 276 
 
HALIMA AND THE SCORPIONS 
 
 court. Hide them well in thy garments that 
 none may see them. Then thou shalt have the 
 money." 
 
 Sadok hid the scorpions upon his shaven 
 head beneath his turban, and they went by the 
 dunes and the lonely ways to the cafe of the 
 dancers. 
 
 Already the pipers were playing, and many 
 were assembled to see the women dance; but 
 Ben-Abid and Sadok pushed through the 
 throng, and passed across the cafe to the inner 
 court, which is open to the air, and surrounded 
 with earthen terraces on which, in tiers, open 
 the rooms of the dancers, each with its own 
 front door. This court is as a mighty rabbit 
 warren, peopled with women instead of rab- 
 bits. Pale lights gleamed in many doorways, 
 for the dancers were dressing and painting 
 themselves for the dances of the body, of the 
 hands, of the poignard, and of the handker- 
 chief. Their shrill voices cried one to another, 
 their heavy bracelets and necklets jingled, and 
 the monstrous shadows of their crowned and 
 feathered heads leaped and wavered on the 
 yellow patches of light that lay before their 
 doors. 
 
 " Where is Halima? " cried Ben-Abid in a 
 loud voice. " Let Halima come forth and 
 spit in my face ! " 
 
 At the sound of his call many women ran to 
 their doors, some half dressed, some fully at- 
 tired, like Jezebels of the great desert, 
 
 277 
 
HALIMA AND THE SCORPIONS 
 
 " It is Ben-Abid! " went up the cry of many 
 voices. " It is Ben-Abid, who laughs to scorn 
 the power of the hedgehog's foot. It is the 
 son of the camel with the swollen tongue. 
 Halima, Halima, the child of the scorpion 
 calls thee!" 
 
 Koui'dah, the boy, who was ever about, ran 
 barefoot from the court into the cafe to tell 
 of the doings of Ben-Abid, and in a moment 
 the people crowded in, Zouaves and Spahis, 
 Arabs and negroes, nomads from the south, 
 gipsies, jugglers, and Jews. There were, too, 
 some from Tamacine, and these were of all the 
 most intent. 
 
 " Where is Halima? " went up the cry. 
 Where is Halima? " 
 
 " Who calls me? " exclaimed the voice of a 
 girl. 
 
 And Halima came out of her door on the 
 first terrace at the left, splendidly dressed for 
 the dance in scarlet and gold, carrying two 
 scarlet handkerchiefs in her hands, and with 
 the hedgehog's foot dangling from her girdle 
 of thin gold, studded with turquoises. 
 
 Ben-Abid stood below in the court with 
 Sadok by his side. The crowd pressed about 
 him from behind. 
 
 " Thou hast called me the son of a scorpion, 
 Halima," he said, in a loud voice. " Is it not 
 true?" 
 
 " It is true," she answered, with a venomous 
 smile of hatred. " And thou hast said that 
 
 278 
 
HALIMA AND THE SCORPIONS 
 
 the hedgehog's foot, blessed by the great mara- 
 bout of Tamacine, would avail naught against 
 the deadly sickness of a dancing-girl. Is it 
 not true?'' 
 
 'It is true," answered Ben-Abid. 
 
 " Thou art a liar! " cried Halima. 
 
 " And so art thou! " said Ben-Abid slowly. 
 
 A deep murmur rose from the crowd, which 
 pressed more closely beneath the terrace, star- 
 ing up at the scarlet figure upon it. 
 
 " If I am a liar thou canst not prove it! " 
 cried Halima furiously. " I spit upon thee! 
 I spit upon thee!" 
 
 And she bent down her feathered head from 
 the terrace and spat passionately in his face. 
 
 Ben-Abid only laughed aloud. 
 
 " I can prove that I have spoken the truth," 
 he said. " But if I am indeed the son of a 
 scorpion, as thou sayest, let my brothers speak 
 for me. Let my brothers declare to all the 
 Sahara that the truth is in my mouth. Sadok, 
 remove thy turban! " 
 
 The plunger of the wells, with a frantic 
 gesture, lifted his turban and discovered the 
 three scorpions writhing upon his shaven head. 
 Another, and longer, murmur went up from 
 the crowd. But some shrank back and 
 trembled, for the desert Arabs are much afraid 
 of scorpions, which cause many deaths in the 
 Sahara. 
 
 " What is this ? " cried Halima. " How can 
 the scorpions speak for thee? " 
 
 279 
 
HALIMA AND THE SCORPIONS 
 
 "They shall speak well," said Ben-Abid. 
 " Their voices cannot lie. Sleep to-night in 
 thy room with these my brothers. Irena and 
 Boria, the Golden Date and the Lotus Flower, 
 shall watch beside thee. Guard in thy hand, 
 or in thy breast, the hedgehog's foot that thou 
 sayest can preserve from every ill. If, in the 
 evening of to-morrow, thou dancest before the 
 soldiers, I will give thee fifty golden coins. 
 But, if thou dancest not, the city shall know 
 whether Ben-Abid is a truth-teller, and 
 whether the blessings of the great marabout 
 can rest upon such a woman as thou art. If 
 thou refusest thou art afraid, and thy fear 
 proveth that thou hast no faith in the magic 
 treasure that dangles at thy girdle." 
 
 There was a moment of deep silence. Then, 
 from the crowd burst forth the cry of many 
 voices :<% 
 
 "Put it to the proof! Ben-Abid speaks 
 well. Put it to the proof, and may Allah 
 judge between them." 
 
 Beneath the caked pigments on her face 
 Halima had gone pale. 
 
 " I will not," she began. 
 
 But the cries rose up again, and with them 
 the shrill, twittering laughter of her envious 
 rivals. 
 
 "She has no faith in the marabout!" 
 squawked one, who had a nose like an eagle's 
 beak. 
 
 " She is a liar! " piped another, shaking out 
 280 
 
HALIMA AND THE SCORPIONS 
 
 her silken petticoats as a bird shakes out its 
 plumes. 
 
 And then the twitter of fierce laughter rose, 
 shriek on shriek, and was echoed more deeply 
 by the crowd of watching men. 
 
 "Give me the scorpions!" cried Halima 
 passionately. " I am not afraid! " 
 
 Her desert blood was up. Her fatalism 
 even in the women of the Sahara it lurks was 
 awake. In that moment she was ready to die, 
 to silence the bitter laughter of her rivals. 
 It sank away as Sadok grasped the scorpions 
 in his filthy claw, and leaped, gibbering in his 
 beard, upon the terrace. 
 
 "Wait!" cried Halima, as he came upon 
 her, holding forth his handful of writhing poi- 
 son. 
 
 Her bosom heaved. Her lustrous eyes, 
 heavy with kohl, shone like those of a beast at 
 bay. 
 
 Sadok stood still, with his naked arm out- 
 stretched. 
 
 " How shall I know that the son of a scor- 
 pion will pay me the fifty golden coins? He 
 is poor, though he speaks bravely. He is but 
 a singer in the cafe of the smokers of the 
 hashish, and cannot buy even a new garment 
 for the close of the feast of Ramadan. How, 
 then, shall I know that the gold will hang from 
 my breasts when to-morrow, at the falling of 
 the sun, I dance before the men of Toug- 
 
 gourt? " 
 
 281 
 
IIALIMA AND THE SCORPIONS 
 
 Ben-Abid put his hand beneath his burnous, 
 and brought forth a bag tied at the mouth with 
 cord. 
 
 ' They are here! " he said. 
 
 " The Jews! He has been to the Jews! " 
 cried the desert men. 
 
 " Bring a lamp ! " said Ben-Abid. 
 
 And while Irena and Boria, the Golden 
 Date and the Lotus Flower, held the lights, 
 and the desert men crowded about him with 
 the eyes of wolves that are near to starving, 
 he counted forth the money on the terrace at 
 Halima's feet. And she gazed down at the 
 glittering pieces as one that gazes upon a black 
 fate. 
 
 " And now set my brothers upon the 
 maiden," Ben-Abid said to Sadok, gather- 
 ing up the money, and casting it again into 
 the bag, which he tied once more with the 
 cord. 
 
 Halima did not move, but she looked upon 
 the scorpion that was black, and her red lips 
 trembled. Then she closed her hand upon the 
 hedgehog's foot that hung from her. golden 
 girdle, and shut her eyes beneath her ebon eye- 
 brows. 
 
 "Set my brothers upon her!" said Ben- 
 Abid. 
 
 The plunger of the wells sprang upon Hali- 
 ma, opened her scarlet bodice roughly, plunged 
 his claw into her swelling bosom, and withdrew 
 
 it empty. 
 
 282 
 
HALIMA AND THE SCORPIONS 
 
 "Kiss her close, my brothers!" whispered 
 Ben-Abid. 
 
 A long murmur, like the growl of the tide 
 upon a shingly beach, arose once more from the 
 crowd. Halima turned about, and went slowly 
 in at her lighted doorway, followed by Irena 
 and Boria. The heavy door of palm was shut 
 behind them. The light was hidden. There 
 was a great silence. It was broken by Sadok's 
 voice screaming in his beard to Ben-Abid, 
 " My money! Give me my money! " 
 
 He snatched it with a howl, and went caper- 
 ing forth into the darkness. 
 
 . When the next night fell upon the desert 
 there was a great crowd assembled in the cafe 
 of the dancers. The pipers blew into their 
 pipes, and swayed upon their haunches, turn- 
 ing their glittering eyes to and fro to see what 
 man had a mind to press a piece of money up- 
 on their well greased foreheads. The dancers 
 came and went, promenading arm in arm upon 
 the earthen floor, or leaping with hands out- 
 stretched and fingers fluttering. The Kabyle 
 attendant slipped here and there with the cof- 
 fee cups, and the wreaths of smoke curled 
 lightly upward towards the wooden roof. 
 
 But Halima came not through the open 
 doorway holding the scarlet handkerchiefs 
 above her head. 
 
 And presently, late in the night, they laid 
 283 
 
HALIMA AND THE SCORPIONS 
 
 her body in a palanquin, and set the palan- 
 quin upon a running camel, and, while the 
 dancers shrilled their lament amid the sands, 
 they bore her away into the darkness of the 
 dunes towards the south and the tents of her 
 own people. 
 
 The jackals laughed as she went by. 
 
 But the hedgehog's foot was left lying upon 
 the floor of her chamber. Not one of the 
 dancers would touch it. 
 
 That night I was in the cafe, and, hearing 
 of all these things from Kouidah, the boy, I 
 went into the court, and gathered up the trin- 
 ket which had brought a woman to the great 
 silence. Next day I rode on horseback to 
 Tamacine, asked to see the marabout and told 
 him all the story. 
 
 He listened, smiling like the rising sun in an 
 oleograph, and twisting in his huge hands, that 
 were tinted with the henna, the staff with the 
 apple-green ribbons. 
 
 When I came to the end I said : 
 
 " O, holy marabout, tell me one thing." 
 
 " Allah is just. I listen." 
 
 "If the scorpions had slept with a veiled 
 woman who held the hedgehog's foot, how 
 would it have been? Would the woman have 
 died or lived? " 
 
 The marabout did not answer. He looked 
 at me calmly, as at a child who asks questions 
 
 284: 
 
HALIMA AND THE SCORPIONS 
 
 about the mysteries of life which only the old 
 can understand. 
 
 " These things," he said at length, " are hid- 
 den from the unbeliever. You are a Roumi. 
 How, then, should you learn such matters? " 
 
 " But even the Roumi 
 
 " In the desert there are. mysteries," con- 
 tinued the marabout, " which even the faithful 
 must not seek to penetrate." 
 
 ' Then it is useless to 
 
 "It is very useless. It is as useless as to 
 try to count the grains of the sand." 
 
 I said no more. 
 
 Mohammed El Aid Ben Ali Tidjani smiled 
 once more, and beckoned to a negro attendant, 
 who ran with a musical box, one of the gifts 
 of the faithful. 
 
 ' This comes from Paris," he said, with a 
 spreading complacence. 
 
 Then there was within the box a sounding 
 click, and there stole forth a tinkling of Au- 
 ber's music to Masaniello, " Come o'er the 
 moonlit sea ! " 
 
 285 
 
THE DESERT ] DRUM 
 
 I 
 
 I AM not naturally superstitious. The Sa- 
 haraman is. He has many strange be- 
 liefs. When one is at close quarters with him, 
 sees him day by day in his home, the great 
 desert, listens to his dramatic tales of desert 
 lights, visions, sounds, one's common-sense is 
 apt to be shaken on its throne. Perhaps it is 
 the influence of the solitude and the wide 
 spaces, of those far horizons of the Sahara 
 where the blue deepens along the edge of the 
 world, that turns even a European mind to 
 an Eastern credulity. Who can tell? The 
 truth is that in the Sahara one can believe 
 what one cannot believe in London. And 
 sometimes circumstances chance if you like 
 to call it so steps in, and seems to say, " Your 
 belief is well founded." 
 
 Of all the desert superstitions the one which 
 appealed most to my imagination was the 
 superstition of the desert drum. The Sahara- 
 man declares that far away from the abodes 
 of men and desert cities, among the everlasting 
 sand dunes, the sharp beating, or dull, distant 
 rolling of a drum sometimes breaks upon the 
 ears of travellers voyaging through the desola- 
 
 287 
 
THE DESERT DRUM 
 
 tion. They look around, they stare across the 
 flats, they see nothing. But the mysterious 
 music continues. Then, if they be Sahara- 
 bred, they commend themselves to Allah, for 
 they know that some terrible disaster is at 
 hand, that one of them at least is doomed to 
 die. 
 
 Often had I heard stories of the catastro- 
 phes which were immediately preceded by the 
 beating of the desert drum. One night in the 
 Sahara I was a witness to one which I have 
 never been able to forget. 
 
 On an evening of spring, accompanied by 
 a young Arab and a negro, I rode slowly down 
 a low hill of the Sahara, and saw in the sandy 
 cup at my feet the tiny collection of hovels 
 called Sidi-Massarli. I had been in the saddle 
 since dawn, riding over desolate tracks in the 
 heart of the desert. I was hungry, tired, and 
 felt almost like a man hypnotised. The strong 
 air, the clear sky, the everlasting flats devoid 
 of vegetation, empty of humanity, the monot- 
 onous motion of my slowly cantering horse 
 all these things combined to dull my brain 
 and to throw me into a peculiar condition akin 
 to the condition of a man in a trance. At 
 Sidi-Massarli I was to pass the night. I drew 
 rein and looked down on it with lack-lustre 
 eyes. 
 
 I saw a small group of palm-trees, guarded 
 by a low wall of baked brown earth, in which 
 were embedded many white bones of dead 
 
 288 
 
THE DESERT DRUM 
 
 camels. Bleached, grinning heads of camels 
 hung from more than one of the trees, with 
 strings of red pepper and round stones. Be- 
 yond the wall of this palm garden, at whose 
 foot was a furrow full of stagnant brownish- 
 yellow water, lay a handful of wretched 
 earthen hovels, with flat roofs of palmwood 
 and low wooden doors. To be exact, I think 
 there were five of them. The Bordj, or Trav- 
 ellers' House, at which I was to be accommo- 
 dated for the night, stood alone near a tiny 
 source at the edge of a large sand dune, and 
 was a small, earth-coloured building with a 
 pink tiled roof, minute arched windows, and 
 an open stable for the horses and mules. All 
 round the desert rose in humps of sand, melt- 
 ing into stony ground where the saltpetre lay 
 like snow on a wintry world. There were but 
 few signs of life in this place; some stockings 
 drying on the wall of a ruined Arab cafe, 
 some kids frisking by a heap of sacks, a few 
 pigeons circling about a low square watch- 
 tower, a black donkey brooding on a dust heap. 
 There were some signs of death; carcasses of 
 camels stretched here and there in frantic and 
 fantastic postures, some bleached and smooth, 
 others red and horribly odorous. 
 
 The wind blew round this hospitable town- 
 ship of the Sahara, and the yellow light of 
 evening began to glow above it. It seemed to 
 me at that moment the dreariest place in the 
 dreariest dream man had ever had. 
 
 289 
 
THE DESERT DRUM 
 
 Suddenly my horse neighed loudly. Be- 
 yond the village, on the opposite hill, a white 
 Arab charger caracoled, a red cloak gleamed. 
 Another traveller was coming in to his night's 
 rest, and he was a Spahi. I could almost 
 fancy I heard the jingle of his spurs and ac- 
 coutrements, the creaking of his tall red boots 
 against his high peaked saddle. As he rode 
 down towards the Bordj by this time, I, too, 
 was on my way I saw that a long cord hung 
 from his saddle-bow, and that at the end of 
 this cord was a man, trotting heavily in the 
 heavy sand like a creature dogged and weary. 
 We came in to Sidi-Massarli simultaneously, 
 and pulled up at the same moment before the 
 arched door of the Bordj, from which glided 
 a one-eyed swarthy Arab, staring fixedly at 
 me. This was the official keeper of the house. 
 In one hand he held the huge door key, and as 
 I swung myself heavily on the ground I heard 
 him, in Arabic, asking my Arab attendant, 
 D'oud, who I was and where J hailed from. 
 
