IlililiillMllillll !li 
 
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 : 
 
 MARSH 
 
 r ! r
 
 A METAMORPHOSIS
 
 BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 The Twickenham Peerage 
 
 The Beetle: A Mystery 
 
 The Death Whistle 
 
 Both Sides of the Veil 
 
 The Seen and the Unseen 
 
 Marvels and Mysteries 
 
 The Crime and the Criminal 
 
 The Adventures of Augustus Short 
 
 The Magnetic Girl
 
 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 BY 
 
 RICHARD MARSH 
 
 METHUEN & CO. 
 
 36 ESSEX STREET W.C. 
 
 LONDON 
 
 1903
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 I. At the Stile . 
 II. The Man on the Bridge 
 
 III. The Harveys . 
 
 IV. A Friend in Need 
 V. The Queen of the Seas 
 
 VI. The Mother of Caracas 
 VII. In the Boat . 
 VIII. The Island 
 
 IX. The Fellow-Passenger 
 X. A Wild Vengeance . 
 
 XI. David Curtis , 
 XII. The House in Sefton Park 
 
 XIII. Signor Rochambeau claims his Legacy 
 
 XIV. In the Train 
 XV. Elsie's Brother 
 
 XVI. Escaped 
 
 XVII. A Transformation . 
 xviii. The Cry in the Night 
 
 XIX. The Village Lock-up 
 
 XX. The Warder goes 
 
 XXI. The Demon King 
 vii 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I 
 
 8 
 
 28 
 
 40 
 
 53 
 
 64 
 
 77 
 
 87 
 
 99 
 
 107 
 
 121 
 
 130 
 
 144 
 
 150 
 
 . 165 
 
 172 
 
 . 183 
 
 194 
 
 204 
 
 214 
 
 224
 
 vni 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 XXII. Thp: Circus King . 
 
 XXIII. A Bender . 
 
 XXIV. Bull's Eye . 
 
 XXV. Sem.\dini's Troupe 
 XXVI. The Trick which failed 
 XXVII. The Last of the Hippodrome 
 xxviii. A Holocaust 
 XXIX. Sallie Price 
 XXX. At the Window 
 XXXI. Donna Luisa Redivivus . 
 XXXII. Elsie 
 
 xxxHi. An Upper Room . 
 XXXIV. Dollie and her Husband 
 xxxv. The Price of Blood 
 XXXVI. Sallie Price has Visitors 
 xxxvii. The Trapped Sparrow 
 XXXVIII. Sergeant Cutforth 
 XXXIX. The Clanging of the Bell 
 XL. The Pit 
 xLi. Afterwards
 
 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 AT THE STILE 
 
 IT all began with an oak-tree at High Dene — that ideal 
 home for a millionaire. The oak-tree stood in the home 
 copse. Its owner, George Otway, leaned his back against it 
 as he smoked a pipe. On the other side was a stile leading 
 over the fence into the drive. As he smoked he heard steps 
 approaching along the road. They reached the stile; then 
 lingered. Voices became audible. One belonged to his 
 cousin, Frank Andrews, the other to Dollie Lee, the girl to 
 whom he was engaged to be married. Being within a few 
 feet of where he stood he heard every word of what they said. 
 In lazy and mischievous mood he listened ; first in jest, then 
 in earnest. They both owed all they had in the world — all 
 they hoped to have — to him. There could hardly be any 
 conversation between them to which they could seriously 
 object to his listening ; if there should be, then he would 
 acquaint them with his presence, if they had not already 
 discovered it for themselves. 
 
 They said several things — which they certainly did not desire 
 him to overhear — yet he dropped no hint that they had a 
 listener. 
 
 Plainly, they were in the very heart of an interesting dis- 
 cussion when they arrived at that stile. Frank's first question 
 showed it. It was that question which caused his cousin to 
 keep still behind the tree. 
 
 "Tell me honestly, Dollie, do you love me ?" 
 
 Considering that this question was being put to Otway's 
 affianced wife — by the one man in the world who ought not 
 to have put it ! — it was scarcely surprising that the millionaire 
 remained quiescent ; there was scant room for honesty either 
 in the question or its answer.
 
 2 A MKTAMOKPHOSIS 
 
 Apparently Dollie felt that it was a matter which required 
 
 no tir^'' ' -.nsidcration ; her answer came promptly : 
 
 •• \ ,v very well that I do." 
 
 Did he? That was pleasant hearing for Mr Otway. But 
 
 j^lf \ • ' imself did not seem to have full assurance 
 
 of thV .- '- with which she credited him— or, at least, 
 
 his lonc ^ d that he would like his assurance to be made 
 
 doublv sufc. 
 
 •' Arc you dead certain that you love me ? " 
 •• Look at me — can't you find what you want in my face ? " 
 There was silence. The presumption was that he was look- 
 ing, and * ' ' what he wanted. Then there was a sound, 
 which ma . • ^ay's jaw as rigid as if he had been suddenly 
 atucked by tetanus. Presently came Dollie's voice : 
 
 "You shouldn't do it out here; it isn't fair. You don't 
 know who may be about." 
 
 " And I don't care. I'd risk hell to do it." 
 Dollie laughed — an odd, fluttering laugh. She sighed, 
 ra -ly. The man behind the oak realised that his 
 
 a;; . . wife was in his cousin's arms, and he knew what it 
 
 meant to see red. 
 
 " How you're trembling." 
 
 *• I should think I am. If you hold me like this much 
 longer I shall— tremble all to pieces." 
 
 "And yet, feeling for me like this, you can talk of marrying 
 Otway." 
 
 " I cannot only talk about it, I can do it — and I shall do it. 
 My dear Frank — to speak of nothing else! — mamma would 
 kill me if I didn't, even if she knew that I had made up my 
 mind to run away from him an hour afterwards. She would 
 congratulate herself that, in any case, she had got me off her 
 hands ; you don't know how that has become the one object 
 of her existence. And the probabilities are that, whatever I 
 did, he would give me something. He's a generous sort of 
 creature. And what does it matter anyhow ? You can kiss 
 mc when you want." 
 
 " r)ollie, I believe that you're a devil." 
 
 '* You're no saint. I shouldn't like you if you were. It's 
 because — in spite of all his madnesses — George is a saint at 
 l)Otiom that I go all over gooseflesh whenever he comes near. 
 Your near neighbourhood hasn't that efltct on me. That'll 
 do ! Come ! let's walk ; I want you to tire me out."
 
 AT THE STILE 3 
 
 They went off together down the drive, and the millionaire 
 did nothing. 
 
 This girl he had met first of all at Wiesbaden, with her 
 mother. Lady Helen Lee. They were stopping at the same 
 hotel. A chance acquaintance rapidly ripened into a close in- 
 timacy. She was the most fascinating creature he had ever met, 
 with, about her, such a way ! He had offered his love and his 
 millions. She had accepted the former, protesting unbounded 
 affection in return. For the millions, she had observed, with 
 a dainty pout, she did not care ; going so far as to add, with 
 delicious impertinence, that she was inclined to think that they 
 made him just a trifle vulgar; as a natural man he was splen- 
 did, it was almost a pity he was gilded. He had laughed, 
 and believed her ; and all the time she had been this thing. 
 
 Frank Andrews was the only relative he had so far as he was 
 aware. He had hunted him out of a city office, made him 
 one of his managing men, a person of importance, of fortune, 
 and he had done this to him in return. 
 
 The footsteps passed down the drive, faded away in the 
 distance. George Otway remained where he was, with his back 
 against the oak. He smoked his pipe right out; refilled it, 
 smoked another. He was not only a strong — a masterful man ; 
 he had unusual powers of self-control, or he would hardly have 
 been where he was. He realised that this was a position in 
 which it would be well that he should think things right out, 
 without heat or passion. He thought them out. At the end 
 he had come to a resolution. 
 
 The incident of the stile had been the chief cause of his 
 resolution. But, now that the thing had happened, he per- 
 ceived, with that clarity of self-judgment which was one of his 
 strongest points, that he himself had had a trend in that 
 direction. The East had been calling, the old life beckoning. 
 He had grown a little tired of High Dene, of the house in 
 Carlton Terrace, the shooting in Scotland, the great houses 
 which welcomed him with open doors, the troops of acquaint- 
 ances who received him always with acclamations. He had 
 enjoyed it at first : it was fresh, amusing. But now — now it 
 had become monotonous. 
 
 He told himself, as he strolled up through the woods to the 
 house, that it had become very monotonous indeed. 
 
 He was in the conservatory, still smoking, when DoUie 
 came in, with that little rush which was characteristic of her,
 
 4 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 seemingly not yet tired out. She exclaimed at sight of 
 
 " Hollo, George ! you here ! Where have you been ? " 
 
 ♦* I've been at the stile." 
 
 "At the stile?" ■ ^. , , 
 
 There was something either in his looks or his manner 
 which seemed to startle her. She stopped in her onward 
 p t. As she glanced up and met his eyes she went a 
 
 1j.^^ ;e. He was larger that the average man; she was 
 
 smaller than the average woman, slenderly fashioned. He 
 regarded her as a mastiff might have done a toy terrier. 
 
 '* Vou were quite right — one never does know who is about. 
 For instance, I was about — then." 
 
 She understood, and perceptibly shivered, as if overtaken 
 by a sudden chill. As a rule the most loquacious creature 
 breathing, she was tongue-tied. Without doubt, she was as 
 much taken by surprise as he had been. And then his bear- 
 ing, though not outwardly discourteous, was so instinct with 
 c. * • --s command, as if he were issuing his orders to 
 sl : - .jle underling, with such civility as the occasion 
 
 permitted. 
 
 " Have the goodness to pack your trunks and leave my 
 house within the hour ; if they are not packed in that time 
 you will have to leave with them unpacked. Your mother 
 must go with you. If necessary I will explain to her why, 
 but if you are wise you will save me that trouble. You will 
 be able to invest the matter with an atmosphere of your own. 
 But please to understand that if, within the hour, you are 
 not gone, the ser\"ants will have instructions to turn you out, 
 both of you, in whatever condition you may be. At High 
 Dene we only give shelter to decent women." 
 
 He walked off without another word, leaving her stand- 
 ing as if rooted to the ground. In the corridor he perceived 
 his cousin walking away in front of him. 
 
 •' Andrews ! " he cried. 
 
 The other turned. He was a slightly built man, younger 
 than Otway, black-haired, with large black eyes, a carefully 
 trimmed moustache, a soft voice — the sort of person likely 
 tc make a strong appeal to a certain type of woman. He 
 f " Otway with a smile. 
 : anything?" 
 
 " I merely want to inform you that Miss Lee and her
 
 AT THE STILE 5 
 
 mother are leaving the house within the hour: so that it will 
 give you an opportunity of going with them." 
 
 " Leaving ? '" Mr Andrews stared. " What do you mean ? " 
 
 "You should preserve a remark of Miss Lee's on the 
 tablets of your memory : in carriage-drives, and similar 
 places, you never do know who may be about. I was at the 
 stile — that is what I mean." 
 
 His look lent to his words a signincance which penetrated 
 to the other's brain. Something seemed to be moving under 
 the skin on Mr Andrew's face. He moved back against the 
 wall. He began to stammer : 
 
 " I couldn't help it — I — I didn't mean " 
 
 Otway cut him short : 
 
 "Don't dare to speak — still less attempt to excuse yourself. 
 I shall not be able to keep my hands off you if you do. In 
 my present mood there is nothing I should enjoy better than 
 to kill you. But I am afraid I should regret it afterwards — 
 not for your sake : and the misfortune is that I should be 
 satisfied with nothing short of killing you. So I will simply 
 repeat that Miss Lee and her mother leave the house within 
 the hour. If you choose you can go with them ; you will find 
 yourself in congenial society. If, after that time, you are 
 found on my premises I will have you dragged by the heels 
 to the boundary and then thrown into the road." 
 
 Mr Otway smiled to himself as he strode off. Possibly his 
 fancy was tickled by two pictures which were present to his 
 mind's eye : one, of a pretty girl, standing as if car%-ed in 
 stone, with all the light and life dying out of her face, and a 
 look coming into it, as if she were suddenly growing old : 
 the second, of a young man, a handsome fellow, cowering 
 against a wall, as if he were a stricken cur. They might have 
 changed the aspect of the whole world to him. He had cried 
 evens. With at least equal unexpectedness, and with more 
 than equal thoroughness, he had made of it a new world to 
 them. 
 
 In his bedroom he found his valet, Hewett, engaged in 
 putting away some new clothes which had just come down by 
 train from town. As his master came in he turned to leave. 
 Otway stopped him : 
 
 " You needn't go." 
 
 Hewett went on with his labours. His master, planting 
 himself before a window, looked out over his park and lands.
 
 6 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 It was a glorious prospect which stretched itself in front of 
 him. No house in England has a liner natural situation than 
 High Dene. But there are occasions on which the finest 
 landscape fails to please. George Otway was the victim of 
 one just then. Presently he spoke to Hewett. The man 
 had been in his employment some time, and, besides, Otway 
 had a trick — when the mood took him — of talking to his 
 servants as if they were his personal friends. 
 
 " Hewett, do you ever get tired? " 
 
 " Do you mean sleepy, sir? " 
 
 " No ; not sleepy. Tired of things — of everything." 
 
 *' I fancy, sir, that we, many of us, feel tired at times." 
 
 " I've hit on one of those times." 
 
 " I shouldn't think you ever got like that, sir, really ; not 
 in the sense you speak of." 
 
 "Shouldn't you? How odd. And yet you're a man of 
 experience. You've valeted grandees. Haven't any of them 
 ever grown tired ? " 
 
 "They've thought they have. But a liver pill, or something 
 of that sort, has soon brought them to a different frame of 
 mind.' 
 
 "Has it? That's odder than ever. Because I don't fancy 
 that it would have that effect on me. I'm afraid it's more 
 than the liver." He was silent for some seconds. " I'm so 
 tired, Hewett, that I wouldn't mind changing places with you." 
 
 "That's what my first gentleman, young Lord Valentine, 
 used to say when he was very drunk. But he never did. 
 He couldn't have made a greater mess of things if he had. 
 He drunk hmiself into his grave before he was thirty." 
 
 "Did he? That's an awful warning, Hewett. I suppose 
 that 1 ought to learn from his fate, and not express a willing- 
 ness to exchange with you. At least, I'll be like him in one 
 respect : I'll not go beyond the expression." 
 
 Immediately afterwards he passed into his study, which 
 adjoined. Hewett indulged in some inward comments as he 
 lolded a jacket. 
 
 " Never saw him that way before. Always thought nothing 
 atlected him either one way or the other. There's something 
 
 r.cortjc Otway remained in his study about twenty minutes. ■ 
 I hen he passed down his private staircase, through his own 
 private door, into the grounds. He wore a suit of dark Harris
 
 AT THE STILE 7 
 
 tweed and a hard felt hat. He carried an ivory-handled 
 Malacca cane. It had been presented to him by a friend. 
 On the gold mount were his initials. He bent his steps towards 
 the nearest railway station, some three miles off. To reach it 
 he had to pass through a country town. There he called 
 on the manager of the local bank, whom he requested to 
 give him cash for a cheque for ;/^iooo. The bank itself was 
 closed ; but Otway was far and away its largest customer, and 
 the manager did not hesitate to do as he wanted. He gave 
 him a thousand pounds in tens and fives, Otway expressing 
 a desire to have the money in that particular form. He put 
 the notes in a scarlet morocco letter-case, on which was a 
 gold monogram, and the case itself into the inside pocket of 
 his jacket. The manager noticed that, when he buttoned 
 his jacket, the bulky letter-case was plainly visible beneath. 
 
 That bank manager was the last person in that part of the 
 world who spoke to him — alive.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 T}1E MAN ON THE BRIDGE 
 
 BF.TWEEN eleven and twelve that night he was on South- 
 wark Bridge. Why he was there, or how, he would 
 have fuund it difficult to say. Through the evening he had 
 been following his nose hither and thither, without rhyme or 
 reason. Now he was there ; that was enough for him. 
 
 At that hour that part of London is apt to be like a place 
 of the dead. It was inclined to be foggy. He had been 
 wandering, for some minutes, in and out of narrow streets, 
 between huge buildings, whose altitude was lost in the 
 obscured air, without seeing a sign of a living thing. In his 
 then frame of mind this brief pilgrimage in itself had had 
 about it a flavour of the adventurous. His imagination had 
 endowed the huge warehouses with a something mysterious, 
 a shadow of awe. They compassed him about as if they were 
 a grim array of prisons. 
 
 All at once he found himself coming on to a bridge. He 
 did not know that it was Southwark Bridge. He only knew 
 that it was a bridge, that the water was underneath — he heard 
 it splashing against the piers ; that the fog had grown dense ; 
 that his solitude had become more obvious. 
 
 This feeling of solitude was so insistent that it was almost 
 with a consciousness of shock that he realised that, after all, 
 he was not so alone as he had imagined. Towards the other 
 end of the bridge, across the way, in the dimness was — what? 
 was it a human figure? Yes, it was the figure of a man. 
 
 This fact was borne in on him simultaneously with another 
 — with the fact that the man was essaying to mount the 
 parapet. It was only when Otway had brought himself to a 
 full stop, in an endeavour to see more clearly what the person 
 over the way was doing, that it dawned upon him what his 
 ungainly movements meant. Suddenly he appeared, raised 
 above the pavement, a tremulous blotch as seen through the 
 distorting mist. On the instant Otway was across the road. 
 
 8
 
 THE MAN ON THE BRIDGE 9 
 
 Slipping his arms about the fellow's waist he bore him back 
 upon the path. 
 
 There was a momentary silence. It had all happened so 
 quickly. Each had taken the other so wholly by surprise. 
 Both had to think of what to say. Otway was the first to 
 speak. 
 
 " What did you do that for ? " 
 
 Question was returned for question. 
 
 "Rather put it the other way — what did you do that for? " 
 
 There was a quality — a something — in the speaker's tone 
 which Otway had not expected. 
 
 " Come this way ; let me have a look at you." 
 
 He drew him towards a lamp-post, the stranger offering no 
 opposition. He was a man of Otway's own build, — had he 
 chosen he might have offered resistance which Otway would 
 have found it difficult to overcome, — tall, broad-chested, 
 loose-limbed. George Otway was forty. In actual years the 
 stranger was probably his junior; possibly by half-a-dozen 
 years. But there was that in his face which startled Otway — 
 who flattered himself that he was a keen physiognomist — into 
 an odd conviction that for him life was over. His features 
 were drawn and anxious, there was what Otway described to 
 himself as a haunted look in his eyes ; his expression was as 
 of one who keeps company, not with his fellows, but with 
 things unseen. He regarded his deliverer from the pangs of 
 a suicide's death with a glazed, impersonal stare. 
 
 " One saves even a dog from death if one is able. Why 
 not a man ? I could not allow you to commit suicide before 
 my very eyes ! " 
 
 "Such was not my desire. If you had warned me that 
 your eyes were coming I would have waited till they had 
 passed." 
 
 "But why do it at all?" 
 
 "What has that to do with you? Who are you that I 
 should initiate you, on your own demand, into the intricacies 
 of my private affairs ? " 
 
 " It appears to me that, under the circumstances, I am 
 entitled to require from you information. Otherwise it will be 
 my plain duty, as a law-respecting citizen, to march you off to 
 the next policeman." 
 
 The stranger seemed to be taking a mental inventory of the 
 other's inches.
 
 10 A .METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 .. y .. - -i^t find itdirticult to do it." 
 
 Oi^< under was grim. 
 
 *' 1 think 1 might be able to keep a hold on you until, by 
 my cries and shouts, I had brought the nearest constable to 
 my assistance. I believe that on London bridges at night one 
 is never very far away." As if to prove the truth of his surmise 
 a steady tread was heard approaching. In the distance loomed 
 a uniformed figure. " Vou see, here's one coming." 
 
 1 he man drew instinctively back. Otway gripped him by 
 the arm. The fellow hesitated, as if considering whether it 
 would be worth his while to show fight. Apparently he 
 concluded that this was a case in which discretion would be 
 the better part of valour. 
 
 " Don't give me to him — if I tell you something will you 
 let me go ? " 
 
 Ihere was a bitterness in his tone which seemed to echo 
 something which was in Otway's heart. 
 
 " It depends on what you tell me and upon whether it 
 bears the stamp of truth. Not any lie will do. But if you 
 show me suthcient cause why death is better for you than life, 
 why, you may drown yourself within the next five minutes, 
 and I'll not move a finger to stop you." 
 
 " Vou mean that?" 
 
 " I do. I'm in a mood in which I'm ready to let a man go 
 to the devil in his own way." 
 
 " If I show you cause you'll let me go over there ? " 
 
 He pointed to where, in the stillness, the waters were heard 
 swirling about the piers below. 
 
 "It will have to be a sufficient cause." 
 
 " If I give you what even you shall admit are sufficient 
 reasons why I should cease to live, do you swear that you will 
 not hand me over to this policeman but will permit me to 
 woo death after my own manner?" 
 
 " I swear it.'' 
 
 "Then I'll give you reason enough, and more — I am a 
 murderer." 
 
 Had the fellow spoken with any sort of bombast; had he 
 shown any sign of mental excitation ; of that hideous exulta- 
 tion which marks the self-conscious criminal who parades 
 his crime, desiring to add to it an even added shade 
 of blackness, George Otway might— probably would— have 
 doubted. Hut this man spoke with a coldness, a clearness,
 
 THE MAN ON THE BRIDGE 11 
 
 a dispassionate directness, a terrible sincerity, which moved 
 his Ustener to instantaneous credence. The poHceman was 
 coming close ; the stranger fidgeted. 
 
 " Let us move away. The presence of a man-in-blue is to 
 me like a biting frost ; it chills me to the bone." 
 
 " Why should I not give you into custody ? " 
 
 " Because you swore. I do not think you are a liar." 
 
 The man began to walk towards Southwark, Otway suffer- 
 ing him to go, keeping by his side. 
 
 "I may be. Who knows? I certainly should not be 
 prepared to give myself a general testimonial. And a 
 murderer ! You are a thing accursed. All men's hands must 
 be of necessity against you, and God's. For such as you 
 there is no place upon His earth." 
 
 " Precisely. Which is why I wish to take myself off it. 
 You see — you are quick to admit that I have cause enough." 
 
 " But why should you be permitted to choose the manner 
 of your death ? You have no title to be the master of your 
 fate." 
 
 "You swore." 
 
 " I swore ! What does that matter ? Like you, I am 
 not disposed to make a superstition of a careless oath. 
 Besides, I have nothing but your word. People accuse 
 themselves of murder whose hands are stainless." 
 
 " I am not one of them." 
 
 " How am I to know it ? " 
 
 "You do know it. Still, if you've a taste that way, I'll 
 give you the particulars, then you'll know it better. One 
 moment, the policeman's on our heels." 
 
 Indeed, as he spoke, the constable went swinging by, 
 peering at them as he passed, addressing to them a friendly 
 greeting. 
 
 "Good-night, gentlemen." 
 
 Otway rejoined : 
 
 " Good-night, officer. Foggy weather." 
 
 The constable stopped to answer. 
 
 " It is inclined that way. I shouldn't be surprised if it were 
 worse before long — fog's coming up the river." 
 
 " Nice night for suicides." 
 
 The constable gave a short laugh, as if the notion tickled 
 him. 
 
 " There wouldn't be much chance for anyone who went
 
 12 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 over in this weather— not much chance of getting him out, 
 I mean. There's fog enough to make it impossible for you 
 to sec him, and the tide's coming up like a race. But we 
 don't have many suicides here; Waterloo's the bridge for 
 Ihcm." 
 
 "Still, I suppose, if one had a mind, this bridge would 
 serve." 
 
 "Oh, yes, it would serve. Good-night, gentlemen." 
 
 The policeman strode off with quickened steps. The pair 
 followed more slowly. When he was out of earshot the 
 stranger asked : 
 
 " Have you a natural taste for cruelty?" 
 
 " Not that I am aware of — more than the average man." 
 
 " Vou knew that my nerves were on the rack ; that each 
 word you uttered wrung from them fresh agonies. You 
 enjoyed the knowledge that you were torturing me." 
 
 " If chance remarks on suicide have that effect on you 
 I should recommend you to avoid the thing itself." 
 
 "That is my affair. You have conceded me the liberty to 
 make it so. I wish you good-bye." 
 
 The man turned as if to go. Otway caught him by the 
 shoulder. 
 
 " Not so fast. You move too quickly. Do you imagine 
 that I propose to be content with your bare assurance ? " 
 
 "You insist on having full particulars? I see. You 
 relish vicarious sensations ; of your own you would probably 
 soon weary. You remember what the papers, with their 
 usual idiocy, labelled as 'The Vauxhall Junction Murder,' 
 the case of the girl who was found dead in the train which 
 had come from Guildford?" Otway nodded. " I killed her." 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " Hecause I loved her. Sounds odd, doesn't it ? It's a fact. 
 I've found that it's the plain truths which do sound odd. 
 She had pretended to love me. I discovered that it had 
 been pretence throughout; that all the while she had been 
 misbehaving herself with another man ; sometimes with my 
 kisses warm upon her lips. When I charged her with her 
 treachery she twitted me with having allowed myself to be 
 fooled so exsily. I killed her then and there." 
 
 " Did you ? It was savage justice ; but, if the facts are as 
 you have stated them, I am not sure it was not justice." 
 
 Otway's thoughts were of Dolly Lee.
 
 THE MAN ON THE BRIDGE 13 
 
 "I am sure it was. It is better for the world that such 
 women should be out of it. If it were required I would kill 
 her again, now, although I have paid the penalty — the 
 penalty ! " The man stood straight up, gazing at the picture 
 conjured up by his own imagination, with fixed, unseeing 
 eyes, straight past Otway, as if Otway were not there. "It is 
 with me as with the wretch in Hood's poem : ever since she 
 has been with me day and night. Sometimes sitting rigid in 
 the corner of the carriage with the marks of my fingers about 
 her throat ; her pretty throat ; it was a pretty throat. Some- 
 times swaying forward as the train stopped suddenly, so that 
 I had to lift her back into the seat. I killed her soon after 
 we left Guildford, and travelled with her — dead — to Vauxhall 
 Station. Each time the train jerked she swayed forward, 
 and I had to lift her back. It is like that I see her oftenest, 
 swaying forward. It has become so that it is like that I 
 always see her ; always, always, always. So I am resolved to 
 get away from the sight of it through the gate of death — I 
 cannot bear to see her always swaying — the monotony's too 
 great ; and I'll get away, even though I have to kill you also 
 before I can escape." 
 
 " You need resort to no such drastic measures. You're free 
 to go" — again the man made as if to turn; again the other 
 had him in his grip — "on one condition." 
 
 "What is the condition? Tell me — quick! My patience 
 is nearly at an end." 
 
 "The condition is that you — first — change clothes with 
 me." 
 
 The stranger regarded him with bewildered glances. 
 
 " Change clothes with you ? " 
 
 " I spoke with sufficient clearness." 
 
 "But — I don't understand." He looked Otway up and 
 down, as if seeking in his appearance for something which 
 would explain his words. " There is nothing the matter with 
 your attire. Your clothes are better than mine." 
 
 " Possibly ; at least, I do not doubt that they cost more. 
 The man they came from charges for permission to become 
 his customer. But that is not the point. I, like you, also 
 wish to die ; especially if it can be done by proxy." 
 
 " Don't — now — juggle with phrases. Make your meaning 
 as plain as you can. I'm in a hurry." 
 
 "You see, when your — body is found, as it presumably
 
 14 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 sotr •••"'■' will be, the possibilities are that it will be in such 
 a e 1 that the clothes upon it will be the only means 
 
 of recognition. If those clothes are mine — and my name's on 
 even- rag I wear — they'll think I've found a watery grave, 
 which will suit me very well." 
 
 The stranger was silent. Something came into his eyes 
 which suggested a desire to read into the other's soul. 
 
 " What have you done ? " 
 
 " Nothuig as yet. It's a case of what I'm going to do. I 
 
 also want to enter into another life, though by a different gate 
 
 one you're choosing. I'm tired of my present life — 
 
 ^. ...,„..>• tired. Matters will be simplified if the world believes 
 
 that I am dead." 
 
 " Is it only a whim ? " 
 
 "A whim!— only that; a mood! — but one which has me 
 so strongly in its grip that only on my condition will I let you 
 go. So admirable an opportunity of going through the process 
 of metempsychosis may never recur." 
 
 " I don't see why I should object, since we both of us are 
 mad together." 
 
 "Just so, since we both of us are mad ! No reason whatever 
 why you should object. The only question is where can we 
 change ? " 
 
 "That I'll manage. I cannot offer a sumptuous dressing- 
 room, but I think I can promise freedom from observation." 
 
 He led the way across the bridge to the Surrey side, down 
 a narrow lane, through a still narrower entry, into what seemed 
 to be a yard. Here was a shed, which was entirely open on 
 one side. The stranger stopped in front of it. 
 
 "This is our dressing-room. I believe that it contains bags 
 of lime, but they'll not be in our way. It's not likely that 
 anyone will interfere with us while we're undressing." 
 
 They both entered. What was within beside themselves — 
 whether the stranger was or was not right in his surmise — in 
 the pitchy blackness it was impossible to see. In silence each 
 began to undress. Presently Otway spoke — one guessed that 
 he smiled. 
 
 "This dressing-room of yours is draughty." 
 
 " I said I could not offer luxury. I suppose you only want 
 my suit ? " 
 
 "I want every stitch of clothing you have on, including 
 your shirt, vests, socks, and boots. Don't I tell you that my
 
 THE MAN ON THE BRIDGE 15 
 
 name's in full on everything I'm wearing, a fact which is at 
 least well known to my man. If the body didn't have my 
 socks on he'd spot it in a second." 
 
 " Your man ? Do you mean your servant ? You say your 
 name's on everything; what is it? I should at least like to 
 know who I am to be taken for — at the coroner's inquest." 
 
 " Otway. George Otway." 
 
 There was a fresh inflection in the other's voice. 
 
 " Otway ! Not — the millionaire ? " 
 
 " Men call me a millionaire." 
 
 " Then that's the meaning of it all ! There's to be another 
 financial smash ; a new huge scandal in the city, spreading 
 ruin broadcast. It's to escape the consequences that you 
 want men to imagine you are dead. There's method in your 
 madness that's something more tangible than a whim." 
 
 " Not a bit of it. You're wrong entirely. Financially, my 
 affairs were never in a sounder condition. That's part of the 
 trouble. If they weren't, if they were drifting into stormy 
 waters, I'd be happy piloting them back into harbour, and the 
 tougher the job the more I'd like it. But no such luck is 
 likely to come my way. Everything I touch turns up trumps. 
 It's monotonous. Now, since I've given you my name, what's 
 yours ? " 
 
 " My name is Jacob Gunston ; you'll find it on all my 
 clothes." 
 
 "The deuce I shall! That's unexpected. It may cause 
 trouble." 
 
 " It'll make no difference to me if it does. Although I'm 
 not a millionaire I suppose I'm entitled to have my name upon 
 my clothes as well as you." 
 
 Silence again, shortly broken by a laugh from Otway, 
 followed by an exclamation from Gunston. 
 
 " Don't laugh like that, man ! You made me jump. This 
 is no time for laughter." 
 
 " Sorry to have occasioned you inconvenience. I find the 
 whole affair infinitely amusing." He had been transferring 
 the thousand pounds in notes to the pocket of his new jacket. 
 " Here's my letter-case. It has my monogram in gold out- 
 side ; my cards and papers within. Since it's guaranteed 
 to be waterproof, they alone should establish my identity 
 beyond a doubt. Put it in your inside pocket. Here's 
 my watch and chain. Have you a watch?"
 
 16 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 " I've a silver one." 
 
 " You'll get the better of the exchange ; mine's gold — I paid 
 a hundred guineas for it — and there are some trifles on the 
 chain which cost money, including a locket with a lady's 
 portrait. Here's my ring ; it's a single stone diamond. I've 
 worn it on the little finger of my left hand for years. Put it 
 on the little finger of your left hand. Does it fit ? " 
 
 " It goes on." 
 
 *• How do you feel in your new costume?" 
 
 "The coat is tight under the arms." 
 
 '* Yours is loose ; your tailor allows you more room than 
 mine." 
 
 " I always insisted on having plenty of room in my clothes. 
 These are tight all over. Before long they'd be beyond my 
 bearing." 
 
 " There won't be time for you to reach that stage. Are you 
 ready ? " 
 
 "Quite. I'll show you back into the street, then I'll say 
 good-bye — for good. ' 
 
 "Or evil. By the way, we've forgotten our hats. Here's 
 mine ; give me yours. Hollo ! how odd ! yours fits me 
 perfectly. I take such an out size in hats that I've always 
 had to have mine made for me. We've both of us great 
 heads. Now I'm at your service." 
 
 Gunston led the way back into the street. Under a lamp- 
 post they paused to survey each other. The first comment 
 came from Otway. 
 
 " What a difference clothes do make to a man. I shouldn't 
 have known you." 
 
 " Nor I you. Good-bye, Jacob Gunston." 
 
 "Good-bye, George Otway. I trust that you will not find 
 the water unpleasantly cold." 
 
 Gunston — in Otway's clothes — turning right-about-face, 
 walked off without another word. Otway, remaining under 
 the lamp-post, watched him as he went. He swung along 
 with long, even strides, looking straight in front of him — 
 upright, resolute, with a something stiff in his bearing, as of 
 a man who had been drilled. 
 
 "The fellow's been a soldier or, perhaps, a volunteer. Yet 
 if he had he'd hardly talk about insisting on having plenty of 
 room inside his clothes. Anyhow, he's a man of inches and 
 of mu.scle : the sort that dies hard. I shouldn't be surprised
 
 THE MAN ON THE BRIDGE 17 
 
 if, when it comes to the touch, the strong hfe which is in him 
 insists on making a fight for it." 
 
 Gunston reached the end of the narrow street : without a 
 backward glance, wheeUng round the corner, he passed from 
 sight. 
 
 "Now, what's the etiquette? What ought I to do? To 
 follow might suggest a desire to observe his movements, 
 which, under the circumstances, would be scarcely cricket. 
 A delicate mind would rather avoid the faintest appearance 
 of espionage. I'll go the other way." 
 
 But as he went he could not keep his imagination from 
 straying after the vanished man. 
 