 But such attention as I had to bestow on 
 anything just then was given to the Spahi and 
 his companion. The Spahi was a magnificent 
 man, tall, lithe, bronze-brown and muscular. 
 He looked about thirty- four, and had the face 
 of a desert eagle. His piercing black eyes 
 stared me calmly out of countenance, and he 
 sat on his spirited horse like a statue, waiting 
 patiently till the guardian of the Bordj was 
 ready to attend to him. My gaze travelled 
 
 290 
 
THE DESERT DRUM 
 
 from him along the cord to the man at its end, 
 and rested there with pity. He, too, was a 
 fine specimen of humanity, a giant, nobly built, 
 with a superbly handsome face, something like 
 that of an undefaced Sphinx. Broad brows 
 sheltered his enormous eyes. His rather thick 
 lips were parted to allow his panting breath to 
 escape, and his dark, almost black skin, was 
 covered with sweat. Drops of sweat coursed 
 down his bare arms and his mighty chest, from 
 which his ragged burnous was drawn partially 
 away. He was evidently of mixed Arab and 
 negro parentage. As he stood by the Spahi's 
 horse, gasping, his face expressed nothing but 
 physical exhaustion. His eyes were bent on 
 the sand, and his arms hung down loosely at 
 his sides. While I looked at him the Spahi 
 suddenly gave a tug at the cord to which he 
 was attached. He moved in nearer to the 
 horse, glanced up at me, held out his hand, and 
 said in a low, musical voice, speaking Arabic: 
 
 " Give me a cigarette, Sidi." 
 
 I opened my case and gave him one, at the 
 same time diplomatically handing another to 
 the Spahi. Thus we opened our night's ac- 
 quaintance, an acquaintance which I shall not 
 easily forget. 
 
 In the desolation of the Sahara a travelling 
 intimacy is quickly formed. The one-eyed 
 Arab led our horses to the stable, and while my 
 two attendants were inside unpacking the 
 tinned food and the wine I carried with me on 
 
 291 
 
THE DESERT DRUM 
 
 a mule, I entered into conversation with the 
 Spahi, who spoke French fairly well. He 
 told me that he* was on the way to El Arba, a 
 long journey through the desert from Sidi- 
 Massarli, and that his business was to convey 
 there the man at the end of the cord. 
 
 " But what is he? A prisoner? " I asked. 
 
 " A murderer, monsieur," the Spahi replied 
 calmly. 
 
 I looked again at the man, who was wiping 
 the sweat from his face with one huge hand. 
 He smiled and made a gesture of assent. 
 
 " Does he understand French? " 
 
 " A little." 
 
 " And he committed murder? " 
 
 " At Tunis. He was a butcher there. He 
 cut a man's throat." 
 ' Why? " 
 
 " I don't know, monsieur. Perhaps he was 
 jealous. It is hot in Tunis in the summer. 
 That was five years ago, and ever since he has 
 been in prison." 
 
 " And why are you taking him to El Arba? " 
 
 " He came from there. He is released, but 
 he is not allowed to live any more in Tunis. 
 Ah, monsieur, he is mad at going, for he loves 
 a dancing-girl, Aichouch, who dances with the 
 Jewesses in the cafe by the lake. He wanted 
 even to stay in prison, if only he might remain 
 in Tunis. He never saw her, but he was in the 
 same town, you understand. That was some- 
 thing. All the first day he ran behind my 
 
 292 
 
THE DESERT DRUM 
 
 horse cursing me for taking him away. But 
 now the sand has got into his throat. He is 
 so tired that he can scarcely run. So he does 
 not curse any more." 
 
 The captive giant smiled at me again. De- 
 spite his great stature, his powerful and im- 
 pressive features, he looked, I thought, very 
 gentle and submissive. The story of his pas- 
 sion for Aichouch, his desire to be near her, 
 even in a prison cell, had appealed to me. I 
 pitied him sincerely. 
 
 " What is his name? " I asked. 
 
 " M'hammed Bouaziz. Mine is Said." 
 
 I was weary with riding and wanted to 
 stretch my legs, and see what was to be seen 
 of Sidi-Massarli ere evening quite closed in, 
 so at this point I lit a cigar and prepared to 
 stroll off. 
 
 :< Monsieur is going for a walk? " asked the 
 Spahi, fixing his eyes on my cigar. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I will accompany monsieur," 
 
 " Or monsieur's cigar-case," I thought. 
 
 " But that poor fellow," I said, pointing to 
 the murderer. " He is tired out." 
 
 " That doesn't matter. He will come with 
 
 us." 
 
 The Spahi jerked the cord and we set out, 
 the murderer creeping over the sand behind us 
 like some exhausted animal. 
 
 By this time twilight was falling over the 
 Sahara, a grim twilight, cold and grey. The 
 
 293 
 
THE DESERT DRUM 
 
 wind was rising. In the night it blew half a 
 gale, but at this hour there was only a strong 
 breeze in which minute sand-grains danced. 
 The murderer's feet were shod with patched 
 slippers, and the sound of these slippers shuf- 
 fling close behind me made me feel faintly un- 
 easy. The Spahi stared at my cigar so persist- 
 ently that I was obliged to offer him one. 
 When I had done so, and he had loftily ac- 
 cepted it, I half turned towards the murderer. 
 The Spahi scowled ferociously. I put my 
 cigar-case back into my pocket. It is unwise to 
 offend the powerful if your sympathy lies with 
 the powerless. 
 
 Sidi-Massarli was soon explored. It con- 
 tained a Cafe Maure, into which I peered. In 
 the coffee niche the embers glowed. One or 
 two ragged Arabs sat hunched upon the 
 earthen divans playing a game of cards. At 
 least I should have my coffee after my tinned 
 dinner. I was turning to go back to the Bordj 
 when the extreme desolation of the desert 
 around, now fading in the shadows of a moon- 
 less night, stirred me to a desire. Sidi-Mas- 
 sarli was dreary enough. Still it contained 
 habitations, men. I wished to feel the blank, 
 wild emptiness of this world, so far from the 
 world of civilisation from which I had come, 
 to feel it with intensity. I resolved to mount 
 the low hill down which I had seen the Spahi 
 ride, to descend into the fold of desert beyond 
 it, to pause there a moment, out of sight of the 
 
 294 
 
THE DESERT DRUM 
 
 hamlet, listen to the breeze, look at the darken- 
 ing sky, feel the sand-grains stinging my 
 cheeks, shake hands with the Sahara. 
 
 But I wanted to shake hands quite alone. I 
 therefore suggested to the Spahi that he should 
 remain in the Cafe Maure and drink a cup of 
 coffee at my expense. 
 
 " And where is monsieur going? " 
 
 " Only over that hill for a moment." 
 
 " I will accompany monsieur." 
 
 " But you must be tired. A cup of " 
 
 " I will accompany monsieur." 
 
 In Arab fashion he was establishing a claim 
 upon me. On the morrow, when I was about 
 to depart, he would point out that he had 
 guided me round Sidi-Massarli, had guarded 
 me in my dangerous expedition beyond its 
 fascinations, despite his weariness and hunger. 
 I knew how useless it is to contend with these 
 polite and persistent rascals, so I said no more. 
 
 In a few minutes the Spahi, the murderer 
 and I stood in the fold of the sand dunes, and 
 Sidi-Massarli was blotted from our sight. 
 
 295 
 
THE DESERT DRUM 
 
 II 
 
 THE desolation here was complete. All 
 around us lay the dunes, monstrous as still 
 leviathans. Here and there, between their 
 strange, suggestive shapes, under the dark sky 
 one could see the ghastly whiteness of the salt- 
 petre in the arid plains beyond, where the low 
 bushes bent in the chilly breeze. I thought of 
 London only a few days' journey from me 
 revelled for a moment in my situation, 
 which, contrary to my expectation, was rather 
 emphasised by the presence of my companions. 
 The gorgeous Spahi, with his scarlet cloak and 
 hood, his musket and sword, his high red leg- 
 gings, the ragged, sweating captive in his 
 patched burnous, ex-butcher looking, despite 
 his cord emblem of bondage, like reigning 
 Emperor they were appropriate figures in 
 this desert place. I had just thought this, and 
 was regarding my Sackville Street suit with 
 disgust, when a low, distinct and near sound 
 suddenly rose from behind a sand dune on my 
 left. It was exactly like the dull beating of a 
 tom-tom. The silence preceding it had been 
 intense, for the breeze was as yet too light to 
 make more than the faintest sighing music, 
 and in the gathering darkness this abrupt and 
 gloomy noise produced, I supposed, by some 
 
 296 
 
THE DESERT DRUM 
 
 hidden nomad, made a very unpleasant, even 
 sinister impression upon me. Instinctively I 
 put my hand on the revolver which was slung 
 at my side in a pouch of gazelle skin. As I did 
 so, I saw the Spahi turn sharply and gaze in 
 the direction of the sound, lifting one hand to 
 his ear. 
 
 The low thunder of the instrument, beaten 
 rhythmically and persistently, grew louder and 
 was evidently drawing nearer. The musician 
 must be climbing up the far side of the dune. 
 I had swung round to face him, and expected 
 every moment to see some wild figure appear 
 upon the summit, defining itself against the 
 cold and gloomy sky. But none came. Nev- 
 ertheless, the noise increased till it was a roar, 
 drew near till it was actually upon us. It 
 seemed to me that I heard the sticks striking 
 the hard, stretched skin furiously, as if some 
 phantom drummer were stealthily encircling 
 us, catching us in a net, a trap of horrible, 
 vicious uproar. Instinctively I threw a ques- 
 tioning, perhaps an appealing, glance at my 
 two companions. The Spahi had dropped his 
 hand from his ear. He stood upright, as if 
 at attention on the parade-ground of Biskra. 
 His face was set afterwards I told myself 
 it was fatalistic. The murderer, on the other 
 hand, was smiling. I remember the gleam of 
 his big white teeth. Why was he smiling? 
 While I asked myself the question the roar of 
 the tom-tom grew gradually less, as if the man 
 
 297 
 
THE DESERT DRUM 
 
 beating it were walking rapidly away from us 
 in the direction of Sidi-Massarli. None of 
 us said a word till only a faint, heavy throb- 
 bing, like the beating of a heart, I fancied, was 
 audible in the darkness. Then I spoke, as 
 silence fell. 
 'Who is it?" 
 
 " Monsieur, it is no one." 
 
 The Spahi's voice was dry and soft. 
 
 ' What is it? " 
 
 "Monsieur, it is the desert drum.' There 
 will be death in Sidi-Massarli to-night." 
 
 I felt myself turn cold. He spoke with 
 such conviction. The murderer was still smil- 
 ing, and I noticed that the tired look had left 
 him. He stood in an alert attitude, and the 
 sweat had dried on his broad forehead. 
 
 ' The desert drum?" I repeated. 
 
 " Monsieur has not heard of it? " 
 
 " Yes, I have heard but it can't be. 
 There must have been someone." 
 
 I looked at the white teeth of the murderer, 
 white as the saltpetre which makes winter in 
 the desert. 
 
 " I must get back to the Bordj," I said ab- 
 ruptly. 
 
 " I will accompany monsieur." 
 
 The old formula, and this time the voice 
 which spoke it sounded natural. We went for- 
 ward together. I walked very fast. I wanted 
 to catch up that music, to prove to myself that 
 it was produced by human fists and sticks upon 
 
 298 
 
THE DESERT DRUM 
 
 an instrument which, however barbarous, had 
 been fashioned by human hands. But we en- 
 tered Sidi-Massarli in a silence, only broken 
 by the soughing of the wind and the heavy 
 shuffle of the murderer's feet upon the sand. 
 
 Outside the Cafe Maure D'oud was stand- 
 ing with the white hood of his burnous drawn 
 forward over his head; one or two ragged 
 Arabs stood with him. 
 
 " They've been playing tom-toms in the vil- 
 lage, D'oud?" 
 
 " Monsieur asks if " 
 
 " Tom-toms. Can't you understand? " 
 
 "Ah! Monsieur is laughing. Tom-toms 
 here! And dancers, too, perhaps! Monsieur 
 thinks there are dancers ? Fatma and Khadi j a 
 and Aichouch " 
 
 I glanced quickly at the murderer as D'oud 
 mentioned the last name, a name common to 
 many dancers of the East. I think I expected 
 to see upon his face some tremendous expres- 
 sion, a revelation of the soul of the man who 
 had run for one whole day through the sand 
 behind the Spahi's horse, cursing at the e-nd of 
 the cord which dragged him onward from 
 Tunis. 
 
 But I only met the gentle smile of eyes so 
 tender, so submissive, that they were as the 
 eyes of a woman who had always been a slave, 
 while the ragged Arabs laughed at the idea 
 of tom-toms in Sidi-Massarli. 
 
 299 
 
THE DESERT DRUM 
 
 WHen we reached the Bordj I found that it 
 contained only one good-sized room, quite 
 bare, with stone floor and white walls. Here, 
 upon a deal table, was set forth my repast ; the 
 foods I had brought with me, and a red Arab 
 soup served in a gigantic bowl of palmwood. 
 A candle guttered in the glass neck of a bot- 
 tle, and upon the floor were already spread 
 my gaudy striped quilt, my pillow, and my 
 blanket. The Spahi surveyed these prepara- 
 tions with a deliberate greediness, lingering in 
 the narrow doorway. 
 
 I sat down on a bench before the table. 
 My attendants were to eat at the Cafe 
 Maure. 
 
 " Where are you going to sleep? " I asked 
 of D'oud. 
 
 " At the Cafe Maure, monsieur, if monsieur 
 is not afraid to sleep alone. Here is the key. 
 Monsieur can lock himself in. The door is 
 strong." 
 
 I was helping myself to the soup. The ris- 
 ing wind blew up the skirts of the Spain's scar- 
 let robe. In the wind was it imagination? 
 I seemed to hear some thin, passing echoes of 
 a tom-tom's beat. 
 
 " Come in," I said to the Spahi. ' You 
 shall sup with me to-night, and and you shall 
 sleep here with me." 
 
 D'oud's expressive face became sinister. 
 Arabs are almost as jealous as they are 
 vain. 
 
 300 
 
THE DESERT DRUM 
 
 " But, monsieur, he will sleep in the Cafe 
 Maure. If monsieur wishes for a companion, 
 I " 
 
 " Come in," I repeated to the Spahi. ' You 
 can sleep here to-night." 
 
 The Spahi stepped over the lintel with a 
 jingling of spurs, a rattling of accoutrements. 
 The murderer stepped in softly after him, 
 drawn by the cord. D'oud began to look as 
 grim as death. He made a ferocious gesture 
 towards the murderer. 
 
 " And that man? Monsieur wishes to sleep 
 in the same room with him? " 
 
 I heard the sound of the tom-tom above the 
 wail of the wind. 
 
 " Yes," I said. 
 
 Why did I wish it? I hardly know. I had 
 no fear for, no desire to protect myself. But 
 I remembered the smile I had seen, the Spahi's 
 saying, " There will be death in Sidi-Massarli 
 to-night," and I was resolved that the three 
 men who had heard the desert drum together 
 should not be parted till the morning. D'oud 
 said no more. He waited upon me with his 
 usual diligence, but I could see that he was 
 furiously angry. The Spahi ate ravenously. 
 So did the murderer, who more than once, 
 however, seemed to be dropping to sleep over 
 his food. He was apparently dead tired. As 
 the wind was now become very violent I did 
 not feel disposed to stir out again, and I or- 
 dered D'oud to bring us three cups of coffee 
 
 301 
 
THE DESERT DRUM 
 
 to the Bordj. He cast a vicious look at the 
 Spahi and went out into the darkness. I saw 
 him no more that night. A boy from the Cafe 
 Maure brought us coffee, cleared the remains 
 of our supper from the table, and presently 
 muttered some Arab salutation, departed, and 
 was lost in the wind. 
 
 The murderer was now frankly asleep with 
 his head upon the table, and the Spahi began 
 to blink. I, too, felt very tired, but I had 
 something still to say. Speaking softly, I 
 said to the Spahi : 
 
 " That sound we heard to-night 
 
 " Monsieur? " 
 
 " Have you ever heard it before? " 
 
 "Never, monsieur. But my brother heard 
 it just before he had a stroke of the sun. He 
 fell dead before his captain beside the wall of 
 Sada. He was a tirailleur." 
 
 " And you think this sound means that death 
 is near? " 
 
 " I know it, monsieur. All desert people 
 know it. I was born at Touggourt, and how 
 should I not know? " 
 
 " But then one of us " 
 
 I looked from him to the sleeping mur- 
 derer. 
 
 " There will be death in Sidi-Massarli to- 
 night, monsieur. It is the will of Allah. 
 Blessed be Allah." 
 