 "What's he doing now? How many yards is it from the 
 corner to the bridge ? Not many. By now he should be 
 on it. How far on will he think it necessary? To the 
 middle? I take it there's enough water to drown a man 
 half-a-dozen feet from shore. Yet — he'll be safer in the centre. 
 For one thing, he'll be more difficult to get at if there should 
 be someone else about who's bent upon salvation, and it 
 will be harder to reach dry land. If he's anything of a 
 swimmer the trouble will begin when he gets into the water. 
 It will need some resolution to restrain himself from striking 
 out, knowing that a few strokes may give him a longer lease of 
 life, when he feels he's going down. This world may seem 
 pleasanter when the mud and the water begin to get into his 
 mouth. For the strong swimmer, who persists in drowning 
 himself, there must be some moments when he endures agony. 
 Better choose some easier mode of dying. Still, if he had, 
 it would have been harder for me to drown. I wonder if I'm 
 drowned by now." 
 
 The wonder held him. His curiosity upon the point became 
 so insistent that he could not hold himself back from seeking 
 for an answer. He wandered over Blackfriars Bridge, then 
 back again towards Southwark. As he approached it, down 
 Queen Street, his steps became slower and slower, until at 
 last he stopped — and looked ahead. What he had expected 
 to see he could not have told himself, yet it was with an odd 
 sense of relief that he realised that there was nothing to be 
 seen. The bridge was apparently deserted. As, remembering 
 his previous experience, he moved gradually nearer, he searched 
 it with eager eyes. 
 
 The policeman's prediction seemed likely to be falsified.
 
 18 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 At least thereabouts, just then : the fog had not grown thicker ; 
 on the contrary, it had Hfted : he could see from end to end 
 of the bridge. It was deserted. There was not a creature 
 on it anywhere — of that he was sure. 
 
 Which made it the more strange that, as he advanced upon 
 it, he should have been oppressed by so unreasonable an 
 apprehension that he was not alone. No man had his nerves 
 better under control ; none less likely to suffer himself to be 
 victimised by freaks of fancy. None the less, more than once 
 he caught himself glancing, with a start, backward, over his 
 shoulder, here and there — looking for he knew not what. The 
 farther he went the more dominant his perception of an unseen 
 companion became, until, about the middle of the bridge, he 
 stopped dead, staring down at the pavement in front of 
 him. 
 
 What was it which was lying at his feet? A stick? What 
 stick? His own? Was it his own stick? — the one which he 
 had given Jacob Gunston ? 
 
 It was ; his Malacca cane, with his initials on the gold band. 
 As, picking it up, he recognised it, it was with obviously 
 startled eyes that he glanced about him. 
 
 "Was it here — he did it? Here — that I was drowned? 
 Then why wasn't my cane drowned with me ? It ought to 
 have been. Or — did he leave it behind on purpose ? Being 
 a man of acute perception, realising that if my stick was 
 found just here, the inference would be conveyed that its 
 owner had gone — over there. Perhaps he did. Shrewd 
 fellow ! Still I don't quite like it. If I am drowned I should 
 like to have everything of mine drowned with me. So here 
 goes ! " 
 
 He hurled the cane into the air out over the river, listening 
 for the sound of its splash as it entered the water. But he 
 could hear nothing ; only the rushing of the tide against the 
 piers. As he stood, expectantly, a touch upon his shoulder 
 affected him so as no touch had ever done before ; he leaped 
 round, with an exclamation, half of surprise, half of something 
 akin to terror. 
 
 "Who the devil's that? Why, policeman, is it you? 
 Officer, you startled me ! I had no idea that anyone was 
 near." 
 
 It was not the constable he had seen before. This was a 
 younger man; one apparently more prone to suspicion. He
 
 THE MAN ON THE BRIDGE 19 
 
 regarded him with what were plainly suspicious eyes. His 
 tone was accusatory. 
 
 " I daresay. I thought you fancied you had it all to your 
 self. What are you doing here ? " 
 
 " I was looking at the river." 
 
 " Looking at the river ? If you were only looking why did 
 you jump like that when I touched you? You nearly jumped 
 out of your skin." 
 
 "If I had quite it wouldn't have been strange; I was never 
 before so taken by surprise." 
 
 " It's my duty to take people by surprise who're looking at 
 the river at this time of night." 
 
 " I see. That view of a policeman's duty comes on me with 
 the force of novelty." 
 
 "Does it? Then that's all right. Didn't I see you throw 
 something into the water?" 
 
 " You may have done, if you have sharp eyes. I threw a 
 piece of wood." 
 
 " A piece of wood ? You're sure it was a piece of wood ? " 
 
 " Perfectly certain." 
 
 " Where did you get it from ? " 
 
 " I saw it lying on the pavement." 
 
 "Saw it lying on the pavement? What kind of a piece or 
 wood was it ? " 
 
 " It was a thin piece, about eighteen inches long. I threw 
 it into the water because it was of no use to me, and because I 
 wanted to know if I should hear it splash." 
 
 "Don't you know better than that? Don't you know you 
 oughtn't to throw anything off a bridge? There's always 
 people moving about underneath ; you might do any amount 
 of damage. Now move on, please. Do you know what the 
 time is ? " 
 
 George Otway looked at Jacob Gunston's silver watch. 
 
 "I didn't; but I do now. It's ten minutes to three." 
 
 " It's my duty not to allow people to loiter on the bridge at 
 this time of night. So off you go." 
 
 " I believe you suspect me of an intention to commit 
 suicide." 
 
 " Never mind what I suspect you of. I haven't said that 
 I suspect you of anything. All I say is, off the bridge you 
 go. So step it." 
 
 Otway did as the policeman told him, laughing to himself
 
 30 A METAMOHPHOSIS 
 
 as he went. It seemed so funny that he should be suspected 
 of meditating suicide when he was drowned already. He was 
 conscious that the constable remained standing where he had 
 left him, following him with his eyes till he was clear of the 
 bridge, and that then he himself marched to the Southwark 
 side to make sure that this suspicious character did not retrace 
 his steps. 
 
 Oiway strolled back to Blackfriars, then down Fleet Street 
 into Covent Garden. He had heard of the scenes which were 
 to be witnessed there in the small hours ; here was an oppor- 
 tunity to observe them. Business was already in full blast. 
 He found his way into the flower market : discovering with 
 delight the wealth of blooms ; purchasing a bundle of rosebuds, 
 from which he selected one which he put into his buttonhole ; 
 handing the rest to a girl who was buying her stock for the 
 day, who received them with what might have been gratitude, 
 but looked like surprise. 
 
 He loitered ; had some breakfast at a shop in the Piazza ; 
 then, as it was nearly nine, and London was beginning to open 
 all its eyes, he started off to look for rooms. 
 
 I-or the third time he traversed Southwark Bridge. It was 
 a sunny morning ; the fog had vanished ; there was a fresh, 
 soft breeze ; the river, covered with craft, was looking its 
 best. He lingered about the spot where he had thrown the 
 Malacca cane into the air. It was a little difficult to recall 
 the atmosphere ; to understand how he could have been 
 so weak as to have allowed himself to become possessed of 
 such eerie imaginings. The world was alive — awake. The 
 happenings of the night had been but the traffic of a dream. 
 In the exhilaration born of the bright spring morning who 
 cared for nightmares? 
 
 In a window of a house in a street off the Southwark Bridge 
 Road he saw a card inscribed : "Apartments." He knocked. 
 The door was opened by a tall, thin woman, past middle age. 
 She showed him the rooms on the first floor. A cheerless 
 ten-foot square room, which she called a sitting-room ; another 
 at the back, more cheerless, smaller, darker — the bedroom. 
 She wanted twelve shillings a week for the two, gas fourpence 
 a burner, coals fourpence a scuttle, boots a penny a pair. 
 The whole thing was in such amazing contrast to the luxury 
 of High Dene that it amused (icorge Otway hugely. He 
 laughed outright. It was like a chapter out of a fairy tale :
 
 THE MAN ON THE BRIDGE 21 
 
 one of those games of make-believe which children so delight 
 in. To live amid these surroundings, after the monotony of 
 the uncrumpled rose leaves of High Dene, would be a change 
 indeed. He would have engaged the rooms on the spot — 
 only the decision was taken out of his hands. 
 
 His laughter, the cause of which was beyond her compre- 
 hension, had, as was perhaps natural, not altogether pleased 
 the woman of the house. For all she knew he might be 
 laughing at her ; which, indeed, in a sense, he was. 
 
 She regarded him with sourer visage. 
 
 "Are you in business?" 
 
 "No; not at present.'' 
 
 "I only care for people who're in business. I don't like my 
 lodgers to be at home in the day." 
 
 "Oh." 
 
 This point of view struck Otway as being in the highest 
 degree unreasonable. Why did people want rooms if they 
 were not to be in them whenever they chose? 
 
 " Where do you come from ? " 
 
 The notion of being subjected to such a catechism tickled 
 Otway more than ever. He laughed again. The woman's 
 face became sourer still. 
 
 " Where do I come from ? I come from the country." 
 
 " From the country ? You don't look to me as if you came 
 from the country. Where's your luggage ? " 
 
 " Luggage ? I haven't any." 
 
 " Haven't you ? I guessed as much. Thank you ; that's 
 enough for me. Good-day." 
 
 Before he quite realised what was happening, the woman 
 had opened the front door, and was ushering him through it 
 into the street. Directly his feet were on the step outside the 
 door was shut behind him with a bang. He laughed louder 
 than before. 
 
 " It was the luggage did it. Even in this part of the world 
 the stranger who desires to be esteemed respectable must 
 have luggage." 
 
 With this idea he entered a shop where they sold clothes 
 for men. Here he purchased a small black canvas-covered 
 portmanteau, some shirts, underlinen, ties, odds and ends, 
 and a suit of clothes — ready made. This latter he tried on 
 there and then. As he was admiring the sit of the coat before 
 a mirror, the salesman remarked:
 
 22 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 "That coat fits you better than your own, Mr Gunston." 
 
 The customer turned sharply round. 
 
 "Gunston ! How do you know my name is Gunston ? " 
 
 "That's the name on the tape inside your jacket, and I took 
 it for granted that the jacket was yours." 
 
 " On the tape } Of course, I see. I had forgotten it was 
 there." 
 
 " Queer you should have forgotten your name was inside 
 your own jacket. Here it is, you see, large as life, and twice 
 as natural." 
 
 There was a free and easiness about the man's manner of 
 address to which Mr Oiway was unaccustomed from persons 
 in his position. He paid for his purchases ; the shopman ob- 
 serving, as he proceeded to arrange them in the portmanteau : 
 
 " You'll keep on the new suit, I suppose. You won't wear 
 your — the old one." 
 
 As a matter of fact he had only given expression to what 
 had been Otway's intention. But there was an insinuation 
 in the fellow's tone for which he could have shaken him ; 
 as if the man took it for granted that if the customer's name 
 were Gunston there was a desire to conceal it. 
 
 '• I will wear my own suit, thank you." 
 
 Still in Jacob Gunston's clothes, and with the " luggage " in 
 his hand, he again hied in quest of an abiding-place: this 
 time with greater success. In a turning off the Borough Road 
 he secured two rooms in the house of a Mrs Parsons. The 
 landlady was a stout, good-natured-looking woman, with what 
 seemed to be a trick of hiding her hands beneath her apron 
 He gave his name as Jacob Gunston. At the mention of the 
 name there came into her eyes a glimmer of recognition. 
 
 "Gunston! Aren't you employed at Armitage's?" He 
 shook his head. " No ? Well, my son, who's married, lives 
 over by the Butts, he's a fitter there. I've heard him speak 
 of a Mr Gunston— pays the hands, I think. Might be a 
 relation of yours." 
 
 "So far as I'm aware I've no relation of the name in the 
 world. ' 
 
 "This new name of mine," he told himself, when the woman 
 was gone, " bids fair to be provocative of complications. It 
 may be easy enough to die, but if one wishes to re-enter the 
 world, plainly, one ought to be circumspect as to the label 
 which one sticks on to oneself."
 
 THE MAN ON THE BRIDGE 23 
 
 He examined his pockets. For the most part the contents 
 consisted of valueless trifles — a stump of lead pencil ; a well- 
 worn knife ; half a box of matches ; a tobacco pouch ; a briar 
 pipe ; a coarse, but clean pocket handkerchief, on which 
 again was the name in full. If Mr Gunston had had any 
 valuables about him, the presumption was that he had 
 transferred them to his new attire. One thing, however, gave 
 his representative pause. That was a piece of oilskin in a 
 jacket pocket, which was not only carefully secured with 
 string, but sealed. Without hesitation its finder cut the 
 string and broke the seals. Within was a sheet of paper, 
 which again contained three letters. On the sheet of paper 
 was written, in a round, clerkly hand : 
 
 "Whoever opens this oilskin will please post the enclosed 
 three letters, which are duly stamped and addressed. — Jacob 
 Gunston." 
 
 One was addressed to " Mrs Burroughs, Palm Cottage, 
 London Road, Guildford"; the second, "Miss Renwick, i6 
 Coulter Street, Rotherhithe " ; the third, "To the Chief 
 Inspector of Police, New Scotland Yard." Otway turned 
 them over and over in his hand. 
 
 " It's as well that he left them here. If he'd put them in 
 my pocket there'd have been trouble ahead. The discovery 
 of such epistles on my person would have raised problems 
 which every one concerned would have found it difficult to 
 solve. I take it they're farewells and explanations and con- 
 fessions and that kind of thing ; the usual suicide's remainders. 
 The question is what am I going to do with them? Shall 
 I carry out instructions? slip them in a pillar box? Or — 
 shall I investigate upon my own account? At any rate, not 
 that. I'll compromise — slip them in the fire instead." 
 
 He burnt them on the instant, smiling down at them as 
 he watched their transformation into ashes. 
 
 "There, for all I know, goes the solution of a first-class 
 mystery ; the quite possible result being that the perpetrators 
 of still another crime will escape scot-free. It's the police 
 who're to blame. That rare breed of dog, the sleuth-hound, 
 continues to be badly wanted at Scotland Yard. If our 
 detectives were only capable of detection there'd soon be an 
 end, if not of crime, then at least of criminals." 
 
 For seven days nothing happened. George Otway dili- 
 gently ransacked the newspaper in search of items of infor-
 
 L>1 A ^[ETAMORPHOSIS 
 
 mation which might have a personal interest for him. In 
 vain. On the eighth day, however, it was different. 
 
 To begin with, when he came down to breakfast a letter 
 was lying on his plate. He stared at it in astonishment, 
 picking it up gingerly, as if it were some dangerous thing. 
 
 •' It can't be for me; unless Mrs Parsons has mentioned the 
 fact of my existence to some local tradesman, who desires 
 the favour of my patronage." 
 
 He opened it, and read as follows : — 
 
 " Dk.\r Jacou, — \\hy are you treating me like this ? Why 
 have you broken your promise? You know very well that 
 it is only because I believed you that I kept still. / 7vill 
 keep still tw Ioniser. Do you think you can hide from me? 
 You cannot. I will give you until to-morrow at noon. If 
 by that time you have not acted I will, be the consequences 
 what they may. In that case, God help us both. — Mary. 
 
 *' You know very well, Jacob, that I mean what I say. So 
 understand quite clearly that if, by to-morrow at noon you 
 have not done what you promised, I Will Speak." 
 
 George Otway laid down the letter with an expression on 
 his face which denoted a total lack of comprehension. 
 
 "She will speak, will she? I wonder what she'll speak 
 about ! And who is Mary, anyhow ? And what Jacob 
 promised? I suspect Mrs Parsons of a persistence in con- 
 necting me with my namesake who pays the hands at 'Armi- 
 tage's,' and I'm afraid she has been talking, which may 
 explain how it is that Mary has jumped to the conclusion 
 that her 'dear Jacob' is residing beneath this modest roof. 
 However, breakfast first and problems afterwards." 
 
 He would have made a better meal if he had joined the 
 newspaper with the "problems" and postponed them both 
 till afterwards. On the centre page of the journal which he 
 unfolded was a "scare" heading: 
 
 't> 
 
 "MYSTERIOUS DEATH OF A MILLIONAIRE. 
 THE JJODY OF MR GEORGE OTWAY 
 FOUND IN THE THAMES." 
 
 The sight of that banished from his mind all thoughts of 
 the meal which Mrs Parsons had set before him ; he eagerly 
 read every line.
 
 THE MAN ON THE BRIDGE 25 
 
 The principal part of the information which the paper con- 
 veyed to the world consisted of an exhaustive report of the 
 coroner's inquest. 
 
 "So an inquest has been held upon me, has it?" com- 
 mented Mr Otway when he realised the fact. "That's all 
 right." 
 
 It appeared that a body had been found by a man who 
 was in charge of a barge in a part of the river called Dagenham 
 Pool, which was beyond Barking Reach. 
 
 " I'd got so far as that, had I ? " observed the reader. 
 
 The body was in a dreadful state — a mere torso indeed — 
 practically headless, with bones and ribs all shattered. On 
 the clothing, and on other articles found on the deceased, 
 was the name "George Otway." Mr Frank Andrews recog- 
 nised the clothes as those which his cousin was wearing when 
 he saw him last; all the other articles found were certainly 
 his. There was also evidence of recognition from Hewett, 
 a valet. Both witnesses had no doubt whatever that the 
 body was that of the unfortunate millionaire. Hewett de- 
 scribed a short conversation which he had with his master on 
 the afternoon of his departure from High Dene, which made 
 him think he had something on his mind. Mr Frank Andrews 
 stated that throughout that day his cousin's manner had been 
 most peculiar. 
 
 "Peculiar?" The reader grinned at the word. "You 
 dear ! — you sweet ! " 
 
 Medical evidence went to prove that the body had been in 
 the water at least a week. There was nothing to show how 
 it had come by its dreadful injuries. 
 
 " I expect that I missed my footing at the take off, and 
 that, instead of going straight into the water, I went crashing 
 into the piers, which would be enough to smash up any body. 
 I thought it possible that something of the sort would happen, 
 and perhaps on the whole it was as well it did." 
 
 The verdict was to the effect that George Otway met his 
 death by drowning ; but that how he came into the water 
 there was no evidence to show. 
 
 " Most satisfactory ! nothing could be more so ! " Leaning 
 back in his chair, with his finger-tips Mr George Otway 
 drummed approval on the breakfast-tray. "No suggestion 
 of insanity or of anything else which could cause pain to 
 the sorrowing hearts which are left behind — those sorrowing
 
 26 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 hearts ! The jury could not have dehvered themselves of a 
 more judicious verdict. And I am dead — by law — to the 
 knowledge of the entire civilised world, so that I am really 
 free — at last — to begin all over again ; to tap fresh streams 
 and trace them to their sources ; to make myself intimately 
 acquainted with some part of the great multitude of things 
 of which hitherto I have had no knowledge. I've known 
 one world ; now 111 know another. So far as in my power 
 lies I'll make the best of an opportunity which has not often 
 come to any man. The average human has but one life to 
 live — I'll have two.' 
 
 While he pondered Mrs Parsons came into the room with 
 a note in her hand. 
 
 " Where did you get this ? " 
 
 "A boy brought it. He just slipped it into my hand as I 
 opened the door, and was off without a word. ' 
 
 Mr Oiway surveyed the writing on the envelope with feelings 
 which were distinctly mixed. It was addressed "Mr Jacob 
 Gunston," in the same hand which had been on the letter 
 that had been awaiting him upon his plate. Within, on 
 half a sheet of paper, were these lines : 
 
 " De.\r J.\cob, — I have decided, before speaking, to see 
 you once again. You know I am not my own mistress ; I 
 cannot go and come as I please. But I will be with you 
 within an hour of your getting this. — M.\rv." 
 
 "You'll be with me within the hour, will you, Mary? The 
 deuce you will ! " 
 
 He passed into his bedroom, the note in his hand. 
 
 An hour afterwards Mrs Parsons opened the street door 
 to a young woman who had knocked. 
 
 " I want to see Mr Gunston," the visitor announced. 
 
 " Mr Gunston's gone." 
 
 " Gone ! " The stranger started back. " Where has he 
 gone ? " 
 
 " That's more than I can tell you, though it's what I should 
 like to know. When I went into his sitting-room I found his 
 breakfast untouched, and a month's rent on a piece of paper 
 in the middle of the table. On the piece of paper were two 
 lines : ' Am suddenly called away. Please accept the 
 accompanying in lieu of notice.' Just that and nothing more.
 
 THE MAN ON THE BRIDGE 27 
 
 I call it very strange behaviour. Here's the paper ; you can 
 have a look at it if you like." 
 
 The stranger glanced at the paper which Mrs Parsons had 
 given her. 
 
 " Do you say that this was written by Mr Gunston ? " 
 
 " Certainly I say it." 
 
 "But this is not Jacob Gunston's handwriting — not my 
 Jacob Gunston \" 
 
 The two women stared at each other as if each were en- 
 deavouring to find out what was at the back of the other's 
 mind.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THE HARVEYS 
 
 GEORGE OTWAY'S next quarters were in a new ^^35- 
 a-year red brick villa near Clapham Junction. The 
 house was in the occupancy of a Mr and Mrs Harvey. It was 
 Mrs HarvL*y who attracted him. She was liltle more than a 
 girl. Short, slight, brown-haired, with a look upon her face 
 which ill-accorded with her years. There was a suggestion of 
 reluctance in her manner of showing him the rooms which 
 piqued his curiosity; as if — in spite of the card in the window 
 — she was not sure that she wanted a lodger at all, especially 
 such an one as he was. Instead of extolling the goods she had 
 to offer she more than hinted that they had manifold defects. 
 
 *' I am not much of a cook," she confessed. 
 
 "And I'm not much of an epicure." 
 
 The rejoinder, or the smile with which it was accompanied, 
 appeared to fill her with confusion. 
 
 "My husband says I cannot cook anything fit for a 
 Christian to eat." 
 
 "Your husband? On such points husbands are proverbi- 
 ally critical. You may find me less exacting." 
 
 "Then, sometimes, I am not very well, and— that makes 
 me seem neglectful." 
 
 " I can fend for myself." 
 
 " And, at times, my husband is — odd." 
 
 " Odd ? What is your husband's occupation ? 
 
 " He's the manager of a luncheon bar in the city." 
 
 "A very difficult position, I should imagine, for a man to 
 fill. It might fairly be pleaded as a cover for a good deal of 
 oddity. May I ask how long you have been married ? " 
 
 "Six months." 
 
 Six months ! And already that look upon her face. 
 Otway began to be conscious of a big-brother sort of feeling 
 towards the child-wife upon the spot. Her next words were 
 plainly prompted by conflicting emotions. 
 
 28
 
 THE HARVEYS 29 
 
 " I don't think the rooms will suit you. I've so little ex- 
 perience. I — I'm afraid I sha'n't make you comfortable." 
 
 " I've no fear of anything of the kind; so I'll take the rooms 
 if you will have me." 
 
 She suffered, rather than welcomed, him. He gave the 
 name of John Scott, having already had more than enough 
 of the pseudonym, Jacob Gunston. 
 
 He soon learned that she had spoken no more than the 
 truth of herself. Her ignorance on all domestic matters was 
 so complete as to be tragic. She did suffer from ill-health ; 
 things which should have been done were left undone. As a 
 cook she was an absurdity : she could not even be relied upon 
 to cook an egg with decency. Beyond doubt her husband 
 had cause to complain of any meals which she might set 
 before him. But, then, the fault was his own. 
 
 From childhood she had been in that bad school for house- 
 wives — a draper's shop. Behind a counter from early morn- 
 ing to late at night she had never had an opportunity of even 
 dimly apprehending what were the duties appertaining to the 
 mistress of a house. He knew this ; and yet he married her. 
 Her very helplessness appealed to him — then. It was only 
 afterwards that he used it as a weapon with which to contin- 
 ually assail her. She admitted that now she was only nineteen. 
 He was in the forties ; a huge, beefy fellow — the typical 
 publican. He used her as an animal trainer might use one 
 of the helpless creatures at his mercy. He seemed to be 
 compact of all the vices : coward, bully, drunkard. Night 
 after night he came home drunk. It seemed that that was 
 what his wife had meant when she had spoken of him as 
 sometimes "odd." His physique enabled him to sleep off 
 the effect of his libations sufficiently to permit of his returning 
 in the morning to his duties in the atmosphere of the liquor 
 which he loved. The strange thing was that she had had 
 reason to more than suspect his " oddity " in the brief days of 
 their amazing courtship — and yet she had married him. It 
 had appeared to her that it was hers to choose between two 
 forms of slavery — the counter of a sweating draper or the 
 board of a bibulous husband. She was only a silly child, 
 and had chosen the master whom she had hoped would prove 
 the more lenient. Already, six months after, she had dis- 
 covered that her choice had been erroneous ; and knew, 
 also, that soon she was to become a mother.
 
 30 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 Oiway, as John Scott, had been in the house barely a week 
 when, playing the part of the unwise man, he interfered 
 between husband and wife. He had come in late ; after one 
 of those wanderings through London streets at night, which, 
 if only for ihcir novelty, had suddenly assumed for him a 
 singular fascination. He was commencing to have a glimpse 
 of how the other ninety per cent, lives, and the beginnings 
 of knowledge were to him a continual wonder. So soon as 
 he opened the door he became conscious that the master of 
 the house was lively; but that, at that hour, it seemed he 
 always was. After a monologue in a candid strain — in that 
 small place it was all so very audible — the wife was driven 
 to bed, with imprecations. In his own time the husband 
 followed. Overhead his presence was more obvious than it 
 had been below. In his sitting-room Otway sat, smoking in 
 grim silence — listening perforce — becoming more and more 
 troubled by an itching at the ends of his fingers. Presently 
 it became so troublesome as to stand in imperative need of 
 an immediate cure. 
 
 " I rather think that he's dragging her out of bed." It seemed 
 that something was happening above : the house was shaking. 
 "I believe he's hitting her." Evidently a physical discussion 
 of a kind was commencing, and it could only be of one kind. 
 It was at this point that the itching became past bearing. " I 
 am inclined to the opinion that I shall have to worry my 
 landlord with an early morning call ! " 
 
 He mounted the stairs three at a time, rapping smartly at 
 the door of the room from which the sounds proceeded. 
 There was no answer; the sounds continued — of a man's 
 oaths, a woman's cries, appeals for mercy, worse ; the oc- 
 cupants of the room were plainly too much engaged with 
 each other to notice rappings at the door. Otway's blood 
 grew hot all at once. He stood no more on ceremony. He 
 threw open the door and entered. 
 
 The woman was in her nightdress, half crouching, half 
 lying on the floor. Her husband, holding her down with one 
 hand, pommelled her with the other. The lodger, catching 
 him by the shoulders, swung him round against the wall with 
 so much vigour that the red brick villa was shaken to its 
 foundations. The girl-wife, glancing up, seeing who had 
 interfered, hid her face against the carpet, and was seized with 
 a convulsion of weeping. The man, breathless, taken by
 
 THE HARVEYS 31 
 
 surprise, stood gasping at his assailant, for the moment 
 speechless. Otway, regarding him with scornful eyes, was 
 the first to speak. 
 
 " I fancy, Mr Harvey, that, to-night, you had better occupy 
 a separate apartment." 
 
 "What the !" 
 
 The stream of interrogative adjectives began to flow. 
 Otway, again taking his landlord by the shoulders, had him 
 out of the room with a neatness and promptitude which did 
 him credit — probably the man was outside before he quite 
 understood what was happening. The woman lifted up her 
 head from the floor. 
 
 " Don't ! don't ! don't ! " she wailed. It was a pitiful 
 hysterical cry. 
 
 Otway endeavoured to reassure her. 
 
 "It's all right, Mrs Harvey, don't be afraid. Nothing is 
 going to happen. I am only going to say a quiet word or two 
 to your husband in private." 
 
 He said them ; the husband availing himself of the much 
 needed support of the wall while he did so. 
 
 " Listen to me, Mr Harvey, and pay as much attention to 
 what I say, as, in your present condition, you are able. If you 
 don't take care I shall have to treat you as you have treated 
 your wife. Only, as I am sober and in excellent condition, 
 and you are neither, it's just possible that I sha'n't leave you 
 with a whole bone in your body. You understand ? " 
 
 Mr Harvey mumbled something in what he meant for reply. 
 
 " I haven't been doing anything to you ; it's no business of 
 yours ; she's my wife." 
 
 "Precisely — which is exactly the reason why you should 
 endeavour to conceal from her quite what manner of man you 
 are. Come this way." 
 
 He was aware that on the same landing was an unoccupied 
 bedroom. Taking his landlord by the arm he ushered him 
 into it. The room was in darkness. He took a box of 
 matches out of his pocket and struck one. 
 
 "That's light enough for you to get into bed by. Tumble 
 in." 
 
 With really odd docility Mr Harvey did as he was told. He 
 was in a sufficient state of undress to consider it unnecessary 
 to disrobe any further. As soon as he was in a recumbent 
 posture drink and exertion had their way— he sunk into stupor.
 
 32 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 Otway tapped at the door of the room within which a woman 
 still wailed. 
 
 '* Mrs Harvey, your husband is already asleep. You must 
 get into bed at once and have a good night's rest or you will 
 be ill. Are you getting into bed ? " 
 
 " Yes — I am getting into bed." 
 
 He waited a second or two. 
 
 *' Are you in bed?" 
 
 " Yes— thank— you." 
 
 This with a sob. 
 
 " That's rij^ht. Good-night." 
 
 "(iood-night.' 
 
 It was a curious situation to which the lodger found himself. 
 Not the less so because no allusion to the incidents of the 
 night was afterwards made by either of the parties concerned. 
 Mr Harvey held his peace ; probably for sufficient reasons of 
 his own. His wife held hers. Yet George Otway was well 
 aware that the part he had played on that occasion of the 
 display of marital discipline was frequently present in the 
 minds of both. In the woman's eyes he thought, at times, he 
 read something more than gratitude. The man's silence, he 
 was sure, did not denote forgetfulness. On the contrary, he 
 did not doubt that, if opportunity offered, his landlord would 
 do his very best to cry him quits. 
 
 And opportunity came. 
 
 He had been in the house about a month, acclimatising 
 himself to his surroundings with a readiness which puzzled 
 even himself. As a housewife Mrs Harvey did not improve 
 as the days went by ; she did not grow worse only because 
 deterioration would have been difficult. Yet the lodger, John 
 Scott, seemed content. In the household reigned com- 
 parative peace. True, the landlord still came home, nightly, 
 drunk, but he refrained from assaulting his wife with any 
 other weapon than his tongue. Apparently the one lesson had 
 been sufficient ; or it is possible that he comforted himself 
 with the reflection that he would make it up — and to spare — 
 when the lodger had betaken himself elsewhere. 
 
 If that were the case events rid him of the intrusive Mr 
 Scott sooner than either of the trio had expected. 
 
 One morning, on unfolding his paper, the first item of news 
 which met Otway's gaze was one which took him by surprise. 
 Staring him straight in the face were the words :
 
 THE HARVEYS 33 
 
 « THE VAUXHALL JUNCTION MURDER 
 
 Facts which point to the Murderer 
 Mary Renwick's extraordinary Story 
 
 Where is Jacob Gunston? 
 A Reward offered for his Discovery" 
 
 For a moment John Scott saw — and read — without com- 
 prehending. Then understanding came with the force of a 
 sudden shock. He saw what was meant. Fresh Hght had been 
 thrown upon the murder of that young woman in the compart- 
 ment of the Guildford train, which might make it awkward for 
 — him. Very awkward, indeed. He judged that Mary 
 Renwick was the young woman who had favoured him, as 
 Jacob Gunston, with those two notes which had sent him 
 flying from Mrs Parsons's. According to the paper, she had 
 been reHeving her mind, not only to the police, but to certain 
 newspaper gentlemen as well. 
 
 As an acquaintance of Mr Gunston's, it had "come to her 
 knowledge" that he knew more of the circumstances which 
 attended the latter end of that young woman than he ought to 
 have done. Now Otway began to understand what it really 
 was which had induced that person to hasten to a " happy 
 dispatch." Miss Renwick had informed him — there, in black 
 and white, was what purported to be her own statement to 
 that effect — that if he did not give himself up to the police, 
 she would. Perceiving, possibly, that this was a lady of 
 unusual resolution, he had promised to meet her wishes. He 
 had undertaken to do so on the very night on which Mr Otway 
 had encountered him on Southwark Bridge; that gentleman 
 began to understand better and better. To Miss Renwick's 
 sorrow, he had lied to her ; instead of giving himself up he had 
 merely transferred his lodgings to an address off the Borough 
 Road. When he learnt that she had discovered him he fled 
 again, so that the question now arose. Where is he ? 
 
 Indeed, the question had arisen to so much purpose 
 that the police were offering a reward of ;^ioo for his 
 discovery. It was with something besides amusement that 
 Otway perceived in how many respects the description of the 
 missing man tallied with his own. It might become un- 
 comfortable for him if impertinent fingers were to point his
 
 •M A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 way. He might find himself in a position of much unpleasant- 
 ness. 
 
 With a sudden flash his thoughts recurred to Jacob Gunston's 
 suit of clothes. 
 
 " Confound the fellow's ancient garments ! What did I do 
 with them ? What an ass I am ! I believe I've left them 
 lying about just anyhow and anywhere. Anyone with a pair 
 of eyes who might come across them could hardly help but 
 see his name upon the tags ; and as Mrs Harvey sometimes 
 takes it into her head to — what she calls — tidy up for me, it's 
 quite on the cards — by George ! " 
 
 On the instant he was on his feet and in his bedroom, 
 which was entered through folding-doors. He had remembered 
 all at once that, less than half-an-hour ago, in searching for 
 his jacket, he had tossed Gunston's coat upon the bed, and left 
 it there. The hour appointed for "doing" his bedroom was 
 a movable fixture. He had known it to have been yet undone 
 when he retired to rest at night. On the other hand, there 
 were times when Mrs Harvey started to perform the necessary 
 offices so soon as he was out of it. As he was seating himself 
 at the breakfast-table he had fancied that he had heard the 
 bedroom door open and shut. If so, under the circumstances, 
 it was desirable that he should put that apparently tell-tale 
 garment into a place of safety before it came into his landlady's 
 hands. 
 
 The moment, however, he was through the folding-doors 
 he realised that he already was too late. Mrs Harvey, holding 
 the jacket, was cutting off the name-tag with a pair of scissors. 
 The meaning of her action was unmistakable. Yet — if only 
 for the sake of gaining time to collect his scattered senses — he 
 pretended not to understand. 
 
 " Hollo, Mrs Harvey, what are you doing there ? " 
 
 *' I am cutting off your name — your name ! " 
 
 She repeated the two words, " your name," with an emphasis 
 which affected him disagreeably. 
 
 " My name ! I didn't know it was on my clothes." 
 
 " It is not on those which you are wearing now. It was, 
 and is, on those which you were wearing when you came. I 
 have wondered what it meant — Jacob Gunston." 
 
 "Jacob Gunston?" He laughed; a laugh which was con- 
 spicuously forced. " But my name's John Scott." 
 
 *' Yes ; it's John Scott now."
 
 THE HARVEYS 35 
 
 Again there was that emphasis which filled him with such a 
 sense of odd discomfort. She continued cutting off the tag, 
 while he stood watching her, feeling like a fool. At last he 
 found more words, which he knew were ridiculously in- 
 adequate. 
 
 " Why, Mrs Harvey, what do you mean ? Your tone hints 
 at all sorts of dreadful things." 
 
 Her answer, which was in the form of a question, took him 
 aback. 
 
 "Why did you kill her?" 
 
 He stared. For a second he could not think to whom or 
 what the reference applied. 
 
 "Kill her! Kill whom?" 
 
 She judged him to be merely fencing. 
 
 "You know. Be honest with me, now! Please! I did 
 not think you were that kind of man. Are all men wicked? 
 all men ? " 
 
 There was an accent in her voice which touched him to the 
 heart. Suddenly they had changed places. This foolish girl 
 had become the dominant personality. He was the factor 
 which did not count. She regarded him steadfastly, so that 
 he saw that there was a new light in her eyes, which confounded 
 him. Seeing him tongue-tied, she went on speaking. It was 
 as if she were an accusing spirit, anguished because of the 
 necessity of passing judgment. 
 
 " I did not think you were that kind of man. I thought 
 that you were honest, brave, and true ; that you were always 
 good to women. And now — you to do this thing — to that 
 girl ! Why did you kill her ? " 
 
 " I did not kill her." 
 
 " Don't lie to me ! not now ! don't ! don't ! You did kill 
 her, or why have you hid yourself? Why did you come here 
 under a false name ? Why have you stayed in the house all 
 day and only ventured out at night ? " He recalled, with a 
 start, that his habits had been nocturnal ones, though she 
 was so wholly at sea in the inference she drew. " This showed 
 you killed her ! " She held up the name-tag. " And your 
 face shows it, at last ! I thought it was the honestest face I'd 
 ever seen ; but now I see there's murderer on it, as plainly as 
 if it were printed there. You may glare at me if you like, 
 Jacob Gunston ! I'm used to being glared at ! You may kill 
 me now, if it would please you. I don't care ! "
 
 96 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 She stretched out her arms towards him, as if inviting him 
 to take her at her word : to do his worst. He cast about in 
 his mind for some means of making plain to her the mis- 
 take that she was making. But in the confusion into which 
 his mental faculties had been suddenly thrown it was not 
 easy. 
 
 " Let me beg of you, Mrs Harvey, to try and calm yourself." 
 
 "Calm myself! It is not necessary for me to do that, since 
 you are calm enough ; you who never ought to know what it 
 is to be at peace again." 
 
 "But why?" 
 
 " Vou ask me why ! Have you seen this morning's paper? " 
 
 " I have." 
 
 "Have you not seen that ;^ioo reward is offered for your 
 arrest ? " 
 
 " You are under a complete misapprehension. I am not 
 the person you suppose." 
 
 "Is this not your coat? Were you not wearing it when 
 you came here ? How comes Jacob Gunston's name to be 
 upon your coat if you are not Jacob Gunston ? I knew your 
 name was Jacob Gunston before you had been here four-and- 
 twenty hours. I saw it on all the clothes you had taken off 
 and exchanged for the brand-new ones you are wearing now. 
 Though I guessed that for some cause you were hiding I did 
 not know who Jacob Gunston was ; but now — now — I know ! 
 Will you swear that your name's John Scott?" 
 
 " I confess " 
 
 " You confess it isn't? " 
 
 " If confess is not too strong a word to use in such a con- 
 nection, certainly. But, at the same time, I assure you that I 
 am not Jacob Gunston." 
 
 " No, you are not, because you don't wear his clothes any 
 longer, and call yourself John Scott. Oh, you've a quick tongue, 
 I don't doubt, and can make up a tale to suit any name you 
 choose to take. I tell you you're not the sort of man I thought 
 you were. You've taken me in finely. But if I were to go 
 round to the station-bouse, and bring a policeman back with 
 me, I shouldn't find you here on my return, or I should have 
 earned ;^ioo if you waited for that policeman's coming. Tell 
 me ! why shouldn't I go to the station-house right straight 
 awav ? " 
 
 " You'd be very foolish if you did."
 
 THE HARVEYS 37 
 
 " Foolish ! Oh, of course, I should be foolish ! I'm always 
 foolish ! I'm only a fool ! a fool ! a fool ! " 
 
 Dropping on her knees by the bedside, burying her face in 
 the bedclothes, she began to cry with a degree of violence 
 which threatened to shake her into pieces. This last move 
 troubled Otway even more than her first. As he hesitated as 
 to what he ought to do to stem the torrent of the woman's sobs 
 an interpolation came from an unexpected quarter. 
 
 "I am afraid I am interrupting an interesting discussion. 
 Does this sort of thing take place every day after I am gone ? " 
 
 The words did what Otway had feared he might himself 
 be unable to do : they dried the woman's tears. She was on 
 her feet, and, though her cheeks were wet, her weeping on 
 the instant ceased. In the door her husband was standing, 
 garbed as he had been when leaving for the city, perhaps an 
 hour before : silk hat on head, walking-stick in hand. She 
 gazed at him as she might have done at an apparition. 
 
 "I didn't know that you were coming back." 
 
 " No, I suppose not, or this little discussion might have 
 been postponed, eh ? Well, I have come back — see ? And 
 I suppose I can come back to my own house when and how 
 I please, even though sometimes my return may be incon- 
 venient to you." He looked towards Otway with insolent 
 eyes. "Good morning to you — Mr Scott." 
 
 He prefixed the name with what seemed to Otway to be an 
 ominous pause. The lodger merely nodded in reply, taking 
 care to allow no sign to escape him that he perceived anything 
 peculiar in the landlord's bearing. Having had enough of 
 looking the lodger up and down, in a way which that gentle- 
 man would have liked to have been able to resent outwardly 
 as well as inwardly, Mr Harvey turned to his wife, addressing 
 her as if she were some inferior animal — as, indeed, it was 
 his wont to do. 
 
 " Come out of this — come along with me. I want to have 
 a talk with you." 
 
 She went with her lord, obediently. John Scott returned 
 to his unfinished breakfast : any appetite he may have had 
 had altogether gone ; and for the enjoyment of Mrs Harvey's 
 breakfasts, hunger in a superlative degree was always an 
 absolute necessity. He was filled with a sense of discomfort 
 which would be inadequately described as vague. Probably 
 Mr Harvey's premature return had been accidental : had, at
 
 38 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 least, no connection with him. But — how long had he been 
 in that room before he himself made known his presence ? or 
 just outside it well within hearing? 
 
 So far from having tired of playing at being someone else, 
 George Otway was only just beginning to reallv enjoy the game. 
 Since he had left High Dene behind, and all that High Dene 
 connoted, he had seemed to himself to have slipped off" at 
 least a dozen years. He was feeling twice the man he had 
 been used to feel of late. If this foolishness of his association 
 with Jacob Gunston were pushed only one step farther there 
 would be an end of his good time. Of such quality was the 
 spirit of mischief which had entered into him that he would 
 rather have enjoyed being locked up, and brought before a 
 magistrate, always with an eye to the fiasco, from the police- 
 man's point of view, which would be the ultimate result. 
 Only, in that case, it was hardly likely that he would be able 
 to continue to conceal the fact that he was George Otway, 
 and that would mean the spoiling of the fun. 
 
 How much had his landlord heard? What use might he 
 be expected to make of the information he imagined himself 
 to have acquired ? 
 
 Any doubts Mr Otway had upon that subject were presently 
 disposed of. He heard the front door open and shut. He saw 
 his landlord pass the window. Instantly Mrs Harvey came 
 running into the room, her face all distorted by her agitation, 
 so moved by conflicting emotions as to be scarcely articulate. 
 
 " You must go at once ! at once ! He's gone for the police ! " 
 
 " What do you mean ? " he asked, although he knew. 
 
 " He heard what was said — he made me tell him the rest — 
 he's got the tag with your name upon it. He'd give anything, 
 do anything, to hang you." 
 
 Otway thought for a second, or tried to. 
 
 "If it weren't for other considerations I'd baulk him of his 
 gentle desires in a fashion of which he's no conception. But 
 as it is " 
 
 He stopped. Mrs Harvey was standing in the bow window. 
 She began to exclaim : 
 
 " He's coming '—it's too late !— you're lost ! He must have 
 found a policeman in the street ! " 
 
 "Coming with a policeman is he?" 
 
 " Why didn't you go when I told you ? Now it's too late ! — 
 too laie ! "
 
 THE HARVEYS 39 
 
 *' Don't you be so sure of that. Doesn't the yard wall run 
 into the street behind?" 
 
 " Yes, it does ! " She caught his meaning. " If you go 
 along it you may still get away. I'll drop the latch and pre- 
 tend I'm ill or something, and keep them out as long as I 
 can." 
 
 He acted on the hint, had his hat on, was in the yard, on 
 the wall, along it, with a celerity which, at any other time, 
 would have surprised himself. The houses at the back were 
 of the semi-detached variety, the wall ran right between two of 
 them into the street beyond. He reached that street without, 
 so far as he was aware, having attracted anyone's attention. 
 He walked briskly towards Lavender Hill. There he boarded 
 a tramcar which happened to be passing, alighting from it at 
 its terminus in the Westminster Bridge Road, chuckling to 
 himself as he rode at the mental picture which he drew of 
 what might be taking place in the house which he had just 
 now quitted. How long would Mrs Harvey be able to keep 
 them out on the strength of that dropped latch ? Little would 
 be needed to make her pretence at illness a very actual fact. 
 Then the position would have become still more complicated. 
 Her husband might threaten, and the policeman might awe 
 her as representing the majesty of the law, but the two together 
 would be able to obtain but scanty satisfaction out of a stricken 
 woman.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 A FRIEND IN N'EED 
 
 HI )W he spent that day George Otway would, afterwards, 
 have found it difficult to describe in detail. He 
 wandered hither and thither ; lunched at a Soho restaurant ; 
 late in the afternoon found himself on a seat in Hyde Park, 
 near the Marble Arch. The seat was originally in the sole 
 occupation of another gentleman, who, soon after the new- 
 comer had begun to share it, showed himself to be conversa- 
 tionally inclined. 
 
 " So they've had a shy at that there Gunston." 
 
 The remark was so apposite and so extremely unexpected 
 that Mr Otway might have been excused if he had been 
 startled into self-betrayal. But, as it chanced, he was feeling 
 more than a little tired, and also was in a frame of mind in 
 which he was prepared for anything to happen — even the 
 things for which he was unprepared. So, although he was 
 surprised, he only turned his head with a languid sort of 
 interest. The speaker was a shabbily-dressed individual, 
 probably between fifty and sixty years of age, with something 
 in his general appearance which suggested argumentativeness. 
 It IS odd how many argumentative people one may meet in 
 the neighbourhood of the Marble Arch. 
 
 " I beg your pardon. What did you say ? " 
 
 " I say they've been having a shy at that Gunston fellow ? " 
 I suppose you've seen about it." 
 
 "I'm afraid I've not." 
 
 Mr Otway had not seen, in the sense the speaker apparently 
 meant. He had learnt all he knew first hand. 
 
 " It's in the papers." 
 
 " In the papers?" 
 
 "I suppose you see the papers, don't you?" 
 
 " Oh yes, I see the papers — that is, I saw a morning paper." 
 
 " Ah, then you haven't seen ; it's the evening papers I'm 
 referring to." 
 
 40
 
 A FRIEND IN NEED 41 
 
 " Is there anything in them of interest about — this Gunston 
 fellow ? " 
 
 The other was silent, as if considering his answer. Then 
 he stood up, settling his ancient coat in its place as he did 
 so. Apparently his conversational vein had all at once given 
 out. 
 
 " It depends on what you call of interest. Some may think 
 it of interest ; I do. Some mayn't — you mightn't. There it 
 is : there's no accounting for people's tastes. You'll find the 
 evening papers on sale outside. If you buy one you'll be able 
 to say if they contain anything of interest to you. Only don't 
 say I advised the purchase, that's all. I never advise anyone." 
 
 He marched away with the air of a man who has just been 
 administering a well-merited rebuke. Otway was slightly 
 amused. The stranger's method of declining to discuss a 
 topic which he himself had broached had about it a touch of 
 character. What was the meaning of his reference to "a 
 shy at that Gunston fellow?" What was in the evening 
 papers ? It might be as well to see. 
 
 Strolling out into the street he was immediately confronted 
 by a boy who was selling the Evening News. These 
 words flared out from the contents bill : 
 
 "THE VAUXHALL JUNCTION MURDERER'S 
 
 ESCAPE 
 At large in London " 
 
 They struck Otway with a sense of singularity. He bought a 
 copy of the paper to see what they might mean. It was 
 plain enough. 
 
 Mr Harvey, putting himself in communication with the 
 reporters, had given his own version of the incidents of the 
 morning. They lost nothing by his manner of treatment. 
 The whole world was informed how he had suddenly dis- 
 covered that he was harbouring — in the bosom of his own 
 family — a murderer ; how he had raced off for the police, how 
 he had returned with a constable, only to find the murderer 
 gone. As his wife had put it, it was pretty plain that Mr 
 Harvey would do a good deal to have the "miscreant" hung. 
 Evidently he had not forgotton the night on which he had 
 been prevented from the full enjoyment of his marital rights.
 
 42 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 The newspaper proceeded to point out, on its own account, 
 that the fugitive was, probably, at large in London. It was 
 unlikely that he could have got far away. Let every man, 
 woman, and child be on the look out for him. It was 
 extremely possible that he was at that moment pacing the 
 streets in search of shelter. Let the proprietors of hotels, 
 lodgings, eating-houses, be on their guard. It would be a 
 scandal if, before night, he was not safely under lock and key. 
 Then followed a minute description of the clothing and 
 appearance of "The Man who is Wanted." 
 
 This was pleasant reading for George Otway. He suddenly 
 realised what a peculiar personal meaning might be conveyed 
 by the words : every man's hand is against him. In a very 
 literal sense it would seem that every hand was. The whole 
 city was hunting him. The loungers about the Arch, the 
 people waiting for the omnibuses, passers-by — most of them 
 were patrons of the evening papers. They had only to glance 
 up at him to recognise their quarry. As he grasped this 
 fact Otway became conscious of a very singular sensation. 
 Why, if the paper-boy was a student of his own wares, the 
 thing was settled on the spot ; nothing escaped a paper-boy's 
 sharp eyes. Possibly that boy's taste in literature was con- 
 fined to the commercial side. He had given his customer 
 change for sixpence in sublime indifference to the fact that 
 here, at his finger ends, was a fortune — the equivalent to 
 ;^roo. 
 
 And yet, surely, his likeness to the man described was 
 unmistakable. The ingenious Mr Harvey had made such a 
 strong point of the clothes which he was wearing at the 
 moment of his flight. The bowler hat, with the name of the 
 maker, "W. Powell,'" inside; the suit of dark-grey tweeds; 
 the black-silk tie with small scarlet spots : Otway, instinctively 
 putting his hand up to his necktie, would have liked to have 
 torn it off. Then the tell-tale beard; no one could mistake 
 that beard. Why had he not gone straight to a barber and 
 had it shaved right off? Now it was out of the question. 
 Probably the first barber he went to with such a request 
 would identify him there and then. Indeed, the strange 
 thing was that he had not been identified already. Among 
 the shifting throngs must be many readers of the late editions : 
 it was odd that none of them had spotted the man they had 
 just been reading about.
 
 A FRIEND IN NEED 43 
 
 What was he to do ? What could he do ? The world had 
 been informed that he was probably pacing the streets. He 
 could hardly hope to continue to do so with impunity much 
 longer. How could he obtain shelter? At the first place he 
 asked for a bed they might hand him over to a policeman. 
 Should he make an effort to get clear of London ? He might 
 succeed in doing so ; but if he did it would only be the same 
 thing over again. By to-morrow his description would be 
 known all over England. In the country his chances of 
 hiding himself would be less than in town. As for putting 
 his native land behind him and seeking seclusion on the 
 Continent, to attempt to do so by the ordinary channels 
 would be madness. Every passenger who boards a boat 
 bound to the Continent — especially when some notorious 
 criminal is particularly "wanted" — is keenly scrutinised by 
 authoritative eyes. He would be certain to be recog- 
 nised. 
 
 No ; if he wished to get out of England a free man, and, 
 if only for the mere sport of baulking pursuit, he felt he would 
 like to — he would have to choose some bye-path. Ship 
 himself aboard some craft where either ignorance was bliss 
 or where no questions would be asked. Such boats were 
 doubtless to be found in plenty. He might hit upon some 
 foreign vessel, some humble trader, by whom no passengers 
 were carried as a rule, but who would be willing, for a 
 consideration, to find room for an eccentric Englishman. It 
 would be amusing, at anyrate, to try his luck. However, 
 vessels of no kind are to be found that end of town, so he 
 decided to hie him to the other pole of London — to the 
 regions of the sailorman and of the great docks. 
 
 He chartered a hansom, reasoning that by that means he 
 would best escape observation. He would have the vehicle 
 to himself, and so escape the possibly curious glances of 
 fellow-passengers. He told the man to drive to High Street, 
 Wapping. He had never been there in his life, but had a 
 dim idea that there were ships at Wapping. The cabman 
 regarded him with a hesitant eye, as if doubtful whether he 
 had given his destination correctly. 
 
 "High Street, Wapping?" 
 
 Otway nodded, took his seat, the cab drove off. It was 
 now towards evening ; the work of the day was over, every- 
 where the workers were hastening home. As they neared the
 
 44 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 end of Newgate Street the trap-door in the roof was opened, 
 the cabman's voice came down. 
 
 " Did you say High Street, ^^'apping?■' 
 
 "I did." 
 
 The fare wondered why the inquiry was repeated. He had 
 made himself clear enough at first. They passed the Tower. 
 As they were going by St Katharine's Dock the trap-door was 
 raised again. 
 
 " What," thought Otway, " is coming now? If he wants me 
 to act as guide I'm afraid I am incompetent." 
 
 But the cabman wanted nothing of the sort. He had 
 information of his own to impart. 
 
 "This won't do, you know. It's a bit too thin. You're 
 Jacob Gunston." 
 
 Otway sat still. He had half fancied that something of the 
 sort was coming, that being the kind of remark which he 
 might expect at any moment from any quarter. The man 
 drove steadily on, waiting up aloft for his fare to respond. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " None of your bluff. I tell you it's a bit too thin — I 
 thought it was you when you first came up. Now I'm sure. 
 So lies are ofT. What am I going to do with you ? " 
 
 " I haven't the least idea." 
 
 " You're a cool hand. I could see you were that directly 
 I got sight of you. That don't make me like you any the 
 worse; I prefer 'em cool." He flicked his horse artistically, 
 with a little twirl of the lash. Then he bent more forward, 
 so that his voice came clearly to the passenger within. " It's 
 this way with me: I've been in trouble myself; though, 
 thank goodness, not your sort, so that I've got a kind of 
 fellow-feeling for a chap that's got to face it. But I've been 
 having a bad time lately, this week it's been awful. It'll be a 
 hundred quid in my pocket if I drive you to the next police 
 station. Whatll you give me if I don't? " 
 
 "Your fare." 
 
 " I daresay. And how much over ? " 
 
 " I always make a point of giving a civil cabman something 
 over his legal fare." 
 
 " You do, do you. So it's like that. All right, I'll earn that 
 hundred quid." 
 
 He whipped up his horse. Otway raised his voice : 
 
 "One moment — give me time to consider,"
 
 A FRIEND IN NEED 45 
 
 The driver slacked his pace. 
 
 " Now you're talking sense. Only be quick about it. It's 
 a risky game I'm playing. If I did my duty, according to the 
 law, I didn't ought to let you have so much as half a chance. 
 If any one saw you riding in my cab I'd be fairly landed. Sit 
 well back. Now how much is it going to be ? — let's have it ! " 
 
 " If you will set me down in High Street, Wapping, and 
 promise that you'll hold your tongue, I'll give you a five-pound 
 note." 
 
 " Make it fifty. If your life's not worth fifty pounds, it's 
 not worth much." 
 
 Otway was aware that he was at the fellow's mercy. After 
 his demand had been satisfied he might still turn traitor. If, 
 on the contrary, he did not give him what he asked it was 
 certain that he would soon find himself in a policeman's hands. 
 To attempt to escape from a resolute driver of a hansom cab, 
 who was bent on raising a hue and cry, would be to essay a 
 forlorn hope indeed. So he expressed his willingness to be 
 blackmailed. 
 
 "You manage to keep that fellow-feeling of which you spoke 
 well under control." 
 
 " I've got to ; every man's got to look after himself. You 
 were looking after yourself, I suppose, when you got into my 
 cab. I don't want any patter. Is it going to be your fifty 
 quid, or His Majesty's hundred?" 
 
 "Set me down where I told you, and undertake to keep 
 still, and you shall have your ^^50." 
 
 "Good! Trust me to know when silence is golden. You 
 don't suppose I should blab after a little deal of that sort ? It 
 would be telling tales against myself. Then where should I 
 be ? Why, in the same box as you are. No, thank you, not 
 for Jack o ! Hadn't you better give me the pieces now ? — no 
 owings ! — you've got it on you ? " 
 
 "I have. You perform your part of the bargain and I'll 
 perform mine as soon as I'm out of your cab. You needn't 
 be afraid of my trying to run away." 
 
 "I'm not." 
 
 The tone was grim. None the less, the driver allowed the 
 trap-door to continue open, as if he felt that it would be just 
 as well to keep an eye on what was taking place within. 
 Presently he spoke again. 
 
 "Which part of the High Street do you want?"
 
 46 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 "I'm indifferent ; any part will do for me." 
 
 " Then get your money ready, because we're almost there." 
 Soon the cab began to slow. " This is High Street ; have you 
 got the coin? No larks, you know.' 
 
 " I tell you again that so soon as I am outside your cab you 
 shall have your money." 
 
 The cab stopped. 
 
 ""Very well, then, here you are. Now where's that 
 cash ? " 
 
 Otway stepped on to the pavement. From a letter-case he 
 took a roll of notes, regarding his Jehu fixedly as he did so. 
 The driver was a youngish man, with a red face, a black 
 moustache, an oiled top hat, and a flower in his button-hole, 
 who kept his eyes fixed on the notes. 
 
 " I hope those flimsies of yours are all right. No Bank of 
 Elegance for me." 
 
 "These notes were issued by the Bank of England." 
 
 The cabman, shifting his gaze to his fare's countenance, was 
 moved to candour 
 
 "That description in the paper ticks you off to a T. If I 
 were you I'd get outside those clothes and into another lot in 
 half a flash of lightning, if I had to commit burglary to do it ; 
 any one who sees you in 'em, and has read what's in the paper, 
 would spot you in a jiff"y." 
 
 "You think so?" 
 
 As Otway, leisurely enough, was counting out the notes, 
 some one, coming rushing at him, gripped him by the shoulder, 
 and began shouting at the top of his voice : 
 
 " You're Jacob Gunston ! Police ! police ! help ! this man's 
 Gunston ! " 
 
 Instantly the cabman showed the cloven hoof, speaking as 
 excitedly as if the notion of his fare's identity had only just 
 occurred to him. 
 
 " I thought as much ! I'd half a mind to drive him to the 
 station-house myself! He's my prisoner ! " 
 
 He began to dismount from his box, with an evident deter- 
 mination to secure the spoil which was bidding fair to slip 
 between his fingers. At the moment passers-by were few ; but 
 the stranger — who, as he clung to Otway, seemed to be seized 
 with a sort of frenzy — was making such a hullabaloo that he 
 could hardly fail to attract the attention of those whose ears 
 were of normal quality.
 
 A FRIEND IN NEED 47 
 
 " Police ! police ! help ! help ! this man's Gunston, the Vaux- 
 hall Junction murderer ! " 
 
 Otway, glancing down — the fellow only reached to his 
 shoulder — perceived that this was a case for instant measures, 
 or none. Seizing him by the throat, tearing him loose — the 
 man was like a child in his clutch — he drove him right through 
 the plate-glass window of the shop in front of which they were 
 standing, turning just in time to receive the driver of the 
 hansom. 
 
 " So it's going to be like that ! " cried Jehu. 
 
 " I think you'll find that it is." 
 
 The cabman understanding, a trifle too late, that it was just 
 possible that he had met more than his match, tried to avoid 
 the other's rush. In vain. Otway, striking him full in the 
 face, sent him crashing backwards against his horse. The 
 astonished creature, unaccustomed to be used as a target, 
 reared. The cabman dropped beneath it. A circumstance 
 which, not unnaturally, completed the animal's confusion. It 
 bolted. Otway did not stop to see if it went over his own 
 driver. He himself tore off at the top of his speed. In- 
 stinctively he swerved round the first turning to which he 
 came; presently round a second. Shortly he realised that 
 there seemed only one pursuer, a man who kept by his side 
 as if he were running well within his pace. He turned to 
 look at him, only to dimly perceive that he was a white-faced 
 fellow, with curious eyes. 
 
 "If you'll take good advice, my man, you'll sheer off, or 
 you may get hurt." 
 
 The other, seeming not at all disconcerted, replied, in a 
 voice which was unpleasantly husky : 
 
 " Don't you be afraid of me, old pal, I'm not going to set 
 the coppers on to you. It's the other way about— they'd like 
 you to set them on to me. I'm a friend in need, that's what 
 I am. I'll take you to a crib where all the coppers in London 
 won't be able to find you. This way." 
 
 Otway had not the faintest notion where he was, nor which 
 way to turn to elude pursuit. There was no time for reflec- 
 tion. It was a case of Hobson's choice. At any moment the 
 hunt might come in sight. The speaker swung round still 
 another corner. Otway followed. Round again. Otway stuck 
 to his heels. They were now in what appeared to be an alley 
 leading down to the river. The runner, pausing in front of a
 
 48 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 closed door, opened it by some means which Otway did not 
 understand. 
 
 "This is my place, and I tell you that all the coppers in 
 London won't find you here. In you go ! " 
 
 Otway, accepting the invitation, stepped inside. The other, 
 following, closed the door. They were in pitch blackness. 
 The stranger struck a match. By its light it was seen that 
 they were in a narrow passage. The stranger led the way 
 along it to a door at the end, which he also opened. As he 
 did so the match went out. 
 
 " Stop where you are for half-a-mo'. I've got a lamp inside. 
 I'll light it, and then we'll see what we are doing. There's no 
 one in the place but you and me." He did as he said he 
 would, the lighted lamp showing that he had passed through 
 the door into a room beyond. " Come right in, and shut 
 the door after you." Otway obeyed, finding himself in a 
 fairly spacious low-ceilinged apartment. You needn't be 
 afraid of any coppers finding you here, they couldn't do it, 
 or they'd have found me long ago. You look a bit puffed. 
 There's a chair. You'd better get your breath." 
 
 He pointed to a large leather-covered armchair. Otway, 
 unaccustomed to running, did feel as if he had had enough 
 of it. A little rest would do him good. He sat down in the 
 chair. As he did so there was a clicking sound, something 
 forced him right against the back of the chair. He seemed, all 
 at once, to be surrounded by iron bands, which held him as 
 in a vice. 
 
 f'or a second or two he had not even an inkling of what 
 had really happened, imagining that the piece of furniture 
 being of a weakly constitution serious injuries had resulted 
 from his sitting on it. It was only after a little quiet con- 
 templation that he understood that by placing himself upon 
 the seat he had freed some ingenious springs, which were 
 holding him pinioned in a chair which was fastened to the 
 ground. Movement was impossible : he could not have been 
 more helpless if he had been swathed in fifty yards of steel 
 wire. The ingenuity of the trap, the ease with which it had 
 been worked, appealed to his grim sense of humour. He 
 smiled. 
 
 "Very neat." 
 
 "Not bad, is it? My own invention. It's only natural that 
 a parent should be proud of his own child, especially since
 
 A FRIEND IN NEED 49 
 
 I put it together with my own fingers. Although I have taken 
 out no patent, nor even appHed for provisional protection, and 
 have had no opportunity to place it on the market, it has 
 already repaid me pretty well — on the whole." 
 
 " What's the idea ? " 
 
 "The idea? Oh, — robbery, and other things." 
 
 "You're a nice sort of scoundrel." 
 
 "In the matter of scoundrelism you and I are in the same 
 boat, aren't we? You practise on your own lines, I on 
 mine. In any case, I don't see, Mr Gunston, what you have 
 to complain of, even supposing you to be of a complaining 
 turn of mind. They would have hung you if they had 
 pinched you, and they would have pinched you if I had 
 not come to your assistance. I undertook to take you to 
 a crib where the coppers would not find you ; you may rest 
 assured that they will not find you here." 
 
 "And how long do you propose to keep me — in this haven 
 of refuge ? " 
 
 " The phrase is nicely chosen. I really, however, could not 
 tell you on the spur of the moment. You see, it depends upon 
 what I do with you — afterwards." 
 
 "Afterwards?" 
 
 " Yes — afterwards." The look by which it was accompanied 
 enveloped the word in a sinister atmosphere. The speaker con- 
 tinued : "Have a cigarette? They're cheap — ten a penny — 
 but not on that account necessarily bad. It is not always the 
 most expensive cigarettes which make the nicest smoking." 
 
 He held out a paper packet of cigarettes. 
 
 " No, thank you." 
 
 "Then I will, with your very kind permission. I'm a 
 victim of the cigarette microbe. Sometimes I get through 
 half-a-dozen packets in a day." 
 
 He lighted one, with what struck Otway as being an assump- 
 tion of extravagant ease. He himself was enduring tortures, 
 as he proceeded to point out : 
 
 "These — arrangements of yours are cutting me like so 
 many knives." 
 
 " That's because you had your arms at your sides as you 
 were sitting down. They were snapped with the rest of your 
 body : the consequence being an increase of pressure. 
 Generally my clients' arms are left outside. They have to be 
 dealt with separately." 
 
 D
 
 50 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 " If this continues much longer I shall have to — faint." 
 
 " By all means faint, if you think it will relieve you. I 
 daresay you're feeling pretty bad. I notice that there is what 
 looks like perspiration on your forehead, which can hardly 
 be induced by the heat of the room. In any case, it doesn't 
 matter; I shall have to chloroform you anyhow." 
 
 "You— beauty!" 
 
 "I am an excellent example of the truly masculine — am I 
 not ? Your appreciation is valued at its proper worth." He 
 produced a bottle and some cotton waste from a cupboard. 
 " In applying chloroform I mostly use cotton waste. Some 
 people have a notion that you have only to apply chloroform 
 to a man's nose and he succumbs at once. I need not tell 
 you what a mistake that is. To do any real good it must 
 be inhaled into the lungs. That takes time. Some folks, in 
 fact, it scarcely affects. We'll hope that with you I shall have 
 better luck. Indeed, from the look of you I fancy that I 
 shall. Practice has given me rather an expert eye. But 
 before we proceed to that part of our little business " 
 
 From the same cupboard he took another bottle and a glass. 
 
 " I will drink nothing of yours." 
 
 "Oh yes, you will; because if you don't drink what I am 
 about to offer you voluntarily and with a good grace, I shall 
 have to put a funnel down your throat, and get it into your 
 stomach that way. You see, the anaesthetic will have but 
 a transitory influence. It is essential that I should have you 
 in a comatose condition for, say, at least three or four days. 
 This skilfully-compounded liquid to which I am about to 
 call your particular attention will manage that very nicely. 
 Now, are you ready ? " 
 
 He had poured out three parts of a tumblerful of what 
 looked like muddy port, with which he advanced towards the 
 man in the chair. Otway regarded it intently. 
 
 " Is it— death ? " 
 
 " No ; it is not death. It is simply a long, and we will 
 hope refreshing, sleep." 
 
 " Refreshing ! There is not much refreshment to be derived 
 from that sort of thing." 
 
 " Frankly, there is not. I was merely expressing a pious 
 aspiration. I thought it might please you. One can never 
 tell." 
 
 "What is the stuff?"
 
 A FRIEND IN NEED 51 
 
 " Ah, now you are asking too many questions. Doctors do 
 not disclose the secrets of their compounds. Let us call it a 
 little panacea of my own." 
 
 "And I am to drink it?" 
 
 "You are." 
 
 "And if I won't?" 
 
 " Well — you will — in my way, instead of your own. Have 
 you ever seen them fattening chickens by artificial processes ? 
 If you are — cantankerous, it will be injected into your stomach 
 exactly as food is injected into a chicken's gullet." 
 
 " I suppose I am wholly at your mercy." 
 
 "You state the position accurately." 
 
 "You — veritable friend in need ! " 
 
 " Mr Gunston, what kind of a friend in need does a man 
 of your type look for? On the one side you could have, for 
 a friend, the hangman ; on the other — me. You have chosen 
 me. Candidly, I think you have made the better choice. 
 You can hardly be in a worse plight ; and those bank-notes 
 which you were about to offer to the driver of that hansom 
 cab might as well be in my possession as in his." 
 
 " So it's the bank-notes you are after." 
 
 " Certainly ; what else ? " 
 
 " Then why not take them and let me go ? let me get out 
 of this seat of — the torments of the damned?" 
 