 I got up, locked the heavy door of the 
 Bordj, and put the key in the inner pocket of 
 
 302 
 
THE DESEUT DRUM 
 
 my coat. As I did so, I fancied I saw the 
 heavy black lids of the murderer's closed eyes 
 flutter for a moment. But I cannot be sure. 
 My head was aching with fatigue. The 
 Spahi, too, looked stupid with sleep. He 
 jerked the cord, the murderer awoke with a 
 start, glanced heavily round, stood up. Pull- 
 ing him as one would an obstinate dog, the 
 Spahi made him lie down on the bare floor in 
 the corner of the Bordj, ere he himself curled 
 up in the thick quilt which had been rolled up 
 behind his high saddle. I made no protest, 
 but when the Spahi was asleep, his lean brown 
 hand laid upon his sword, his musket under his 
 shaven head, I pushed one of my blankets over 
 to the murderer, who lay looking like a heap of 
 rags against the white wall. He smiled at me 
 gently, as he had smiled when the desert drum 
 was beating, and drew the blanket over his 
 mighty limbs and face. 
 
 I did not mean to sleep that night. Tired 
 though I was my brain was so excited that I 
 felt I should not. I blew out the candle with- 
 out even the thought that it would be necessary 
 to struggle against sleep. And in the dark- 
 ness I heard for an instant the roar of the wind 
 outside, the heavy breathing of my two strange 
 companions within. For an instant then it 
 seemed as if a shutter was drawn suddenly 
 over the light in my brain. Blackness filled 
 the room where the thoughts develop, crowd, 
 stir in endless activities. Slumber fell upon 
 
 303 
 
THE DESERT DRUM 
 
 me like a great stone that strikes a man down 
 to dumbness, to unconsciousness. 
 
 Far in the night I had a dream. I cannot 
 recall it accurately now. I could not recall it 
 even the next morning when I awoke. But in 
 this dream, it seemed to me that fingers felt 
 softly about my heart. I was conscious of 
 their fluttering touch. It was as if I were 
 dead, and as if the doctor laid for a moment 
 his hand upon my heart to convince himself 
 that the pulse of life no longer beat. And 
 this action wove itself naturally into the dream 
 I had. The fingers so soft, so surreptitious, 
 were lifted from my breast, and I sank deeper 
 into the gulf of sleep, below the place of 
 dreams. For I was a tired man that night. 
 At the first breath of dawn I stirred and woke. 
 It was cold. I put out one hand and drew up 
 my quilt. Then I lay still. The wind had 
 sunk. I no longer heard it roaring over the 
 desert. For a moment I hardly remembered 
 where I was, then memory came back and I 
 listened for the deep breathing of the Spahi 
 and the murderer. Even when the wind blew 
 I had heard it. I did not hear it now. I lay 
 there under my quilt for some minutes listen- 
 ing'. The silence was intense. Had they gone 
 already, started on their way to El Arba? The 
 Bordj was in darkness, for the windows were 
 very small, and dawn had scarcely begun to 
 
 304 
 
THE DESERT DRUM 
 
 break outside and had not yet filtered in 
 through the wooden shutters which barred 
 them. I disliked this complete silence, and 
 felt about for the matches I had laid beside 
 the candle before turning in. I could not find 
 them. Someone had moved them, then. The 
 heaviness of sleep had quite left me now, and 
 I remembered clearly all the incidents of the 
 previous evening. The roll of the desert 
 drum sounded again in my ears. I threw off 
 my quilt, got up, and moved softly over the 
 stone floor towards the corner where the mur- 
 derer had lain down to sleep. I bent down 
 to touch him and touched the stone. They 
 had gone, then! It was strange that I had not 
 been waked by their departure. Besides, I 
 had the key of the door. I thrust my hand 
 into the breast-pocket of my coat which I had 
 worn while I slept. The key was no longer 
 there. Then I remembered my dream and the 
 fingers fluttering round my heart. Stumbling 
 in the blackness I came to the place where the 
 Spahi had lain, stretched out my hands and 
 felt naked flesh. My hands recoiled from it, 
 for it was very cold. 
 
 Half-an-hour later the one-eyed Arab who 
 kept the Bordj, roused by my beating upon 
 the door with the butt end of my revolver, 
 came with D'oud to ask what was the matter. 
 The door had to be broken in. This took some 
 time. Long before I could escape, the light 
 of the sun, entering through the little arched 
 
 305 
 
THE DESERT DRUM 
 
 windows, had illumined the nude corpse of the 
 Spahi, the gaping red wound in his throat, the 
 heap of murderer's rags that lay across his 
 feet. 
 
 M 'hammed Bouaziz, in the red cloak, the 
 red boots, sword at his side, musket slung over 
 his shoulder, was galloping over the desert 
 on his way to freedom. 
 
 But six months later he was taken at night 
 outside a cafe by the lake at Tunis. He was 
 gazing through the doorway at a girl who 
 was posturing to the sound of pipes between 
 two rows of Arabs. The light from the cafe 
 fell upon his face, the dancer uttered a cry. 
 
 "M'hammed Bouaziz!" 
 
 "Aichouch!" 
 
 The law avenged the Spahi, and this time it 
 was not to prison they led my friend of Sidi- 
 Massarli, but to an open space before a squad 
 of soldiers just when the dawn was breaking. 
 
 306 
 
THE PRINCESS AND THE 
 JEWEL DOCTOR 
 
 IN St. Petersburg society there may be met 
 at the present time a certain Russian Prin- 
 cess, who is noted for her beauty, for an ugly 
 defect she has lost the forefinger of her left 
 hand and for her extraordinary attachment 
 to the city of Tunis, where she has spent at 
 least three months of each year since 1890 
 the year in which she suffered the accident that 
 deprived her of a finger. What that accident 
 ,was, and why she is so passionately attached 
 to Tunis, nobody in Russia seems to know, not 
 even her doting husband, who bows to all her 
 caprices. But two persons could explain the 
 matter a Tunisian guide named Abdul, and 
 a rather mysterious individual who follows a 
 humble calling in the Rue Ben-Ziad, close to 
 the Tunis bazaars. This latter is the Princess's 
 personal attendant during her yearly visit to 
 Tunis. He accompanies her everywhere, may 
 be seen in the hall of her hotel when she is at 
 home, on the box of her carriage when she 
 drives out, close behind her when she is walk- 
 ing. He is her shadow in Africa. Only when 
 she goes back to Russia does he return to his 
 profession in the Rue Ben-Ziad. 
 
 This is the exact history of the accident 
 307 
 
THE PRINCESS 
 
 which befell the Princess in 1890. In the spring 
 of that year she arrived one night at Tunis. 
 She had not long been married to an honour- 
 able man whom she adored. She was rich, pret- 
 ty, and popular. Yet her life was clouded by a 
 great fear that sometimes made the darkness 
 of night almost intolerable to her. She dreaded 
 lest the darkness of blindness should come 
 upon her. Both her mother, now dead, and 
 her grandfather had laboured under this de- 
 fect. They had been born with sight, and had 
 become totally blind ere they reached the age 
 of forty. Princess Danischeff as we may 
 call her for the purpose of this story trem- 
 bled when she thought of their fate, and that 
 it might be hers. Certain books that she read, 
 certain conversations on the subject of hered-r 
 ity that she heard in Petersburg society fed 
 her terror. Occasionally, too, when she stood 
 under a strong light she felt a slight pain in 
 her eyes. She never spoke of her fear, but she 
 fell into a condition of nervous exhaustion that 
 alarmed her husband and her physician. The 
 latter recommended foreign travel as a tonic. 
 The former, who was detained in the capital 
 by political affairs, reluctantly agreed to a 
 separation from his wife. And thus it came 
 about, that, late one night of spring, the 
 Princess and her companion, the elderly Coun- 
 tess de RosnikofF, arrived in Tunis at the close 
 of a tour in Algeria, and put up at the Hotel 
 Royal. 
 
 308 
 
AND THE JEWEL DOCTOR 
 
 The bazaars of Tunis are among the best 
 that exist in the world of bazaars, and, on the 
 morning after her arrival, the Princess was 
 anxious to explore them with her companion. 
 But Madame de Rosnikoff was fatigued by 
 her journey from Constantine. She begged 
 the Princess to go without her, desiring earn- 
 estly to be left in her bedroom with a cup of 
 weak tea and a French novel. The Princess, 
 therefore, ordered a guide and set forth to the 
 bazaars. 
 
 The guide's name was Abdul. He was a 
 talkative young Eastern, and as he turned 
 with the Princess into the network of tiny 
 alleys that spreads from the Bab-el-bahar to 
 the bazaars, he poured forth a flood of infor- 
 mation about the marvels of his native city. 
 The Princess listened idly. That morning she 
 was cruelly pre-occupied. As she stepped out 
 of the hotel into the bright sunshine she had 
 felt a sharp pain in her eyes, and now, though 
 she held over her head a large green parasol, 
 the pain continued. She looked at the light 
 and thought of the darkness that might be 
 coming upon her, and the chatter of Abdul 
 sounded vague in her ears. Presently, how- 
 ever, she was forced to attend to him, for he 
 asked her a direct question. 
 
 " To-day they sell jewels by auction near 
 the Mosquee Djama-ez-Zitouna," he said. 
 " Would the gracious Princess like to see the 
 market of the jewels? " 
 
 309 
 
THE PRINCESS 
 
 The Princess put her hand to her eyes and 
 assented in a low voice. Abdul turned out of 
 the sunshine into a narrow alley covered with a 
 wooden roof. It was full of shadows and of 
 squatting men, who held out brown hands to 
 the Princess as she passed. But she was star- 
 ing at the shadows and did not see the mer- 
 chants of Goblin Market. Leaving this alley 
 Abdul led her abruptly into a dense crowd of 
 Arabs, who were all talking, gesticulating, and 
 moving hither and thither, apparently under 
 the influence of extreme excitement. Many of 
 them held rings, bracelets, or brooches between 
 their fingers, and some extended palms upon 
 which lay quantities of uncut jewels tur- 
 quoises, sapphires, and emeralds. At a little 
 distance a grave man was noting down some- 
 thing in a book. But the Princess scarcely 
 observed the progress of the jewel auction. 
 Her attention had been attracted by an ex- 
 traordinary figure that stood near her. This 
 was an immensely tall Arab, dressed in a dingy 
 brown robe, and wearing upon his shaven 
 head, which narrowed almost to a point at 
 the back, a red fez with a large black tassel. 
 His claw-like hands were covered with rings 
 and his bony wrists with bracelets. But the at- 
 tention of the Princess was riveted by his eyes. 
 They were small and bright, arid squinted 
 horribly so horribly, that it was impossible to 
 tell at what he was looking. These eyes gave 
 to his face an expression of diabolic and ruth- 
 
 310 
 
AND THE JEWEL DOCTOR 
 
 less vigilance and cunning. He seemed at the 
 same time to be seeing everything and to be 
 gazing definitely at nothing. 
 
 "That is Safti, the jewel doctor," mur- 
 mured Abdul in the ear of the Princess. 
 
 " A jewel doctor! What is that? " asked the 
 Princess. 
 
 " When you are sick he cures you with 
 jewels." 
 
 "And what can he cure?" said the Prin- 
 cess, still looking at Safti, who was now bar- 
 gaining vociferously with a fat Arab for a 
 piece of milk-white jade. 
 
 " All things. I was sick of a fever that 
 comes with the summer. He gave me a stone 
 crushed to a powder, and I was well. He 
 saved from death one of the Bey's sons, who 
 was dying from hijada. And then, too, he 
 has a stone in a ring which can preserve sight 
 to him who is going blind." 
 
 The Princess started violently. 
 
 "Impossible!" she cried. 
 
 " It is true," said Abdul. " It is a green 
 stone like that." 
 
 He pointed to an emerald which an Arab 
 was holding up to the light. 
 
 The Princess put her hand to her eyes. 
 They still ached, and her temples were throb- 
 bing furiously. 
 
 " I cannot stay here," she said. " It is too 
 
 hot. But tell the jewel doctor that I wish 
 
 to visit him. Where does he live? " 
 
 311 
 
THE PRINCESS 
 
 " In a little street, Rue Ben-Ziad, in a little 
 house. But he is rich." Abdul spread his 
 arms abroad. " When will the gracious Prin- 
 cess ? " 
 
 1 This afternoon. At at four o'clock you 
 will take me." 
 
 Abdul spoke to Safti, who turned, squinted 
 horribly at the Princess, and salaamed to her 
 with a curious and contradictory dignity, turn- 
 ing his fingers, covered with jewels, towards 
 the earth. 
 
 That afternoon, at four, when the venerable 
 Madame de Rosnikoff was still drinking her 
 weak tea and reading her French novel, the 
 Princess and Abdul stood before the low 
 wooden door of the jewel doctor's house. Ab- 
 dul struck upon it, and the terrible physician 
 appeared in the dark aperture, looking all 
 ways with his deformed eyes, which fascinated 
 the Princess. Having ascertained that he 
 could speak a little broken French, like many 
 of the Tunisian Arabs, she bade Abdul wait 
 outside, and entered the hovel of the jewel 
 doctor, who shut close the door behind her. 
 
 The room in which she found herself was 
 dark and scented. Faint light from the street 
 filtered in through an aperture in the wall, 
 across which was partially drawn a wooden 
 shutter. Round the room ran a divan covered 
 with straw matting, and Safti now conducted 
 the Princess ceremoniously to this, and handed 
 her a cup of thick coffee, which he took from 
 
 312 
 
AND THE JEWEL DOCTOR 
 
 a brass tray that was placed upon a stand. As 
 she sipped the coffee and looked at the pointed 
 head and twisted gaze of Safti, the Princess 
 heard some distant Arab at a street corner 
 singing monotonously a tuneless song, and the 
 scent, the darkness, the reiterated song, and 
 the tall, strange creature standing silently be- 
 fore her gave to her, in their combination, the 
 atmosphere of a dream. She found it difficult 
 to speak, to explain her errand. 
 
 At length she said: "You are a doctor? 
 You can cure the sick? " 
 
 Safti salaamed. 
 
 " With jewels? Is that possible? " 
 
 "Jewels are the only medicine," Safti re- 
 plied, speaking with sudden volubility. 
 " With the ruby I cure madness, with the 
 white jade the disease of the hijada, and with 
 the bloodstone haemorrhage. I have made a 
 man who was ill of fever wear a topaz, and 
 he arose from bed and walked happily in the 
 street." 
 
 "And with an emerald," interrupted the 
 Princess; "have you not preserved sight with 
 an emerald? They told me so." 
 
 Safti's expression suddenly became grim 
 and suspicious. 
 
 " Who said that?" he asked sharply. 
 
 "Abdul. Is it true? Can it be true? " 
 
 Her cheeks were flushed. She spoke almost 
 with violence, laying her hand upon his arm. 
 Safti seemed to stare hard into the corners of 
 
 313 
 
THE PRINCESS 
 
 the little room. Perhaps he was really looking 
 at the Princess. At length he said: " It is 
 true." 
 
 " I will give any price you ask for it," said 
 the Princess. 
 
 " You ! " said Saf ti. " But you " 
 
 Suddenly he lifted his lean hands, took the 
 face of the Princess between them quite gent- 
 ly, and turned it towards the small window. 
 She had begun to tremble. Holding her soft 
 cheeks with his brown fingers, Safti remained 
 motionless for a long time, during which it 
 seemed to the Princess that he was looking 
 away from her at some distant object. She 
 watched his frightful and surreptitious eyes, 
 that never told the truth, she heard the distant 
 Arab's everlasting song, and her dream be- 
 came a nightmare. At last Safti dropped his 
 hands and said: 
 
 " It may be that some day you will need 
 my emerald." 
 
 The Princess felt as if at that moment a 
 bullet entered her heart. 
 
 " Give it me give it me! " she cried. " I 
 am rich. I 
 
 " I do not sell my medicines," Safti an- 
 swered. ' Those who use them must live near 
 me, here in Tunis. When they are healed they 
 give back to me the jewel that has saved them. 
 But you you live far off." 
 
 With the swiftness of a woman the Princess 
 saw that persuasion would be useless. Safti's 
 
 314 
 
AND THE JEWEL DOCTOR 
 
 face looked hard as brown wood. She seemed 
 to recover from her emotion, and said quietly : 
 
 " At least you will let me see the emerald? " 
 
 Safti went to a small bureau that stood at 
 the back of the room, opened one of its draw- 
 ers with a key which he drew from beneath his 
 dingy robe, lifted a small silver box carefully 
 out, returned to the Princess, and put the box 
 into her hand. 
 
 " Open it," he said. 
 
 She obeyed, and took out a very small and 
 antique gold ring, in which was set a rather 
 dull emerald. Safti drew it gently from her, 
 and put it upon the forefinger of her left hand. 
 It was so tiny that it would not pass beyond 
 the joint of the finger, and it looked ugly and 
 odd upon the Princess, who wore many beauti- 
 ful rings. Now that she saw it she felt the 
 superstition that had sprung from her terror 
 dying within her. Safti, with his crooked eyes, 
 must have read her thought in her face, for 
 he said: 
 
 " The Princess is wrong. That medicine 
 could cure her. The one who wears it for three 
 months in each year can never be blind." 
 
 Taking the emerald from her finger, he 
 touched her two eyes with it, and it seemed to 
 the Princess that, as he did so, the pain she 
 felt in them withdrew. Her desire for the 
 jewel instantly returned. 
 
 " Let me wear it," she said, putting forth 
 all her charm to soften the jewel doctor. " Let 
 
 315 
 
THE PRINCESS 
 
 me take it with me to Russia. I will make you 
 rich." 
 
 Safti shook his head. 
 
 " The Princess may wear it here, in Tunis," 
 he replied. " Not elsewhere." 
 
 She began to temporise, hoping to conquer 
 his resistance later. 
 
 " I may take it with me now? " she asked. 
 
 " At a fee." 
 
 " I will pay it." 
 
 The jewel doctor went to the door, and 
 called in Abdul. Five minutes later the Prin- 
 cess passed the singing Arab at the corner of 
 the street, Rue Ben-Ziad. She had signed a 
 paper pledging herself to return the emerald 
 to Safti at the end of forty-eight hours, and to 
 pay 125 francs for her possession of it during 
 that time. And she wore the emerald on the 
 forefinger of her left hand. 
 
 On the following morning Madame de 
 Rosnikoff said to the Princess: 
 
 " I hate Tunis. It has an evil climate. The 
 tea here is too strong, and I feel sure the 
 drains are bad. Last night I was feverish. I 
 am always feverish when I am near bad 
 drains." 
 
 The Princess, who had slept well, and had 
 waked with no pain in her eyes, answered these 
 complaints cheerily, made the Countess some 
 tea that was really weak, and drove her out in 
 the sunshine to see Carthage. The Countess 
 did not see it, because there is no longer a 
 Carthage. She went to bed that night in a 
 
 316 
 
AND THE JEWEL DOCTOR 
 
 bad humour, and again complained of drains 
 the next morning. This time the Princess did 
 not heed her, for she was thinking of the hour 
 when she must return the emerald to Safti. 
 
 " What an ugly ring that is," said the old 
 Countess. ' Where did you get it? It is too 
 small. Why do you wear it? " 
 
 :< I I bought it in the bazaars," answered 
 the Princess. 
 
 " My dear, you wasted your money," said 
 the companion; and she went to bed with an- 
 other French novel. 
 
 That afternoon the Princess implored Safti 
 to sell her the emerald, and as he persistently 
 declined she renewed her lease of it for another 
 forty-eight hours. As she left the jewel doc- 
 tor's home she did not notice that he spoke 
 some words in a low and eager voice to Abdul, 
 pointing towards her as he did so. Nor did she 
 see the strange bustle of varied life in the 
 street as she walked slowly under the great 
 Moorish arch of the Porte de France. She 
 was deeply thoughtful. 
 
 Since she had worn the ugly ring of Safti 
 she had suffered no pain from her eyes, and a 
 strange certainty had gradually come upon 
 her that, while the emerald was in her posses- 
 sion, she would be safe from the terrible disease 
 of which she had so long lived in terror. Yet 
 Safti would not let her have the ring. And 
 she could not live for ever in Tunis. Already 
 she had prolonged her stay abroad, and was 
 due in Russia, where her anxious husband 
 
 317 
 
THE PRINCESS 
 
 awaited her. She knew not what to do. Sud- 
 denly an idea occurred to her. It made her 
 flush red and tingle with shame. She glanced 
 up, and saw the lustrous eyes of Abdul fixed 
 intently upon her. As he left her at the door 
 of the hotel he said, 
 
 " The Princess will stay long in Tunis? " 
 
 " Another week at least, Abdul," she an- 
 swered carelessly. " You can go home now. I 
 shall not want you any more to-day." 
 
 And she walked into the hotel without look- 
 ing at him again. When she was in her room 
 she sent for a list of the steamers sailing daily 
 from Tunis for the different ports of Africa 
 and Europe. Presently she came to the bed- 
 side of Madame de RosnikofF. 
 
 " Countess," she said, " you are no better? " 
 
 " How can I be? The drains are bad, and 
 the tea here is too strong." 
 
 " There is a boat that leaves for Sicily at 
 midnight for Marsala. Shall we go in her? " 
 
 The old lady bounded on her pillow. 
 
 " Straight on by Italy to Russia? " she cried 
 joyfully. 
 
 The Princess nodded. A fierce excitement 
 shone in her pretty eyes, and her little hands 
 were trembling as she looked down at the dull 
 emerald of Safti. 
 
 At eleven o'clock that night the Princess 
 and the Countess got into a carriage, drove to 
 the edge of the huge salt lake by which Tunis 
 lies, and went on board the Stella d'ltalia. 
 
 318 
 
AND THE JEWEL DOCTOR 
 
 The sky was starless. The winds were still, 
 and it was very dark. As the ship glided out 
 from the shore the old Countess hurried below. 
 But the Princess remained on deck, leaning 
 upon the bulwark, and gazing at the fading 
 lights of the city where Safti dwelt. Two 
 flames seemed burning in her heart, a fierce 
 flame of joy, a fierce flame of contempt of 
 contempt for herself. For was she not a com- 
 mon thief? She looked at Safti's ring on her 
 finger, and flushed scarlet in the darkness. 
 Yet she was joyful, triumphant, as she heard 
 the beating of the ship's heart, and saw the 
 lights of Tunis growing fainter in the distance, 
 and felt the onward movement of the Stella 
 A'ltalia through the night. She felt herself 
 nearer to Russia with each throb of the ma- 
 chinery. And from Russia she would expiate 
 her sin. From Russia she would compensate 
 Safti for his loss. The lights of Tunis grew 
 fainter. She thought of the open sea. 
 
 But suddenly she felt that the ship was slow- 
 ing down. The engines beat more feebly, then 
 ceased to beat. The ship glided on for a mo- 
 ment in silence, and stopped. A cold fear 
 ran over the Princess. She called to a sailor. 
 
 "Why," she said, "why do we stop? Is 
 anything wrong? " 
 
 He pointed to some lights on the port side. 
 
 " We are off Hammam-Lif, madame," he 
 said. ' We are going to lie to for half-an- 
 hour to take in cargo." 
 
 To the Princess that half -hour seemed all 
 
 319 
 
THE PRINCESS 
 
 eternity. She remained upon deck, and when- 
 ever she heard the splash of oars as a boat drew 
 near, or the guttural sound of an Arab voice, 
 she trembled, and, staring into the blackness, 
 fancied that she saw the tall figure, the pointed 
 head, and the deformed eyes of the jewel doc- 
 tor. But the minutes passed. The cargo was 
 all got on board. The boats drew off. And 
 once again the ship shuddered as the heart of 
 her began to beat, and the ebon water ran 
 backward from her prow. 
 
 Then the Princess was glad. She laid the 
 hand on which shone Safti's emerald upon the 
 bulwark, and gazed towards the sea, turning 
 her back upon the lights of Hammam-Lif. 
 She thought of safety, of Russia. She did 
 not hear a soft step drawing near upon the 
 deck behind her. She did not see the flash of 
 steel descending to the bulwark on which her 
 hand was laid. 
 
 But suddenly the horrible cry of a woman in 
 agony rang through the night. It was in- 
 stantly succeeded by a splash in the water, as 
 a tall figure dived over the vessel's side. 
 
 When the sun rose on the following day 
 over the minarets of Tunis the Stella ftltalm, 
 with the Princess on board, was far out at sea. 
 
 The emerald of Safti was once more in the 
 little house in the Rue Ben-Ziad. 
 
 It was still upon the Princess's finger. 
 
 320 
 
THE FIGURE IN THE 
 MIRAGE 
 
 ON a windy night of Spring I sat by a 
 great fire that had been built by Moors 
 on a plain of Morocco under the shadow of a 
 white city, and talked with a fellow-country- 
 man, stranger to me till that day. We had 
 met in the morning in a filthy alley of the town, 
 and had forgathered. He was a wanderer for 
 pleasure like myself, and, learning that he was 
 staying in a dreary hostelry haunted by fever, 
 I invited him to dine in my camp, and to pass 
 the night in one of the small peaked tents that 
 served me and my Moorish attendants as 
 home. He consented gladly. Dinner was 
 over no bad one, for Moors can cook, can 
 even make delicious caramel pudding in desert 
 places and Mohammed, my stalwart valet de 
 chambre, had given us most excellent coffee. 
 Now we smoked by the great fire, looked up at 
 the marvellously bright stars, and told, as is 
 the way of travellers, tales of our wanderings. 
 My companion, whom I took at first to be a 
 rather ironic, sceptical, and by nature unimag- 
 inative globe-trotter he was a hard-looking, 
 iron-grey man of middle-age related the 
 
 331 
 
THE FIGURE IN THE MIRAGE 
 
 usual tiger story, the time-honoured elephant 
 anecdote, and a couple of snake yarns of no 
 special value, and I was beginning to fear that 
 I should get little entertainment from so pro- 
 saic a sportsman, when I chanced to mention 
 the desert. 
 
 " Ah! " said my guest, taking his pipe from 
 his mouth, " the desert is the strangest thing 
 in nature, as woman is the strangest thing in 
 human nature. And when you get them to- 
 gether desert and woman by Jove!" 
 
 He paused, then he shot a keen glance at 
 me. 
 
 " Ever been in the Sahara? " he said. 
 
 I replied in the affirmative, but added that 
 I had as yet only seen the fringe of it. 
 
 " Biskra, I suppose," he rejoined, " and the 
 nearest oasis, Sidi-Okba, and so on? " 
 
 I nodded. I saw I was in for another tale, 
 and anticipated some history of shooting ex- 
 ploits under the salt mountain of El Outaya. 
 
 * Well," he continued, " I know the Sahara 
 pretty fairly, and about the oddest thing I 
 ever could believe in I heard of and believed 
 in there." 
 
 " Something about gazelle? " I queried. 
 
 " Gazelle? No a woman! " he replied.. 
 
 As he spoke a Moor glided out of the windy 
 darkness, and threw an armful of dry reeds on 
 the fire. The flames flared up vehemently, and 
 I saw that the face of my companion had 
 changed. The hardness of it was smoothed 
 
 322 
 
THE FIGURE IN THE MIRAGE 
 
 away. Some memory, that held its romance, 
 sat with him. 
 
 " A woman," he repeated, knocking the 
 ashes out of his pipe almost sentimentally 
 " more than that, a French woman of Paris, 
 
 with the nameless charm, the chic.,ihe But 
 
 I'll tell you. Some years ago three Parisians 
 a man, his wife, and her unmarried sister, a 
 girl of eighteen, with an angel and a devil in 
 her dark beauty came to a great resolve. 
 They decided that they were tired of the Fran- 
 cais, sick of the Bois, bored to death with the 
 boulevards, that they wanted to see for them- 
 selves the famous French colonies which were 
 for ever being talked about in the Chamber. 
 They determined to travel. No sooner was the 
 determination come to than they were off. 
 Hotel des Colonies, Marseilles; steamboat, Le 
 General Chanzy; five o'clock on a splendid, 
 sunny afternoon Algiers, with its terraces, 
 its white villas, its palms, trees, and its 
 Spahis!" 
 
 " But " I began. 
 
 He foresaw my objection. 
 ' There were Spahis, and that's a point of 
 my story. Some fete was on in the town while 
 our Parisians were there. All the African 
 troops were out Zouaves, chasseurs, tirail- 
 leurs. The Governor went in procession to 
 perform some ceremony, and in front of his 
 carriage rode sixteen Spahis probably got in 
 from that desert camp of theirs near El Ou- 
 
 323 
 
THE FIGURE IN THE MIRAGE 
 
 taya. All this was long before the Tsar visited 
 Paris, and our Parisians had never before seen 
 the dashing Spahis, had only heard of them, 
 of their magnificent horses, their turbans and 
 flowing Arab robes, their gorgeous figures, 
 lustrous eyes, and diabolic horsemanship. You 
 know how they ride? No cavalry to touch 
 them not even the Cossacks! Well, our 
 French friends were struck. The unmarried 
 sister, more especially, was bouleversee by 
 these glorious demons. As they caracoled be- 
 neath the balcony on which she was leaning 
 she clapped her little hands, in their white kid 
 gloves, and threw down a shower of roses. 
 The falling flowers frightened the horses. 
 They pranced, bucked, reared. One Spahi 
 a great fellow, eyes like a desert eagle, grand 
 aquiline profile on whom three roses had 
 dropped, looked up, saw mademoiselle call 
 her Valerie gazing down with her great, 
 bright eyes they were deuced fine eyes, by 
 Jove! " 
 
 " You've seen her? " I asked. 
 
 " and flashed a smile at her with his 
 white teeth. It was his last day in the service. 
 He was in grand spirits. f Mon Dieu! Mais 
 quelles dents!* she sang out. Her people 
 laughed at her. The Spahi looked at her again 
 not smiling. She shrank back on the bal- 
 cony. Then his place was taken by the Gov- 
 ernor small imperial, chapeau de forme, 
 evening dress, landau and pair. Mademoiselle 
 
 324: 
 
THE FIGURE IN THE MIRAGE 
 
 was desolee. Why couldn't civilised men look 
 like Spahis? Why were all Parisians com- 
 monplace? Why why? Her sister and 
 brother-in-law called her the savage worship- 
 per, and took her down to the cafe on the 
 terrace to dine. And all through dinner 
 mademoiselle talked of the beaux Spahis in 
 the plural, with a secret reservation in her 
 heart. After Algiers our Parisians went by 
 way of Constantine to Biskra. Now they saw 
 desert for the first time the curious iron- 
 grey, velvety-brown, and rose-pink moun- 
 tains; the nomadic Arabs camping in their 
 earth-coloured tents patched with rags; the 
 camels against the skyline; the everlasting 
 sands, broken here and there by the deep 
 green shadows of distant oases, where the 
 close-growing palms, seen from far off, give 
 to the desert almost the effect that clouds give 
 to Cornish waters. At Biskra mademoiselle 
 oh! what she must have looked like under 
 the mimosa-trees before the Hotel de 
 1' Oasis !- 
 
 4 Then you've seen her," I began. 
 
 " mademoiselle became enthusiastic again, 
 and, almost before they knew it, her sister and 
 brother-in-law were committed to a desert ex- 
 pedition, were fitted out with a dragoman, 
 tents, mules the whole show, in fact and 
 one blazing hot day found themselves out in 
 that sunshine you know it with Biskra a 
 green shadow on that sea, the mountains be- 
 
 325 
 
THE FIGURE IN THE MIRAGE 
 
 hind the sulphur springs turning from bronze 
 to black-brown in the distance, and the table 
 flatness of the desert stretching ahead of them 
 to the limits of the world and the judgment 
 day." 
 
 My companion paused, took a flaming reed 
 from the fire, put it to his pipe bowl, pulled 
 hard at his pipe all the time staring straight 
 before him, as if, among the glowing logs, he 
 saw the caravan of the Parisians winding on- 
 ward across the desert sands. Then he turned 
 to me, sighed, and said: 
 
 " YouVe seen mirage? " 
 
 " Yes," I answered. 
 
 " Have you noticed that in mirage the 
 things one fancies one sees generally appear 
 in large numbers buildings crowded as in 
 towns, trees growing together as in woods, 
 men shoulder to shoulder in large compa- 
 nies?" 
 
 My experience of mirage in the desert was 
 so, and I acknowledged it. 
 
 " Have you ever seen in a mirage a solitary 
 figure? " he continued. 
 
 I thought for a moment. Then I replied 
 in the negative. 
 
 " No more have I," he said. " And I believe 
 it's a very rare occurrence. Now mark the 
 mirage that showed itself to mademoiselle on 
 the first day of the desert journey of the Paris- 
 ians. She saw it on the northern verge of the 
 oasis of Sidi-Okba, late in the afternoon. As 
 
 326 
 
THE FIGURE IN THE MIRAGE 
 
 they journeyed Tahar, their dragoman he 
 had applied for the post, and got it by the de- 
 sire of mademoiselle, who admired his lithe 
 bearing and gorgeous aplomb Tahar sud- 
 denly pulled up his mule, pointed with his 
 brown hand to the horizon, and said in French : 
 
 "'There is mirage! Look! There is the 
 mirage of the great desert ! ' 
 
 " Our Parisians, filled with excitement, 
 gazed above the pointed ears of their beasts, 
 over the shimmering waste. There, beyond 
 the palms of the oasis, wrapped in a mysteri- 
 ous haze, lay the mirage. They looked at it 
 in silence. Then Mademoiselle cried, in her 
 little bird's clear voice : 
 
 ' Mirage! But surely he's real? ' 
 ' What does mademoiselle see? ' asked 
 Tahar quickly. 
 
 " ' Why, a sort of faint landscape, through 
 which a man an Arab, I suppose is riding, 
 towards Sidi what is it? Sidi-Okba! He's 
 got something in front of him, hanging across 
 his saddle.' 
 
 " Her relations looked at her in amazement. 
 
 " ' I only see houses standing on the edge 
 of water,' said her sister. 
 