 "Mr Gunston, you are not reasonable. To whom should 
 I let you go? To the police? Don't you know that they 
 are scouring every lane and alley for you, probably assisted 
 by a crowd of persons who would use you very badly if they 
 once got you in their hands? Besides, you might tell them 
 of the friend in need ; men have done all sorts of things to 
 curry favour. Then they might want to hang me many 
 times over, which I should not like. No ; to talk of letting 
 you go is absurd. I never let any one go who has once sat 
 in that chair. And they have been many. As for getting 
 out of that seat, you have only to drink this. Within a 
 very few moments I shall use the chloroform. Sometimes I 
 wait to see if it is necessary, but, in your case, I promise 
 that I won't. And, immediately afterwards, you will be out 
 of that seat." 
 
 " How can I hold a glass to drink when my hands are 
 being severed from my wrists ? " 
 
 " You need not hold the glass — I will perform that office
 
 52 A MET AMOR rHOSIS 
 
 for you. Put your head back, open your mouth, I will 
 hold it to your lips.'" 
 
 Otway did as he was bid ; in addition, he shut his eyes. 
 The man assisted him to drink with a neatness which suggested 
 that he was used to similar ministrations. Presently Otway 
 stopped swallowing. 
 
 '* It hasn't a nice taste." 
 
 " No, perhaps not. Still, it's as nice as you could expect. 
 Finish it up." 
 
 "Must I drink it all?" 
 
 " Every drop." 
 
 Otway swallowed what was left in the glass, leaving what 
 looked like a layer of mud at the bottom. 
 
 "There are still the dregs, but we'll say nothing of those. 
 How do you feel ? " 
 
 "In hell." 
 
 "That's natural." 
 
 He emptied part of the contents of the first bottle on to 
 a quantity of cotton waste. This he pressed against Otway's 
 nose and mouth. Mr Otway's body heaved and writhed as 
 if convulsively. Then he was still.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 THE QUEEN OF THE SEAS 
 
 WHEN, after his encounter with that friend in need, 
 George Otway returned to Ufe his first hazy im- 
 pression was that the world must be coming to an end. Not 
 only was he surrounded by extraordinary noises, but he 
 seemed, without any effort on his own part, to be performing 
 a series of complicated somersaults. By degrees he realised 
 not only that these things were taking place in an atmosphere 
 of gloom, but, also, that his nostrils were being greeted by 
 a very peculiar smell. Later it dawned upon him that he 
 was in a recumbent position. Endeavouring to sit up he 
 struck his head against something which was immediately 
 above with such force that he fell back, half stunned. As 
 he lay trying to collect his thoughts it seemed to him that 
 he was lying in what was apparently a narrow box, which was 
 closed on three sides, and open on the fourth. Carefully 
 protruding his head on the open side he began to try to 
 make out the meaning of it all. A voice saluted him : 
 
 " Hollo, mate, coming out of it, are you ? About time, too, 
 I should say. You must have lowered it by pailfuls." 
 
 In the dim light Otway perceived that a man was seated on 
 a stool, clad in his shirt and socks. He was holding a pair 
 of trousers, on which he seemed to be adjusting a patch. 
 
 "Who are you?" 
 
 "I'm Bill Stone, that's who I am; with thanks for kind 
 inquiries." 
 
 " Where am I ? " 
 
 "Ah, I thought that'd be the next question. I've been 
 asked it many a time by chaps like you, and have always 
 been pleased to give the information required. You're 
 aboard the Queen of the Seas, that's where you are." 
 
 A glimmer of light began to reach Otway's perception. 
 
 "The Queen of the Seas^ It's a ship ! " 
 
 " Right you are ; very well said ; a ship it is. Did you 
 suppose it was a motor car ? " 
 
 53
 
 54 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 " But — how did I come on board a ship?" 
 
 "Ah, there you are again. As it happens, there's one or 
 two besides yourself on this ship as would like to know how 
 they come to be aboard. I take it that sherbet brought 
 em half the way and crimps the rest.' 
 
 " Crimps ? " 
 
 In spite of what seemed to be his splitting head his thoughts 
 recurred to the white-faced, queer-eyed friend in need. Had 
 he drugged and robbed and crimped him too ? In the present 
 year of grace could such things be ? 
 
 " But there aren't any crimps to-day?" 
 
 "Aren't there? Where might you happen to have been 
 brought up? Somewhere where there wasn't any salt water?" 
 
 " But — I'm not a sailor.'' 
 
 " Before you get off this boat I lay you will be. There's 
 chaps aboard her as would make a sailor out of a pair of 
 clothes-pegs." 
 
 Perceiving that the apparent box was, in reality, a berth, 
 Otway had clambered out of it — awkwardly enough — and 
 was now endeavouring to keep his footing on the uneasy 
 floor. A heavy tread was heard descending steps without. 
 Mr Stone listened for a moment, then turned to Otway 
 with a grin : 
 
 " Here's some one coming who'll start making a sailor of 
 you right away." 
 
 A man appeared in the doorway who was so enveloped in 
 oilskins as to make it impossible to see what sort of person 
 was underneath them. It was, however, immediately made 
 plain that, while in stature he was below the average height, 
 in voice he was monstrous. He addressed himself to Otway 
 as if he were shouting to a person who was a mile away : 
 
 " So you're not dead, are'nt you ? Lucky for you you've 
 found it out. I've just come down to tell 'em to throw 
 you overboard. We carry no dead meat aboard this craft, 
 and so I'll quickly lam you. Up you go on deck, you 
 skulking lubber." Uncertain, for the moment, whether these 
 remarks were being hurled at him Otway stared at the new- 
 comer in bewildered surprise, a bearing which the other 
 promptly resented : " Don't stand there staring at me like 
 a stuck pig, you somethinged scoundrel ! up you go ! " 
 
 " May I ask who you are and who you imagine yourself to 
 be add.-'essing ? "
 
 THE QUEEN OF THE SEAS 55 
 
 Had he worked a miracle Otway could hardly have created 
 a greater impression on the figure in the oilskins. He was 
 hazily conscious of so much, just as he was becoming aware 
 of the fact that the cabin was much larger than he had at 
 first supposed, and that heads were peeping out of some of 
 the numerous berths which lined the sides. Then ensued an 
 interval of what — so far as the stranger was concerned — 
 seemed to be petrified amazement ; then a volley of impre- 
 cations : 
 
 "What the somethinged, somethinged something do you 
 mean by speaking to me like that ? Up you go, before I strip 
 the skin right off you ! " 
 
 The speaker advanced towards Otway with a belaying pin 
 in his hand. 
 
 "Let me recommend you to be careful what you do or 
 say. I am not the person you appear to take me for. You 
 may be an officer of this ship, but I certainly am not one of 
 the crew." 
 
 "You something, somethinged scoundrel, I'll learn you 
 what you are ! " 
 
 Each adjective was pointed by a blow from the belaying 
 pin. Otway, ill, dizzy, taken unawares, went down like a 
 ninepin. Not satisfied with knocking him over, his assailant 
 proceeded to kick him with his heavy boots, continuing his 
 flow of adjectives unceasingly. This kind of treatment had a 
 tonic effect upon George Otway. Forgetting his own illness, 
 scrambling to his feet, wresting the weapon from his assailant's 
 hand, he proceeded to shake him with a degree of vigour 
 which was sufficiently surprising in a man who had only just 
 returned to consciousness. Presently he ceased, explaining 
 why he did so : 
 
 " It is only because I am pretty sure that you don't know 
 what it is that you are doing that I refrain from wringing 
 your neck. I repeat the advice which I gave you just now : 
 be careful." 
 
 The man was apparently so astounded by Otway's behaviour 
 as to be temporarily bereft of the power of articulate speech. 
 When it returned to him he gave a great gasp as if for breath : 
 
 " Mutiny ! — mutiny ! — I'll pay you for that ! " 
 
 The words were yelled rather than spoken, and were 
 scarcely clear of his lips when he had rushed out of the cabin, 
 and was heard stamping up the companion-way. Immediately
 
 56 A METAMOliPHOSIS 
 
 the peeping heads became more apparent ; there was a chorus 
 of voices : 
 
 " Now you've done it ! " 
 
 " I wouldn't be in your shoes for twelve months' pay ! " 
 
 " They'll iron you as sure as youre living ! " 
 
 "Shouldn't be surprised if they were to flog you out of 
 hand ! " 
 
 " Who is he ? " demanded Otway. 
 
 *' He's Benjamin Slacke, that's who he is, the third mate. 
 If he were captain he couldn't think more of himself — the 
 dirty skunk ! If you'd killed him out of hand you might be 
 talking. It wouldn't have been no worse for you if you had. 
 Here he conies back again. If you ain't more than half the 
 fool you seem to be you'll just knock under without giving 
 any more trouble : he's got his knife into you enough 
 already." 
 
 The infuriated mate had returned with reinforcements in 
 the shape of two men who were enshrouded, like himself, in 
 oilskins. He hounded them on to their prey : 
 
 "There he is! On deck with him ! If he gives you any 
 trouble, over with him, and haul him up by his heels ! " 
 
 The two men moved towards Otway, showing in their 
 demeanour a plentiful lack of that eagerness which the mate 
 would plainly have liked them to exhibit. The manner in 
 which their quarry addressed them seemed to add — if it were 
 possible — another shade of discretion to their bearing : 
 
 *' I am perfectly willing to accompany you, my men. There 
 is not the slightest necessity for you to attempt rough 
 handling." 
 
 They did not attempt rough handling. On the contrary, 
 each taking an arm, they marched with Otway towards the 
 companion with what almost amounted to a show of positive 
 friendship, the mate yelling at them as they went : 
 
 " Don't you wear no kid gloves, you chaps ! over with him 
 if he moves a finger." 
 
 When they reached the deck the fresh air commenced to 
 do George Otway good. The ship was steaming through 
 drenching rain in half-a-gale of wind. The salt spray dashing 
 against his face, the rain descending on his uncovered head, 
 served as a finer pick-me-up than anything else could have 
 done. As, with some difficulty, they made their way across 
 the slippery, heaving deck, Otway's brain began to clear, his
 
 THE QUEEN OF THE SEAS 57 
 
 spirits to rise, — and that in spite of the adjectival mate, who 
 still stuck close to their heels. The procession mounted to 
 the hurricane deck, where they found two men encased in 
 the inevitable oilskins. One of them, from the mate's manner, 
 Otway judged to be the captain. He was a big, burly man, 
 with a weather-beaten face, and an iron-grey beard. The 
 other was a slight, sallow man, with a huge moustache ; un- 
 mistakably a foreigner. The mate told his tale. 
 
 " Here's the fellow of whom I told you, sir, that skulker. 
 I've got him out of his berth at last, but when I ordered him 
 up on deck he not only refused to go, but struck me." 
 
 " Struck you, did he. You're a pretty sort." 
 
 This remark was addressed to Otway, whom he favoured 
 with a stare which was scarcely genial. Otway had, all at 
 once, became aware that now, if ever, was the time to extricate 
 himself from what promised to be a very disagreeable situation. 
 
 " May I inquire if you're the captain of this ship ? " 
 
 On hearing the tone in which the inquiry was put the 
 grey-bearded man perceptibly started ; while his companion, 
 wheeling half round, regarded the speaker with what seemed 
 a new and singular interest. 
 
 " I am the captain of this ship. I am Captain Thomson 
 Page, at your service. Is there any other information with 
 which I can favour you ? " 
 
 Although the intention was sarcastic Otway choose to take 
 the words as seriously meant : 
 
 " There is a good deal more information which I should 
 like to have. I should like to know how I came on board 
 this ship, since I certainly am not here of my own free will. 
 I have been drugged, robbed, and apparently crimped ; but I 
 can assure you I am no sailor." 
 
 "No sailor, aren't you? I've shipped a good many that 
 weren't, but you're the first who's been frank enough to own 
 it. What's your name ? " 
 
 " George Otway." 
 
 A correction came from the mate. 
 
 " His name's Bob Brown, sir ; it's on his papers." 
 
 " Bob Brown ? Then what do you mean by calling yourself 
 George Otway ? " 
 
 " Because I am George Otway. I do not know what the 
 papers are to which this person refers, but they have nothing 
 to do with me."
 
 58 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 The sallow man asked a question, with an obvious sneer : 
 
 "Are you any relation to George Otway, the millionaire?" 
 
 "I am he." 
 
 The assurance with which the words were uttered seemed 
 to take the sallow man aback. His sneer increased in 
 intensity : 
 
 "Come, my friend, that's a trifle too steep, since, as all 
 the world knows, George Otway happens to be dead." 
 
 "All the world thinks it knows, but it doesn't. The body 
 found in the river was another individual's altogether. I tell 
 you I am George Otway ; if you will put me within reach of a 
 telegraph office I will prove it to your entire satisfaction." 
 
 " Then how come you to be on board the Queen of the 
 Seas}" 
 
 "That is a point on which others may be able to afford you 
 more information than I can. I can only repeat that I have 
 been drugged, robbed, and, it seems, crimped ; all offences 
 which may turn out to have very serious consequences for all 
 those who may be even remotely concerned in them." 
 
 The sallow man, taking the captain on one side, exchanged 
 a few sentences with him in private, then he returned to 
 Otway : 
 
 " If there is any truth in what you say, there is some one on 
 board who, I think, you may find not unwilling to befriend 
 you. Only look out that it is not all lies, or I am very sure 
 that that same person will make you sorry." 
 
 " What I have told you is the simple truth." 
 
 " Very good ; so long as you stick to the simple truth you'll 
 find it's all right. Come with me." 
 
 The sallow man led the way to a good-sized, well-furnished 
 cabin on the first deck. As they went he asked three or four 
 questions which showed so intimate a knowledge of certain 
 commercial transactions in which Otway had been engaged 
 that the millionaire, on his side, began to be curious as to 
 who his companion might chance to be. That his own 
 answers carried some sort of conviction to the inquirer's mind 
 was sufficiently obvious. The cabin was in the occupation of 
 a lady who was seated behind a table on which there were a 
 number of papers. The sallow man addressed her : 
 
 " Miss Thornton, I am going to speak to Donna Luisa. 
 May I leave this person here in your custody until I return?" 
 
 The lady nodded. The speaker passed through a door
 
 THE QUEEN OF THE SEAS 59 
 
 which was at the other side of the cabin. Otway was left 
 alone with the lady. The position was unlooked for. He felt 
 uncomfortable. He was attired in a variety of odds and ends, 
 which were not only dirty, but had been made for a person 
 of an entirely different figure, besides being so ragged as to be 
 scarcely decent. He was hatless and shoeless ; conscious that 
 his hair and beard were, to say the least, unkempt ; while his 
 whole person stood in instant need of a plentiful supply of 
 soap and water. The lady in front of him was young and 
 pleasant-looking, and as neatly dressed as if she had just come 
 out of a West End drawing-room. There was something in 
 the eyes with which she was regarding him which made Otway 
 feel as if he would Hke to sink through the floor with shame. 
 When she spoke her voice was clear and melodious : 
 
 "What have you been doing?" 
 
 "I fear that it is not so much a question of what I have 
 been doing as of what has been done to me." 
 
 The words he used, the tones in which they were uttered, 
 coming from such a figure as he presented, seemed to fill her 
 with surprise. 
 
 " Done to you ? What do you mean ? Aren't you one of 
 the crew ? " 
 
 "To the best of my knowledge and belief I am not. I 
 assuredly am no sailor. Until within the last few minutes 
 I was not aware that I was on a ship at all." 
 
 " But — I don't understand." 
 
 " Nor I. It is an understanding I am hoping to arrive at, 
 with the assistance of that gentleman who has just gone out." 
 
 "Are you a gentleman?" 
 
 " I trust I am. I was tolerably sure of it until — recently." 
 
 "Then why are you wearing such clothes?" 
 
 " That is part of the wonder. I can only assure you that 
 they are not my own. May I ask you a question in my turn ? 
 To what port is the Qiiee^i of the Seas — which I understand is 
 the name of the vessel — bound ! " 
 
 "Ah, there you have touched upon a mystery. I am not 
 certain ; but I fear that wherever we are bound we are on a 
 voyage which bodes no good to any one." 
 
 " You don't know to what port the ship on which you are 
 travelling is bound! How comes that about? Does she 
 carry passengers or merchandise ? " 
 
 " She carries passengers, of a sort, and merchandise of a
 
 GO A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 still worse sort. As appears to have been the case with you, I 
 am in a position which it was far from my intention to occupy. 
 Therefore all the information which I am able to give to 
 any one is only of the very vaguest kind. They tell me 
 nothing, or, at anyrate, as little as they possibly can. Here 
 comes the Mother of Caracas." 
 
 What she meant Otway had not the faintest notion. He 
 only perceived that the words were accompanied with what 
 seemed to him to be a mischievous smile. The lady rose ; 
 the door behind her opened. There entered, first, the man 
 who had just passed through, and then so extraordinary a 
 figure that for a second or two Otway hardly knew what to 
 make of it. It was that of a woman, who made up in bulk 
 what she lacked in height. Although not more than five feet 
 six or seven, she probably weighed twenty stone, a fact which 
 was accentuated by her costume. Although it was broad day- 
 light, she wore an evening dress, which was cut even inde- 
 corously low, of bright crimson satin. Across the body was a 
 broad ribbon of green velvet, worn as if it were an order. 
 The bosom of her dress was plastered over with ribbons, 
 medals, stars, crosses, and what looked like curiosities in 
 the way of charms. About her bovine neck was a necklace 
 of what might have been diamonds. On her head was an 
 article which resembled a turban, which again was ornamented 
 with what, quite possibly, were jewels. More startling attire 
 for a woman to wear while it was yet daylight, on board ship 
 in a high sea, it would be difficult to conceive. She, herself, 
 did not appear to be conscious of the slightest incongruity, but 
 looked about her as she entered, as if confident of receiving 
 the admiration of any one whose glance she might encounter. 
 
 Her face suggested (jualities which ill accorded with the 
 absurdities of her general appearance. Her age was about forty. 
 Her hair, which was yet black, curled naturally, reminiscent 
 of something negroid. Her eyes were bright and resolute 
 and cruel. Her mouth seemed to open and shut like a rat 
 trap, and to be suggestive of as much feeling. She had a 
 square jaw, and not only a flourishing moustache, but also 
 the promise of a beard. On the whole, Otway thought he had 
 never seen a woman towards whom, at first sight, he felt 
 himself less drawn. She eyed Miss Thornton, who was still 
 standing, with a look which was not redolent of the milk 
 of human kindness.
 
 THE QUEEN OF THE SEAS 61 
 
 "I don't want you. You can go." The girl inclined her 
 head and went out of the door through which the crimson 
 lady had just come in. " She gets more and more in the way. 
 I wish I'd never brought her." 
 
 This postscript was added while the girl was still going, in 
 tones which hinted that it was meant to reach her ears. The 
 sallow man — who had removed his oilskins so as to disclose 
 a tweed suit of a peculiar shade of brown which went badly 
 with his complexion — shrugged his shoulders. 
 " It was necessary." 
 
 " Necessary ? Bah ! Nothing's necessary that doesn't 
 please me." 
 
 The crimson lady seated herself on the chair which Miss 
 Thornton had just vacated. Producing a cigar-case from 
 some receptacle in the bosom of her dress, out of it she took 
 a cigar. Putting the end between her large, yellow, irregular 
 teeth, she bit it off. The sallow man proffered a lighted 
 match, which she suffered him to hold while she got the 
 tobacco into going order. All the time she never moved her 
 eyes from Otway, who, on his part, was observing her with 
 increasing amazement. After two or three puffs at her cigar 
 she spoke, in perfect English, though with a marked foreign 
 accent. : 
 
 " So you're George Otway." 
 "lam." 
 
 "What was the name of the person who came to you with 
 a proposition for the consolidation of the Uruguayan debt ? " 
 
 Otway started. The proposition in question — which had 
 been of a sufficiently nefarious kind— could only have been 
 known to a small, and very remarkable, coterie. 
 " He called himself Edouard Dufond." 
 The man and woman exchanged glances. 
 "You refused to entertain his proposition?" 
 "I did." 
 
 "Should you still refuse if it were made to you a second 
 time?" 
 
 " Unhesitatingly." 
 
 " It will not be made. Have no fear." A silent puff or 
 two at the cigar. " If you are George Otway, how come you 
 to be on board my ship ? " 
 
 He explained so far as he was able ; the woman's steadfast 
 glances suggesting that she was trying to read his mind rather
 
 62 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 than listening to his words. When he had finished she 
 flicked the end off her cigar. 
 
 " So they took you for a murderer. That was funny." 
 
 " It might have been." 
 
 " And your family think that you are dead. Suppose I 
 allow them to continue to think that you are dead ? — that 
 might pay me very well." 
 
 " I don't see how." 
 
 "Perhaps not. On the other hand, suppose I let them 
 know you are alive, but express my willingness to arrange that 
 you shall continue dead to them — that might pay me even 
 better, eh? Now you understand?" 
 
 " I should prefer to think I misunderstood." 
 
 " You are a diplomatist. However, you will see that you 
 are in my hands. You tell me a tale, which may be true, but 
 of which I have no proof. You are entered on the ship's 
 books as one of the crew. As such it seems that you have 
 already struck your superior officer. I am free to put you in 
 irons, and worse. If, instead, I accept your statements, 
 and treat you as you claim to be entitled to be treated, I 
 shall be doing you a service which it would be impossible to 
 exaggerate. What service would you render me in return ? " 
 
 " You would not find me ungrateful, nor backward in doing 
 all that an honest man could do." 
 
 "So? Not so much emphasis upon the honest. Some 
 men's sense of honesty is so much greater than their sense of 
 gratitude, which, in your case, might be awkward. But I will 
 trust you, Mr Otway, since I do not believe you are a dog of 
 that breed. I will believe all that you say, and treat you as 
 my friend. Do not let me regret it. Bianchi, see that Mr 
 Otway is provided with a change of wardrobe at once. I shall 
 look forward to the pleasure of seeing you at my table at 
 dinner." 
 
 She waved her cigar with a gesture which implied dismissal. 
 The sallow man, crossing to him, held the door open, waiting 
 for him to pass through it first. 
 
 " I shall have pleasure, Mr Otway, in placing at your dis- 
 position all the resources of the ship." 
 
 So soon as they were out of the cabin he slipped his arm 
 through his, with a show of friendship which Mr Otway did 
 not altogether relish. 
 
 "You are much to be congratulated, Mr Otway. Although
 
 THE QUEEN OF THE SEAS 63 
 
 that lady has a tender heart she has her moments of severity. 
 Had you found her in one of them she might have taken a 
 different view of the position. You are most fortunate." 
 
 " I am glad you think so. May I ask what is the lady's 
 name?" 
 
 "She would probably prefer to give you herself all the in- 
 formation on that subject which you have a right to demand. 
 Let me recommend you, while you are on this ship, not to ask 
 any questions ; on the Queen of the Seas they are not en- 
 couraged. Here is the cabin which I will give instructions to 
 have placed exclusively at your disposition. I think you will 
 find that it already contains all that you require. Therefore, 
 until dinner, Mr Otway."
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE MOTHER OF CARACAS 
 
 MR OTW'AY found himself in the sole possession of what 
 was apparently a small state-room. An open-fitted 
 dressing-case was on a chair, off which it bade fair each 
 moment to plump on to the floor. A pink print shirt, of a 
 somewhat pronounced hue, was on the bed. Beside it was 
 what seemed to be an officer's uniform. 
 
 "What's this? It rather recalls the full-dress glories of the 
 Mulligan Guards. Shade of Botticelli, what a green ! It's 
 own brother to the velvet band which that dear woman wore 
 across her generous chest. Am I supposed to put this on ? " It 
 seemed that he was, since there was nothing else in the shape 
 of outer garments to be seen. " Is this that gentleman's idea of 
 all that I require? If I get inside these clothes I shall never 
 dare to show my face for fear of being taken for something 
 novel in Guy Fauxes." 
 
 The result, however, when he was inside them, though a 
 little striking, was not so bad as he might have feared. To 
 begin with, the clothes were not at all a bad fit ; while his 
 unusual height enabled him to carry off the too vivid shade of 
 green better than a smaller man might have done. 
 
 "Anyhow," he admitted, "I'm looking an improvement on 
 what I was, as I think Miss Thornton would admit. By the 
 way, I wonder who she is. The dear lady in the crimson satin 
 seemed to treat her as if she were something inferior in door- 
 mats. I also wonder what regiment this brilliant thing in 
 uniforms is intended to adorn. I do not wish to figure as an 
 officer of the Bounding Blackguards." 
 
 He remained in his cabin till the sallow gentleman re- 
 appeared, this time arrayed in a uniform which was the 
 facsimile of his own. The spectacle which Otway presented 
 filled him with enthusiasm. 
 
 " Ah, my friend, but what a difference ! How superb an 
 alteration ! Who would have imagined that the man of rags 
 
 64
 
 THE MOTHER OF CARACAS 65 
 
 and tatters could so quickly be transformed into this figure of 
 supreme distinction ! Permit me, my dear Otway, to be the 
 first to welcome you as a companion-in-arms." 
 
 He held out his hand, which the other took in what was, 
 perhaps, a rather more strenuous grasp than he had intended. 
 
 " Thank you. I'm much obliged to you, I'm sure. I've not 
 the faintest notion of what it is you mean, but perhaps all that 
 is coming later." 
 
 " All that, as you say, is coming later." Mr Bianchi was 
 examining the hand which Otway had released, with a degree 
 of attention which suggested anxiety as to the condition it was 
 in. "You have a strong grip, my friend. You should 
 remember that all men are not giants. Come, they will 
 be awaiting us." 
 
 He led the way to a saloon which Otway was not altogether 
 surprised to find was already in the occupation of a number 
 of individuals who were in uniforms which, in all essentials, 
 were identical with the one he himself was wearing. Bianchi 
 introduced them formally, one by one, though in no case 
 did he succeed in catching a name. They were apparently of 
 all nationahties. The English of some was bad to the point 
 of unintelligibility ; others seemed to have none at all. Otway 
 felt that he had never before found himself in the centre of so 
 undesirable looking a crowd. One person in particular — an 
 elderly man with only one eye, whose display of gold lace 
 pointed to his being some one in authority — had about him 
 that furtive, hang-dog expression which one associates with 
 the habitual criminal. 
 
 Presently the portly lady entered — still in the crimson satin 
 — with Miss Thornton at her heels. Taking her seat in the 
 centre of one side of the long table, she signified to Otway 
 that she wished him to take the seat at her side. Observing 
 that Miss Thornton was moving towards one end, he stood for 
 her to be seated. The portly lady looked up : 
 
 " Why don't you sit down, Mr Otway ? For what are you 
 standing ? " 
 
 " I was waiting for Miss Thornton to have found a chair." 
 
 "Miss Thornton? Do you know Miss Thornton? Miss 
 Thornton is my maid. It does not please me that any one 
 should pay attention to my maid." 
 
 Otway did not believe that Miss Thornton was her maid — 
 at least, in the sense she intended to convey — though he could 
 
 E
 
 66 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 not help but notice that he was the only one who had remained 
 on his feet while she was looking for an unoccupied chair. 
 The words had been uttered in a tone which was audible all 
 over the saloon. Miss Thornton had found a seat on the 
 same side as that on which he sat, so that she was invisible 
 from where he was. But he observed that more than one 
 man looked in her direction with a grin for which he would 
 have liked to call him to account. 
 
 Possibly with the portly lady it was one of these moments 
 of severity of which her friend Bianchi had spoken. Possibly, 
 also, she had observed that her right-hand neighbour made 
 no attempt to conceal the fact that her remark was very little 
 to his taste. However that may have been, the dinner proved 
 to be as unsociable an entertainment as any at which Otway 
 had ever assisted — and that was saying not a little. The 
 portly lady seemed to be in bad temper. Although she did 
 not say much, what she did say was of so disagreeable a nature 
 that it would have added to the general comfort if she had 
 said less. Every one present seemed to hold her in awe. Here 
 and there an attempt was made to converse in whispers ; but 
 after she had peremptorily commanded two murmuring 
 mulattoes not to make a noise silence reigned. When the 
 repast had come to a conclusion she delivered herself of an 
 observation which put a final damper on any tendency to high 
 spirits which might still have been existing. To make sure of 
 being understood by every one she repeated it in Spanish : 
 
 " Gentlemen, on leaving the table you will all of you be so 
 good as to retire to your own cabins, and to remain in them. 
 To-night I wish for perfect quiet. It is to me a solemn 
 occasion." 
 
 What she meant by her closing reference Otway had not a 
 notion. Judging from the expression which was on the faces 
 of the assembled company, he doubted if any one else had, 
 either. What measure of obedience others might be disposed 
 to render was to him a matter of indifference. He himself 
 was inclined to obey, and that for the sufficient reason that, 
 at the moment, he preferred his own society to that of any one 
 he saw about him. A talk with Miss Thornton he would have 
 liked to have had, but as it seemed to him that that might 
 be difficult of attainment the pleasure of anybody else's con- 
 versation was one which he was perfectly willing to forgo. 
 None the less, he had not returned to the e.xclusive enjoyment
 
 THE MOTHER OF CARACAS 67 
 
 of his own cabin for many minutes before he had had enough of 
 it. Although of fair dimensions, it seemed stifling. He longed 
 for air. The wind had fallen ; the vessel was riding on a more 
 even keel. He fancied the rain had ceased. At least there 
 would not be much harm in going to see. 
 
 So he went. 
 
 He was right : the rain had ceased. On deck it was glori- 
 ously fine. The waves had still their caps on ; but the moon 
 looked out in splendour from among packs of light, fleecy 
 clouds which went flying across the sky. He strolled round 
 the nearly deserted decks, conscious that curious eyes were 
 peeping at him as he passed. Returning towards the poop 
 he became aware of voices speaking. One was a woman's — 
 Miss Thornton's. Although she was not talking loudly it 
 struck Otway that there was anger, almost fear, in her accents. 
 The other was a man's — an unknown man's. His tones, which 
 were harsh and rasping, suggested mingled threats and cajolery. 
 Suddenly there was an unmistakable exclamation from the 
 lady : 
 
 "Stand farther off! don't dare to touch me!" And the 
 man's reply : 
 
 "Don't you be a fool!" 
 
 Otway advanced, to find the lady engaged in what looked 
 very like a struggle with the evil-faced, one-eyed gentleman, 
 whose uniform was adorned with such a profusion of gold lace. 
 With scant ceremony Otway took him by the shoulder and 
 moved him farther from the lady. He glared up at the new- 
 comer in surprise and wrath. 
 
 "What do you mean by that, you — idiot? Didn't you hear 
 the orders, that you were not to leave your cabin ? " 
 
 "I fancied they applied equally to all of us. Why are you 
 out? Since you appear to have been already enjoying the 
 evening breezes for some little time, perhaps you won't object 
 to my appreciating them for a while in my turn." 
 
 After momentary hesitation the elderly gentleman walked 
 away without another word. When he had gone Miss Thornton 
 turned to Otway. There was a tremor in her voice as she 
 spoke : 
 
 " Now you've made another enemy." 
 
 "And perhaps, also, another friend." 
 
 " But, in any case, how powerful an emeny and how in- 
 significant a friend ! "
 
 68 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 "I am not so sure of the friend's insignificance." 
 
 " That is because you do not understand. I see you have 
 been promoted." 
 
 " If a passage from one person's rags to another person's 
 fancy dress means promotion ! But what is the meaning of 
 it all — of the comic opera uniforms, the strange company? 
 Who is the lady who issues her orders to us as if we were so 
 many dogs ? " 
 
 " For all information on that point I must again refer you 
 to her. I only know what she has told me, which amounts 
 to nothing." 
 
 " But — if that is so — how do you come to be on board — one 
 woman among all these men ? " 
 
 "That is what I ask myself: and yet it is very simple. I 
 saw an advertisement stating that a lady was required as com- 
 panion to another lady who was going yachting. Very liberal 
 terms were offered. I applied for the post. My application 
 was accepted. It was only after I was on board that I began 
 to realise what an odd yacht the Qi/eeft of the Seas was; and 
 what a peculiar lady I was to accompany. Already, you see, 
 she announces that I am her maid." 
 
 " But does she treat you in private as if you were?" 
 
 " Not she. She does not extend to me so much of her 
 confidence. Her maid is an old black woman who does not 
 speak a word of English. I imagine that, before she started, 
 she thought that she would like to have another woman on 
 board as a sort of chaperon. Now, perceiving that that idea 
 was a mistake, she would like to drop me overboard, and I 
 am beginning to feel that I shouldn't mind if she did." 
 
 "Miss Thornton!" 
 
 " If you will reflect for a moment you will perceive in what 
 an undesirable position I am placed. Most of the ' gentlemen ' 
 on board are — I will say it — nothing more than the sweepings 
 of the gutters. There are many things less endurable than — 
 a grave in the sea." 
 
 While Otway was considering what answer to make Bianchi's 
 figure intruded itself between them. He favoured the lady 
 with a glance which the other instinctively resented ; his tone 
 was hard and dry. 
 
 " Miss Thornton, Donna Luisa requires you in her cabin — 
 at once." 
 
 In silence the girl turned to go. Otway turned also.
 
 THE MOTHER OF CARACAS 69 
 
 "With your permission, Miss Thornton, I will accompany 
 you to the cabin." 
 
 Bianchi touched him on the arm. 
 
 " Let Miss Thornton go by herself, if you please." A 
 request which the girl herself echoed, with an appeal in her 
 eyes. 
 
 " Please stay ! " 
 
 So soon as she had left them Otway said to his companion, 
 who still kept a detaining hand upon his arm : 
 
 " I am so fortunate as to have been able to render a slight 
 service to Miss Thornton. I have been able to relieve her 
 from the insolent attentions of a person with one eye. Since 
 you appear to be in authority I would recommend you to say 
 a word or two of warning to the individual in question before 
 it is too late." 
 
 The reply was not encouraging : 
 
 "Considering the circumstances under which you find 
 yourself on this vessel, Mr Otway, you assume a singular tone. 
 Did you not understand that you were commanded not to 
 leave your cabin to-night ? " 
 
 " I object to the word you use, Mr Bianchi — the word, 
 command ; since there is certainly no one on this ship to 
 whom I owe obedience." 
 
 "You are very unwise to talk like that, Mr Otway, and 
 very ungrateful. Fortunately, I am the only person who hears 
 you. You will find, if you are not careful, that there is a 
 person on board this ship who has both the right and the 
 power to command your obedience. I do not wish to enter 
 into any discussion. Let me desire you to retire to your cabin 
 now." 
 