 ' And I ! ' cried the husband. 
 c Houses and water,' assented Tahar. ' It 
 is always so in the mirage of Sidi-Okba.' 
 
 c I see no houses, no water,' cried made- 
 moiselle, straining her eyes. ' The Arab rides 
 fast, like the wind. He is in a hurry. One 
 
 327 
 
THE FIGURE IN THE MIRAGE 
 
 would think he was being pursued. Why, now 
 he's gone ! ' 
 
 " She turned to her companions. They saw 
 still the fairy houses of the mirage standing 
 in the haze on the edge of the fairy water. 
 
 " * But,' mademoiselle said impatiently, 
 ' there's nothing at all now only sand.' 
 
 ' Mademoiselle dreams,' said Tahar. ' The 
 mirage is always there.' 
 
 ' They rode forward. That night they 
 camped near Sidi-Okba. At dinner, while the 
 stars came out, they talked of the mirage, and 
 mademoiselle still insisted that it was a mirage 
 of a horseman bearing something before him 
 on his saddle-bow, and riding as if for life. 
 And Tahar said again: 
 
 " ' Mademoiselle dreams! ' 
 
 " As he spoke he looked at her with a mys- 
 terious intentness, which she noticed. That 
 night, in her little camp-bed, round which the 
 desert winds blew mildly, she did indeed dream. 
 And her dream was of the magic forms that 
 ride on magic horses through mirage. 
 
 " The next day, at dawn, the caravan of the 
 Parisians went on its way, winding farther 
 into the desert. In leaving Sidi-Okba they left 
 behind them the last traces of civilisation the 
 French man and woman who keep the auberge 
 in the orange garden there. To-day, as they 
 journeyed, a sense of deep mystery flowed 
 upon the heart of mademoiselle. She felt that 
 she was a little cockle-shell of a boat which, ac- 
 
 328 
 
THE FIGURE IN THE MIRAGE 
 
 customed hitherto only to the Seine, now set 
 sail upon a mighty ocean. The fear of the 
 Sahara came upon her." 
 
 My companion paused. His face was grave, 
 almost stern. 
 
 " And her relations? " I asked. " Did they 
 feel " 
 
 "Haven't -an idea what they felt," he an- 
 swered curtly. 
 
 " But how do you know that mademoiselle 
 
 " You'll understand at the end of the story. 
 As they journeyed in the sun across the end- 
 less flats for the mountains had vanished 
 now, and nothing broke the level of the sand 
 mademoiselle's gaiety went from her. Silent 
 was the lively, chattering tongue that knew the 
 jargon of cities, the gossip of the Plage. She 
 was oppressed. Tahar rode close at her side. 
 He seemed to have taken her under his special 
 protection. Far before them rode the attend- 
 ants, chanting deep love songs in the sun. The 
 sound of those songs seemed like the sound of 
 the great desert singing of its wild and savage 
 love to the heart of mademoiselle. At first her 
 brother-in-law and sister bantered her on her 
 silence, but Tahar stopped them, with a cu- 
 rious authority. 
 
 " * The desert speaks to mademoiselle,' he 
 said in her hearing. * Let her listen.' 
 
 " He watched her continually with his huge 
 eyes, and she did not mind his glance, though 
 
 329 
 
THE FIGURE IN THE MIRAGE 
 
 she began to feel irritated and restless under 
 the observation of her relations. 
 
 " Towards noon Tahar again described mi- 
 rage. As he pointed it out he stared fixedly 
 at mademoiselle. 
 
 " The two other Parisians exclaimed that 
 they saw forest trees, a running stream, a veri- 
 table oasis, where they longed to rest and eat 
 their dejeuner. 
 
 6 And mademoiselle? ' said Tahar. ' What 
 does she see? ' 
 
 " She was gazing into the distance. Her 
 face was very pale, and for a moment she did 
 not answer. Then she said: 
 
 " ' I see again the Arab bearing the burden 
 before him on the saddle. He is much clearer 
 than yesterday. I can almost see his face ' 
 
 " She paused. She was trembling. 
 
 " ' But I cannot see what he carries. It 
 seems to float on the wind, like a robe, or a 
 woman's dress. Ah! mon Dieu! how fast he 
 rides ! ' 
 
 " She stared before her as if fascinated, and 
 following with her eyes some rapidly-moving 
 object. Suddenly she shut her eyes. 
 
 " ' He's gone! ' she said. 
 
 " ' And now mademoiselle sees? ' said 
 Tahar. 
 
 " She opened her eyes. 
 
 " ' Nothing.' 
 
 " * Yet the mirage is still there,' he said. 
 
 " ' Valerie,' cried her sister, ' are you mad 
 330 
 
THE FIGURE IN THE MIRAGE 
 
 that you see what no one else can see, and can- 
 not see what all else see? " 
 
 " ' Am I mad, Tahar? ' she said gravely, al- 
 most timidly, to the dragoman. 
 
 " And the fear of the Sahara came again 
 upon her. 
 
 " ' Mademoiselle sees what she must,' he 
 answered. ' The desert speaks to the heart of 
 mademoiselle.' 
 
 " That night there was moon. Mademoi- 
 selle could not sleep. She lay in her narrow 
 bed and thought of the figure in the mirage, 
 while the moonbeams stole in between the tent 
 pegs to keep her company. She thought of 
 second sight, of phantoms, and of wraiths. 
 Was this riding Arab, whom she alone could 
 see, a phantom of the Sahara, mysteriously 
 accompanying the caravan, and revealing him- 
 self to her through the medium of the mirage 
 as if in a magic mirror? She turned restlessly 
 upon her pillow, saw the naughty moonbeams, 
 got up, and went softly to the tent door. All 
 the desert was bathed in light. She gazed out 
 as a mariner gazes out over the sea. She 
 heard jackals yelping in the distance, peevish 
 in their insomnia, and fancied their voices were 
 the voices of desert demons. As she stood 
 there she thought of the figure in the mirage, 
 and wondered if mirage ever rises at night 
 if, by chance, she might see it now. And, 
 while she stood wondering, far away across 
 the sand there floated up a silvery haze, like 
 
 331 
 
THE FIGURE IN THE MIRAGE 
 
 a veil of spangled tissue exquisite for a ball 
 robe, she said long after! and in this haze 
 she saw again the phantom Arab galloping 
 upon his horse. But now he was clear in the 
 moon. Furiously he rode, like a thing de- 
 mented in a dream, and as he rode he looked 
 back over his shoulder, as if he feared pur- 
 suit. Mademoiselle could see his fierce eyes, 
 like the eyes of a desert eagle that stares un- 
 winking at the glaring African sun. He 
 urged on his fleet horse. She could hear now 
 the ceaseless thud of its hoofs upon the hard 
 sand as it drew nearer and nearer. She could 
 see the white foam upon its steaming flanks, 
 and now at last she knew that the burden which 
 the Arab bore across his saddle and supported 
 with his arms was a woman. Her robe flew 
 out upon the wind; her dark, loose hair 
 streamed over the breast of the horseman ; her 
 face was hidden against his heart; but made- 
 moiselle saw his face, uttered a cry, and 
 shrank back against the canvas of the tent. 
 
 " For it was the face of the Spahi who had 
 ridden in the procession of the Governor of 
 the Spahi to whom she had thrown the roses 
 from the balcony of Algiers. 
 
 " As she cried out the mirage faded, the 
 Arab vanished, the thud of the horse's hoofs 
 died in her ears, and Tahar, the dragoman, 
 glided round the tent, and stood before her. 
 His eyes gleamed in the moonlight like ebon 
 jewels. 
 
 332 
 
THE FIGURE IN THE MIRAGE 
 
 ' Hush ! ' he whispered, * mademoiselle sees 
 the mirage? ' 
 
 " Mademoiselle could not speak. She stared 
 into the eyes of Tahar, and hers were dilated 
 with wonder. 
 
 " He drew nearer to her. 
 
 ' Mademoiselle has seen again the horse- 
 man and his burden.' 
 
 " She bowed her head. All things seemed 
 dream-like to her. Tahar's voice was low and 
 monotonous, and sounded far away. 
 
 " ' It is fate,' he said. He paused, gazing 
 upon her. 
 
 * In the tents they all sleep,' he mur- 
 mured. ' Even the watchman sleeps, for I 
 have given him a powder of hashish, and 
 hashish gives long dreams long dreams.' 
 
 " From beneath his robe he drew a small 
 box, opened it, and showed to mademoiselle a 
 dark brown powder, which he shook into a tiny 
 cup of water. 
 
 ' Mademoiselle shall drink, as the watch- 
 man has drunk,' he said ' shall drink and 
 dream.' 
 
 " He held the cup to her lips, and she, fas- 
 cinated by his eyes, as by the eyes of a mes- 
 merist, could not disobey him. She swallowed 
 the hashish, swayed, and fell forward into his 
 arms. 
 
 " A moment later, across the spaces of the 
 desert, whitened by the moon, rode the figure 
 mademoiselle had seen in the mirage. Upon 
 
 333 
 
THE FIGURE IN THE MIRAGE 
 
 his saddle he bore a dreaming woman. And in 
 the ears of the woman through all the night 
 beat the thunderous music of a horse's hoofs 
 spurning the desert sand. Mademoiselle had 
 taken her place in the vision which she no 
 longer saw." 
 
 My companion paused. His pipe had gone 
 out. He did not relight it, but sat looking at 
 me in silence. 
 
 'The Spahi?"Iasked. 
 
 " Had claimed the giver of the roses." 
 
 " And Tahar? " 
 
 " The shots he fired after the Spahi missed 
 fire. Yet Tahar was a notable shot." 
 
 " A strange tale," I said. " How did you 
 come to hear it? " 
 
 " A year ago I penetrated very far into the 
 Sahara on a sporting expedition. One day I 
 came upon an encampment of nomads. The 
 story was told me by one of them as we sat in 
 the low doorway of an earth-coloured tent and 
 watched the sun go down." 
 
 " Told you by an Arab? " 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 " By whom, then? " 
 
 " By a woman with a clear little bird's voice, 
 with an angel and a devil in her dark beauty, 
 a woman with the gesture of Paris the grace, 
 the diablerie of Paris." 
 
 Light broke on me. 
 
 " By mademoiselle! " I exclaimed. 
 
 "Pardon," he answered; "by madame." 
 334 
 
THE FIGURE IN THE MIRAGE 
 
 " She was married? " 
 
 " To the figure in the mirage; and she was 
 content." 
 
 "Content!" I cried. 
 
 " Content with her two little dark children 
 dancing before her in the twilight, content 
 when the figure of the mirage galloped at 
 evening across the plain, shouting an Eastern 
 love song, with a gazelle instead of a woman 
 slung across his saddle-bow. Did I not say 
 that, as the desert is the strangest thing in 
 nature, so a woman is the strangest thing in 
 human nature? Which heart is most mys- 
 terious? " 
 
 " Its heart? " I said. 
 
 " Or the heart of mademoiselle? " 
 
 " I give the palm to the latter." 
 
 " And I," he answered, taking off his wide- 
 brimmed hat " I gave it when I saluted her 
 as madame before the tent door, out there in 
 the great desert." 
 
 335 
 
SAFTI'S SUMMER DAY 
 
 SAFTI is a respectable, one-eyed married 
 man who lives in a brown earth house 
 in the Sahara Desert. He has a wife and 
 five children, and in winter he works for his 
 living and theirs. When the morning dawns, 
 and the great red sun rises above the rim of 
 the wide and wonderful land which is the only 
 land that Safti knows, he wraps his white 
 burnous around him, pulls his hood up over 
 his closely-shaven head, rolls and lights his 
 cigarette, and sets forth to his equivalent of 
 an office. This is the white arcade of a hotel 
 where unbelieving dogs of travellers come in 
 winter. I am an unbelieving dog of a trav- 
 eller, and I come there in winter, and Safti 
 comes there for me. I, in fact, am Safti's 
 profession. By me, and others like me, he 
 lives. For a consideration he shows me round 
 the market, which I knew by heart six -years 
 ago, and takes me up the mosque tower, from 
 which I gazed over the flying pigeons and the 
 swaying palms when Safti was comparatively 
 young and frisky. Together we visit the 
 gazelles in their pretty garden, and the Caid's 
 
 337 
 
SAFTI'S SUMMER DAY 
 
 Mill, from which one sees the pink and purple 
 mountains of the Aures. We ride to the Sul- 
 phur Baths, we drive to Sidi-Okba. We take 
 our dejeuner out to the yellow sand dunes, and 
 we sip our coffee among the keef smokers 
 in Hadj's painted cafe. We listen to the 
 songs of the negro troubadour, and we smile 
 at Algia's dancing when the silver moon comes 
 up and the Kabyle dogs round the nomads' 
 tents begin their serenades. And then I give 
 Safti five francs and my blessing, and he bids 
 me "Bonne nuit!" and his ghostly figure is 
 lost in the black shadows of the palm-trees. 
 
 Oh, Safti works hard, very hard in winter. 
 The other day I asked him: "Don't you get 
 exhausted, Safti, with all this exertion to keep 
 the Sahara home together? You are getting 
 on in years now." 
 
 "Ah yes, Sidi; I am already thirty-two, 
 alas!" 
 
 He was thirty-five when I first met him ; but 
 he is as clever at subtraction as a London 
 beauty. 
 
 " Good heavens ! So much ! But, then, 
 how can you keep up the wear and tear of this 
 tumultuous life? You must have an iron 
 strength. Such work as you do would break 
 down an American millionaire." 
 
 Safti raised his one dark eye piously towards 
 Allah's dwelling. 
 
 " Sidi, I must labour for my children. But 
 in the summer, when you and all the travellers 
 
 338 
 
SAFTI'S SUMMER DAY 
 
 are gone from the Sahara to your fogs and 
 the darkness of your days, I take my little 
 holiday." 
 
 ' Your holiday ! But is it long enough? " 
 
 " It lasts for only five months, Sidi; but 
 it is enough for me. I am strong as the 
 lion." 
 
 I gazed at him with an admiration I could 
 not repress. There was, indeed, something of 
 the hero about this simple-minded Saharaman. 
 We were at the edge of the oasis, in a remote 
 place looking towards the quivering mirage 
 which guards dead Okba's tomb. A tiny 
 earthen house, with a flat terrace ending in 
 the jagged bank of the Oued Biskra, was 
 crouched here in the shade. From it emerged 
 a pleasant scent of coffee. Suddenly Safti's 
 bare legs began to " give." I felt it would be 
 cruel to push on farther. We entered the 
 house, seated ourselves luxuriously upon a 
 baked divan of mud, set our slippers on a reed 
 mat, rolled our cigarettes, and commanded our 
 coffee. When a Kabyle boy with a rosebud 
 stuck under his turban had brought it lan- 
 guidly, I said to Saf ti : 
 
 " And now, Saf ti, tell me how you pass your 
 little holiday." 
 
 Safti smiled gently in his beard. He was 
 glad to have this moment of repose. 
 
 " Each day is like its brother, Sidi," he re- 
 sponded, gazing out through the low doorway 
 to the shimmering Sahara. 
 
 339 
 
SAFTI'S SUMMER DAY 
 
 " Then tell me how you pass a summer day." 
 
 The coif ee nerved him to this stubborn ex- 
 ertion, and he spoke. 
 
 " Sahah, Sidi." 
 
 " Merci." 
 
 We sipped. 
 
 "A day in summer, Sidi, when the great 
 heats begin in June? Well, at five in the 
 morning I get up 
 
 " And light the fire," I murmured mechan- 
 ically. 
 
 The one eye stared in blank amazement. 
 
 "Proceed, Safti. You get up at five. 
 That is very early." 
 
 " The sun rises at a quarter to five." 
 
 "To call you. Well?" 
 
 " I eat three fresh figs, and sometimes 
 four. I then mount upon my mule, and I ride 
 very quietly into Biskra to take coffee with my 
 friends." 
 
 " That is half-an-hour's exercise? " 
 
 " About half-an-hour. After taking coffee 
 with my friends we play at dominoes. It is 
 forbidden for the Arabs to play at cards in 
 Biskra. I remain in the cafe at the cor- 
 ner " 
 
 " I know by the Garden of the Gazelles ! " 
 
 " till eleven o'clock, at which time I again 
 mount upon my mule, and return quietly to 
 my home. When I reach there I eat with my 
 wife and children sour milk, bread, and dates 
 from my palm-trees which I have kept from 
 
 340 
 
SAFTI'S SUMMER DAY 
 
 the autumn. At twelve we all go to bed to- 
 gether in a black room." 
 
 " A black room? " 
 
 ".We fear the flies." 
 
 " I see." 
 
 ' Till four in the afternoon I, my wife, and 
 my children sleep in the black room. At that 
 hour I rise once more, and go quietly to the 
 Cafe Maure in old Biskra, near my house. I 
 play cards there for five coffees till seven 
 o'clock. At seven the mosquitoes arrive, and 
 prevent us from playing any more." 
 
 " How intrusive! Always at seven? " 
 
 " Always at seven. I then walk very quietly 
 with my friends to the end of the oasis." 
 
 ' To the Tombuctou road? " 
 
 ' Yes, Sidi ; to get the air. We come back 
 by the same road quietly, and I go to my house, 
 and eat a cold kous-kous with my wife and 
 children. After this I return to the cafe and 
 play ronda till one o'clock." 
 
 " One o'clock at night? " 
 
 ' Yes. At one o'clock I go with my friends 
 very quietly to bathe in the stream beneath the 
 wall near the mosque. We stay in the water 
 for, perhaps, an hour, and when we come out 
 we drink lagmi." 
 
 < What's lagmi?" 
 
 " Palm wine. Then at three o'clock I go to 
 my home, mount upon the roof quietly with my 
 wife and children, and sleep till dawn." 
 
 " And you do this for five months? " 
 
 341 
 
SAFTI'S SUMMER DAY 
 
 " For five months, Sidi." 
 
 " And and your wife, Safti? " 
 
 I felt that I was very indiscreet; but Safti 
 is good-natured, and has bought quite a num- 
 ber of palm-trees out of his savings when with 
 me. 
 
 "My wife, Sidi?" 
 ' What does she do all the time? " 
 
 " She remains quietly in my house." 
 
 " She never goes out? " 
 
 " Never, except upon the roof to take a lit- 
 tle air." 
 
 ' Doesn't she get rather bor 
 
 The one eye began to look remarkably 
 vague. 
 
 " And you find five months of this life a 
 sufficient rest in the course of the year? " 
 
 Safti smiled at me with resignation. 
 
 " I cannot take more, Sidi; I am not a rich 
 Englishman." 
 
 'Well, Safti, you must make the best of 
 your fate. It is the will of Allah that you 
 should toil." 
 
 " Shal-lah! I will take another coffee, 
 Sidi." 
 
 "Larbi!" 
 
 I called the Kabyle boy. 
 
 342 
 
SMAIN 
 
 "When the African is in love he plays upon the pipe." 
 
 SAHARA SAYING. 
 
 FAR away in the desert I heard the sound 
 of a flute, pure sound in the pure air, del- 
 icate, sometimes almost comic with the comi- 
 cality of a child who bends women to kisses 
 and to nonsense-words. We had passed 
 through the sandstorm, Safti and I, over the 
 wastes of saltpetre, and come into a land of 
 palm gardens where there was almost breath- 
 less calm. The feet of the camels paddled 
 over the soft brown earth of the narrow alleys 
 between the brown earth walls, and we looked 
 down to right and left into the shady enclosed 
 spaces, seamed with water rills, dotted with lit- 
 tle pools of pale yellow water, and saw always 
 giant palms, with wrinkled trunks and tufted, 
 deep green foliage, brooding in their squad- 
 rons over the dimness they had made. The 
 activity of man might be discerned here in the 
 regularity of the artificial rills, the ordered 
 placing of the trees, each of which, too, stood 
 on its oval hump. But no man was seen; no 
 flat-roofed huts appeared; no robe, pale blue 
 or white, fluttered among the shadows; no dog 
 
 343 
 
SMAIN 
 
 blinked in the golden patches of the sun 
 only the sound of the flute came to us from 
 some hidden place ceaselessly, wild and ro- 
 mantic, full of an odd coquetry, and of an 
 absurdity that was both uncivilised and touch- 
 ing. 
 
 I stopped to listen, and looked round, search- 
 ing the vistas between the palms. 
 
 "Where does it come from?" I asked of 
 Safti. 
 
 His one eye blinked languidly. 
 
 " From some gardener among the trees. 
 All who dwell in Sidi-Matou are gardeners." 
 
 The persistent flute gave forth a shower of 
 notes that were like drops of water flung softly 
 in our faces. 
 
 " He is in love," added Safti with a slight 
 yawn. 
 
 ;< How do you know? " 
 
 ' When the African is in love he plays upon 
 the pipe. That is what they say in the Sa- 
 hara." 
 
 " And you think he is alone under some 
 palm-tree playing for himself? " 
 
 " Yes; he is quite alone. If he is much in 
 love he will play all day, and, perhaps, all 
 night too." 
 
 " But she cannot hear him." 
 
 " That does not matter. He plays for his 
 own heart, and his own heart can hear." 
 
 I listene^d. Since Safti had spoken the 
 music meant more to me. I tried to read the 
 
 344 
 
SMAIN 
 
 player's heart in the endless song it made. 
 Trills, twitterings, grace notes, little runs up- 
 ward ending in the air surely it was a boy's 
 heart, and not unhappy. 
 
 " It is coming nearer," I said. 
 
 "Yes. Ah,itisSmain!" 
 
 Safti's one eye is sharp. I had seen no one. 
 But as he spoke a tall youth in a single white 
 garment glided into my view, his eyes bent 
 down, his brown fingers fluttering on a long 
 reed flute covered with red arabesques. His 
 feet were bare, and he moved slowly. 
 
 Safti hailed him with the accented violence 
 peculiar to the Arabs. He stopped playing, 
 looked, and smiled all over his young face. 
 In a moment he was on our side of the earth 
 wall, and talking busily, staring at me the while 
 with unabashed curiosity. For few strangers 
 come to Sidi-Amrane, and Smain had never 
 wandered far. 
 
 ' What does he say? " I asked of Safti. 
 
 " I tell him we shall be at Touggourt to- 
 morrow night, and shall stay there a week. 
 He answers that his heart is there with 
 Oreida." 
 
 " What! Does his lady-love live at Toug- 
 gourt?" 
 
 " Yes; she is a dancer." 
 
 Smain smiled. He did not understand 
 French, but he knew we were speaking of his 
 love affair, and he was not afflicted with shy- 
 ness. As he accompanied us to the village he 
 
 34-5 
 
SMAIN 
 
 played again, and I read his nature in the soft 
 sounds of his flute. 
 
 All that day he stayed with us, and nearly 
 all that day he played. Even when he guided 
 me through the village, where, between ter- 
 raced houses, pretty children the girls in deep 
 purple, with yellow flowers stuck in their left 
 nostrils, the boys in white danced with a bois- 
 terous grace round brushwood fires, his flute 
 was at his lips, and his fingers fluttered cease- 
 lessly. And as night drew on the music was 
 surely more amorous, and I seemed to see 
 Oreida drawing near over the sands. 
 
 Smain was but sixteen, tall and slim as a 
 reed, with a poetic face and lustrous, languid 
 eyes. I imagined Oreida a child too one of 
 those flowers of the desert that blossom early 
 and fade ere noontide comes. Sometimes such 
 flowers are very beautiful. As I heard the 
 flute of Smain in the pale yellow twilight I 
 knew that Oreida was beautiful with one of 
 those exquisite, lithe figures, whose movements 
 make a song; with long, narrow dark eyes, 
 mysterious pools of light and shadow; with 
 thick hair falling loosely round a low, broad 
 forehead; and perfect little hands, made for 
 the dance of the hands that the Bedouin loves 
 so well. 
 
 All this I knew from the sound of Smain's 
 flute. I told it to Safti, and bade him ask 
 Smain if it were not true. 
 
 Smain's reply was: 
 
 346 
 
SMAIN 
 
 "She is more beautiful than that; she is like 
 the young gazelle, and like the first day after 
 the fast of Ramadan." 
 
 Then he played once more while the moon 
 rose over the palm gardens, and Safti, lighting 
 his pipe of keef with tender deliberateness, re- 
 marked placidly: 
 
 "He would like to come with us to Toug- 
 gourt and to die there at Orei'da's feet, but his 
 father, S aid-ben- Koui'dar, wishes him to re- 
 main at Sidi-Matou and to pack dates. He is 
 young, and must obey. Therefore he is sad." 
 
 The smoke rose up in a cloud round Smain 
 and his flute, and now I thought that, indeed, 
 there was a wild pathos in the music. The 
 moon went up the sky, and threw silver on the 
 palms. The gay cries from the village died 
 down. The gardeners lay upon the earth 
 divans under the palmwood roofs, and slept. 
 And at last Smain bade us good-bye. I saw 
 his white figure glide across the great open 
 space that the moon made white as it was. And 
 when the shadows took him I still heard the 
 faint sound of his flute, calling to his heart 
 and to the distant Oreida through the magical 
 stillness of the night. 
 
 The next day we reached Touggourt, and in 
 the evening I went with Safti and the Caid 
 of the Nomads to the great cafe of the 
 dancers in the outskirts of the town. At the 
 door Arab soldiers were lounging. The pipes 
 squealed within like souls in torment. In the 
 
 347 
 
SMAIN 
 
 square bonfires were blazing fiercely, and the 
 whole desert seemed to throb with beaten 
 drums. Within the cafe was a crowd of 
 Arabs, real nomads, some in rags, some richly 
 dressed, all gravely attentive to the dancers, 
 who entered from a court on the left, round 
 which their rooms were built in terraces, and 
 danced in pairs between the broad divans. 
 
 " Tell me when .Oreida comes," I said to 
 Safti, while the Caid spread forth his ample 
 skirts, and turned a cigarette in his immense 
 black fingers. 
 
 The dancers came and went. They were 
 amazing trollops, painted until, like the pic- 
 ture of Balzac's madman, they were chaotic, 
 a mere mess of frantic colours. Not for these, 
 I thought, did Smain play his flute. The time 
 wore on. I grew drowsy in the keef -laden air, 
 despite the incessant uproar of the pipes. 
 Suddenly I started Safti had touched me. 
 
 " There is Oreida, Sidi." 
 
 I looked, and saw a lonely dancer entering 
 from the court, large, weary, crowned with 
 gold, tufted with feathers, wrinkled, with 
 greedy, fatigued eyes, and hands painted 
 blood-red. She was like an idol in its dotage. 
 Over her spreading bosom streamed multi- 
 tudes of golden coins, and many jewels shone 
 upon her wrists, her arms, her withered neck. 
 She advanced slowly, as if bored, until she was 
 in the midst of the crowd. Then she wriggled, 
 stretched forth her hands, slowly stamped her 
 
 348 
 
SMAIN 
 
 feet, and promenaded to and fro, occasionally 
 revolving like a child's top that is on the verge 
 of "running down." 
 
 " That is not Oreida," I said to Safti, smil- 
 ing at his absurd mistake. For this was the 
 oldest and ugliest dancer of them all. 
 
 " Indeed, Sidi, it is. Ask the Caid." 
 
 I asked that enormous potentate, who was 
 devouring the withered lady with his eyes. He 
 wagged his head in assent. Just then the 
 dancer paused before us, and thrusting for- 
 ward her greasy forehead, enveloped us with 
 a sphinx-like smirk. As I hastily pressed 
 a two-franc piece above her eyebrows Safti ad- 
 dressed her animatedly in Arabic. I caught 
 the word "Smain." The lady smiled, and 
 made a guttural reply ; then, with a somnolent 
 wink at me, she waddled onward, flapping the 
 blood-red hands and stamping heavily upon the 
 earthen floor. 
 
 " Smain loves that! " I said to Safti. 
 
 " Yes, Sidi. Oreida is famous, and very 
 rich. She has houses and many palm-trees, 
 and she is much respected by the other 
 dancers." 
 
 A week later Safti and I were again at Sidi- 
 Matou, on our way homeward through the 
 desert. The moon was at the full now, and 
 when we rode up to the Bordj the open space 
 in front of it, between us and the village, was 
 flooded with delicate light. Against it one 
 tree, which looked like Paderewski grown very 
 
 349 
 
SMAIN 
 
 old, stood up with tousled branches. In the 
 village bonfires flared, and the dark figures of 
 skipping children passed and re-passed before 
 them. We heard youthful cries echoing 
 across the sands. Soon they faded. The 
 lights went out, and the wonderful silence of 
 night in the desert came in to its heritage. 
 
 I sat on the edge of an old stone well before 
 the Bordj, while Safti smoked his keef . Near 
 midnight, quivering across the sands, came the 
 faint sound of a flute moving from the village 
 towards the deep obscurity of the palm gar- 
 dens. I knew that air, those trills, those little 
 runs, those grace notes. 
 
 " It is Smain," I said to Safti. 
 
 ' Yes, Sidi. He will play all night alone 
 among the palms. He is in love." 
 
 " But with Orei'da! Is it possible? " 
 
 " Did he not say that she was like the first 
 day after the fast of Ramadan? When an 
 African says that his heart is big with love." 
 
 The flute went on and on, and I said to my- 
 self and to the moon, as I had often said 
 before : 
 
 " He that is born in the Sahara is an im- 
 penetrable mystery." 
 
 350 
 
THE SPINSTER 
 
 I HAD arrived at Inley Abbey that after- 
 noon, and was sitting at dinner with 
 Inley and his pretty wife, whom I had not 
 seen for five years, since the day I was his best 
 man, when we all heard faintly the tolling of 
 a church bell. Lady Inley shook her shoulders 
 in a rather exaggerated shudder. 
 
 " Someone dead! " said her husband. 
 
 " It's a mistake to build a church in the 
 grounds of a house," Lady Inley said in her 
 clear, drawling soprano voice. " That noise 
 gives me the blues." 
 
 " Whom can it be for? " asked Inley. 
 
 " Miss Bassett, probably," Lady Inley re- 
 plied carelessly, helping herself to a bonbon 
 from a little silver dish. 
 
 Inley started. 
 
 "Miss Sarah Bassett! What makes you 
 think so? " 
 
 " Oh, while you were away in town she got 
 ill. Didn't you know? " 
 
 " No," said Inley. 
 
 I could see that he was moved. His dark, 
 short face had changed suddenly, and he 
 stopped eating his fruit. Lady Inley went on 
 
 351 
 
THE SPINSTER 
 
 crunching the bonbon between her little white 
 teeth with all the enjoyment of a pretty mar- 
 moset. 
 
 " Influenza," she said ^airily. " And then 
 pneumonia. Of course, at her age, you know 
 By the way, what is her age, Nino? " 
 
 " No idea," said Inley shortly. 
 
 He was listening to the dim and monotonous 
 sound of the church bell. 
 
 Lady Inley turned to me with the childish, 
 confidential movement which men considered 
 one of her many charms. 
 
 " Miss Bassett is, or was, one of those funny 
 old spinsters who always look the same and al- 
 ways ridiculous. Dry twigs, you know. One 
 size all the way down. Very little hair, and 
 no emotions. If it weren't for the sake of 
 cats, one would wonder why such people are 
 born. But they're always cat-lovers. I sup- 
 pose that's why they're so often called old 
 cats." 
 
 She uttered a little high-pitched laugh, and 
 got up. 
 
 " Don't be too long," she said to me care- 
 lessly as I opened the dining-room door for 
 her. " I want to sing ' Ohe Charmette ' to 
 you. 
 
 " I won't be long," I answered, thinking 
 what exquisite eyes she had. 
 
 She turned, and went out in her delicious, 
 thin way. No wonder she had made skeletons 
 the rage in London. When I came back to 
 
 352 
 
THE SPINSTER 
 
 the dinner-table Inley was sitting with both 
 his brown hands clenched on the cloth. His 
 black eyes inherited from his dead mother, 
 who had been one of the Neapolitan aristocracy 
 were glittering. 
 
 ' What is it, Nino? " I asked as I sat down. 
 
 We had been such intimate friends that even 
 my five years' absence abroad had not built up 
 a barrier between us. 
 
 " I wonder if it is Miss Bassett? " he said, 
 looking at me earnestly. 
 
 " But was she a great friend of yours? " I 
 said. " If Lady Inley 's description of her is 
 accurate, I can hardly imagine so." 
 
 " Vere doesn't know what she's saying." 
 ' Then Miss Bassett 
 
 " Oh, she does look like that; dried up, un- 
 emotional, tame, English, even comic." 
 
 " The regular spinster, eh? " 
 
 " She looks it. But, damn it all, Vere has 
 no business to say she has no emotions, to won- 
 der why such people are born. But she doesn't 
 know Vere doesn't know." 
 
 His agitation grew, and was inexplicable to 
 me. But I knew Inley, knew that he was 
 bound to tell me what was on his mind. He 
 could be reserved, but not with me. So I took 
 a cigar, cut the end off it deliberately, struck 
 a match, lighted it, and began to smoke in 
 silence. He followed my example quickly, 
 and then said : 
 
 " Vere talks like that, and, but for Miss 
 353 
 
THE SPINSTER 
 
 Bassett, Vere would have been murdered two 
 years ago." 
 
 I started, and dropped my cigar on the table. 
 
 "Murdered!" 
 
 "Yes; and I 
 
 He fixed his eyes on me, and put his hand up 
 to his throat. Nino was half Neapolitan, and I 
 saw a man being hanged. I picked up my 
 cigar with a hand that slightly shook. 
 
 "But," I said, " I always thought Lady In- 
 ley and you were very happy together." 
 
 It sounded banal, even ridiculous, but I 
 hardly knew what to say. I was startled. 
 The tolling of the bell, too, was getting on my 
 nerves. 
 
 " One doesn't write such things," he said. 
 " You've been abroad for years." 
 
 "It's all right now?" 
 
 He nodded. 
 
 " I suppose so. Vere has never had the 
 least suspicion." 
 
 He drew his chair closer to mine, and was 
 about to go on speaking when the servants 
 came in with the coif ee. 
 
 "Who's the bell tolling for, Hurst?" he 
 said to the butler. 
 