 For some seconds Mr Otway was in two minds. He did 
 not intend, he told himself, to be dragooned by a person who 
 looked like an Italian organ-grinder. But prudence prevailed ; 
 he did as he was told. 
 
 The following day he spent partly in his cabin, partly in 
 wandering over the ship — so far, that is, as he was suffered to 
 wander, for he soon discovered that there were rules and 
 regulations which were as incomprehensible as they were 
 Draconian. There was, for instance, an objection to the 
 persons whom he had seen assembled in the saloon on the 
 previous night appearing too frequently, or too numerously, 
 on any of the decks. There seemed to be a desire on the
 
 70 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 part of some one to keep the fact that there were so many 
 persons on board as quiet as possible. The consequence 
 being that, except by the sailors, the upper parts of the vessel 
 seemed deserted. 
 
 Towards evening Bianchi appeared in the door of his cabin. 
 
 " Vou are to dine alone with Donna Luisa in her private 
 saloon, Mr Otway. I imagine that she may lay before you 
 certain propositions to which you will be well advised if you 
 accede. I would remind you of what I told you yesterday : 
 that while she has a tender heart, she has her moments of 
 severity. You blundered on one of those moments last night. 
 You will find it in every way to your advantage to meet, 
 without hesitation, her very reasonable wishes." 
 
 The private saloon in question turned out to be the cabin 
 in which he had first seen Miss Thornton. Here he found a 
 table laid for two persons, and the lady herself, still attired in 
 the preposterous crimson satin, awaiting his arrival. 
 
 " You are a little late, Mr Otway. Is it your custom to 
 allow ladies to attend your pleasure?" 
 
 He bowed, and said nothing. The spectacle she presented 
 so jarred on his nerves as to drive out of his mind any excuse 
 which might have been lying handy. She seemed not to 
 object to his silence, or, possibly, was too fond of the sound 
 of her own voice to notice it. Her manner was affability 
 itself, or, rather, it was probably intended to be such. 
 Throughout the meal she kept up a ceaseless flow of chatter 
 on all sorts of subjects, in which she appeared to require no 
 assistance from him. But when the actual repast was at an 
 end, and she had lighted not only her own cigar but his as 
 well, and they were alone together, her manner underwent a 
 sudden and singular change. 
 
 "Now, Mr Otway, we will come to business, you and I. 
 We have had enough of gossip for a while. Let us be frank 
 together. It is better to be frank, eh ? " 
 
 "There are occasions when frankness is desirable — perfect 
 frankness." 
 
 "There shall be perfect frankness between us two, that I 
 promise. So it seems that you do not remember me. Yet 
 you did business with my husband." 
 
 "Your husband?" 
 
 "My husband was Don John D'Agostino, the immortal 
 President of the Republic of Caracas."
 
 THE MOTHER OF CARACAS 71 
 
 Then Otway remembered. It all came back to him on the 
 instant. How the discredited old ruffian had offered to sell 
 his country for a song, and how he had refused his overtures 
 with scorn. And that was what she called doing business 
 with her husband ! Behind her cigar she was watching him 
 attentively. 
 
 " I perceive that now your memory returns to you." 
 
 It did, with a rush ; especially as regards incidents in her 
 career which had reached him through channels of which she 
 had no notion. 
 
 "You remember, no doubt, the whole tragic story. How 
 my revered husband — beloved by every creature in Caracas — 
 becoming the victim of a nest of serpents, was driven from the 
 country for which he had done so much, and how, in that 
 moment of distress, I became the sharer of his exile — I, the 
 Mother of Caracas. As the whole universe is aware, by that 
 title of supreme affection and respect I was known to every 
 person in the country." 
 
 That she had been known as the " Mother of Caracas " he 
 was aware ; the " whole tragic story," as she phrased it, came 
 back to him. But he also knew that the title had been con- 
 ferred on her in something more than derision. Even in that 
 country of easy morals her conduct had been a mock and a 
 byword. She continued, in apparently sublime unconscious- 
 ness of what was passing through his mind : 
 
 " While my husband still lived all Caracas continually cried 
 for his — for our — return. Now that he is gone it cries to me 
 — to me alone ! — with a cry so loud, so penetrating, so in- 
 sistent, that I can no longer refuse to hear. So I am returning 
 to the land which seeks its Mother. You understand ? " 
 
 " In other words, this is a little filibustering expedition on 
 which you are engaged. With its objective?" 
 
 " The Presidency of Caracas — nothing less." 
 
 "And you are of opinion that that objective will be 
 attained ? " 
 
 Leaning over the table she touched his arm with the butt of 
 her cigar. 
 
 "I am of opinion that it is certain — with your assistance." 
 
 "With my assistance?" 
 
 " Ah, my dear friend, we know — you and I — that you are a 
 very rich man. I understand that you can write a cheque for 
 millions."
 
 72 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 " Any one can write a cheque for billions. Whether it will 
 be honoured is quite another thing." 
 
 "But in your case it will be honoured — there is the point. 
 It is in this way : a miracle has thrown us together. Let 
 us go a step farther, still following the guiding finger of 
 Providence, let us unite our fortunes." 
 
 " I am afraid I do not quite follow." 
 
 " Let us join our destinies in a common cause." 
 
 "Still I am somewhat at a loss." 
 
 "Then I will be plain: Why should you not marry me? 
 --why not ! Together we shall be irresistible — we will be 
 joint-presidents — you shall rule Caracas." 
 
 The monstrous nature of the proposition would have moved 
 him to laughter had he not felt that any display of merriment 
 might have sudden and disastrous consequences. This was 
 not a lady whom it would be safe to treat with ridicule. 
 
 "The compliment which you pay me takes me entirely by 
 surprise." 
 
 " I know, I know ! There is no need for you to tell me 
 that you did not dream of the sentiment with which you have 
 already inspired my bosom. Therefore I say that it is only 
 a hint which I throw out. Consider the matter during the 
 night. In the morning come and tell me what is in your 
 heart. There is a priest on board. The rest will be a matter 
 of only a few minutes. This, however, I may add — certain 
 persons on this ship think that they have me under their 
 thumb. Bianchi in particular. He imagines that he has 
 me tied to a piece of string, and that I will jump this way 
 and that as he wishes. You will put his nose out of joint. 
 When we are man and wife we will have a little explanation 
 with these persons. We will show them that we mean to 
 play the game our own way. They are but cards which, 
 when we have played them, we will throw aside. You 
 understand? Therefore, until the morning." 
 
 It was with the idea that he should turn the lady's " hint " 
 over in his mind, and, in the morning, make an offer on 
 his own account, that the parting took place, with great show 
 of friendship on her side, and much ceremony on his. When 
 he found himself on deck he permitted himself to give vent 
 to some of that laughter which he had judged it discreet to 
 restrain in the lady's actual presence. While he was still 
 laughing he found himself confronted by Miss Thornton.
 
 THE MOTHER OF CARACAS 73 
 
 " Something tickles you. You have been amused ? " 
 
 " On the whole. And you ? " 
 
 " Not at all. Throughout the day I have been practically 
 a prisoner in my own cabin, which is not amusing. Has 
 Donna Luisa given you all the information you desired?" 
 
 "She has been candid — candid almost to a fault." 
 
 " So that now you know all about her and her plans." 
 
 " I do, every bit." 
 
 " And you are content ? " 
 
 " Tolerably. I am of a contented nature. Besides, why 
 be discontented when there is nothing to be gained by it? " 
 
 "You are a philosopher, at least in theory." 
 
 They spoke of this and that, the talk passing from theme 
 to theme in a fashion which the gentleman, at any rate, 
 found pleasant, until they were interrupted by the approach 
 of Mr Bianchi, accompanied by the individual who had but 
 a single eye. 
 
 " Excuse me, Mr Otway, if I interrupt you ; but may I 
 ask you to step aside a little. There are a few words which 
 I would say to you, with your permission." 
 
 He stepped aside, though not far enough to be out of 
 Miss Thornton's hearing, if that lady chose to listen, a fact 
 of which Mr Bianchi himself seemed to be unconscious. 
 There was, indeed, in that gentleman's demeanour some- 
 thing which suggested mental disturbance. 
 
 " You will forgive me, Mr Otway, if my manner seems 
 strange ; but there is something in the air which I do not 
 understand. I have been down to Donna Luisa, but already 
 she has retired — or I am told she has — and she refuses me 
 admission. May I ask you what has passed between you ? 
 I beg you to believe that I have some title to put to you 
 that question." 
 
 "Since it is to your kind offices I am indebted for my 
 introduction to Donna Luisa, I admit your title readily, 
 and will answer your question in a single sentence. Donna 
 Luisa has done me the honour to ask me to be her 
 husband." 
 
 "Her— what?" 
 
 Otway felt that if he had knocked the two gentlemen's 
 heads together he could not have occasioned them more 
 surprise — of a disagreeable kind. 
 
 " Her husband. She informs me that there is a priest on
 
 74 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 board, and that, therefore, the matter can be settled in a very 
 few minutes." 
 
 " It is incredible !" 
 
 "Not at all; why should it be? It seems that certain 
 persons on board imagine that they have her under their 
 thumb ; and she is of opinion that, if I were her husband, 
 she would be in a position to show them that they were 
 mistaken ; and she would show them too." 
 
 " So that is the idea ! Was ever anything so monstrous ? " 
 
 " I really don't see why. Instead of allowing her associates 
 to diddle her she proposes to diddle them. Could anything 
 be more natural?" 
 
 "So that is your opinion. Now I begin to understand. 
 You hear, MacManus?" 
 
 The question was put to the one-eyed gentleman, who 
 rejoined : 
 
 " I am not surprised. Something of the kind was bound 
 to come sooner or later. She has sold every one with whom 
 she has ever dealt ; she was certain to have a try at selling us." 
 
 " But in such a fashion ! What a woman ! Rather, what 
 a devil : How she has lied to me ; to all of us ! " 
 
 " Lied ! She has never done anything else but lied. She 
 couldn't if she tried." 
 
 "That she should think to play such a trick on me — on 
 me ! — to whom she owes everything ! " 
 
 " It is because she is in your debt that she proposes to 
 trick you ; that is the way she pays." 
 
 "Is it? We shall see. And you, Mr Otway, what did 
 you say to this — lady?" 
 
 "Oh, I said nothing. I'm to have my say in the morning. 
 I thought, in the meantime, I would ask your advice as to 
 whether there was any reason why I should not avail myself 
 of the lady's generosity and become her husband." 
 
 An interpolation came from an unexpected quarter, from 
 Miss Thornton, who evidently had been listening. She joined 
 the trio. 
 
 " I certainly know of none. On the contrary, I think there 
 is every reason why you should. It seems to me that it would 
 be an excellent match for every one concerned." 
 
 Otway was conscious that merriment was in the lady's 
 tones, laughter in her eyes ; but Mr Bianchi was too agitated 
 to notice anything of the kind.
 
 THE MOTHER OF CARACAS 75 
 
 "So, Miss Thornton, that is what you think. Now I see 
 still farther into the business ! You also are in the con- 
 spiracy." 
 
 " Why do you speak of conspiracy, Mr Bianchi ? If Donna 
 Luisa has set her heart on marrying Mr Otway, you know 
 very well that she will do so in spite of anything any one 
 may say." 
 
 "Such, also, is my impression," admitted Otway, willing 
 to fall in with the lady's mischievous mood. "To be quite 
 frank, Mr Bianchi, I fancy she has more than half-an-eye 
 on you. She says that you have her attached to a piece of 
 string, which she would like to cut." 
 
 "She would like to cut it, would she! My God! what 
 a woman ! what a devil of a woman ! " 
 
 Mr Bianchi showed a disposition to dance about as if the 
 deck had been hot bricks. When, after a somewhat animated 
 discussion, Mr Otway found himself alone in his own cabin 
 he considered the matter. 
 
 "Unless I err, Mr Bianchi had his own intentions in the 
 direction of Donna Luisa, which, up to my advent on the 
 scene, she did her best to encourage. I shouldn't be surprised 
 if, during the course of the night, something happens." 
 
 His forecast proved correct : something did happen. 
 
 He was roused out of slumber to find that his cabin was in 
 the occupation of a number of gentlemen with revolvers in 
 their hands, Bianchi was leaning over him : 
 
 " Get up. Put on these clothes. If you are silent you will 
 not be hurt; if you are not silent " 
 
 A movement of the revolver he was holding formed an 
 eloquent finish to the sentence. The other revolvers seemed 
 to him to be full of persuasion. He got into the clothes 
 referred to, which appeared to have been borrowed from one 
 of the sailors. 
 
 " Come with us ; and — silence ! " 
 
 Mr Otway went with them — silently. They escorted him 
 — with pistols pointed towards him — on to the deck to 
 where a boat had been made ready to be lowered into the 
 sea. 
 
 "Get into that boat, or — we will help you." 
 
 "No assistance needed, thank you very much." So soon 
 as he was in it he perceived that the boat already had another 
 occupant. " Miss Thornton ! " he exclaimed.
 
 76 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 "Ves, Miss Thornton," echoed Bianchi. "I wish you both 
 a pleasant voyage. Let go ! " 
 
 The boat was lowered with a rapidity which did credit to 
 those who were manipulating the ropes. So soon as it touched 
 the water it was cast loose. The lady and the gentleman were 
 alone together on the moonlit sea.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 IN THE BOAT 
 
 IT had all come about so quickly that it was not strange that 
 George Otway should ask himself if it were not possible 
 that he was the victim of some new form of hallucination. 
 The little boat, the girl in front of him, the moon in the sky, 
 the feeling of loneliness amid the waste of waters, the smoke 
 and lights of the steamer which were already fading on the 
 horizon. Since it was certain that not ten minutes before he 
 was fast asleep in bed it was only natural he should wonder if, 
 after all, these things were not part and parcel of some inter- 
 rupted dream. So doubtful was he — so, as it were, under the 
 influence of a spell — that it was more than a minute before he 
 found his voice. 
 
 " Is it a dream?" 
 
 Apparently the girl had been under the influence of a similar 
 obsession, from which she was aroused by his words. She 
 gave a long sigh, put her hands up to her eyes. 
 
 " It seems as if it were a dream." 
 
 Then she laughed, which perhaps did more to bring them 
 to a clearer sense of actualities than anything else could have 
 done. He laughed too. 
 
 "We live in a world of change." 
 
 " It would seem as if within the last few days I had got into 
 such a world. Until then nothing ever happened." 
 
 " A quarter of an hour ago I was fast asleep on board the 
 Queen of the Seas." 
 
 " It's longer ago than that since I was fast asleep. I sup- 
 pose they woke me first because they took it for granted that 
 I should take longer to get into my clothes. When they put 
 me into the boat I thought they were going to turn me adrift 
 in it all by myself. I didn't like the idea at all. Do you 
 know, when they woke me I was dreaming that I was 
 acting as bridesmaid at your marriage to Donna Luisa." 
 
 " Rather this than that that dream should have come true," 
 
 77
 
 78 A IVrETAMORPHOSIS 
 
 " Really ? I don't know. You might have become recon- 
 ciled to the idea. Think of what a future you have lost — wife 
 of the Mother of Caracas. You might have become Father of 
 Caracas yourself in time." 
 
 " Thanks ; I prefer to be excused. You seem to take the 
 situation very lightly." 
 
 " Perhaps that's because I have not yet realised what the 
 situation actually is. Then, I was so uncomfortable on the 
 Queen of the Seas. More than once I felt like taking a header 
 overboard. This is better than jumping into the sea." 
 
 " We'll hope so, at any rate. It's fortunate the wind has 
 dropped." 
 
 " Yes ; isn't it deliciously calm ? And such a perfect moon ! 
 I can see hills and mountains. It's like a Thames backwater 
 on a summer night." 
 
 " With a difference. Let's trust the similarity may continue. 
 By the way, do you know whereabouts we are?" 
 
 "Not in the least." 
 
 " Nor I. So that is nice for a beginning. Even if they 
 have put nautical instruments on board, which is doubtful, I 
 have not the faintest knowledge of navigation, and am unable 
 to tell, from a study of the heavens, whether we are in the 
 neighbourhood of Madagascar or on the North Atlantic 
 Ocean. How long has the steamer been at sea ? " 
 
 "This is the ninth night since we came out of the Thames." 
 
 " No ! Then I must have lain seven days unconscious — 
 drugged. I must have the constitution of a horse, because 
 now I'm feeling as fit as a fiddler." 
 
 " You're looking pretty fit, which, from a selfish point of 
 view, is fortunate, since, for me, the issues of life and death 
 are so largely in your hands." 
 
 " Please God, I'll bring you safely through. Though, if I 
 ever get the chance, Mr Bianchi shall smart for not having 
 been satisfied to have rid himself of me." 
 
 "Wouldn't you have been lonely — by yourself?" 
 
 " I should have known that you were safe on board the 
 Queen of t/ie Seas." 
 
 " I am not so sure ot that. There are worse things than 
 death. For instance, there is Donna Luisa, and there are 
 many masculine varieties of Donna Luisa on board the Queen 
 of the Seas." 
 
 " I suppose so. Well, all is for the best in this best of all
 
 IN THE BOAT 79 
 
 possible worlds ; we'll lay all we're worth on that. I take it 
 we may assume that the steamer was bound for Caracas." 
 " Where is Caracas ? " 
 
 "You don't know? You seem to have been engaged in a 
 pretty little game of blind-man's-buff, Miss Thornton. Caracas 
 borders the Caribbean Sea, on the north coast of Venezuela, 
 of which state it is supposed to form an integral part. But 
 whether Caracas rules Venezuela, or Venezuela Caracas, is at 
 the present moment undetermined. I imagine that a steamer 
 for Caracas would go by way of the West Indies. If she is 
 nine days out, and a good mover, we oughtn't to be so very 
 far away from them. If we've luck we may strike some land 
 in — so to speak — less than no time." 
 
 " And if we haven't luck ? " 
 
 "We won't look at that side of the question, because we 
 shall have luck. Why, what's that ? There's a ship already ! 
 Miss Thornton, didn't I tell you we should have luck ? " 
 
 There suddenly appeared, on Otway's right, a huge vessel. 
 She was coming directly towards them. She was still at a 
 distance of some three or four miles, but was moving so 
 swiftly that each moment the space between them was per- 
 ceptibly lessened. Miss Thornton watched her with gleam- 
 ing eyes. 
 
 " What a monster. She could swallow the Queen of the Seas. 
 If she keeps her present course she'll run us down." 
 
 "She'll see us long before then. She's bound to see us. 
 You may be sure that on a vessel of her size a keen look-out 
 is always kept. We'll rig up a sail, or a flag of distress, or 
 whatever you choose to call it. We'll fasten it to an oar. 
 They won't help being able to see that, even if, by a miracle, 
 they fail to see the boat. What is there that we can 
 use?" 
 
 " Look ! what is that behind you ? " 
 
 He whirled himself about. 
 
 "Where? I can see nothing." 
 
 But when he turned again towards her he saw that she was 
 holding out to him what looked uncommonly like a lady's 
 petticoat, and that her cheeks were flushed. 
 
 " See ! here's something we can use ! Quick ! let's rig up 
 our flag of distress ; it seems to me that that steamer's coming 
 towards us like a streak of lightning." 
 
 Together they attached the petticoat to an oar by means
 
 80 A META.MORPHOSIS 
 
 of its own strings. Otway held it aloft ; it floated pennon- 
 wise in the gentle breeze. 
 
 " Ship ahoy ! — ship ahoy ! " he shouted. 
 
 The girl standing up beside him, waving her handkerchief, 
 joined her voice to his : 
 
 " Ship ahoy ! " 
 
 The huge steamer came steadily on. 
 
 "They don't see us !" 
 
 "But they will see us! If there's a look-out on deck they 
 must see us. Ship ahoy ! ship ahoy ! " 
 
 " If they don't see us they'll run us down." 
 
 " But they'll have to see us ! Ship ahoy ! ship ahoy ! " 
 
 The huge ship came rapidly on. She was now within half- 
 a-mile. They shouted and shouted, waved the pennon, did 
 the little all they could to attract attention. No heed seemed 
 to be taken of them by any one on board. Already they could 
 hear the swish of the water about her bows, the revolutions 
 of her screw. 
 
 " What shall we do to make them notice ? They won't 
 see us ! " 
 
 "Every one must be asleep — or dead — or drunk." 
 
 " Look out — they'll run us down ! " 
 
 " They won't do that. There's room enough for them 
 to pass us if they will go by." 
 
 They did go by, at a distance from the little boat of perhaps 
 thirty feet, like a mighty black wall, towering above them, 
 blotting out the moon : a moving, monstrous mystery. Lights 
 were to be seen, but no sign of any living thing. When she 
 was abreast Otway and the girl yelled with the full force of 
 their lungs. But there came no response ; nothing to show 
 that they had come within human ken. Then, in a moment, 
 it seemed, she was past ; their tiny craft caught in her wash 
 bubbled up and down like a cork in a mill-race. Otway gave 
 a final, frenzied shout, and was still. He yet held the oar 
 aloft with its fluttering drapery. But the retreating mammoth 
 was only a blue speck on the horizon when he spoke again. 
 
 " That's how watch is kept on some of our floating castles. 
 And yet, if anything happened, any misadventure, there'd be 
 plenty to swear that the look-out never slackened." He 
 turned to his fellow-passenger, who was seated in the stern : 
 "Well?" 
 
 " It's a little disappointing."
 
 IN THE BOAT 81 
 
 The mildness of her language moved him to laughter. 
 "Yes ; it is a little disappointing." 
 
 "I've shouted myself quite hoarse. But let's be fair. It 
 was some way up from us to them, a tremendous way. And 
 there's always a noise on a great steamer — all sorts of noises 
 — besides the noise of the engines. I daresay we weren't so 
 obvious as we supposed. So, let's say, better luck next time." 
 " Next time may be a long way off." 
 
 " Mr Otway, I hope you're not a pessimist. I've been told 
 that there are some men who are more easily depressed than 
 women. I hope you are not one of them." 
 
 " It's you I'm thinking of." 
 
 "That's very sweet of you. But — at present — I'm very 
 comfortable." 
 
 There was something in her words which moved him oddly ; 
 moved him, indeed, to silence, until the moon went behind 
 a cloud, and where before was radiance was the shadow of 
 a great darkness. 
 
 "Hadn't you better lie down in the bottom of the boat 
 and try to get some sleep ? I'll make you as comfortable as 
 I can. There's nothing to be done until the day comes. It's 
 no use my attempting to row when I don't even know the 
 direction in which we are moving." 
 
 "I'm not a bit tired. I'd sooner sit up and keep you 
 company if you don't mind." 
 
 Again there was something in the fashion of her speech 
 which touched him ; again an interval of silence. 
 
 "Miss Thornton, have you had an adventurous life?" 
 
 Her laugh came to him through the darkness. 
 
 "An adventurous life? Me! Why, my father's vicar of 
 a Sussex parish. You can see our house from Chanctonbury 
 Ring. I've scarcely ever been away from home — except to 
 school — until I went to be companion to a lady. Why do 
 you ask?" 
 
 " Because you have a brave heart, and face the music with 
 a smile." 
 
 This time there was silence at her end of the boat. When 
 she did speak, it was in a lower tone. 
 
 " Don't you be so sure of that. The truth is, I was so 
 unhappy on the Queen of the Seas that I feel like a girl who 
 has escaped from a school she hated. Besides, we are as near 
 God on sea as on land."
 
 82 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 The moon did not reappear. Probably she had set before 
 the clouds, which had obscured her, had journeyed on. 
 Despite her absence the night continued warm and dry. 
 They talked on all manner of themes until the sun began to 
 cast pencils of light across the sky. Then there came a 
 transformation, wrought as by the touch of a magician's hand, 
 and they watched the wondrous stages in the birth of a 
 sunlit day. 
 
 "Isn't it beautiful?" 
 
 " I should think it more beautiful if there were anything 
 to be seen." 
 
 " Why, where are your eyes ? There's the sun and the 
 sky and the sea — all three a blaze of colour." 
 
 "No doubt. I'd prefer the glimpse of a ship, or of a 
 coast-line." 
 
 " Mr Otway, I'm beginning to fear that you're a Philistine." 
 
 "And I, Miss Thornton, am commencing to be permeated 
 by a suspicion that you're a dreamer." 
 
 " I don't resent the accusation in the least, if it is an 
 accusation. One can both dream and do. Some of the 
 finest things that ever have been done have been done by 
 dreamers. But a Philistine, oh dear ! And as for your 
 coast-line — why, what's that?" 
 
 In sudden excitement she stood up, pointing directly over 
 his head. He glanced round. In the dim distance was what, 
 at first sight, looked like a hazy blur. 
 
 " Isn't it a cloud on the horizon ? " 
 
 "A cloud? No ! I think — I believe — I'm sure— it's land." 
 
 He gazed long and steadily in the direction in which she 
 had pointed. 
 
 " I think it's possible it may be." 
 
 "I'm certain that it is. My eyes are almost as good as 
 some telescopes. I can make the coast-line out distinctly. 
 But what land can it be ? and how far are we away ? " 
 
 " I can give you an answer to neither question ; but I take 
 it that, anyhow, it's at a tremendous distance. However, it's 
 an objective : something to row for. I'll buckle to." 
 
 Getting the oars into their places he settled down to a steady 
 pull. For some time he rowed in silence. Then she spoke 
 again. The sun had come up into the heavens, filling all 
 space with his glory. She was trailing the fingers of her left 
 hand in the gleaming waters.
 
 IN THE BOAT 83 
 
 " Mr Otway." He nodded. " Aren't you very rich ? " He 
 nodded again. "You have everything that the heart of man 
 
 can desire : wealth, reputation, health, youth " 
 
 "Youth ! I'm past forty." 
 
 " What's forty ? A man isn't really a man until he's forty." 
 He gave a short laugh. " Having all these things, why did 
 you leave England as you seem to have done ? " As the 
 moments passed, and he did not reply, she set her own in- 
 terpretation on his speechlessness. " It's an odd question. I 
 ought not to have asked it. You needn't answer." 
 
 " I don't mind answering. I left it all behind — because a 
 woman jilted me." 
 
 She turned towards him with a start; her eyes wide 
 open. 
 
 " Because a woman jilted you ? But that's no reason ; or 
 — if it is — it's a very little one." 
 
 " These things are matters of opinion ; no doubt you would 
 think so." 
 
 "That's not fair; it isn't what I meant. I'm thinking of 
 the estimation of the world." 
 
 "I never did care for what the world thinks, thank you." 
 "But see what a price you've paid! If you hadn't been 
 so — hasty you wouldn't be here." 
 
 " I don't know on what grounds you consider yourself 
 entitled to call me hasty ; and I don't mind being here — 
 thanking you again." 
 
 " But you may have cut yourself off from the world for 
 ever. You may never again look on the face of a friend. 
 This land for which we're making may turn out to be a 
 desolate rock, void of the means of sustenance, where relief 
 may never find us." 
 
 " It is the thought of such a fate being in store for you 
 which weighs upon my mind." 
 
 " Me ! What does it matter for me ? I'm not of the least 
 importance : I'm nothing and nobody. I don't loom large in 
 the world's economy." 
 
 " Quite so. We'll leave these nice points for further dis- 
 cussion. In the meantime, how about breakfast? Oughtn't 
 you to have something to eat ? They seem to have pre 
 sented us with a certain quantity of food in tins — unless 
 the tins are empty." 
 " I'm not a bit hungry."
 
 ai A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 " Perhaps not ; but you will be very soon. By the way, I 
 suppose you haven't such a thing as a watch about you." 
 
 " But I have. 1 slipped one into my blouse just as they 
 were marching me ofl", and I wound it up. It's just twenty 
 minutes to five." 
 
 " There aren't many girls who'd think of a watch when, for 
 all they knew, they were being marched off to instant execution. 
 You're one in a million. Then at six o'clock we'll sample what's 
 inside those tins. It appears to me that I have been pulling 
 for the best part of an hour. Has that land of yours resolved 
 itself into a fog-bank, or is it more obviously land?" 
 
 " It's more obviously — and quite unmistakably — land ; but 
 it's still a tremendous distance off. You must be tired. Let 
 me have a turn at the oars. " 
 
 " Can you row?" 
 
 "Can I row ! Sometimes I've nearly lived on the Thames." 
 
 "Have you? I know young ladies who have quite, and 
 who yet cant row. The trouble is that I'm so soft. I sha'n't 
 tire; but my hands are like putty — much pulling will make 
 mincemeat of them. However, I'll row till breakfast; then, 
 while I'm preparing the morning meal, you shall take your 
 shift.' 
 
 At six the exchange was effected. Miss Thornton took 
 her place in the bow. Qtway proceeded to examine the 
 stores with which Bianchi's tender mercies had endowed 
 them, and which hitherto had been lying in a higgledy- 
 piggledy heap in the bottom of the boat. 
 
 "Here's what purports to be corned-beef; here's a tin of 
 captain biscuits ; and in this barrel I suppose there's water. 
 Only there seems to be no way of getting it out except this 
 bunghole, which promises waste. Now breakfast, please ! 
 Ship those oars, and fall to." 
 
 " But I've only just commenced to row." I 
 
 "Nobody denies it. You shall have your fill of it after- 
 wards, only don't keep the breakfast waiting. I'll pour 
 some water out into this tin arrangement, but I'm afraid 
 we shall have to share it." 
 
 "I don't mind, if you don't." 
 
 "You know very well that I don't mind." 
 
 He looked at her with something in his eyes which caused 
 her to pay what seemed to be an unnecessary amount of 
 attention to one of the oars. They consumed their curious
 
 IN THE BOAT 85 
 
 meal — corned- beef, captain biscuits, water — not only with 
 relish, but with what seemed real enjoyment. It was odd 
 how very much at home they seemed to be in each other's 
 society, and how willing to make the best of what — to say 
 the least — -was a peculiar position. When they had made 
 an end of eating, Miss Thornton insisted on talcing another 
 spell. She eyed Otway as he took his ease among the 
 stores. 
 
 "Why don't you smoke? Haven't you any tobacco?" 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 " They might have given me both pipe and tobacco if I 
 had thought of them, but I lacked your presence of mind. 
 You know I'm a commonplace sort of creature : you're a girl 
 in a million." 
 
 "You mustn't laugh at me ; I don't like it." 
 
 Her smile contradicted her words. Besides, he was not 
 laughing, he was admiring the deft fashion in which she 
 handled the oars. Just before he took them from her 
 again, standing on the stern seat, he took a long sight over 
 the sea. 
 
 " Sure enough it is land ; you're right again. Miss Thornton, 
 those eyes of yours are jewels. And, by George, I shouldn't 
 wonder if it's inhabited ; that's smoke, or I'm a Dutchman." 
 
 She joined him in his attempt to resolve the meaning of 
 that line on the horizon. 
 
 "It certainly is smoke; but — don't you think it's very 
 high up?" 
 
 " It does seem pretty high. Another hour's steady pull 
 ought to bring us well within range." 
 
 It was more than an hour before a suggestion came from her 
 as to the meaning of the smoke. 
 
 "There's a high hill, and the smoke is coming from the top 
 of the hill; I do believe from the hill itself. Mr Otway, do 
 you think it's a volcano ? " 
 
 " I shouldn't be surprised if you were right ; it looks as if it 
 were something of the kind." 
 
 Another hour placed the matter beyond doubt. By that 
 time they were within less than a mile of the shore. A pre- 
 cipitous coast, for the most part, it seemed to be, although 
 here and there trees covered the shelving cliffs almost to the 
 water's edge. So far as they could see there were no signs 
 of human habitation. Inland there rose what now appeared
 
 86 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 to be a positive mountain ; it towered far up towards the sky. 
 Not from the summit itself, but from very near, on the side 
 opposite to that on which they were, smoke was ascending : 
 for several minutes together in thin, filmy wreaths, then in 
 huge, black masses which obscured the heavens. Mr Otway 
 observed this latter display with something approaching to 
 uneasiness. 
 
 "A volcano, beyond a doubt, and showing a disposition to 
 be active. There seems to be nothing to discern of anything 
 in the shape of a human population. The question, therefore, 
 arises, shall we try to land, or shall we give the place — which 
 I, for one, don't like the look of — a wide berth, even at this 
 eleventh hour, and trust to be able to find more hospitable 
 quarters farther on ? " 
 
 "After our pulling and pulling and pulling? No, thank 
 you. My hands are like yours, they're softer than I thought. 
 Soon we shall both of us be nothing else but blisters. We 
 failed to make an impression on that horrid steamer last night 
 but we won't lose an opportunity of getting on to dry land ; we 
 might have to go a thousand miles without meeting with any 
 more. I've never seen a volcano, e.xcept in pictures. I'm most 
 anxious to make the acquaintance of a real one. As for 
 population, there may be all sorts of people whom we can't 
 see. My chief fear is that they may be savages, or belong to 
 a class whose society we would rather be without." 
 
 Otway laughed. The tone in which she spoke suggested 
 that she regarded the whole proceeding as a glorified picnic. 
 It was not for him to point out to her that there was another 
 side to the shield : it would probably force itself upon her 
 attention quickly enough. 
 
 " I can't give even a reasonable guess at our exact latitude 
 and longitude, but I don't think there's much fear of our 
 encountering savages. So here's for a try to find a landing- 
 place."
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE ISLAND 
 
 HE only had to row straight on to succeed in doing that. 
 He beached the boat on level, sandy ground, on which 
 the pair had no difficulty in dragging it up beyond what 
 appeared to be the reach of the waves. At that point the 
 cliffs declined so as to form a natural valley. Together they 
 moved away from the sea. Tropical vegetation came right 
 down to the point where the shore met the land, growing so 
 closely as to form what seemed, at first sight, to be an 
 impenetrable thicket. When they perceived this to be the 
 case they paused to consider the situation, Otway being the 
 first to speak. 
 
 " This doesn't look very inviting. Which is the way in 
 I wonder ! Can you see any sign of a track ? Not much 
 promise of civilisation there." 
 
 " No; but there's promise of mystery, of this being the 
 abode of romance, of those fairies which have deserted their 
 English haunts. In that wilderness of greenery they should 
 be at their ease, as in England in days of old. As for track, 
 I don't believe there is one. We shall have to cut one with 
 our pocket-knives." 
 
 " I presume that the fact that I don't possess a pocket-knife 
 doesn't count. I fancy that the trees don't seem quite so 
 dense on the cliff on our right. Let's try a little exploration in 
 that direction." 
 