 " I couldn't say, my lord." 
 
 When the servants had gone Inley contin- 
 ued, at first in a calmer voice: 
 
 " Miss Bassett lived in the red cottage just 
 beyond the gate of the South Lodge from time 
 immemorial. You generally came to us in 
 
 354 
 
THE SPINSTER 
 
 Scotland, I know, but I should think you must 
 have seen her." 
 
 Suddenly a recollection flashed upon me a 
 recollection of a long 1 , flat figure, a drab face, 
 thin hair coming away from a wrinkled fore- 
 head under a mushroom hat, flapping, old- 
 fashioned golden earrings. 
 
 " Not the person I used to call ' the 
 Plank'? "I said. 
 
 "Did you?" 
 
 He thought for a moment. 
 6 Yes ; I believe you did. I'd forgotten." 
 
 " She was always in church twenty minutes 
 before the service began, and always dropped 
 her hymn-book coming out if there were vis- 
 itors in the Abbey pew! " 
 
 " Yes, yes ; that's it. Miss Bassett is very 
 nervous in little ways." 
 
 " I remember her now perfectly. And you 
 say she 
 
 I looked at him, and hesitated. 
 
 " She saved Vere's life and, indirectly, mine. 
 I'll tell you now we're together again at last. 
 I shall never tell Vere." 
 
 He looked towards the windows, across 
 which dark blue silk curtains were drawn, as 
 if he could see the passing-bell swinging in the 
 old square tower. Then he turned to me. 
 
 " You know how mad I was about Vere. 
 It's always like that with me. Unless I'm 
 stone I'm fire. After we were married I got 
 even madder. Having her all to myself was 
 
 355 
 
THE SPINSTER 
 
 like enchantment, and in Italy, too, my other 
 native land." 
 
 I thought of Lady Inley's eyes. 
 
 " I can understand," I said. 
 
 " Of course, when we got back it had to be 
 different. Friends came in, and she was run 
 after and admired and written about. You 
 know the publicity of life in modern London." 
 
 " City of public-houses and society spies." 
 
 " I bore it, because it's supposed to be the 
 thing. And Vere rather likes it, somehow. 
 So I let her have her fun, as long as it was fun. 
 I didn't intend it should ever be anything else." 
 
 He frowned. When he did that, and his 
 thick eyebrows nearly met, he looked all 
 Italian. 
 
 ' We did the usual things Paris, Ascot, 
 Scotland, and so on till Vere had to lie up." 
 
 " Your boy? " 
 
 " Yes ; Hugo came along. I was glad when 
 that was over. I thought she was going to 
 die. You knew Seymour Glynd? " 
 
 "Life Guards? Killed hunting a year 
 ago?" 
 
 Inley nodded. 
 
 " He was a great deal with us soon after 
 Hugo's birth. I thought nothing of it. I'd 
 known the fellow all my life. But then one 
 nearly always has." 
 
 He laughed bitterly. 
 
 " To cut that part short, two years ago in 
 autumn we had Glynd staying with us down 
 
 356 
 
THE SPINSTER 
 
 here for shooting. There were some others, of 
 course Mrs. Jack, Bobbie Elphintori, and 
 Lady Bobbie but you know the lot." 
 
 " I did." 
 
 " Ah," he said, " you've been well out of it 
 these years. Well, the shoot was to break up 
 on a Friday, and I'd arranged to go to town 
 that day with the rest. Vere didn't intend to 
 come. She said she was feeling tired, and was 
 going to have a Friday to Monday rest cure. 
 That's the thing, you know, nowadays. You 
 get a Swedish masseuse down to stay, and go 
 to bed and drink milk. Vere had engaged a 
 masseuse to come on the Friday night. On 
 the Thursday, the day before we were all going 
 to town, Glynd hurt his foot getting over a 
 fence into a turnip field at least I thought 
 
 so." 
 
 He stopped. 
 
 " Everyone thought so, I believe except, 
 of course, Vere. I wonder if they did, 
 though? " he added moodily. " Or whether I 
 was the only But what does it matter 
 now? Glynd said he only wanted a couple of 
 days' rest to be all right again, and asked me 
 if he might stay on at the Abbey till the Mon- 
 day. Of course I said ' Yes ; if he wouldn't 
 want a hostess.' Because Vere said to me, 
 when she heard of it, that she must have her 
 rest cure all the same. Glynd swore he'd be 
 quite happy alone. So he stayed, and the rest 
 of us came up to town on the Friday. Well, 
 
 357 
 
THE SPINSTER 
 
 on the Saturday morning I was walking 
 across the park when I met the Swedish mas- 
 seuse who was to have gone down to Vere on 
 the Friday night. I knew her, because Vere 
 had often had her before in London. 
 ' Hullo ! ' I said. ' You ought to be down at 
 Inley Abbey with my wife.' ' No, my lord/ 
 she said. ' Why not? ' 'I've had a wire 
 from Lady Inley not to go.' ' A wire ! ' I 
 said. ' When did you get it? ' ' On Thurs- 
 day night, my lord.' ' You mean last night ? ' 
 I said, thinking Vere must have changed her 
 mind after we had left. ' No,' said the 
 woman; 'on Thursday night, late.' Then I 
 remembered that, after Glynd had hurt his 
 foot and asked to stay, Vere had gone out 
 alone for a drive in her cart, to get a last 
 breath of air before the rest cure. She must 
 have sent the telegram herself then. All of 
 a sudden I seemed to understand a lot of 
 things." 
 
 He had let his cigar out, and now he noticed 
 that he had. He tossed it into the fire. 
 
 " I said ' Good-morning ' to the woman 
 quite quietly, went back to the house, and 
 told my man I shouldn't be at home that 
 night."* 
 
 He put his hand on my arm. 
 
 "I felt perfectly calm. Wasn't that 
 strange? " 
 
 I nodded. 
 
 " There was a train from town reaching 
 358 
 
THE SPINSTER 
 
 Ashdridge Station at nine o'clock at night. 
 I took it. I didn't care to go to Inley Station, 
 where everybody would know me, and won- 
 der what I was up to. I didn't take any lug- 
 gage. My man asked if he should pack, and 
 I said ' No.' I didn't dine. I was at Pad- 
 dington three-quarters of an hour before the 
 train was due to start. At last it came in 
 to the platform. Going down I read the even- 
 ing papers just like any man going home 
 from business. Soon after we got away from 
 London I saw there was rain on the carriage 
 windows. That seemed to me right. We were 
 a little late at Ashdridge. It was still wet, 
 and I had my coat collar turned up. I don't 
 believe they recognised me there. I set out 
 to walk to Inley." 
 
 " What did you mean to do? " 
 
 " I told you before." 
 
 I looked into his face, and believed him. 
 Then I thought of Lady Inley's childish, del- 
 icate beauty, of her slightly affected manner, 
 the manner of a woman who has always been 
 spoilt, whose paths have been made very 
 smooth. And here she was living, apparently 
 happily, with a man who had deliberately trav- 
 elled down in the night to kill her. How ig- 
 norant we are! 
 
 " You are condemning me," Inley said, with 
 a touch of hot anger. 
 
 " I was only thinking " 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 359 
 
THE SPINSTER 
 
 ' That we don't know each other much in 
 the greatest intimacy." 
 
 ' That's what I thought then." 
 
 He said that in a way which suddenly put 
 me on his side. He must have seen the change 
 in my feelings, for he went on, with his former 
 unreserve: 
 
 " I walked fast in the dark. I didn't think 
 very much, but I remember that all the trees 
 there's a lot of woodland, you know, between 
 Ashdridge and Inley seemed alive. Every- 
 thing seemed to me to be alive that night. 
 I've never had that sensation before or since." 
 
 I realised what the condition of the man had 
 been when he said that, as if I were a doctor 
 and a patient had told me the symptom which 
 put me in possession of his malady. 
 
 ' When I reached Inley it was late, and the 
 long village street was deserted. There were 
 lights in the inn and in the schoolmaster's 
 house, but there were no people about. I got 
 through without meeting a soul, and came on 
 towards the gates of the Abbey." 
 
 " You meant to go into the house? " 
 
 "Yes. I was sure somehow I was sure; 
 but I intended to see before I acted, merely 
 for my own justification. But I was quite 
 sure, as if Vere herself had told me everything. 
 Soon after I had got clear of the village I 
 heard a sound of wheels behind me. I stood 
 up against the hedge, and in a minute or two a 
 fly passed me going slowly. I saw the driver's 
 
 360 
 
THE SPINSTER 
 
 face. It wasn't a man from Inley. Evident- 
 ly the fly had come from a distance. It was 
 splashed with mud, and the horse looked tired. 
 I followed it till it came to the turning just be- 
 low Miss Bassett's cottage, where there's a 
 narrow lane going to Charfield through the 
 woods. It went a little way down this lane, 
 and stopped. I waited at the turning. I 
 could see the light from the lamps shining on 
 the wet road, and in the circle of light the 
 driver's breath. He bent down, and I saw 
 him looking at a big silver watch. Then he 
 put it back. But he didn't drive on. I knew 
 what he was waiting for. Vere was going 
 with with Glynd. That was more than I had 
 ever thought of, that she would go. I put my 
 hand into my pocket, took out my revolver, 
 and went on till I was close to the red cottage. 
 By this time the rain had stopped. I came 
 up to within a few yards of the Abbey gates, 
 stood for a moment, and then returned till I 
 was at the wicket of Miss Bassett's garden. 
 It's bounded by a yew hedge, beyond which 
 there is a path shaded by mulberry-trees. The 
 hedge is low. The path is dark. It was a 
 blackguardly thing to do, but I thought of 
 nothing except myself, my wrong, and how I 
 was to wipe it out. I opened the wicket, came 
 into the path, and stood there under the mul- 
 berry-trees behind the hedge. Here I was in 
 cover, and could see the road. I held my re- 
 volver in my hand, and waited. It never struck 
 
 361 
 
THE SPINSTER 
 
 me that Miss Bassett might be up. I saw no 
 light in the cottage, and I had a sort of idea 
 that people like her went to bed at about eight. 
 While I was standing there listening I felt 
 something rub against my legs. It made me 
 start. Then I heard a little low noise. I 
 looked down, and there was a great cat holding 
 up its tail and purring. Its pleasure was hor- 
 rible to me. I pushed it away with my foot, 
 but it came back, bending down its head, arch- 
 ing its back, and pressing against me. I was 
 thinking what to do to get rid of it when I 
 heard a shrill, husky voice call out : 
 ' Johnny John-nee ! ' 
 
 " It was Miss Bassett. I held my breath, 
 and pushed away the cat. 
 
 ' Johnny, Johnny John-nee ! ' went the 
 voice again. 
 
 ' The cat wouldn't leave me. God knows 
 why it wished to stay. I was determined to 
 get rid of it, so I put the revolver down on 
 the path, picked the cat up in my arms, and 
 dropped it over the hedge into the road. Just 
 as I had caught up the revolver again I was 
 confronted by Miss Bassett. She had come in 
 slippers up the path in the dark to look for her 
 cat." 
 
 I uttered a slight exclamation. 
 
 Inley went on: " She had a handkerchief 
 tied over her cap and under her chin, and a 
 small lantern in her hands, on which she wore 
 bl#ck mittens. I can see her now. .We stood 
 
 362 
 
THE SPINSTER 
 
 there on the path for a minute staring at each 
 other without a word. The light from the lan- 
 tern flickered over the revolver, and I saw Miss 
 Bassett look down at it." 
 
 He stopped, poured out a glass of water, 
 and drank it off like a man who has been run- 
 ning. 
 
 " Didn't she show surprise fear? " I asked. 
 
 " Not a bit. Women are so extraordinary, 
 even old women who've never been in touch 
 with life, that I'm certain now she understood 
 directly her eyes fell on the revolver." 
 
 "What did she do?" 
 
 " After a minute she said: * Lord Inley, I'm 
 looking for my cat. Have you seen him? ' 
 
 " * Yes,' I said ; ' he's run into the house.' 
 
 " It was a lie, but I wanted her to go in. I 
 had slipped the revolver back into my pocket, 
 and tried to assume a perfectly simple, natural 
 air. I fancied it would be very easy to impose 
 on Miss Bassett when I heard her question. It 
 sounded so innocent, as if the old lady was full 
 of her pet. I even thought, perhaps, she had 
 not known what the revolver was when she 
 looked at it. 
 
 " * Did he run into the house? ' she said, still 
 looking at me from under her wrinkled eyelids. 
 
 " ' Yes; when you came out. He was here 
 on the path with me. You called " Johnny! " 
 and he ran off there between the mulberry- 
 trees.' 
 
 " All the time I was speaking to her I had 
 363 
 
THE SPINSTER 
 
 an eye to the road, and my ears were listening 
 like an Indian's when he puts his head to the 
 ground to hear the pad of his enemy. 
 
 " Miss Bassett stood there quietly for a mo- 
 ment as if she were considering something. 
 She looked prim. I remember that even now 
 prim as a caricature. It was only a moment, 
 but it seemed to me an hour. ' If they should 
 come,' I thought, * while she is out here! ' The 
 sweat came out all over my face with impa- 
 tience an agony of impatience. I longed to 
 take the old lady by the shoulders, push her 
 into the cottage, lock her in, and be alone, able 
 to watch the bit of road from the Abbey gates 
 to the wicket. But I could do nothing. I was 
 obliged to repress every sign of agitation. It 
 was devilish." 
 
 He got up with a sudden jerk from his 
 chair, and stood by the fire. Even the telling 
 of that moment had set beads of moisture on 
 his square, low forehead. 
 
 " At last she spoke again. 
 
 ' I wonder if you'd mind coming in for a 
 minute to help me see if Johnny really is in 
 the house? ' she said. 
 
 " I don't know what I should have done 
 refused, I believe, refused her with an oath, 
 for I began to feel mad; but just at that in- 
 stant up came the cat once more, purring like 
 fury, and lifting up his tail. He made straight 
 for me, and began to rub himself against my 
 legs again. 
 
 364 
 
THE SPINSTER 
 
 "'Oh!' said Miss Bassett, 'there he is! 
 Naughty Johnny, naughty boy! Lord Inley, 
 perhaps you'd be so good as just to lift him up 
 and put him inside the door for me. I al- 
 ways have such a job to get him to come in of 
 a night. He likes hunting in the woods. 
 Doesn't he, the naughty Johnny? ' 
 
 " ' Now's my chance to get rid of her! ' I 
 thought. 
 
 " I bent down, picked the cat up, and went 
 along the path towards the cottage, Miss Bas- 
 sett following close behind me. The cat was 
 an immense beast, awfully heavy, and just as 
 I turned out of the yew path to go up to the 
 cottage door he began struggling to get away, 
 and scratching. I held on to him, but it wasn't 
 easy, and I got my hand torn before I dropped 
 him down inside the little hall. Away he ran, 
 towards the kitchen, I suppose. Miss Bassett 
 was very grateful, but I cut her gratitude 
 short. 
 
 " ' Very glad to have been able to help you,' 
 I said. ' Good-night.' 
 
 " ' Good-night, Lord Inley,' she said. 
 
 " I thought her voice sounded a little bit odd 
 when she said that, and I just glanced at her 
 funny old face, lit up by the lantern she was 
 holding in one mittened hand. She didn't look 
 at me this time as she had in the garden. Then 
 I went out, and she immediately shut the 
 door. 
 
 " ' Thank God! ' I thought, and I hurried to 
 365 
 
TEtE SPINSTER 
 
 the wicket. I didn't dare stay in the garden 
 now. Seeing her had made me realise my 
 blackguardism in coming in at all, considering 
 my reason. I resolved to hide in the field at 
 the corner where the road turns off to 
 Charfield. As I opened the wicket, instinc- 
 tively I put my hand into my pocket for my 
 revolver." 
 
 He bent down, looking full into my eyes. 
 
 " It wasn't there." 
 
 " Miss Bassett! " I exclaimed. 
 
 " In a moment I realised that Miss Bassett 
 must have grasped the situation; that her ask- 
 ing me to carry in her cat was a ruse, and that 
 while the beast was struggling between my 
 hands she must have stolen the revolver from 
 behind. I say I knew that, and yet even then, 
 when I thought of her look, her manner, the 
 sort of nervous old thing she was, I couldn't 
 believe what I knew. Then I remembered her 
 voice when she said ' Good-night ' to me in 
 the passage, her eyes looking down instead of 
 at me, and that she was only holding the lan- 
 tern in one hand, whereas in the garden she 
 was using two. She must have had the revol- 
 ver in her other hand concealed in the folds of 
 her dress. I ran back to the cottage door, and 
 knocked hard. Not that I thought she'd 
 open. I knew she wouldn't, but she did direct- 
 ly. I could hardly speak. I was afraid of my- 
 self just then. At last I said : 
 
 " * Miss Bassett, you know what I want.' 
 366 
 
THE SPINSTER 
 
 " ' You can't have it,' she said, looking 
 straight at me. 
 
 " I kept quiet for a second, then I said: 
 
 " ' Miss Bassett, I don't think you know 
 that you're running into danger.' For I felt 
 that there was danger for her then if she went 
 against me. She knew it, too, perhaps better 
 than I did. I saw her poor old hands, all blue 
 veins, beginning to tremble. 
 
 " ' You can't have it, Lord Inley,' she re- 
 peated. 
 
 " There wasn't the ghost of a quiver in her 
 voice. 
 
 " ' I must, I will ! ' I said, and I made a 
 movement towards her a violent movement 
 I know it was. 
 
 " But the old thing stood her ground. Oh, 
 she was a gallant old woman. 
 
 " ' Do what you like to me,' she said. f I'm 
 old. What does it matter? She's young.' 
 
 " Then I knew she understood. 
 
 " ' You've seen them together ! ' I said. 
 'Since I went!' 
 
 " She wouldn't say. Not a word. I was 
 mad. I forgot decency, everything. I took 
 her. I searched her for the revolver. I 
 searched her roughly God forgive me. She 
 trembled horribly, but never said a word. It 
 wasn't on her. She must have hidden it some- 
 where in that moment when she was alone in 
 the cottage. That was another ruse to keep 
 me searching in there while But I saw it 
 
 367 
 
THE SPINSTER 
 
 almost directly. I broke away, and rushed out 
 and down the road. Something seemed to tell 
 me they had passed. I got into the lane 
 that leads to Charfield. The fly was gone. 
 Then, all of a sudden, I felt perfectly 
 calm. I turned, and went up to the Abbey 
 gates. I knocked them up at the lodge. 
 The keeper came out. When he saw me he 
 said: 
 
 ' You, my lord! However did you know? ' 
 
 "'Go on!' I said. ' Know what? ' 
 ' About Master Hugo? ' 
 
 :< I didn't say one way or the other. 
 
 ' The doctor says it's a bitter bad quinsy, 
 but there's just a chance. Her ladyship's near- 
 ly mad. It only came on a few hours ago quite 
 sudden.' 
 
 " I went up to the Abbey, and found Vere 
 by the child's bed. She looked flushed, and 
 was breathing hard, as if she had just been 
 running.'* 
 
 He stopped, and took out his cigar-case. 
 
 "Running!" I said. 
 
 " She had parted finally from Glynd in 
 front of Miss Bassett's cottage," he said. " He 
 told me that afterwards." 
 
 There was a moment's silence. Then he 
 spoke more calmly. 
 
 " I went up to town when the child was safe, 
 and had it out with Glynd. They had meant 
 to go that night. It was the boy who stopped 
 her. She took it as a judgment. You know 
 
 368 
 
THE SPINSTER 
 
 how women are. Glynd swore she was stopped 
 in time. You understand? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " He didn't lie to me." 
 
 " And your wife? " 
 
 " I never spoke of it to her. I saw her with 
 the boy, and well, I saw her with the boy, and 
 what she was to him when he was close to 
 death." 
 
 His voice went for a moment. Then he 
 added: 
 
 " I told her I'd had a presentiment Hugo 
 was ill. She believed me, I think. If not, she's 
 kept her secret." 
 
 Just then the dining-room door opened, and 
 Lady Inley put in her pretty head. 
 
 " Are you never coining? " she said with her 
 little childish drawl. 
 
 I got up, and went towards her. 
 
 "By the way, Nino," she added, "the bell 
 was for poor, funny old Miss Bassett. What 
 will her cat do, I wonder? " 
 
 As I followed her towards the drawing- 
 room I heard Inley's voice mutter behind me : 
 
 <f Requiescat in Pace" 
 
 369 
 
PANCRAZIA'S HAIR 
 
 ONE autumn I was in Sicily, making a 
 number of mountain excursions, visit- 
 ing remote villages hidden in rocky clefts, or 
 perched boldly on spurs in the eye of the sun, 
 sleeping occasionally at night in humble rooms 
 to which the gobbling turkey and the auda- 
 cious pig were no strangers. Among my many 
 memories of those free and happy days one 
 stands out the memory of a tress of splendid 
 black hair. 
 
 On an afternoon, near sunset, I rode up to 
 the edge of a hamlet of huddled dwellings, 
 where stood a large, old church, Arabic-Nor- 
 man in style, and here I dismounted to rest 
 and fill my eyes and heart with the wonder 
 and the glory of Nature. 
 
 As I gazed I remember thinking: "How 
 small humanity is ! " 
 
 A fat old priest shuffled up to recall me 
 from my reveries. He cleared his throat, sa- 
 luted me, and begged me to come and see his 
 church. 
 
 We went into the sacristy, and presently 
 stood before an immense and mouldy cup- 
 board. After much struggling with a rusty 
 key the doors were opened, and I was con- 
 
 371 
 
PANCRAZIA'S HAIR 
 
 fronted by a large wooden statue of the Ma- 
 donna and Child, covered with fading but still 
 hideous colours, and flecked with the dust of 
 ages. 
 
 I scarcely noticed the statue, however, for 
 my eyes had fallen upon something else a 
 great plait of glorious black hair, thick, long, 
 twisted with reverent care, strong strand 
 through strand, tied at the top and bottom by 
 bows of rose-red satin. It hung to the wrist 
 of the Madonna, and was touched by the little 
 outstretched foot of the infant Jesus. 
 
 I looked inquiringly at the priest. 
 
 ' That is Pancrazia's hair, signore." 
 
 "Pancrazia's hair! Who is, or was, Pan- 
 crazia? " 
 
 An expression came into the priest's face 
 that transformed it a look so human, so ten- 
 der, even so mystical, that suddenly I loved 
 this old man in his rusty soutane and his 
 wrinkled, patched boots. 
 
 I sat down on a wooden box that stood just 
 below the statue, and the priest told me the 
 story of the tress of hair. 
 
 I give it in his words, so far as I remember 
 them. But I cannot give the look in his eyes 
 while he was speaking, or the almost childish- 
 ly beautiful simplicity and sincerity of his 
 manner. 
 
 " Pancrazia was never a handsome girl, but 
 always she looked a good girl. And then she 
 had the most beautiful hair in the village, or, 
 
 372 
 
PANCRAZIA'S HAIR 
 
 indeed, in all the country round. When she 
 was a child it was full of gleams of gold, but 
 the underneath was always dark; and, as she 
 grew, the darkness of it crept up, till all over 
 her head the hair was black. Only in the front, 
 by her temples, there remained little feathers 
 of gold, which fell down near her kind, pious 
 eyes eyes that could be merry, too, and laugh 
 as readily as the eyes of the wicked and the 
 w^anton. 
 
 " Pancrazia was not one of the melancholy 
 who must cry when they pray. She thought it 
 no wrong to smile at the Madonna ; and I have 
 seen her run out of school in the summer days, 
 and blow kisses to the Mother of God where 
 the shrine is by the gateway of the village 
 as a child might to her own mother coming 
 down to meet her over the rocks, with, maybe, 
 the little pig trotting alongside. Why not, 
 signore? She had confidence in the Madonna; 
 and what is more beautiful than the confidence 
 which runs out of a young heart like a stream 
 out of a hazel wood? The Madonna loved it, 
 you may be sure. 
 
 " As Pancrazia grew up, despite her piety- 
 she was the purest-minded child I ever blessed 
 the natural feelings grew with her. They 
 come early, signore, in sunny places; and, 
 thank God, the sun is never long away from us 
 here. She began to know there's a life for a 
 maiden that follows after the child's life. 
 
 " Ah, signore, I watched over the girl as I 
 373 
 
PANCKAZIA'S HAIH 
 
 have watched over a flower growing in my 
 little garden you must see my little garden, 
 signore, before you go. 
 
 "Often I thought: 'What a mother she 
 will make ! ' And sometimes I would run over 
 the boys of the village to choose a husband for 
 her when she should be a bit older. But some- 
 how it always ended the same way: I never 
 could settle on the husband. 
 
 ' Well, signore, you know what girls are. 
 She didn't wait for me to choose, though no- 
 body respected me as she did. She didn't think 
 so much of herself as I thought of her. And 
 while I was saying to myself: ' Giovanni won't 
 do, and Stefano won't do, and Paolo's not the 
 one, and may the Madonna preserve her from 
 Giorgio ! ' she says to herself : ' Angelo ! ' Not 
 a word more, you may be certain. I can hear 
 her say it, and see her lips smiling over the 
 word ' Angelo ! ' 
 
 "I'd come to him, in my numbering, and 
 I'd said to myself: 'Angelo won't quite do.' 
 Not that he was a bad boy. And he was a 
 handsome one; strong, merry, and could play 
 the guitar and dance the tarantella, and sing 
 6 O sole mio! ' till you could hear it from Aci- 
 reale to Capo Sant' Alessio pretty near. But 
 Well, in my eyes, nobody would do for 
 Pancrazia. 
 
 " In her heart, all the same, she chose An- 
 gelo, and it seemed that in his he chose her. 
 When I saw him with her one twilight by the 
 
 374 
 
PANCRAZIA'S HAIR 
 
 shrine at the gateway, and saw her kneel down, 
 while he stood beside her, and crossed himself 
 and looked at her as she was praying for him, 
 signore, you may be sure, knowing women I 
 understood how it was, and I said to myself: 
 ' Perhaps the Madonna has done the number- 
 ing too, and stopped at Angelo.' 
 
 " And so I left it, trusting all was right for 
 that pure child, even in this world of sin. 
 
 " Angelo was a seaman, and was often 
 away. One night when I was in my garden 
 watering my roses they are worth seeing, as 
 you will know presently, signore I saw An- 
 gelo and Pancrazia coming up to the gate to- 
 gether. I set down the pot of water. Pancra- 
 zia was smiling, and he looked brave you 
 know how a boy of courage looks when he's 
 just found someone who wants to be taken 
 care of, signore? 
 
 " I understood, but I pretended not to, and 
 said innocently: ' What is it, my children? ' 
 
 " Then she told me, while he just stared at 
 her, with his eyes getting graver at every word 
 she said. They were going to be husband and 
 wife, and I was the first to know it. Angelo 
 had to go away in the morning to Messina. 
 He'd got a job to sail on an orange boat to the 
 Lipari Islands, and was to be away two 
 months in all. For those two months the secret 
 was to be kept among us three. 
 
 " It was Pancrazia's wish. She didn't want 
 to face the village talk till Angelo could stay 
 
 375 
 
PANCRAZIA'S HAIR 
 
 beside her. There was always something more 
 retiring about her than about the other girls. 
 It seemed to go with her purity. I blessed 
 them both, and, when I'd finished watering 
 my roses, I prayed for them and for their chil- 
 dren. 
 
 "Angelo went away in the morning, and 
 Pancrazia kept up bravely. The village folk 
 gossiped and laughed, and spoke of the faith- 
 lessness of the men of the sea, but Pancrazia 
 only smiled to herself. And I smiled too. 
 You see, we knew what had been settled, but 
 they, poor, silly souls, were ignorant. Yet, as 
 
 it turned out, I don't know " 
 
 ' Time went on, and one evening, after a 
 month had gone, Pancrazia came rushing into 
 my garden like a mad thing, with a bit of 
 paper in her hand. Angelo was desperately ill 
 with fever far away in Lipari, and the orange 
 boat had had to sail from there and leave him. 
 I scarcely knew Pancrazia. There was a pas- 
 sion in her I'd never suspected, although I 
 know the fires that slumber in us, who are al- 
 most the sucking children of Etna, signore, as 
 you might say. 
 
 " ' What shall I do? What shall I do? ' she 
 kept on crying out. 
 
 " * Pray,' I said. * Pray, my child, to the 
 Madonna della Rocca.' 
 
 " When she left me it was night. Very late 
 I walked out to the wall above the precipice to 
 look at Etna and the stars, and there, beyond 
 
 376 
 
PANCRAZIA'S HAIR 
 
 the gateway, on the stones before the shrine, 
 I saw a figure kneeling, and I heard a little 
 noise of sobbing. I went, and whispered: 
 
 " ' You must not cry thus when you pray, 
 Pancrazia. The Madonna will think you 
 doubt her.' 
 
 " Then, signore, the sobbing stopped. 
 
 " A week went by, two weeks, and then 
 came news that Angelo was worse, was dying 
 out there in the islands. That day Pancrazia 
 came again to my house. She was calm, sig- 
 nore, calm, and her face white and still as a 
 pan of milk. 
 
 " ' Padre,' she said, ' shut the door.' 
 
 " I shut it. 
 
 " * Padre,' she said, ' I'm going to give some- 
 thing to the Madonna della Rocca, and no one 
 is to know but you. Will you promise never to 
 tell?' 
 
 " I promised solemnly, as she desired. 
 ' Come with me to the church now, padre.' 
 
 " I went with her. She had in her hands a 
 length of red ribbon, and there was a scissors 
 hanging at her waist. 
 
 ' When we were in the church she shut the 
 door, and said: 
 
 " ' Unlock the cupboard in the sacristy, 
 please, padre.' 
 
 " We went into the sacristy, and I unlocked 
 this cupboard, and looked at her. 
 
 " ' What is it you are giving to the Madon- 
 na, my child? ' I asked. 
 
 377 
 
PANCRAZIA'S HAIR 
 
 " She never said a word, but took the scissors 
 from her waist, and before I could stop her she 
 had cut off her beautiful hair. Not that I 
 would have prevented her; no, signore, but it 
 was her one beauty, except the look of good- 
 ness in her face. And somehow it seemed to 
 me that the Madonna would have wished 
 But she was right. We should keep back 
 nothing. She tied the ribbons as they are now, 
 and hung the hair up there upon the Madon- 
 na's hand, and knelt down, and told her that 
 she offered it for Angelo, in the hope that her 
 love of him might be regarded in heaven, and 
 that his life might be spared. That was all. 
 
 " She put a shawl over her poor head, and 
 we came out. 
 
 " Well, presently there was a fine to-do in 
 the village. When the folk saw Pancrazia's 
 head they stared, and asked, and laughed. 
 And the children pointed, and cried out. And 
 the boys I beat the boys, signore, and 
 never asked forgiveness. But Pancrazia 
 wouldn't say a word. 
 
 " Pancrazia's off ering found favour with 
 the Madonna, signore. Her prayer was heard. 
 Angelo recovered, and returned." 
 
 The old priest paused. His face was work- 
 ing. The mystical expression I had observed 
 in his eyes was replaced for a moment by a 
 very different look. After a silence he contin- 
 ued: 
 
 " No one knew then what we all knew later : 
 378 
 
PANCRAZIA'S HAIR 
 
 that he had been nursed back to life those 
 were Angelo's words, and a lie, signore, for his 
 recovery was the miracle of the Madonna by 
 a woman of the islands, and that already his 
 heart was going out to this stranger. He had 
 come back, though, to keep his word. That I 
 know. But when he saw Pancrazia's poor, 
 shorn head he thought again of the island 
 woman, and " 
 
 The old man coughed, and paused. 
 
 " Signore," he resumed in a loud voice, 
 " when Pancrazia saw his look, and that his 
 heart was turned by such a thing, she would 
 not say where, and why, the hair was gone. 
 And I I had promised. Angelo was but a 
 lad, his passions were hot, the lust of the eye 
 was awake within him, and God and the Ma- 
 donna forgive him! where he should have 
 seen the heart he " 
 
 He paused again. 
 
 " Signore, he went back to the islands, and 
 married the woman who had nursed him in 
 Lipari." 
 
 " And Pancrazia? " I asked. " Did she not 
 pardon me if I hurt you but did she not 
 cease to pray to the Madonna? " 
 
 "Cease to pray!" said the old man, and 
 again the mystical look was in his eyes. 
 
 He drew out his watch, then softly he whis- 
 pered : 
 
 " Come, signore ! " 
 
 We went out to the wall above the precipice. 
 379 
 
PANCRAZIA'S HAIR 
 
 Here there is an old gateway, arching the nar- 
 row track by which I had ascended. Just be- 
 yond it, under the towering rocks, is a shrine 
 with a crude picture of the Madonna and 
 Child. Now, as the old priest pointed with his 
 finger, I saw on the step before the shrine a 
 plain, dark woman kneeling. A handkerchief 
 was folded over her head, and fell upon her 
 shoulders. Her hands were clasped. Her lips 
 were moving. She was absorbed, and did not 
 see us. 
 
 " That is Pancrazia! " whispered the priest. 
 " She has never married. Each day at this 
 hour she comes here. Do you know why? " 
 
 " To ask for 
 
 " She is asking for nothing. She is bless- 
 ing the Madonna." 
 
 " Blessing the Madonna! " 
 
 " For having answered her prayer." 
 
 But " 
 
 " Signore, when Pancrazia gave her hair to 
 the Madonna della Rocca she did not think of 
 self. She only asked that her love might be re- 
 garded in heaven, and that Angelo's life might 
 be spared. Her prayer was granted. Angelo 
 lives. And each day at this hour Pancrazia 
 comes here to give thanks to God, and to praise 
 and bless the Holy Madonna della Rocca." 
 
 I said nothing, but I thought as I watched 
 the praising woman, 
 
 " How great humanity is! " 
 
 380 
 
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