 He led ; she followed. At the point to which he had 
 referred the growth was less dense. It was possible, but 
 only just possible, to force a way through the trees, shrubs, 
 creepers, climbing plants, which had become so interlaced 
 as to form a kind of network. So dense was the foliage over- 
 head that where they were all was in strange, mysterious 
 shadow. Progression involved no slight labour. The heat 
 was great. There arose an unpleasant odour from the rank 
 vegetation. Before they had gone forward many minutes 
 Miss Thornton began to have enough of it. 
 
 87
 
 88 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 "Shall we ever find an end to this dreadful place? 
 Wouldn't you like a little fresh air? We might be miles 
 away from the sea. I can hardly breathe." 
 
 "It is a trifle sultry. It reminds me of an orchid-house, 
 only it's a great deal closer." 
 
 " I don't like orchid-houses, thank you, nor the atmosphere 
 of any kind of greenhouse. If you please, I'd rather go back, 
 if you don't mind, to where we can taste the fresh air from the 
 sea." He hesitated, as if doubting what to do. "Well — shall 
 I lead the way back, or will you ? " 
 
 " You, by all means, if you know which is the way back ; 
 I'm beginning to wonder if I do." 
 
 " Mr Otway ! " 
 
 " I'm afraid that we haven't been very wise ; and that I, in 
 particular, have been a first-class fool. A maze is nothing 
 compared to this; we ought to have looked out for landmarks. 
 In which direction would you say the sea is ? " 
 
 " I haven't the least idea." She was looking about her with 
 startled eyes. " You don't mean to say that we're lost in this 
 dreadful place ? "' 
 
 " We can scarcely be lost ; it's only a little bewildering, 
 that's all. I propose that we press on." 
 
 " Then press on ; but what do you call pressing on ? " 
 
 " Well, I think we were going this way when we stopped." 
 
 " Then let us keep on that way ; any way's better than 
 standing still." 
 
 They again moved forward, for, as it appeared to them, an 
 interminable length of time. The ground became uneven ; it 
 rose and fell ; it was hard to keep a footing. The sense of 
 mystery, of darkness, grew more and more. Climbing plants, 
 lacing tree to tree, formed impenetrable barriers. They pro- 
 gressed in corkscrew fashion, winding in and out as best they 
 could, all sense of direction gone. Here and there monstrous 
 ferns, coarse grasses, enveloped them on every side, rising 
 high above their heads, so that they bade fair to be choked 
 among their roots. So far they had encountered no living 
 creature except themselves. Suddenly, however, something 
 moved, as it seemed, from underneath their feet. 
 
 " What was that ? " cried the girl. " Oh, Mr Otway, I believe 
 it was a snake ! " 
 
 " Whatever it was, it was afraid of us." 
 
 The same thought had occurred to her. Although his
 
 THE ISLAND 89 
 
 actual knowledge of the subject was «//, he was conscious 
 of a feeling that this was the sort of nightmare forest in 
 which serpents might be expected to breed. The presence 
 of the moving thing seemed to have affected Miss Thornton 
 more than anything which had gone before. She spoke as if 
 she gasped for breath. 
 
 " How long — do you think — we shall be — before we get 
 out — of this dreadful place ? " 
 
 " Not long now, I hope. Bear up a little longer, and I shall 
 say you're a girl in a billion." 
 
 " It's not easy — to bear up." 
 
 It was not easy. More than once she was in danger of 
 breaking down. He had continually to encourage her, 
 though he was badly in need of encouragement himself. 
 Fortunately, there were no further signs of their causing 
 disturbance to any living thing. Spent, torn, filthy, they 
 struggled on through the trap into which they had so 
 inadvertently strayed for what seemed hours, until Mr Otway 
 suddenly cried : 
 
 " Look ! There's light ahead ! It's the sea ; or, if it isn't 
 the sea, please goodness it's the end of this." 
 
 With renewed energy they struggled on to where the sun- 
 light could be seen glancing through the vista far in front. 
 It was not the sea, but it was the end of that vegetable 
 tangle. So soon as they were out of it the girl sank exhausted 
 on the ground. With his coat sleeve he wiped the sweat off 
 his cheeks and brow, trying to smile at her. 
 
 " Tired ? It was pretty bad, wasn't it ? " 
 
 " It was like some horrid nightmare ; I don't believe I 
 could have kept up much longer. But now where are 
 we?" 
 
 To judge from appearances, they had not reached very 
 desirable quarters yet. They seemed to have found an open 
 space in the heart of the jungle — an abode of desolation on 
 which even tropical vegetation refused to grow. It was as if 
 some devastating blight had claimed it for its own. The 
 ground was bare of covering. Shut in by trees on every side, 
 the atmosphere was not much more invigorating than in the 
 forest itself. Otway felt, as he looked about him, that it was 
 not a place which one could love. 
 
 " We don't appear to have struck oil now to any extent. 
 The most favourable remark I can make is that over there
 
 90 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 the forest does seem thinner, and that there is the promise of 
 some sort of a path. Shall I go forward and investigate?" 
 
 " And leave me here ? No, thank you." She was on her 
 feet in an instant. "This place isn't much better than where 
 we've just come out of. \Vhere you go I will go, with your 
 permission." 
 
 "There's no such haste. Hadn't you better rest a little 
 before you go on again ? " 
 
 "There is haste; and I don't want rest. I don't want any 
 rest till we're back to the sea. I'd sooner be on the sea for 
 ever than here for a single day." He laughed outright at 
 what seemed to him to be feminine exaggeration. She turned 
 to him in sudden anger. "Why do you laugh at me? I 
 mean what I say. You mustn't laugh here, in this place of 
 evil ! What is that on that tree over there, the one which 
 looks as if it had been struck by lightning?" 
 
 Otway had been wondering himself. Together they went 
 to see. Against the trunk of what was but a mere torso of a 
 forest giant a board had been nailed, on which, in rude 
 letters, which had apparently been burnt into it, was this 
 inscription : 
 
 "This is the Gate of Hell! Avoid it if you would 
 
 FLEE FROM EviL ! " 
 
 It was a startling legend to encounter, unawares, in such a 
 place. As she read it the girl came closer to the man, 
 nestling to his side, slipping, as if unconsciously, her arm 
 through his. He felt that she was trembling. Her voice 
 sank nearly to a whisper. 
 
 " What does it mean? Then there is some one here beside 
 ourselves. I wonder who. What a dreadful thing to put 
 upon that board ! " 
 
 "Evidently there has been some one here; but whether 
 there is any one now is another question, as to which I'm 
 doubtful. It's a long time since that board was put up there. 
 The lettering's faded, the nails which attach it are rusted, 
 they're sagging out of the tree." 
 
 She gave a little cry. 
 
 " Mr Otway, there's some one lying under those trees now, 
 asleep ! " 
 
 He looked where she was pointing. There, in plain sight,
 
 THE ISLAND 91 
 
 was the figure of a man recumbent on the ground. His back 
 was towards them. Otway raised his voice to a shout. 
 " Hi ! you there ! hollo ! " 
 
 No answer was returned. The figure did not move. 
 " He's sleeping very soundly," said the girl. 
 " Not so sound but that, if he is asleep, we'll wake him." 
 They crossed to the silent figure. Otway, stooping down, 
 laid his hand upon the sleeper's shoulder. As he did so, the 
 figure seemed to crumble ; all at once the patchwork suit of 
 clothes was empty. With an exclamation he started back. 
 " My God ! it's a skeleton ! " 
 "A skeleton!" 
 
 The girl's voice echoed his amazement, his horror. It was 
 a skeleton, which, owing to some freak of nature, had hung 
 together inside the clothes until Otway, by applying pressure, 
 had dissolved it into separate bones. When they looked 
 more closely they perceived that a scrap of paper was pinned 
 to the fragments of what once had been a jacket. On it were 
 scrawled some almost illegible words which Otway with diffi- 
 ulty deciphered. 
 
 "This is John Cleaver who went mad and died 1863." 
 " Forty years ago ! For forty years he has lain there, sleeping. 
 Went mad and died ? I shouldn't be surprised if it were he 
 who put up that board. I wonder who pinned this paper on 
 to his coat, and why that person didn't bury him. There's 
 a mystery here which might be worth unravelling." 
 
 "Come away ! or I also shall be in danger of going mad." 
 The words were scarcely spoken when there came a sound 
 as of many thunderclaps ; the ground shook under their feet, 
 the sky was obscured. She clung to him, screaming. For 
 some moments he himself was at a loss as to what had 
 happened. As, by degrees, it dawned on him he strove to 
 comfort her. 
 
 " It's all right ! It's only the volcano making what I take 
 to be one of its periodical remarks. It is its tendency to 
 behave in this sort of way which explains, I fancy, that singular 
 statement which is on the board there, that this is the gate of 
 hell." 
 
 How he got her out of that place of desolation, through 
 that labyrinthine maze born of tropic prodigality, back to 
 the sound and sight and taste of the sea, he could not after- 
 wards have told; and she never knew. Sometimes he led
 
 92 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 her, as if she were a child, by the hand ; sometimes he dragged 
 her through obstacles it was impossible to surmount ; some- 
 times he bore her in his arms. Luckily the forest, on the 
 side on which he now attempted it, was less dense than at 
 first, or he would have had to give up the struggle long before 
 the end. When, at last, he found himself clear of the trees, 
 under the open sky, he was reeling like a drunken man. He 
 was carrying the girl. His first thought was for her. He laid 
 her down on the ground as tenderly as if she had been some 
 tiny child. Then., sinking like a log at her side, before he 
 knew it he was asleep. 
 
 She was first to awake ; starting up as if in sudden alarm ; 
 looking about her, in doubt as to where she was. She was 
 lying on what was apparently almost the edge of the cliff; in 
 front, far below, was the sea. Strange noises were in her 
 ears ; the earth was shaking ; dense masses of smoke hid the 
 heavens. Beside her lay her companion, still sound asleep — 
 torn, travel-stained, bedraggled almost beyond recognition. 
 
 "Mr Otway!" she cried. "Where are we? where's the 
 boat ? " 
 
 He instantly sat up as she pronounced his name. Then, as 
 a perception of his surroundings returned to him, he raised 
 himself to his feet, stretching his limbs like a giant refreshed. 
 
 "I rather fancy that I've been dozing; I'm feeling all the 
 better for it. And you ? " 
 
 " I also have only just woke up. Where are we ? How did 
 I get here ? " 
 
 " I've an idea that I carried you, at least now and then," 
 
 "Carried me? You couldn't! You must be nearly dead ! 
 I'm so heavy." 
 
 "I don't think I'm nearly dead; and there was no other 
 way." 
 
 " But where's the boat ? The volcano's in eruption ! " 
 
 " I've no notion what is the name of the volcano whose 
 habitation we have struck, but I'm inclined to the opinion 
 that it's his custom to go on like this. As for where the boat 
 is, we oughtn't to have much difiiculty in finding that out." 
 He looked over the top of the cliff: "It strikes me that a 
 little farther on it would be easy to scramble down to the 
 beach. There appears to be a belt of dry land between the 
 cliffs and the sea. It might be better to get back to the boat 
 by the shore than to attempt to return by way of the forest."
 
 THE ISLAND 93 
 
 " The forest ! I would sooner stay here for ever than try to 
 get back by the forest ! " 
 
 They scrambled down, as he had suggested, on to the 
 shore, experiencing no difficulty in returning by it to where 
 they had left the boat. Miss Thornton was for getting into it 
 at once, and putting off, at any risk, from that inhospitable 
 place. But Mr Otway was against her. He pointed out that 
 the wind was rising ; that there was a prospect of more dirty 
 weather being close at hand ; that so small a craft could not 
 be expected to live in anything like a heavy sea. Temporarily, 
 at least, they were safe where they were. They had firm land 
 beneath their feet ; probably as much chance of catching the 
 attention of passing vessels as if they were afloat. While, if 
 they got afloat again, not having the vaguest knowledge of 
 their whereabouts, they could only drift aimlessly hither and 
 thither ; they could not know which course to steer, nor how 
 to bring themselves within reach of the ocean highway. 
 
 Perceiving the relevancy of his arguments, she fell in with 
 his ideas. They found irregularities in the face of the cliffs 
 which afforded rudimentary shelter. Here they carried their 
 scanty stores, in the hope that they would be kept both dry 
 and cool. At one point there was an abrasion, or rent, in 
 the surface of the rock, which amounted to an actual cavern — 
 of small dimensions, truly — but still large enough to serve as 
 sleeping chamber to a single lady. Here Miss Thornton 
 established her night-quarters. The cave, which was some 
 ten or twelve feet above the shore, was reached by a sloping 
 shelf, which formed a natural, if somewhat slippery, footpath. 
 Mr Otway slept below, in any nook he at the moment fancied. 
 And sometimes, in wakeful mood, he would keep watch and 
 ward over the lady in her nest above. 
 
 In this remote corner of the world these two persons spent 
 three weeks ; shorter weeks than some might suppose. Not 
 always in the same spot, for by circumnavigating it in their 
 boat they ascertained that the place was an island. The 
 complete circuit occupied four days and they returned to 
 their starting-point almost with a feeling that they were coming 
 home. Besides establishing the fact that they were on an 
 island they had acquired two other pieces of information : 
 one, that the island was fertile on one side only — that on 
 which they were ; on the other the volcano had worked 
 wholesale destruction. The mouth of the crater was on that
 
 91 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 side of the mountain. Seemingly it was, more or less, in 
 continual eruption. An unending stream of lava, now so 
 slight as to be scarcely perceptible, now rising to a torrent, 
 was pouring down the slope, stretching out on either hand, 
 carrying ruin and death wherever it went. The second item 
 of information was to the effect that, as they had surmised, 
 the island was uninhabited. It was hardly likely that any 
 person, or persons, would choose, of their own free will, so 
 insecure and solitary a dwelling-place. They could discover 
 no signs that any one ever had lived there ; though, at times, 
 their thoughts recurred to the skeleton under the trees. 
 
 Elsie Thornton's petticoat — it soon became, with George 
 Otway, a habit to address her by her Christian name, which, 
 the lady owned, was Elsie — floated from the top of the highest 
 tree. It was intended to be a signal of distress ; but whether 
 it would convey that impression to a passing ship was a point 
 on which they were not agreed. 
 
 Their chief anxiety at the moment was caused by the 
 rapidity with which their stock of food diminished. Sufficiently 
 scanty to commence with, husband it as they might, it ap- 
 proached extinction with alarming haste. Their appetites — 
 to make matters worse — seemed to be preternaturally large. 
 They found the coarsest food not unworthy their attention : 
 they always wanted to be eating. They resorted to fishing as 
 a means of replenishing their larder. Elsie constructed two 
 lines of amazing ingenuity out of materials which came she 
 best knew from where. They used for baits, first, scraps of 
 their own food, and, afterwards, fragments of the fish they 
 caught. For they did catch fish — and in abundance, as a 
 little distance from the shore they came upon a fishing ground 
 into which they had only to drop their lines to pull out prizes. 
 
 Miss Thornton had brought with her, from the Queen of the 
 Seas, a box of matches — an unusual thing for a girl to carry — 
 but it turned out to be their most precious possession. It was 
 an ordinary penny box of so-called wax vestas. At the time 
 they examined it, it contained seventy-two ; for, realising their 
 capital importance, so that they might know precisely where 
 they stood, they proceeded there and then to count them. 
 Never were matches handled more gingerly or used less 
 wastefully. When they had once lighted a fire — which they 
 found it not easy to do, the materials they were compelled to 
 use being slow of ignition — they kept it going, so far as they
 
 THE ISLAND 95 
 
 were able, both by night and day. It was more likely to 
 attract curious attention, especially at night, than the garment 
 on the tree top. By means of it they cooked their fish ; 
 within sight of it, when the darkness fell, they would sit and 
 talk. How they talked ! What inexhaustible topics of con- 
 versation the girl and the man had the good fortune to light 
 upon. Neither ever seemed to weary of the sound of the 
 other's voice. It was passing strange. 
 
 Water was another source of trouble. At the beginning 
 they managed pretty well. A tiny runnel, rather than a 
 stream, trickled down over the cliff a few yards from where 
 they had pitched their tent. Discovering it, Otway hollowed 
 out a sort of basin in which it could collect in sufficient 
 quantities to be of use, and therein it kindly collected. It 
 had not the pleasantest taste — showed, indeed, a disposition 
 to be brackish— but sometimes they would boil it in an empty 
 beef tin, when, having cooled, it became quite drinkable. 
 Still, there was no disguising the truth that it was never quite 
 the sort of water one would choose to drink. And, presently, 
 it changed, in every way for the worse. Possibly the constant 
 state of excitement in which the volcano lived injuriously 
 affected its constitution, for the smoky monster was never 
 really still ; indeed, he grew daily more demonstrative. And, 
 though the girl and the man had become, in a measure, re- 
 conciled to its curious methods, there came a night when they 
 thought that there was an end of all things. 
 
 In the morning the stream was dry : there was not a drop 
 of water to be had. 
 
 The girl, roused by the tumult of the volcano's fury, 
 objecting to the sulphurous fumes which were entering her 
 rocky sleeping chamber, in the darkness came running down 
 the slippery footpath which led to where the man was waiting 
 and watching on the shore beneath. As she came she 
 stumbled ; and, as she stumbled, she sprained her ankle. In 
 the morning not only was she unable to move, or even stand, 
 but the ankle itself was swelled in a sufficiently ugly fashion. 
 The only remedy which was within their reach was a cold- 
 water bandage ; and there was no water. 
 
 Nor was water wanted for the lady's foot alone ; they were 
 both badly in need of it to drink. Although the first violence 
 of the eruption had perceptibly lessened, it still continued. 
 The air was full of fine, impalpable ash, which got into the
 
 96 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 throat, provoking thirst. The pain which the girl was suffering 
 resulted in sHght fever. She kept asking for something to 
 drink. At last, succeeding in overcoming her not unnatural 
 reluctance to be left alone he succeeded in persuading her to 
 allow him to go in search of water. Carrying her, at her own 
 request, into the shallow recess which they used as storehouse ; 
 making her as comfortable as the conditions permitted, off he 
 started. 
 
 " Don't be a second longer than you can possibly help ! " 
 she pleaded. 
 
 " Not a second ! " he assured her. 
 
 At the same time both he and she were aware that his 
 absence might of necessity be a somewhat prolonged one. 
 
 He took with him their two largest empty tins. As to the 
 exact neighbourhood where water was to be found he was 
 wholly at a loss to decide. Her experience on the day of their 
 landing had made on Miss Thornton such an impression that 
 the interior of the island had remained practically unexplored. 
 They had looked about in the immediate locality of their 
 camping place for a stream which could be substituted for 
 their original brackish supply, and had looked in vain. 
 Beyond that perfunctory search their explorations had not gone. 
 
 Otway had a vague notion that at a spot about a couple of 
 miles away what he sought for might be found. When on 
 their voyage of circumnavigation he had noticed, on a low- 
 lying stretch of land, what had struck him might be a stream. 
 Reaching the point in question he found that in part he had 
 been right : there was what evidently had been the bed of a 
 stream ; but, where it ought to have run into the sea, the bed 
 was dry. It occurred to him that, if he walked along it, nearer 
 the source he might still find water. He was encouraged in 
 this hope by the fact that, when he had gone some little dis- 
 tance, the hitherto dry bed grew damp and miry. Increasing 
 his pace he pressed more eagerly on. Presently the stream 
 began twisting in and out amid vegetation which became 
 momentarily denser. Signs of water became perceptible, 
 but as yet what there was was more suggestive of slime than of 
 anything fit for human consumption. On and on he went. 
 At last his perseverance was rewarded. For some time the 
 water had been growing more like water and less like slime, 
 until all at once he came upon a broad pool, of an inviting 
 depth, and of a delicious clearness.
 
 THE ISLAND 97 
 
 He dipped in one of his tins, and drank. It tasted to him 
 Uke nectar — cool, sweet, refreshing. Filling both tins to t he 
 brim he prepared to return. But, glancing round, he saw, 
 in a clear space on the other side of the pool, what seemed 
 to be a hut, formed of branches of trees, and rough unhewn 
 logs. He hesitated, then crossed to see what it might mean. 
 As he went his foot struck against something which was lying 
 on the ground. It was a human skull, blanched by time 
 and exposure until it had become almost as white as snow. 
 A little beyond was a rusty metal box, resting on what was 
 apparently the skeleton of a hand, as if its dying owner had 
 gripped it to the last. Attached to the handle was a strip of 
 paper, on which was written, in characters which had become 
 almost illegible : 
 
 " I, Ebenezer PuUen, of Hull, in the county of Yorkshire, 
 give and bequeath this box, with its contents, to whoever finds 
 it, 1865." 
 
 The box itself came open as George Otway raised it. A 
 hasty glance sufficed to show him that it apparently contained 
 bank-notes of different countries, and varying values. He 
 thrust it into the bosom of his blue-serge jersey. 
 
 By the time that he returned to their camping-place he had 
 probably been absent at least four hours. Regard for the 
 precious contents of his two tins had prevented his making as 
 much haste as he might have done. As it was, not a little of 
 their contents had been spilled ; the length of the way, its 
 difficulties, the nature of the receptacles themselves, made it 
 impossible for him to prevent what, under the circumstances, 
 was a cruel amount of waste. As he approached their camp- 
 ing-ground he quickened his pace ; calling out to Miss Thornton 
 to advise her of what he knew would be his welcome return. 
 
 " Here I am at last ! with water too, the best and sweetest 
 you ever tasted ! " 
 
 No answer was returned. With sudden anxiety he pressed 
 forward to the recess in which he had laid her. It was empty. 
 Supposing that, growing weary of waiting, having recovered 
 sufficently to enable her to move, she had ascended to her own 
 particular cave, he ran up the footpath, calling to her as he 
 went : 
 
 " Elsie ! Elsie ! Where have you hidden yourself? " 
 
 There was no one there. He stared about him in stupid 
 bewilderment. Then he hurried back to the shore, looking
 
 96 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 for her here and there ; shouting all the time, over and over 
 again : 
 
 " Elsie ! Where are you ? " 
 
 It was a question to which he was to receive no answer. 
 For hours he went this way and that ; back and forth ; up and 
 down ; screaming himself hoarse. She was to be seen no- 
 where : had left no sign that she had ever been. 
 
 During his absence in search of the water of which she had 
 stood in such imminent need she had apparently been spirited 
 off the face of the earth.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE FELLOW-PASSENGER 
 
 ONE of the passengers on the mail steamer Cormorant, 
 who were endeavouring, with the aid of their marine 
 glasses, to make out as much as possible of the volcanic 
 island which they were passing on their port side, thought 
 that he saw a figure standing close down to the water's edge. 
 When he announced his discovery it was endorsed by others. 
 The captain, from his vantage place upon the bridge, perceived 
 that the figure was that of a man, who was waving something 
 above his head. He telegraphed the order to shut off steam. 
 A boat was launched ; and presently returned with George 
 Otway. 
 
 He had been more than a month alone on the island. He 
 presented an extraordinary spectacle, looking more like a 
 wild man than a civilised Christian, but he seemed in good 
 health, and, at any rate physically, none the worse for his 
 solitary sojourn. He became at once a centre of interest to 
 all on board. Responding to the captain's inquiries, he stated 
 that his name was John Lennard, that he had been a passenger 
 on board the steamship Sea Qtteen, and that it was owing to 
 a misunderstanding that he had been left behind upon the 
 island. The captain did not attempt to conceal his opinion 
 that that statement was more than a trifle curious ; but, as the 
 reserved man declined, point-blank, to add to it, and, 
 moreover, expressed his willingness, and ability, to pay for 
 any accommodation which might be given him — displaying a 
 large number of bank-notes in proof of such capacity — the 
 officer in charge of the Cormorant had, perforce, to believe as 
 much — or as little — of his story as he chose. 
 
 It happened that voyage that the Cormoranfs passenger- 
 list was almost full. There was only one vacant berth on 
 board, in a double cabin on the lower deck. For this John 
 Lennard paid the price demanded, in ancient bank-notes, at 
 which the purser looked askance. 
 
 99
 
 100 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 " These notes are as old as Methusaleh ; why weren't they 
 presented for payment years and years ago?" 
 
 ''They are part of a legacy which was left to me by a man 
 who died some time ago, and who kept all his fortune in a 
 box." 
 
 The purser eyed him fixedly for a moment or two, then a 
 twinkle came into his eyes : 
 
 " Rather a curious legacy, wasn't it, Mr Lennard ? Almost 
 as curious as the way in which you got left behind upon that 
 island. It's another curious fact that you'll have rather a 
 curious cabin mate ; meaning no offence, I should say that 
 it will be a case of two curiosities together." 
 
 George Otway — as John Lennard — understood, in some 
 degree, what the speaker meant when, in the purser's company, 
 he arrived at the cabin in which a berth had been assigned to 
 him. Although it was broad daylight the door was locked ; 
 and it was only after repeated knockings that any notice was 
 taken of their presence. Then a voice called to them from 
 within : 
 
 "Who's there?" 
 
 " I'm afraid that I shall have to trouble you to open the 
 door, Mr Colenutt. I'm the purser." 
 
 A further delay of some seconds. Then the door was 
 opened about six inches. In the interstice appeared an 
 undersized man, with short black hair, close cropped beard 
 and moustache, and a complexion so dark as to suggest a 
 mulatto. His manner was not exactly conciliatory. 
 
 "What do you want?" 
 
 "Sorry to interrupt you, Mr Colenutt, especially if you 
 were enjoying an afternoon nap. By the way, you must be 
 pretty fond of napping, since you seem never to appear on 
 deck." 
 
 " I suppose I'm at liberty to keep to my cabin, if I choose, 
 since I've paid for it." 
 
 " Certainly, perfectly at liberty ; not a doubt of it ; but now 
 it won't be your cabin only." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 In Mr Colenutt's voice there was a change of tone which 
 seemed to amuse the purser. 
 
 "Allow me to introduce you to Mr Lennard, just come 
 aboard. Since yours is the only cabin in which there is a 
 vacant berth Captain Matthews has put him down for it."
 
 THE FELLOW-PASSENGER 101 
 
 " Put him down for it ! Is this — Mr Lennard ? " 
 
 Otway had enjoyed the ministrations of the ship's barber, 
 had had a bath ; had placed himself inside clothes which had 
 been procured for him — at a price — from someone's redundant 
 wardrobe, and which did not fit him so badly as they might 
 have done. He was, therefore, a very different spectacle to 
 that which he had presented when his rescuers first found 
 him. But had he been an ogre, or a gorgon, or some fabled 
 monster, Mr Colenutt could not have regarded him with more 
 undisguised repugnance; a fact which the purser — who 
 seemed to have a vein of humour which was peculiarly his 
 own — noted with a grin which was equally ostentatious. 
 
 "This is Mr Lennard; who, I have no doubt, places 
 himself at your service. I am sure that he has as much 
 pleasure in meeting you as you have in meeting him." 
 
 If there was any pleasure on Mr Colenutt's side then he 
 concealed the fact with considerable skill. He drew back 
 with something which was so like a snarl that every hair on 
 his head seemed bristling. 
 
 " But this is my cabin ! You can't let a berth in it over my 
 head just as the whim seizes you. It was only on the under- 
 standing that I was to be its sole occupant that I took it ; 
 why, it was you who assured me that I should have it to 
 myself." 
 
 " Excuse me, Mr Colenutt, but when you came aboard, at 
 the last moment, just as the boat was leaving the wharf, and 
 asked me — as if you were half beside yourself — if there was a 
 vacant cabin, I told you there was this one. And so there 
 was this one. I wasn't to know that another passenger would 
 come aboard in mid-ocean. There are two berths in this cabin, 
 you've paid for one, and Mr Lennard's paid for the other." 
 
 "But if you'd given me the faintest hint that anything of 
 this kind might have been expected I'd willingly have paid for 
 both." 
 
 "Pity you didn't mention that before. A passenger who 
 wishes to reserve an entire cabin should say so — and pay for 
 its exclusive use — at the time of booking. It's too late to talk 
 about it now." 
 
 Mr Colenutt addressed himself to Mr Lennard. 
 
 " If you are a gentleman, sir ; if you have the slightest sense 
 of gentlemanly feeling, you will not endeavour to intrude 
 yourself where, most emphatically, you are not wanted."
 
 102 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 Compared to the other's heat Mr Lennard's manner, as he 
 replied, was calmness itself: 
 
 " It is so long, sir, since I was between a decent pair of sheets, 
 that you must show me some very sufficient reason before I 
 can consent to allow you to shut me out from what, after all, 
 is my own." 
 
 " So that's the tone you take. Very well ! You'll at least 
 stop outside till I've put away certain personal private belong- 
 ings ; and afterwards Til talk to you in a different fashion." 
 
 Before they had anticipated his intention he had withdrawn 
 inside the cabin ; shut the door, and bolted it in their faces. 
 Mr I^nnard laughed, but the purser's vein of humorous 
 perception seemed to have suddenly run dry. 
 
 " He's a cool hand ! — confound his impudence ! " He 
 hammered at the door with his fist. "Now, Mr Colenutt, 
 I hope you've got sense enough to know that this sort of 
 thing won't do. If you don't open this door at once I shall 
 have to make you." 
 
 Mr Lennard played the part of peacemaker. 
 
 "That's all right; let him store away his treasures — how 
 does he know what sort of character I am ?— then you'll find 
 that he'll open fast enough." 
 
 The forecast proved correct. Presently the door was flung 
 wide open. 
 
 " Now, sir, if you choose to intrude yourself into my cabin 
 during my temporary absence I suppose that I cannot help it. 
 I am going to see the captain. When I have explained the 
 position to him you will find that he will order you to take 
 the course which your own sense of decency ought to have 
 dictated." 
 
 The purser interposed. 
 
 " It's no use your going to the captain, Mr Colenutt — not 
 the slightest. Since this gentleman has paid his passage 
 money the captain has no more right to turn him out than 
 he has to turn you." 
 
 " I prefer to learn that from the captain's lips rather than 
 from yours : being well aware that with you the whole business 
 is simply a question of the itching palm. If I had made it 
 worth your while to keep this fellow out you would have kept 
 him out; but as I forgot to bribe you you pay me out like this." 
 
 Off strode Mr Colenutt, the purser staring after him in angry 
 amazement.
 
 THE FELLOW-PASSENGER 103 
 
 " Well, after that ! A nigger like him dares to tell me to 
 my face that I only do my duty because he didn't bribe me 
 not to do it ! That's a finisher ! I'll show him that he's not 
 the only person on board this ship." 
 
 Off went the purser after Mr Colenutt, and Mr Lennard 
 entered the deserted cabin. It was a small affair — an inside 
 cabin, inclined to be stuffy, with an upper and a lower berth, 
 and but scanty accommodation besides — probably one of the 
 worst on the ship. Apparently Mr Colenutt had been in 
 occupation of the lower berth. His sole property in sight was 
 a black canvas cabin trunk. Seemingly the rest of his belong- 
 ings were stowed away in the lockers : of which, of course, 
 hitherto, he had had the entire run. As Otway observed how 
 cramped one was for space, he told himself that it was not 
 strange that the late sole tenant resented the appearance of 
 someone else to share his quarters. If only he had done so 
 with a little more civility ! 
 
 But evidently Mr Colenutt had his own method of confront- 
 ing a delicate situation. When, after a considerable interval, 
 he reappeared, his agitation had not grown less. He broke 
 into a torrent of vituperation on the instant. 
 
 "The captain of this ship has no more sense of honour and 
 propriety than his subordinates. It seems that you are to be 
 forced upon me. Very good, then let's understand each other 
 clearly. If you come into this cabin you come as a trespasser, 
 in spite of my strongest protests, to my most serious incon- 
 venience. I warn you that I'll make you as uncomfortable as 
 you're making me ; you won't score in the end. I'll make 
 your stay here a continual misery ; before long you'll be wish- 
 ing that you had jumped overboard instead of thrusting yourself 
 where you were not wanted." 
 
 The man's anger, though real enough, seemed so futile that 
 the other laughed outright. 
 
 " You're candid, anyhow ; so now we know where we are. 
 You couldn't have given me a heartier welcome if you had 
 suspected me of designs upon your family plate. All I have 
 to do is to prepare for the good time that's coming." 
 
 Mr Lennard's levity did not tend to sweeten Mr Colenutt's 
 temper. 
 
 "You may sneer, but I shouldn't be surprised at your 
 designing any kind of robbery. I understand that you're some 
 vagabond who's been picked up from goodness alone knows
 
 104 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 where ; no doubt those with whom you were associated were 
 glad to be rid of you at any price. I protest against such a 
 person being thrust on me ; the probabiHties are that you are 
 some notoriously bad character, but I warn you that on the 
 first sign of an attempt on your part to play any of your tricks 
 on me there'll be trouble." 
 
 " I should guess that there will be trouble before that, 
 Mr Colenutt ; especially if you don't try to remember that it's 
 just as well to behave as if you were a gentleman, even if you 
 don't happen to be one. Judging by your singular conduct, 
 and still more singular language, I should say that there were 
 some very strong and curious reasons why you wish to have 
 this cabin all to yourself." 
 
 " What do you mean by that ? " 
 
 Mr Colenutt had a revolver in his hand. 
 
 " I meant e.xactly what I said. Put that weapon of yours 
 away; I'm a man of peace; but if there's going to be any 
 demonstration with articles of that kind you'll soon be a sorrier 
 man than ever you were in all your life. I repeat that there 
 must be some very remarkable reasons why you wish to be 
 your own company, or you wouldn't be making all this fuss." 
 
 Mr Colenutt fidgeted with the revolver in his small brown 
 hands, as if hesitating whether or not to use it upon his com- 
 panion there and then. On a sudden his mood seemed to 
 change : fury became passionate pleading : 
 
 " You are right ! — you are quite right ! God knows you are 
 right ! I have the best of reasons for wishing to have this 
 cabin to myself — no one could have better. I beg you to 
 believe it ! I will give you twice as much as you have paid 
 for your berth; I will give you four times as much ; I will give 
 you anything you like if you will only let me have this cabin 
 to myself until we reach Southampton." 
 
 Lennard shook his head. 
 
 "Too late. You should have talked in that strain before 
 you favoured me with examples of your proficiency in another. 
 You have been so good as to call me a vagabond ; you have 
 hinted doubts as to my honesty " 
 
 " I will withdraw them all ! I will do and say anything you 
 please if you will only let me alone." 
 
 " No doubt ; that's exactly what I feel. But it won't do. 
 Tm here, and I'm here to stay." 
 
 Recognising, probably, the finality which was in the speaker's
 
 THE FELLOW-PASSENGER 105 
 
 tone, Mr Colenutt, ceasing to entreat, returned to rage. For 
 two or three ugly moments it almost looked as if he would 
 discharge his revolver point-blank at Mr Lennard. He stood 
 glaring at the other, as if passion made him inarticulate. Then 
 his pistol hand dropped to his side. He found his voice ; 
 speaking with an appearance of outward calm which was in 
 odd contrast to his previous excitement : 
 
 "You call yourself John Lennard, I am told; though, 
 possibly, that is not your name. The captain as good as 
 admits that he does not believe a word of the tale you told 
 him ; and thinks that probably you were marooned on the 
 island on which you were found as a punishment for some 
 disreputable conduct of your own. In other words, he inclines 
 to the opinion that you are a liar and a blackguard, and — 
 maybe — something worse. This is the man whom he has 
 made a sharer of my cabin. That he is not far out in his 
 estimate of your character your own action in this matter 
 suggests. I will look out for proof that you are what at present 
 Captain Matthews only hints you are. If I find it I will have 
 you — metaphorically — nailed to the ship's counter." 
 
 John Lennard only answered : 
 
 "You queer little dark-skinned person." 
 
 The next night he could not sleep. In the cabin it was 
 close and stuffy. Longing for air he went up on deck. Lean- 
 ing over the vessel's side, he looked back over the course she 
 had come. It was a fine night ; there was a cool, sweet 
 breeze ; stars peopled the sky. He almost fancied that he 
 could see a faint gleam against the distant heavens, which 
 might have been the light of the volcano on the Island of the 
 Gate of Hell. As he thought of the days and weeks which 
 he had spent there, pondering, as he was wont to do, on the 
 mystery of the disappearance of Elsie Thornton, someone, 
 coming across the deck, ranged himself alongside. It was 
 the purser, whose name, he had learned, was Adams. Lennard 
 moved his head in acknowledgment of the other's presence, 
 but Adams was the first to speak. 
 
 "Isn't it rather late for you to be about, Mr Lennard? 
 Everyone has turned in but you." 
 
 "And you." 
 
 "And me." There was what almost amounted to an omin- 
 ous pause ; he had seemed to speak with unnecessary emphasis. 
 "It isn't my fault I'm about. Early hours suit me best. But,
 
 106 A MET AMOK Pilosis 
 
 when you're playing policeman you have to let your own tastes 
 go by the board." 
 
 " Playing policeman ? What do you mean ? " 
 
 " A nasty thing happened last night — the night of the day 
 you came aboard. There was a thief on board this ship." 
 
 " A thief? How do you know ? " 
 
 " Because somebody was robbed by him ; a lady who has I 
 a state cabin. She's one of those foolish females who won't 
 fasten their cabin doors on the inside, not even when they go 
 to bed ; the Lord alone knows why. This thief found out 
 that she was that kind of fool. He sneaked in while she was 
 fast asleep, and sneaked out with what he could lay his hands 
 upon. I tell you this in confidence, Mr Lennard. It isn't 
 generally known on board, as yet; but I thought I'd let you 
 know that it was known to me, especially as nothing of the 
 kind has ever occurred upon this boat before, so that it seems 
 odd that it should have taken place the very first night you 
 came aboard." 
 
 There could be no doubt that there was significance in the 
 purser's tone. 
 
 " One would almost think, from the way you speak, that you 
 suspected me." 
 
 " I don't know that it's got quite so far as suspicion yet, as 
 regards anyone, Mr Lennard. It's only got to wondering, up 
 to now. Only you yourself will perceive that, under the 
 circumstances, it might be just as well for you not to keep 
 hanging about after everyone's turned in." 
 
 " I can wish to escape for a few minutes from the stuffy 
 atmosphere of my cabin, and yet be an honest man." 
 
 " Of course ; not a doubt of it. Still, that thief, if you found 
 him hanging about, maybe that's the kind of talk he'd have 
 at the tip of his tongue."
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 A WILD VENGEANCE 
 
 AS John Lennard returned to his quarters below, he had 
 to admit to himself that both in the purser's words and 
 manner there had been something unpleasantly suggestive. 
 It was both odd and awkward that the robbery and his arrival 
 on board should have coincided. Situated as he was, it did 
 not need much imagination to perceive that it might easily 
 become very awkward indeed for him. On trying the handle 
 of his cabin door he found that the bolt had been slipped 
 inside. 
 
 " Calm — on my word. To the best of my knowledge and 
 believe Mr Colenutt was fast asleep as I went out. I went 
 as softly as I could ; I doubt if I disturbed him ; yet he 
 must have got up directly my back was turned, and — locked 
 me out ! As he prophesied yesterday, if he indulges in pranks 
 of this sort, there will be trouble. Inside there." He rapped 
 with his knuckles, first gently, then more loudly. Since no 
 heed was paid to his summons he began to lose his patience. 
 " Mr Colenutt, if you don't open this door at once I shall 
 rouse the ship ; I'll show you that you sha'n't keep me out of 
 my own cabin with impunity." 
 
 Apparently the threat sufficed; before it was necessary to 
 knock again the door was opened. On the threshold stood 
 Mr Colenutt, completely attired. It seemed to be one of his 
 peculiar habits to go to bed with his clothes on ; so far, Mr 
 Lennard had not seen him remove a single garment. He 
 assailed the newcomer as if he had been to blame. 
 
 " You seem., like certain birds of prey, to be fond of prowling 
 about when all the world's asleep. Last night you chose the 
 small hours for a ramble " 
 
 "Pardon me, Mr Colenutt, I fail to see what interest my 
 movements can have for you, but last night I did not move 
 out of my berth after I had once got in ; I slept much too 
 soundly." 
 107
 
 108 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 "You must suffer from a bad memory, Mr Lennard. I 
 myself saw you get up ; I saw you go out ; I saw you return. 
 When you did return, you were carrying something in a 
 pocket handkerchief." 
 
 He spoke with such an air of assured conviction that the 
 listener was staggered. 
 
 " You must have been dreaming ! " 
 
 The other's rejoinder amazed Mr Lennard still more. 
 
 " It was because some instinct told me that you might say 
 something of that kind that I made up my mind to-night to 
 prove to your satisfaction, and my own, that I was not dream- 
 ing, unless we are both dreamers, Mr Lennard." 
 
 Before John Lennard had a chance of replying, the purser — 
 still, it seemed, playing the policeman — came up to them in 
 stockinged feet. 
 
 " This sort of thing won't do, you know, gentlemen : you're 
 disturbing all the ship." 
 
 Mr Colenutt explained the position from his own point of 
 view, with instant readiness : 
 
 " The room-mate you have given me, Mr Adams, appears 
 to be a person of uncomfortably nocturnal habits. He started 
 on an expedition round the ship in the middle of last night " 
 
 " Last night ! " 
 
 The purser regarded Lennard with keen, scrutinising eyes. 
 John Lennard returned his gaze unshrinkingly. 
 
 " Mr Colenutt is mistaken. I turned in before ten o'clock 
 last night and did not turn out again till seven this morning." 
 
 The little, dark-skinned man shrugged his shoulders ; he 
 drew back into the cabin. 
 
 "Very good. Then, as I saw Mr Lennard both go and 
 return, I must have been the victim of an optical delusion 
 for the first time in my life." 
 
 The purser was still eyeing Mr Lennard. 
 
 " Do I understand you to affirm ihat you did not leave your 
 cabin last night in spite of what he says ? " 
 
 " You do. I fell asleep as soon as I was between the 
 sheets, and did not wake till I went to my bath this morning. 
 I must have been walking in my sleep if what he says is true. 
 But it isn't." 
 
 " It's odd ; and it's not the only odd thing about you, Mr 
 Lennard. Let me recommend you to turn in now, and not 
 to walk in your sleep."
 
 A WILD VENGEANCE 109 
 
 When they were alone together, John Lennard addressed 
 to his cabin mate a very candid question : 
 
 " May I beg you to inform me, Mr Colenutt, what prompted 
 the maUcious falsehood which you have just told Mr Adams ? 
 Because you know perfectly well that you did not see me leave 
 this cabin ; and that, in fact, I did not leave it." 
 
 " You charge me with malicious falsehood. After that, so 
 far as I am concerned, there is nothing to be said. You have 
 a front of brass ; but I do not intend to quarrel with you, nor 
 to bandy words. It's perfectly clear to me what kind of 
 character you are ; I warn you that I mean to make it equally 
 clear to every person on the ship. I do not intend to be 
 forced into close association with a man of your type a second 
 longer than I can help." 
 
 " I see what you are driving at ; after your frankness I could 
 hardly help but see ; but you will find that I am not to be 
 bluffed so easily as you suppose ; and I on my side warn you 
 that it is a dangerous game which you are playing." 
 
 After he had fallen asleep John Lennard dreamed a some- 
 what singular dream. He dreamed that a woman was in the 
 cabin. How she came there he did not understand ; he only 
 knew, all at once, that she was there. She stood and looked 
 at him ; her hair was hanging down her back. She drew close 
 to the side of his berth. She had something in her hand, but 
 he could not make out what it was. She leaned over him as 
 he slept, and suddenly he was overtaken by a great fear. Even 
 in his slumber he had a hideous consciousness that he was in 
 imminent peril of his life. She touched him ; and her touch 
 was so real that it banished sleep upon the instant. He sprang 
 up in his berth with so much vigour that he struck his head 
 against the woodwork above, and, falling back, lay for some 
 seconds half stupefied. When, regaining his senses, he looked 
 about him, he found that the cabin was in darkness, and that 
 all was still. But the feeling that there had been someone 
 there was so strong upon him that he switched on the electric 
 light. The cabin was empty ; the door was shut ; he saw that 
 his fellow-passenger was lying in his berth. 
 
 " It must have been a delusion ; but, upon my honour, 
 Colenutt himself could not have had a more realistic one." 
 He was thinking of Mr Colenutt's words to the purser: "I 
 could have sworn that a woman touched me ! " 
 
 The following day he was made aware of a somewhat un-
 
 no A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 comfortable fact ; that he was looked upon askance by his 
 fellow-passengers. Whoever he approached drew back. At 
 first he supposed that this must be his own fancy ; but when, 
 after the third or fourth rebuff, he perceived with what 
 generosity he was left in sole occupation of much more than 
 his share of the deck, he understood that, for some cause, he 
 was in ill odour. The matter was made still more obvious 
 after a visit with which the Captain re(|uested him to honour 
 him in his cabin. 
 
 The commanding officer's remarks, though few, were to the 
 point. 
 
 " I have no wish to pry into your private affairs, Mr Lennard — 
 you say your name is Lennard, though I am credibly informed 
 that another name was on some of the rags which you were 
 wearing when you came aboard — indeed, I am glad to have 
 been able to render you a slight service. ]^ut, since the cir- 
 cumstances under which you became a passenger on this ship 
 were of an exceptional nature, you must permit me to request 
 you to studiously observe the ship's rules : one of those rules 
 being to the effect that no passenger is to leave his cabin after 
 lights are out. You understand me?" 
 
 " I am afraid that I understand you only too well, Captain 
 Matthews ; and, in my turn, you must allow me to point out 
 that I do not recognise any authority on your part to prevent 
 my enjoying, on the public portions of the deck, the fresh air 
 all night, if it so pleases me." 
 
 " I am sorry to hear you talk like that, sir. Since you are 
 only here by my favour, on sufferance, I regret that you should 
 make it necessary for me to have to inform you that — in all 
 things — on board this ship my word is law." 
 
 The captain's words rankled. They touched that obdurate, 
 combative streak in George Otway's nature which had brought 
 him where he was, and which was yet to bring him into still 
 more uncomfortable positions. Because he was ordered to do 
 this thing — if for no other reason — he arrived at an immediate 
 resolution that he would disobey. And he did disobey. Not 
 that night ; because it chanced that he had scarcely stretched 
 himself in his berth before he was asleep ; and he neither woke, 
 nor dreamed, until the day. 
 
 The following night it was dirty weather. He turned in at 
 the usual time; but, after what seemed only a few minutes' 
 sleep, became suddenly conscious that he was wide awake ; that
 
 A WILD VENGEANCE 111 
 
 outside something like a storm was raging ; and that the 
 atmosphere of the cabin was almost stiflingly oppressive. 
 Great beads of perspiration were on his brow. Scrambling 
 out of his berth, slipping into his clothes, he ascended to 
 the deck, careless, alike, of the captain's orders, and of the 
 rushing spray which greeted him as soon as he had got his 
 head out into the open. As luck would have it, he had hardly 
 taken half-a-dozen steps when he all but collided with the 
 purser. Recognition on Mr Adams' part was instantaneous. 
 
 " So it's you, is it. I thought you were informed that it's 
 one of the rules of this ship that passengers are not allowed out 
 of their cabins after lights are out." 
 
 " If that really is one of the rules, it happens that I'm not 
 the only one who's breaking them. I fancy that my cabin 
 mate's looking for some breathable air as well as me, and if 
 you felt the temperature of the cupboard in which we're 
 berthed — I believe that we're right on top of either the furnaces 
 or the boilers — you wouldn't say that either of us was to 
 blame." 
 
 " Do you mean to say that Colenutt's about the ship ? " 
 
 " He wasn't in the cabin when I came out of it." 
 
 " Then it was he I saw go aft. There's such a sea on, and 
 it's so infernally dark, that I thought I was mistaken ; but if 
 what you say is right I wasn't. What little game is he up to, 
 I wonder, in weather like this ! If he chooses to stay in his 
 cabin all day he sha'n't come out of it at night — or I'll know 
 the reason why." 
 
 Mr Adams, grumbling to himself half under his breath, made 
 the best of his way astern ; apparently oblivious of the fact that 
 John Lennard was adding to his misdemeanour by accompany- 
 ing him uninvited. 
 
 The Cormorant was one of the few ships which, at that time, 
 had fitted up a Marconi installation. It was right aft, bearing, 
 to the uninstructed eye, but a scanty resemblance to the tele- 
 graph of ordinary life. At the foot was a small enclosure, 
 screened off from the public gaze, where the operator was wont 
 to take his stand. At night this enclosure was supposed to be 
 secured against intruders. What was, therefore, the surprise of 
 Mr Adams and his companion when, on their approach, out 
 of it there came rushing, Mr Colenutt. That he saw them was 
 obvious; but that the sight of them did not fill him with 
 amazement, or make him conscious that there was anything
 
 112 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 which required explanation in his own presence there, was at 
 least equally plain. Even the dim light could not conceal the 
 fact that he was overmastered by some strange excitement. 
 He caught Mr Adams by the arm ; his voice rising in a shrill 
 scream above the wind, the noise of the labouring ship, the 
 tumult of the waters : 
 
 " They're on board ! they're both of them on board ! It's 
 a conspiracy ; you're all of you against me ! Their names are 
 not on the passenger-list ; I've seen and heard nothing of 
 them; they're hiding somewhere; but they're on board! on 
 board ! and you've deceived me ! " 
 
 "Steady, Mr Colenutt ; not quite so much of it, if you don't 
 mind. Don't you know that the telegraph's private? What 
 have you been doing in there?'' 
 
 Colenutt seemed to be making an effort to regain some 
 semblance of self-control. 
 
 " I have been receiving a message from a friend, about 
 something which is of the first importance." Then, with 
 renewed ferocity. "What do you mean by doctoring the 
 passenger-list ? why don't the names of all the passengers 
 appear on it? Why are there concealments? " 
 
 " I should imagine, Mr Colenutt, that you can't be feeling 
 quite yourself. Do you say you've been receiving a message ? 
 Do you mean a telegram ? " 
 
 "What else? I've been in communication with a friend, 
 who has my interests at heart ; from whom I learn that they're 
 on board, both of them on board. You're all joined in a 
 conspiracy to keep from me the truth, but I've found it out 
 in spite of you." 
 
 He hurried off, disappearing in the darkness : the purser 
 making no attempt to stop him. 
 
 "Let him go; I should put him down as being more 
 than a little dotty. Didn't I tell you that in that cabin of 
 yours you'd be two curiosities together. I don't understand 
 what he means about that message. He can't have been 
 in telegraphic communication with anything human, in the 
 middle of the night, in a sea like this, and with us more 
 than a thousand miles from the nearest land ; the idea must 
 be part of his complaint. Hang me, if I like these new fangled 
 notions which are turning the whole world inside out ; before 
 some of these scientific chaps have finished we shall be holding 
 conversation with old Nick at three-ha'pence a word."
 
 A WILD VENGEANCE 113 
 
 On re-entering his cabin John Lennard found Mr Colenutt 
 poring over a passenger-hst and a plan of the ship ; apparently 
 with results which afforded him but slight satisfaction. Seem- 
 ingly oblivious of the relations which he had hitherto main- 
 tained with his cabin associate he burst into a voluble, and, 
 to Lennard, inexplicable statement of his grievances. 
 
 " I can't make it out ; there's trickery somewhere ; black 
 treachery. There's not a mention of either of them here. 
 Every cabin's occupied ; the name of each occupant is clearly 
 given ; of nine-tenths of the people I have personal knowledge. 
 Among the other tenth are none who look like them. And 
 yet, that message was not a lie : I'll stake my soul that it 
 was not a lie. They are on board ; but in what disguise ? 
 and where ? where ? " 
 
 After dinner, on the day which followed, Mr Lennard 
 was again on deck, and, as usual, alone. The unwritten 
 edict, which had put him in Coventry, was still in full force ; 
 it afforded him a grim sort of amusement to notice how his 
 advance served as a signal for other passengers to retreat. 
 The weather had changed. The sea was now as calm as, 
 twenty-four hours before, it had been perturbed. It was 
 past ten o'clock : he was just meditating an immediate re- 
 tirement to his berth, when the door of a deck cabin near 
 which he was standing was opened, and a man came through 
 it. He staggered, rather than walked down to the rail against 
 which Lennard was leaning, swaying up against it like a man 
 who was either drunk, or ill. At first Lennard supposed he 
 was the former : but after a few moments' observation he 
 concluded that that supposition was both uncharitable and 
 unjust ; the stranger was enduring mental or physical suffering. 
 It struck Lennard that this was a case in which assistance 
 might be required. 
 
 " I am afraid, sir, that you are not feeling very well. Can 
 I be of service to you ? " 
 
 The man turned to the speaker a countenance on which 
 was an expression which resembled none which Lennard 
 had ever seen upon a human face before. He was a tall, 
 slightly built person, between thirty and forty years of age. 
 He wore a dinner-jacket and no hat. He had curly brown 
 hair, and slight side-whiskers and a carefully trained moustache. 
 Not a bad-looking fellow, one fancied, in a general way. But 
 now he was shivering as with ague ; his cheeks looked drawn 
 
 H
 
 114 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 and bloodless ; his eyes were distended in a fixed, unnatural 
 glare ; the muscles of his face were twitching, his li[)s kept 
 opening and shutting, as if he were the victim of some 
 unpleasant form of St Vitus' dance. It was a second or two 
 before he seemed able to speak : Lennard watched him with 
 an uncomfortable consciousness of the extremely disagreeable 
 spectacle which he was at the moment presenting. When he 
 did speak his words were disjointed, disconnected ; convey- 
 ing an impression of distressing moral collapse : 
 
 " I'm feeling unwell, very unwell. I've had a shock, a 
 shock. I've just seen a ghost, a ghost ; the ghost of a person 
 who, to my certain knowledge — to my absolutely certain know- 
 ledge — is thousands of miles away ; and — it's unhinged me." 
 
 Evidently something had unhinged him. Mr Lennard 
 smiled, scarcely sympathetically : 
 
 "Are you sure it was a ghost?" 
 
 The stranger, clutching the rail with both hands, tried to 
 stand upright ; but there was a weakness about the region 
 of his knees which it was not nice to notice. 
 
 "Am I sure it was a ghost? Of course I'm sure. I don't 
 believe in ghosts — as such ; but this must have been a ghost, 
 or something of the kind." He looked about him in a 
 frightened, furtive fashion which suggested that he feared to 
 find his spiritual visitant still in clear sight. " Don't I tell 
 you that the person in question is thousands and thousands 
 of miles away ; couldn't be on board — couldn't be without 
 my knowing it." 
 
 "Where did you see the — ghost?" 
 
 Plainly the stranger missed the ironical intonation which 
 was in the inquirer's voice. 
 
 "Where? Looking at me, through my cabin window. 
 I looked up, and it was there. I only saw it for an instant, 
 and it — vanished. My God ! it vanished." 
 
 The speaker reeled so that Mr Lennard feared he would 
 have fallen to the deck ; but as he moved forward to catch 
 him the man saved himself by snatching at the rail. With 
 the same uncanny mixture of surprise and horror he turned 
 his head slowly round, as if fearful what his eyes might light 
 upon. 
 
 " I think I'll go and get a drink," he stammered. " It 
 might do me good : steady my nerves ; they want steadying." 
 
 On that point there could be no doubt whatever j but
 
 A WILD VENGEANCE 115 
 
 whether the remedy to which he alluded would have the 
 desired effect was a question on which Lennard had his 
 doubts : thinking it possible that the ailment from which 
 he was at present suffering was at least partly caused by a 
 too generous use of that very medicine. He watched the 
 stranger feeling his way along the deck as if the intervening 
 feet which lay between him and the cabin which he had 
 recently quitted had been hedged about by unseen dangers. 
 
 "The fellow — from the way in which he behaves — might 
 have delirium tremens," was Lennard's internal comment. 
 
 He passed into the cabin : and, within half-a-dozen seconds 
 of his doing so there came from it a sound which made the 
 watcher without hurry towards it as fast as he could move. 
 It might have been a cry wrung from someone in an extremity 
 of terror ; or in the throes of physical anguish. Heedless 
 of ceremony, without staying to knock, Mr Lennard thrust 
 open the door and stepped inside. Listinct had warned him 
 that something unpleasant might meet his eyes; but he was 
 unprepared for what he actually saw. 
 
 On the floor lay a woman : her clothes all disarranged, 
 wet with blood. 
 
 It was a good-sized cabin ; a state-room, indeed ; containing 
 a couch from which she had apparently been dragged while 
 struggling with her assailant, for the cushions had tumbled 
 off it, and she was still clutching at one with the fingers of 
 her right hand. She was a young woman, fair-haired, and 
 wore a low-cut bodice ; a fact which helped to make it plain 
 that she had been stabbed, seemingly three or four times, 
 in the region of the neck and breasts. The man in the dinner- 
 jacket was standing perhaps a couple of feet from where she 
 lay, in a crouching attitude, bending towards her, staring 
 at her as if the sight of her had for him a dreadful fascination ; 
 all the time emitting sounds like some wounded animal. 
 
 A sudden conviction swept over Lennard that the whole 
 thing had been pre-arranged ; that, from the first, the inten- 
 tion had been to throw dust in his eyes ; that the man whom 
 he had been considering with a blending of pity and contempt 
 was not only a dastard, but also an accomplished actor. He 
 had committed the crime before he had originally issued from 
 the cabin ; the ghost which he had pretended to have seen 
 was the body of this woman, which he had mangled with his 
 own hands.
 
 116 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 In full assurance that this was so, John Lennard laid his 
 hand upon the wretched creature's shoulder. His voice was 
 portentously calm. 
 
 " Don't imagine that you deceive me for one moment, with 
 your histrionics. It was you who did this." 
 
 The man turned his quivering features towards his accuser. 
 
 " I did it ? I ? My God ! " 
 
 The fellow's persistence in what the other regarded as 
 hypocrisy moved him to righteous anger. 
 
 "Yes; you did it, you! How dare you call upon your 
 Maker with your murderer's lips? If you play the hypocrite 
 any longer you'll constrain me to take the law into my own 
 hands, and wring your neck here, by your victim's side." 
 
 Indeed, he was about to take the trembling wretch by the 
 throat, when a sound behind him caused him to swing round 
 upon his heels, just in time to see a curtain moved aside, and 
 a figure emerge from the recess which it screened, the figure 
 of his cabin mate, the dark-skinned Mr Colenutt. 
 
 Although the unexpected sight filled John Lennard with 
 not unnatural bewilderment, he kept his senses sufficiently 
 to be conscious that it affected the man in the dinner-jacket 
 almost as if he had been seized by a stroke of paralysis. 
 Colenutt, on the other hand, seemed completely at his ease ; 
 much more at his ease than Lennard had hitherto seen him. 
 There was a smile on his face ; and he looked first at the 
 man in the dinner-jacket, then at Lennard, with a light in 
 his eyes, which lent to them a very singular expression. 
 
 For some seconds there was silence ; Mr Colenutt seemed 
 to be enjoying the situation too much to wish to do anything 
 which might tend to bring it to a premature conclusion. So 
 that Lennard was the first to speak. 
 
 " What are you doing here ? " 
 
 "Ask him; he'll tell you." 
 
 Colenutt pointed to the man in the dinner-jacket with a 
 hand in which there was a strip of polished steel, which John 
 Lennard realised, with an odd sensation of disgust, was 
 smudged with blood. Lennard questioned the gentleman 
 referred to, as instructed : 
 
 "What does he mean? what is he doing here? what has 
 this man to do with you ? " 
 
 Mr Colenutt echoed the latter part of this inquiry in tones 
 of mockery.
 
 A WILD VENGEANCE 117 
 
 " That is the very gist and marrow of it all ; what has this 
 man to do with you ? " 
 
 From the person to whom the query was addressed there 
 only came some gibbering words by way of answer. 
 
 " It's a ghost ! a ghost ! " 
 
 Mr Colenutt laughed outright. 
 
 " I'm a ghost ! a ghost ! That's the crown and climax of 
 it all ? " 
 
 He threw his hands into the air— the blurred strip of steel 
 flashing as it went — with a gesture which denoted genuine, 
 if saturnine amusement ; then addressed himself to Lennard ; 
 there being something in his manner and his words, and the 
 effect which they both had on the man in the dinner-jacket, 
 which suggested to his cabin mate a cat playing with a mouse : 
 
 " To you, sir, I shall have the pleasure, and the honour, of 
 making all necessary explanations ; I assure you that no ex- 
 planation is required by the person behind you. He already 
 understands quite well ; as you have only to glance at him to 
 see. Although, for the moment, he is a little tongue-tied, his 
 looks are eloquent. You ask what have I to do with him. 
 I will tell you in a single sentence : I am his wife." 
 
 " His wife ! " 
 
 " His wife." 
 
 The pseudo Mr Colenutt raised his right hand : brushed 
 something from his face, with some appearance of difficulty ; 
 withdrew something from his head, with one quick move- 
 ment; moustache and wig had vanished, a mass of black 
 hair had tumbled loose, and there, in front of John Lennard, 
 though still clothed as a man, was the woman he had seen in 
 his dream. The transformation was so startling, so unlooked- 
 for, so complete, that Lennard stood staring at her as if 
 spell-bound ; the woman observing his amazement with an 
 appearance of real enjoyment. 
 
 " You see, it is very simple : Now you perceive why I 
 objected with so much vigour to having to divide with you 
 my cabin. They told me, when we started, that I should 
 have it to myself ; I did not expect that we should pick up, 
 in mid-ocean, another passenger, to whom would be allotted 
 half. I beg you, however, to believe, that it was not to you, 
 personally, that I objected ; but merely to your sex. For that 
 I entertained so strong a resentment that I resolved, at all 
 and every cost, to be rid of you. I planned a little scheme ;
 
 lis A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 robbed a woman of her trumpery knick-knacks ; secreted 
 them in your berth — you will find them there ! determined 
 to fasten on you the guilt, and so be able to claim exemption 
 from your society, on the ground that you were a proven 
 thief. For that misconduct — which went no farther than the 
 inception — I entreat your pardon." 
 
 She inclined her head in a sweeping obeisance, which 
 again had in it more than a touch of mockery. When she 
 continued, although she scarcely raised her tone, she spoke 
 with an intensity of bitterness, increasing as she went on ; 
 disclosing a relentless, persistent, remoreless singleness of 
 purpose, which suggested that, for her, the boundary line 
 which marks the division between the sane and the insane 
 had some time ago been passed. 
 
 "You will understand, then, that I am the wife of the person 
 who still is at the back of you ; I have been his wife these 
 thirteen years. He won me when I was a child ; won me 
 with a lie ; oh, he lied in the first sentence which he spoke 
 to me! I have known him, from the beginning, as a liar; 
 and, afterwards, as a coward, a traitor, and a thief. It is 
 incredible that, in spite of his notorious virtues, I should have 
 continued to love the creature ; but then 1 would urge on my 
 own behalf that it is only lately I have learnt to what logical 
 lengths those virtues really went. I discovered that he was 
 carrying on an intrigue with another woman ; this time, a 
 woman after his own heart. When he found that I had found 
 him out he fled, and she fled with him ; he carrying, as ballast, 
 such properties of mine as were within his reach, so that he 
 left me nearly beggared. Almost as soon as they were away 
 I was at their heels ; and I kept at their heels as they passed, 
 like wandering pariahs, from place to place. Although they 
 did not know that I was there, for I had become a man — 
 they were not likely to connect Colenutt, the mulatto, with 
 the woman they had betrayed, fooled, ruined — still 1 fancy 
 they were conscious that a malign influence was hovering 
 close at hand, for they kept continually moving on ; until, one 
 day, they slipped clean through my fingers. 
 
 "How they managed it I don't know even now — whether it 
 was by accident or design — but I woke one morning to find 
 that they had vanished, to all seeming, into the air ; that I 
 had lost trace even of their tracks. It was only the other 
 day I heard that they had gone to Europe.
 
 A WILD VENGEANCE 119 
 
 "To Europe! Again and again I had asked him to take 
 me to Europe ; always some plausible excuse, some excellent 
 reason why our visit should be postponed to a future period. 
 But she, she had only to hint a wish for a thing : he tumbled 
 over himself in his haste to get at her. 
 
 "Within six hours I also was travelling to Europe. My 
 informant could not tell me by what boat they had booked, 
 or when ; he only knew that they had gone. When I secured 
 the last cabin left upon the Corjtiorant I did not dream she 
 carried them, they had booked under one alias ; I under 
 another ; for private reasons of our own we kept ourselves 
 inside our calains : only last night, as you know, a message 
 came to me by the Marconi telegraph, telling me that they 
 were actually within my reach. It is but a minute or two since 
 I learnt just where to put my hand upon them. I looked 
 through that window, and saw him kissing her, making love to 
 her upon the couch. I rapped at the pane. He turned and 
 saw me ; came out to see who I was, what I wanted. As he 
 went out I came in, and, I left her, where, and as you see her 
 now. She is not so full of life, and movement, nor of love, 
 as when she first began to discover how sharp a knife I 
 had. 
 
 " Would you not like to kiss her — to make love to her — 
 again ? " 
 
 She hurled, rather than addressed, this question to the 
 palsied wretch who still was cowering beside the couch ; then, 
 dashing forward, passed Lennard, and, seizing the man in the 
 dinner-jacket by the throat, began raining blows upon him 
 with her knife as fast as she could raise her hand. As quickly 
 as he could Lennard, gripping her arm, wrested her weapon 
 from her. But, by then, her victim's clothes were saturated 
 with his own blood. 
 
 " You have murdered him, you harridan ! " 
 
 " Murdered him ! I have murdered no one. I have 
 executed justice." 
 
 Before he guessed her intention she had whirled herself 
 out of his hold, and through the cabin door. He followed her 
 on the instant ; and yet was only just in time to see her 
 scramble over the vessel's side, and vanish overboard. 
 
 The action was witnessed by a score of persons. Half-a- 
 dozen life-buoys were tossed towards her into the sea. The 
 ship was stopped ; a boat lowered. But, although all possible
 
 120 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 haste had been used, valuable time had been lost ; the night 
 was dark ; in falling she might have struck against some 
 portion of the vessel, and sunk into the depths like a stone. 
 
 Certain it is that the boat returned to the ship without 
 having seen any sign whatever of Mr Colenutt.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 DAVID CURTIS 
 
 GEORGE OTWAY was contemplating something which 
 was in a glass on a table in front of him in the smok- 
 ing-room of his Liverpool hotel. He had been in England a 
 week and as yet got no farther than his port of landing. He 
 was not regarding the liquid with an air of undue conviviality ; 
 indeed, there was an expression on his face which distinctly 
 was not jovial. In fact, he was not enjoying himself so much 
 as he had intended — he had been arriving at that conclusion 
 gradually during the past seven days. When he said good- 
 bye to the Cormorant he had said to himself that now he 
 would have an excellent time ; one which, for enjoyment pure 
 and simple, would take some beating. So completely had 
 realisation fallen short of anticipation that he felt convinced 
 that he had never had a more miserable week in the whole of 
 his life. 
 
 He was homesick, positively. He thought of High Dene 
 and its hitherto unappreciated beauties with something 
 almost approaching to tenderness ; of DoUie Lee, that faithless 
 jade ; of Frank Andrews, that scoundrel of a cousin. After 
 all, he had been a bit of a fool. Why had he thrown away 
 his position ? — the grandest a man could have — for this sort of 
 thing. And he glared at the something in the glass. The 
 hue and cry after the Vauxhall Junction murderer had died 
 away ; but, no doubt, the reward was still on offer, and there 
 were plenty of people who might be able to recognise Jacob 
 Gunston if they met him face to face. Somehow, the idea of 
 that possibility did not commend itself to him at all. Then 
 there was that Thornton girl — the Elsie of that unforgetable 
 episode upon the island ; in a sense, she was the most un- 
 satisfactory part of the whole business. What had become of 
 her ? Whither had she vanished ? Why, above all ! why 
 had she left behind her so unescapable a memory ? 
 
 She occupied his thoughts in a fashion he resented. If 
 
 121
 
 122 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 anyone had hinted that she was in the neighbourhood of the 
 North Pole he would have started off in search of her to- 
 morrow. The mischief was that he had not the faintest notion 
 in what quarter it would be wise to even commence his 
 explorations ; and that angered him, because he wanted 
 her — just to talk to, to look at, and to go over old times to- 
 gether — for nothing else, he was certain. One DoUie Lee 
 was woman enough for him ; never again would he become the 
 victim of feminine wiles. Never, never, never ! Not if he 
 lived to be as old as — oh, older than Methusaleh ! 
 
 None the less, just for half-an-hour's quiet conversation with 
 the girl whose eyes were at the same time both grave and 
 smiling, he would have done about anything or gone anywhere. 
 The consciousness that he had not an inkling whereabouts to 
 begin to look for her made him — well, he had a sort of a kind 
 of feeline; that it mi<:ht relieve his feelings to some extent if he 
 were to hurl his soda-water tumbler at the first inoffensive 
 stranger who might chance to catch his eye. 
 
 The fact that a hand was suddenly laid upon his shoulder 
 made him reach forward to grab at his tumbler with a vague 
 notion that here, at last, was an object on which to vent his 
 spleen. But when he saw who the person was who had 
 touched him he relented, therein showing more sense than 
 he was himself aware of. A brown-haired youth was standing 
 at his back. He was dressed in a suit of what looked like 
 grey alpaca. The inevitable Panama hat was on his head, 
 with the brim turned down behind and up in front, quite in 
 the orthodox way. A briar pipe was between his lips. On 
 his face, in his eyes, was something which suggested that, at 
 any rate at the moment, he was much more disposed towards 
 conviviality than the man he had accosted. At first Otway — 
 whose thoughts were elsewhere — could not recall exactly who 
 he was ; then the youngster's tongue gave him the clue. 
 
 " Hollo, Lennard ! Doing the giddy all by yourself?" 
 
 George Otway remembered. The newcomer was a lad 
 named David Curtis. He had been one of the passengers on 
 the Cor??wrant, who, after the sequel of the Colenutt incident, 
 had shown willingness enough to fraternise. Curtis had been 
 born in Canada, of English parentage. His father was dead. 
 He had persuaded his mother to accede to his desire to 
 complete his education at an English university. He was on 
 his way to Cambridge — apparently still on his way. Otway,
 
 DAVID CURTIS 123 
 
 not slow to read the meaning of the something which was on the 
 young gentleman's face, thought it possible that that slight cir- 
 cumstance might have slipped his memory ; but he was wrong. 
 
 " I fancied you were at Cambridge." 
 
 " Fm down for the Long." 
 
 " Down for the Long ? What do you mean ? It's hardly 
 more than a week since I saw you." 
 
 " My dear chap, you don't understand : the 'Varsity's down 
 for the Long, and I'm a member of the 'Varsity. I've been 
 up ; entered my name on the books ; paid the necessary fees ; 
 and have become a duly qualified undergraduate of Trinity 
 College, Cambridge. So I thought I'd come back to Liverpool 
 and have a look round before going on to town. Let me in- 
 troduce my two friends, Mr Howard and Major O'Callaghan : 
 they've been helping me to celebrate. You two boys, this is 
 Mr Lennard." 
 
 Whereupon Otway learnt that the two individuals in the 
 background were the lad's associates. He had been celebrating : 
 there could be no doubt whatever about that. But if they 
 had been his assistants in the sense he intended to convey, 
 — their share of the celebration had not affected either their 
 demeanour or their appearance. Otway told himself on the 
 instant that two less desirable companions for a young gentle- 
 man who was a solitary stranger in a strange land he had not 
 recently had the pleasure of encountering. They were both 
 immaculately dressed, though there was a trifle too much 
 colour in the major's necktie and too much jewellery about 
 his person. They had the surface manners of good-breeding : 
 as Otway was soon to learn, they had well-bred voices. Yet 
 the mere fact of the company they were in spoke volumes. 
 They were both middle-aged ; had about them such an un- 
 mistakable air of being men of the world, men of the worst 
 side of the world in a moral sense, that one was driven to 
 wonder what men of their experience could find attractive in 
 the society of a raw Colonial youth ; and the answer was not 
 flattering to their standard of what was nice conduct on the 
 part of men of honour. Although young Curtis did not realise 
 that it was so, they evidently objected to Otway's looks as 
 much as he could have done to theirs. Compared to the 
 warmth of the youngster's manner their enthusiasm was sadly 
 to seek. He drew their attention to the two empty chairs 
 which were at Otway's table.
 
 1^ A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 " Here you are, you fellows, there are two chairs for you. 
 I'll get another for myself, we'll celebrate together. Hi ! 
 waiter! Hit that bell, that'll bring him." 
 
 The major laid his hand persuasively on the lad's arm. 
 
 " I don't think we'll stop, thank you, my dear David." 
 Otway wondered if they had been the companions of the 
 lad's childhood ; or, if not, how long it had taken the major 
 to reach the Christian name stage. " We shall be troubling 
 Mr Lennard ; and I would remind you that we had just 
 arranged to continue the celebration at home. Come along ! 
 it's getting late ! the longer we stop here the less time we 
 shall have to celebrate, and I'm dying for a chance of 
 showing you how that sort of thing ought really to be done." 
 
 The major had almost made a mistake in tactics. Curtis 
 showed no particular inclination to act upon the other's hint. 
 
 " No hurry, old man ! Sit down and make yourself com- 
 fortable ! Lennard's an older friend of mine than you are 
 — couldn't think of leaving him out when I'm painting the 
 town red, especially when I'm so jolly glad to see him." 
 
 Otway reflected. He had still preserved the cognomen 
 John Lennard, by which he had been known on the Cormorant. 
 If he were an older friend than Major O'Callaghan, then that 
 scarlet-necktied soldier must be a friend of very recent date 
 indeed. Since, therefore, his friendship had advanced so 
 rapidly to the "dear David" stage, it might, perhaps, be as 
 well for the older friend to keep a watchful eye upon the 
 youth, who had already been celebrating to a point which 
 he would assuredly regret when the morning came. 
 
 The three seated themselves at Otway's table, Curtis 
 ordering drinks with that air of lordly authority which only 
 a very young man can assume, and he only when the con- 
 ditions are propitious. Mr Howard and the major showed 
 themselves to be as temperate in disposing of the contents 
 of their own glasses as they were eager in encouraging the 
 lad to empty his own. 
 
 " Drink up ! " exclaimed Mr Howard, putting his lips to 
 his own scarcely touched liquor, "and let's have another. 
 You're not drinking, Mr Lennard." 
 
 "Nor are you. You apparently agree with me in allowing 
 forty-five minutes for each consonunation." 
 
 Mr Howard laughed, observing the speaker out of the 
 corners of his eyes as he did so. In spite of his air of
 
 DAVID CURTIS 125 
 
 almost ostentatious congeniality there was about him some- 
 thing which was very suggestive of looking out of the 
 corners of one's eyes : one felt, somehow, that it was an 
 act in which he was probably proficient. 
 
 " We should be a much more sober nation than we are if 
 we all did that, and this sort of place would suffer. At any 
 rate, it's not a principle of our friend's here ; he likes to get 
 through them at the rate of about twelve an hour, don't you, 
 Curtis ? Are you ready to recharge ? " 
 
 "Rather. I always want to find out if the next drink is 
 going to be better than the last. I didn't think much of 
 that last one, if you ask me. There seems to be something 
 about the whiskey which they give you here which reminds 
 you more of the chemist than of the distiller ! " 
 
 "Isn't that a fault on the right side, Curtis? They say 
 that there's nothing like medicine for doing you good, and 
 you know medicine comes from the chemist." 
 
 "Yes, my hat ! — and so does poison ! " 
 
 " I'm inclined to think, Mr Curtis, that you'll find this whiskey 
 poison. If I were you I should cease to swallow it." 
 
 "There I'm with you, Mr Lennard. You know, Howard, 
 the stuff they give you here is filthy— a headache in every sip. 
 Let's clear out of this ! My dear David, if you want to taste 
 something which does suggest the distillery you come with me. 
 I'll give you some of the finest whiskey you ever tasted : there's 
 nothing like it to be got in England." 
 
 " Where do you want me to come to ? " 
 
 The same question had been floating through Otway's mind. 
 
 " Why, to my house, my dear David. I've got a little place 
 over at Sefton Park — well, I don't want to boast, so you conie 
 and see it ; you'll find it snug enough — and Howard here will 
 tell you that I know how to treat a friend." 
 
 " There's not the slightest doubt in the world that you 
 know how to treat a friend, O'Callaghan, especially a friend 
 of a certain kind." 
 
 The sneer was so marked, so unconcealed, that nothing 
 could bear more eloquent testimony to the condition the 
 lad was in than the fact that he failed to notice it. The 
 major, more sensitive, shot a glance at his associate which 
 hinted that he probably did know how to treat a friend of 
 a certain kind; and, under a veil of elaborate courtesy, his 
 answer conveyed as much.
 
 126 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 "My dear David, Howard's quite right — quite right! I 
 do know how to treat a friend of a certain kind, and he 
 has every reason to know it too. But come ! we're wasting 
 time ; let me pay for the drinks and get out of this place, 
 I don't like it at all." 
 
 With sublime unconsciousness young Curtis suddenly drew 
 a herring across the scent which the hospitable Major was so 
 diligently pursuing. 
 
 "Are you coming with us, Lennard ?" 
 
 "Coming with you to Major O'Callaghan's residence in 
 Sefton Park? Hardly, since I have not been asked." 
 
 " Oh, that's all right ; you needn't make any bones about 
 that. The major's game to ask anyone who's a pal of mine, 
 aren't you, old chap ? Tell Lennard he's to come right along 
 with us." 
 
 Not impossibly Major O'Callaghan had had some experience 
 in the sometimes difficult art of schooling one's countenance, 
 but even he was unable to prevent his face from showing what 
 a very unwelcome proposition his young friend had made. He 
 looked at his associate — a look which was full of meaning ! 
 He looked at the lad ; he looked at the individual whom that 
 young gentleman proposed to thrust upon him in such a 
 singularly unceremonious fashion, and there was that in the 
 manner in which — after a long, steady, and not over civil in- 
 spection — he withdrew his eyes, which convinced George Otway 
 that he did not like the look of him at all. In that too friendly 
 fashion, which struck Otway as being, in a gentleman of his 
 sort, his weakest point, he laid his hand caressingly on the 
 youngster's shoulder. 
 
 " My dear David, on this occasion I want to devote my 
 whole energies to entertaining you." Otway believed that — 
 heartily. " On some other occasion I shall be only too glad 
 to have the pleasure of Mr Lennard's company ; and for this 
 evening, doubtless, he has other engagements. Come along, 
 this place is giving me a headache." 
 
 " I sha'n't go unless Lennard does. If you don't want my 
 friend you don't want me." 
 
 There was a directness about this which took the major 
 aback, and which provided Mr Howard with an opportunity 
 to show that he was a man of resource. 
 
 "That's the way to put it, Curtis : to-night we'll all keep in 
 the same boat. And, anyhow, four's better than three. Per-
 
 DAVID CURTIS 127 
 
 haps, Mr Lennard, you'll do me the honour of coming to my 
 place for a cigar and a taste of the creature. I can't pretend 
 to offer you the sort of thing my friend has, but to what I 
 have you're very welcome." 
 
 The major was quick to take the other's cue. Otway was 
 conscious that in a contest of that sort he was not likely to 
 be beaten. 
 
 " Nonsense ! I was only thinking that perhaps Mr Lennard 
 wouldn't relish such an abrupt invitation. If Mr Lennard 
 goes anywhere he comes to me ; mayn't I hope it, Mr 
 Lennard ? " 
 
 "Thank you; I shall have much pleasure in going where 
 Mr Curtis goes, if I may." 
 
 There was an intention in the words which Otway felt was 
 not lost upon his listeners, and which they did not relish, 
 though they showed no inconsiderable skill in concealing 
 their distaste. The major's manner was sugar itself. 
 
 " Very good of you to take it like that, Mr Lennard ; very 
 good indeed. Now, if we're all ready, suppose we make a 
 start. It'll have to be a question of a couple of cabs. I'll go 
 on with David in the first one, and you, Howard, follow with 
 Lennard in the other." 
 
 Again Mr Curtis was in opposition. Otway was half in- 
 clined to suspect that what he had drunk had not so much 
 effect upon him as had at first appeared, for a semi-intoxi- 
 cated man he seemed to be preternaturally keen in detecting 
 what might be at the back of the major's mind. So soon as he 
 had spoken Otway perceived that, if the associates chose, the 
 major might take advantage of the two-cab arrangement to 
 have the lad all by himself after all, and the same idea might 
 have occurred to the boy. 
 
 "No, you don't. You and Howard can go together. I'll 
 follow with my friend Lennard, if you'll tell me where we're 
 to come to." 
 
 Again the colleagues exchanged glances, which again were 
 pregnant with meaning. Once more Mr Howard suggested 
 another way. 
 
 " We'll go four in a growler : that'll be the most sociable 
 way of doing it." 
 
 They went four in a growler, though the drive could hardly 
 be described as having been quickened by the spirit of 
 sociability. So soon as they had started Mr Curtis began to
 
 128 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 demonstrate that he was passing through the usual stages 
 which mark a certain type of man who has been drinking 
 heavily : he became argumentative, cjuarrelsome, even pugna- 
 cious, showing a ridiculous inclination to rush headlong over 
 the road along which they would have been content to gently 
 lead him. 
 
 " You said you could play poker — poker ! Only this 
 afternoon you told me you could play poker." 
 
 This was to Howard who was blandness itself. 
 
 " I mentioned that I had seen the game played." 
 
 " Then I say you haven't. You can put that in your pipe 
 and smoke it. I say you haven't ! No one in England has ; 
 not poker, not real poker ! " 
 
 " Of course, we unfortunate Britishers understand that the 
 game had its origin on the other side of the water." 
 
 " Oh, you do understand so much, do you? Then you can 
 understand something else; you can understand that I play 
 poker, real poker ! Uo you doubt it ? " 
 
 " Not for a single instant." 
 
 "Because I'll just show you if you do, and I'll teach you 
 a lesson." 
 
 " I shall be very happy, Mr Curtis, to receive instruction at 
 your hands." 
 
 " Oh, you will be, will you ? Then you shall have it. I'll 
 teach you, too ! " 
 
 This was addressed to Otway, who was seated at his side. 
 
 "With Mr Howard I shall be delighted to be taught; 
 though, again with Mr Howard, I have seen the game played." 
 
 " I daresay you have ; I don't say you haven't ; you've 
 knocked about the world. But I'll bet you've never seen it 
 played as I play it." 
 
 " I think that's extremely possible." 
 
 There was a dryness about the speaker's tone which moved 
 Howard to sudden laughter, and the laughter moved the 
 young gentleman to something like wrath. 
 
 "What are you laughing at? There's nothing to laugh at 
 that I can see, unless you want to call me a liar, and if you 
 do, perhaps you'll be so good as to say so right straight out ! " 
 
 " My dear Curtis ! I was only amused at Mr Lennard's 
 modesty. He evidently doesn't need your telling to be aware 
 that you can teach him something." 
 
 "And I can teach you something too! and likewise the
 
 DAVID CURTIS 129 
 
 major ! — though you do fancy yourselves ! You're perhaps not 
 so clever as you think you are. You think you've caught a 
 flat, I know! — think I don't know? But you can take it 
 from me that, before the night's out, I'll show you you're 
 mistaken." 
 
 Otway wondered, and was inclined to doubt. On board 
 the Cormorant David Curtis had impressed him as being a 
 decent, well-bred lad, and a fairly shrewd one. But now, only 
 too plainly, decency and shrewdness had both gone by the board. 
 George Otway was disposed to ask if it were really worth his 
 while to save the hobbledehoy from being taught a lesson 
 which might do him good. Then he remembered what the 
 lad had told him — of how he had been brought up as a 
 teetotaller in his Canadian home. Evidently the ingenious 
 pair on the opposite seat had practised alike on his innocence 
 and ignorance ; had induced him to drink by concealing what 
 would be the probable result \ and this was the result. They 
 had succeeded in turning a well-behaved youngster into an 
 unmannerly boor ; had done it with an object in view. He 
 did not like the idea of leaving them at liberty to achieve that 
 object. He would baulk them, even if to do so it became 
 necessary to throw the young gentleman he proposed to serve 
 out of the window.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE HOUSE IN SEFTON PARK 
 
 THEY Stopped in front of a house which, judging by the 
 exterior, might have been unoccupied. There was not 
 a light in any of the windows ; apparently they were all 
 shuttered. The major opened the door with a latchkey. A 
 small hand-lamp burned in the hall, only just serving to 
 relieve the utter darkness. 
 
 " Rather dim in here," remarked the host. " They never 
 know when I may come home, so I tell them to only have 
 just light enough to prevent my tumbling over things." 
 
 "It looks," observed Otway, "as if everyone had gone to 
 bed. I hope we shall not be disturbing your family." 
 
 The major laughed. 
 
 " Not you ! You'd find it hard to do it — no one in this 
 house goes to bed till cockcrow." 
 
 Holding the lamp above his head he piloted the way up- 
 stairs, ushering them into a room on the first floor, at the 
 back. It was a good-sized apartment, furnished in a style 
 which nothing they had seen hitherto could have caused them 
 to expect. It was well lighted by electric bulbs ; there was a 
 grand piano; fine engravings on the walls; an abundance of 
 comfortable easy-chairs and lounges : all the appointments 
 which go to the making of a handsome room. Otway looked 
 about him, then at the host, and he smiled. The smile 
 caught the major's eye. 
 
 "This is my little place, Mr Lennard ; I hope you like it." 
 
 " Very cosy, major, and quiet. I should think that you 
 could do what you liked in here and no one would be one 
 penny the wiser." 
 
 " That's the charm of it ; in a great city like Liverpool 
 quiet's the essential thing. Now, my dear David, you shall 
 sample that whiskey of which I was telling you." He went 
 to a side table on which was a display of decanters and 
 tumblers. "There, my boy, try that ! You know good stuff 
 when you get it ; tell me if you ever tasted anything better." 
 
 130
 
 THE HOUSE IN SEFTON PARK 131 
 
 Curtis drained the tumbler which he gave him at a draught. 
 
 " Perfect ! — nectar ! — real nectar ! Major, that's worth a 
 sovereign a glass ; give me another." 
 
 The tumbler was refilled ; the three elders attacked their 
 glasses with much more discretion than the lad. The talk, for 
 a few seconds, was desultory. Then the major brought it 
 back to the point. 
 
 " Weren't you saying, my dear David, something about 
 poker?" 
 
 " I should rather think I was. I said — and I say again — 
 that I'll show you how to play poker — real poker — if anyone 
 here is man enough to learn." 
 
 "Always ready, David, to be taught something I didn't 
 know before. There's a pack of cards somewhere about the 
 place, I feel sure there is." 
 
 The major proceeded to hunt for that pack of cards with 
 an ignorance of its whereabouts which was pathetic. Here, 
 there, everywhere he had to look before he found it, the find 
 finally taking place at the back of a drawer in one of the 
 cabinets. 
 
 " Knew there was one somewhere ; was convinced of it. 
 Ah, there's two packs, that's still better ; need be no wait- 
 ing; shufile one while we play with the other. Will those 
 cards do, David, to play poker with ? " 
 
 He displayed the two packs with an air of the sublimest 
 innocence. 
 
 " Of course they'll do — any cards will do — I've played with 
 cards on which you couldn't count the pips for dirt. Look 
 here, this isn't going to be any fool game, this isn't. See 
 that ! that's money, and plenty of it — good money — and this 
 game's going to be played for money. Any man who wants 
 to play will show his money before he starts." 
 
 Curtis took out of a letter-case a roll of bank-notes. Otway, 
 who was standing near the two men, said to Major O'Callaghan : 
 
 " I need hardly point out that this lad is not in a fit con- 
 dition to play poker for any considerable stakes." 
 
 Howard immediately swung round towards the lad in 
 question. 
 
 " You hear that, Curtis ? Your friend, Mr Lennard, says 
 that you're not in a fit condition to play poker." 
 
 "I'm not, aren't I? Perhaps, Lennard, you'll tell me why." 
 
 " Because you've been drinking too much ; a fact of which
 
 132 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 those two persons are perfectly well aware, if you aren't. It 
 was to them I was speaking, not to you. If they play with 
 you in your present condition they'll be robbing you." 
 
 " Listen to me, Lennard — now you listen to me ! I've 
 been a teetotaller all my life, and this is the first time I've ever 
 been on the drink, and I'm not drunk now. I'm not too 
 drunk to play poker, and anyone who says I am is a liar. 
 Now, you fellows, are you going to play, or aren't you ? " 
 
 Howard shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " In the face of what Mr Lennard has just now said it 
 becomes rather a delicate question. Neither Major O'Callaghan 
 nor I have any wish to sit down with you at a game which you 
 are incapable of playing." 
 
 Curtis banged his fist against the table. 
 
 " Incapable of playing! Who says I am incapable of play- 
 ing? You sit down there, Lennard, and I'll show you if I'm 
 incapable of playing." 
 
 Howard struck in : 
 
 "I would prefer that Mr Lennard should do nothing of the 
 kind. Since he evidently has been drinking I would suggest 
 that he be requested to withdraw before he makes himself 
 more offensive than he has done already." 
 
 " Let me advise you, Mr Howard, that I have no intention 
 whatever of leaving this half-intoxicated lad at your mercy, 
 no matter what form your suggestion may take." 
 
 The major endeavoured to play the part of pacifier. 
 
 " Now, now, gentlemen ! let's have good fellowship, if you 
 please. Your zeal on behalf of your young friend does you 
 credit, Mr Lennard, but you are quite wrong in thinking that 
 he would receive any injury in this house. Try this whiskey, 
 and join me in drinking to a better understanding." 
 
 " Thank you ; I have tried that whiskey, and I've noticed 
 something very peculiar about its taste ; perhaps you'll drink 
 what's in that glass instead of me." 
 
 A curious look came into the major's eyes. 
 
 " What the devil, sir, do you mean to insinuate ? " 
 
 " I mean to say, Curtis, that these men are a pair of pro- 
 fessional sharps ; and if you weren't blind drunk you'd see it 
 for yourself. If they can help it they don't intend to let 
 you out of this house until they've plucked and drawn 
 you." 
 
 Howard moved forward.
 
 THE HOUSE IN SEFTON PARK 133 
 
 " If you are not careful, sir, even drunkenness shall not 
 serve as your excuse much longer." 
 
 Again the major essayed the role of peacemaker. 
 
 "Come, come! we've all of us been having a drop, that's 
 about the truth of it ; let's calm down a bit before we talk of 
 playing. I tell you what I'll do, I'll introduce the soothing 
 influence of ladies. I'll ask my wife to join us, and a young 
 lady. My dear David, the most charming girl you've ever 
 encountered, though she's a little " 
 
 He finished his sentence by touching his forehead with his 
 forefinger. 
 
 " Do you mean she's dotty ? " 
 
 " Not dotty, my dear David, anything but that ; only she 
 was the victim of rather a singular accident, of which she is 
 still feeling the ill effects. But I will fetch her, and you shall 
 judge for yourself. 
 
 So soon as the major was out of the room Curtis, who had 
 seated himself at a table, began fingering a pack of cards. 
 
 " I don't want to see any girls — my hat, I don't ! I want to 
 play poker ! " 
 
 " But your friend, Mr Lennard, says that you can't play 
 poker. He thinks that you are such an ass at it that for us to 
 play with you would be rank robbery." 
 
 " Who cares what he thinks ? — who cares ? Come on, 
 Lennard : if you're a man you'll come on, and I'll show you 
 if I can't play poker ! Here, give me some more to 
 drink ! " 
 
 " Not only sha'n't you have any more, but you sha'n't drink 
 what you have." 
 
 Taking the glass from the lad's unresisting fingers he 
 emptied the contents on to the carpet. Curtis stared. 
 
 " What did you do that for ? " 
 
 " Haven't you palate enough to perceive that the stuff^s 
 doctored ? I suspect the soda, not the whiskey, because I 
 notice that your friend the major serves us out of one 
 syphon and himself out of another." 
 
 If looks could have scorched, judging from the glances with 
 which Mr Howard favoured the speaker, that gentleman would 
 have been pleased to see George Otway turned into tinder. 
 
 " Only the fact that we both of us are guests in my friend's 
 house prevents me from breaking every bone in your body, 
 Mr Lennard."
 
 134 A METAM OH Pilosis 
 
 •' Then how fortunate it is for you that we happen to be in 
 your friend's house, Mr Howard." 
 
 "Now no fighting, no fighting! Don't 1 tell you that I 
 want to have a htlle game ? " 
 
 Just as Mr Curtis — for the twelfth time — was proclaiming 
 this fact in tones which were consideraljly abf)ve a whisper, 
 the door opened, and there stood the major, ushering in two 
 ladies. The first was a plump, black-haired, dark eyed lady, 
 who, although not in her first youth, still had not incon- 
 siderable pretensions to good looks. The second was Elsie 
 Thornton. 
 
 It was a moment or two before George Otway realised this 
 fact. Although she had been so much in his thoughts of late 
 — had, indeed, absorbed them during the earlier part of that 
 same evening — at the instant his mind was in a world in which 
 she certainly was not. Had he been invited to lay his finger 
 on the event most im[)Ossible of occurrence he might almost 
 unhesitatingly have laid it on just this thing. Therefore, when 
 he saw, following in the foreign-looking woman's wake, a 
 figure which he recognised — with what a force of recognition 
 — his inclination was to believe that the stuff which he had 
 been swallowing had affected him more than he had su[)posed 
 — that he had put into his mouth that which had the power to 
 rob him, not only of his brains, but also of his faculty of sane 
 vision. 
 
 Elsie Thornton in such a house as this — such a den of 
 robbers ! such a haunt of vice ! It could not be — the thought 
 was monstrous ; the idea of such an association too ridiculous, 
 too horrible to contemplate. 
 
 And yet — ^it was she! 
 
 And not only was it she, but she was attired with a gorgeous 
 splendour which presented her to him from a point of view of 
 which he had never dreamed. In those island days he had not 
 supposed she was so beautiful, so tall, so shapely, so instinct 
 with grace, so rich in all those physical attributes for which 
 the souls of even good women long. He had not imagined 
 that in her nature had achieved so perfect an ideal of feminine 
 loveliness. 
 
 He stared at her, spellbound, loth to believe his eyes, yet 
 finding himself more and more compelled to admit that they 
 were not lying. It dawned upon him, hazily, that the major 
 was going through a form of introduction.
 
 THE HOUSE IN SEFTON PARK 135 
 
 " Gentlemen, this is my wife, Madame O'Callaghan, and 
 this is her friend, Miss Villiers." 
 
 VilHers ? Was that the name by which he was introducing 
 Elsie ? He stood up ; something in his throat seemed to be 
 choking him ; he bowed. 
 
 " Miss Villiers " — he laid an intentional stress upon the 
 name — "and I have had the pleasure of meeting before." 
 
 Although he was not looking in his direction Otway was 
 conscious that, as he said this, a startled look passed over the 
 major's face. 
 
 " You and Miss Villiers have met before ? Indeed. Where 
 might that have been ? " 
 
 " Miss Villiers will remember." 
 
 But it seemed that that was exactly what Miss Villiers could 
 not, or would not, do. She regarded him intently, steadily, 
 as one examines a person to whose identity one seeks a clue. 
 
 " Do you say that we have met before — you and I? Are 
 you sure ? " 
 
 " Is it possible that you can have forgotten ? " 
 
 " I have forgotten ; I can't remember you at all. Where 
 was it that we met ? — and when ? " 
 
 A wave of pity, anguish, rage, swept over him. In her 
 voice, her eyes, in the whole expression of her face, he saw 
 what the fellow had meant, when speaking of her, by tapping 
 his forefinger against his forehead. Something had happened 
 to her ; something which had deprived her of that clear 
 intelligence which had been not the least of her charms ; 
 something which had left her mentally deficient, which had 
 cut her off from the girl he had known and had transformed 
 her into a different entity. In this fact lay the possible 
 explanation of her presence there, and lent to it an added 
 suggestion of hideous tragedy. He turned to the major. 
 
 " May I inquire, sir, how you became acquainted with Miss 
 Villiers?" 
 
 It was the woman who answered, Madame O'Callaghan. 
 
 " What an extraordinary question to ask, Mr Lennard, and 
 in what an extraordinary tone you put it. Why, Lottie and I 
 have been friends for years ; it is you who arc making a 
 mistake. You are mixing her up with somebody else. But, 
 come ! what are you people doing ? I thought you were 
 having a game." 
 Howard spoke.
 
 136 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 *' We thought of having a game. Mr Curtis has alluded 
 once or twice to a game called poker." 
 
 Curtis waved in the air the pack of cards which he was still 
 holding, keeping his eyes fixed upon Miss Villiers. 
 
 " Yes, poker ! it's a game for men. I want to teach these 
 fellows how to play it, but they are none of them men enough. 
 Come along, Miss Villiers ; let me give you a lesson or two." 
 
 Madame O'Callaghan laughed. 
 
 " Oh, she doesn't do anything like that, and doesn't want to, 
 thank you. She's as innocent as a baby ; aren't you, Lottie, 
 dear? We leave cards for male things — like you." 
 
 The major struck in : 
 
 " I was thinking, my dear, that perhaps Miss Villiers might 
 be induced to give us a little music before we began to play." 
 
 " Come, Lottie ; sing them something — there's a pet ! " 
 
 As the woman laid her hand upon the girl's bare white 
 shoulder a shiver went all over Otway. There was about the 
 woman just that atmosphere out of which a man would give 
 the world to keep his feminine belongings. It sickened him 
 to observe the smile with which she acceded to the other's 
 request. 
 
 "What shall I sing?" 
 
 "Oh, something brisk; one of those lively things you do 
 sing." 
 
 The girl sat down, and she sang a song which, at the 
 moment, was the rage of the music-halls. A senseless, form- 
 less, vulgar thing, into which a notorious music-hall performer 
 had breathed that wealth of prurient inference with which she 
 decorated everything she touched. The girl had a lovely 
 voice — a fact of which Otway had hitherto had no suspicion 
 — and she sang the thing with an abandon which not only 
 lent it added piquancy, but which also showed, at least to 
 him, that she was unconscious of there being about it any- 
 thing undesirable. A child might have sung it so. The 
 conclusion was greeted with applause, especially from Curtis, 
 who stamped his feet, clapped his hands, and shouted, precisely 
 as he might have done in the hall in which it had had its birth. 
 
 " Bravo ! bravo ! Encore ! encore ! Give us another like 
 it, Miss Villiers, do ! That's the sort of song I like to hear 
 a girl sing." 
 
 "It's not the sort of song which I like to hear a girl sing, 
 nor is it the sort of song which you would like to hear a girl
 
 THE HOUSE IN SEFTON PARK 137 
 
 sing if you were a little more sober, Curtis. It is not a song 
 which a girl ought to be allowed to sing ; and that you should 
 permit, and even encourage, her to sing it is a fact, Madame 
 O'Callaghan, of which you ought to be very heartily ashamed." 
 
 " Highty-tighty ! My gracious ! Did you ever ! Major 
 O'Callaghan, who is this person ? " 
 
 It seemed that, at last, the major had succeeded in losing 
 a part of his temper. 
 
 " I don't know who he is, I only know that he's a regular 
 spoil-sport. And I should like to know what the devil he 
 means by interfering with everything and everyone. I didn't 
 want him here, he knows that well enough, and the sooner 
 he takes himself off the more comfortable it will be for all 
 of us, himself included ! " 
 
 While the major glared, with the apparent, but quite futile, 
 intention of awing Mr Otway, the girl put a question to the 
 woman which served to fan the already smouldering ashes 
 into a sudden flame. 
 
 "Is there anything wrong about that song? It was you 
 who taught it me." 
 
 Madame emitted a sound which was possibly intended for 
 laughter. 
 
 " Wrong ! Stuff and nonsense ! Didn't you hear what 
 Mr Curtis said ? That's the sort of song a girl ought to sing ; 
 isn't it, Mr Curtis?" 
 
 Seemingly the young gentleman was yet sufficiently sober 
 to enable him to perceive, after due reflection, that there 
 had been something peculiar about the thing. 
 
 " Well, it was a trifle blue." 
 
 "Blue?" asked the girl. "What's blue?" Then she 
 continued, speaking to the woman : " You know you made 
 me learn the words, though I told you that I thought that 
 they were silly ; then you took me to that place where the 
 woman sang it, night after night, until I could sing it just 
 as she did, and you said that I was always to sing it when 
 there were any gentlemen in the room." 
 
 This unconscious revelation — for the girl had spoken as if 
 she were some little child — of the relations which existed 
 between the two, was more than sufficient to bring George 
 Otway's mind to the danger point. 
 
 " It is as I suspected : there's some infernal conspiracy ! 
 You've got this girl into your clutches by some means which
 
 138 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 I'll stake my life won't bear inspection ; and, for your own 
 base purposes, you're deliberately taking advantage of the 
 condition she is in to corrupt and destroy her — proposing 
 to trade upon her ruin, like the vile wretches you are ! Elsie ! 
 Your name is not Villiers ! Don't you remember what it is ? 
 Try and think, try! Don't you recollect me? and the days 
 and weeks we spent together on the island ! When I returned 
 with the water I had gone to look for, and found you gone, 
 I thought I should have none mad ; and I believe that for a 
 time I did go mad. Ever since I have been wondering to 
 what corner of the world I could hasten in order to come 
 on you again ; and now that I have come on you again, in 
 this — this dreadful place, you have forgotten who I am. 
 Try to think, Elsie, it will — it must — all come back to you 
 if you will only try to think." 
 
 It was the major who replied. The girl, with both hands 
 pressed against her temples, was evidently making a piteous 
 effort to pierce the invisible veil which hid from her the past. 
 
 " Miss Villiers does not remember you, for the sufficient 
 reason that — as you know perfectly well — she has never set 
 eyes on you before. But I'm not going to have any more 
 argument with you, Mr Lennard ; I've borne too much from 
 you already. Are you going to leave my house inside ten 
 seconds, or am I going to put you out ? " 
 
 " I rather fancy, Major O'Callaghan, that if I am to leave 
 your house without this lady you will have to put me out. 
 Curtis, aren't you going to stand by me? This lady is a 
 friend of mine whom, somehow, these brutes have got hold 
 of and mean to ruin. You can see that she's not capable 
 of taking care of herself. If you've a sister of your own think 
 what that means ! and are you going to sit still there and 
 not move a finger to save her ? " 
 
 " My hat ! I'm not ! " The young gentleman stood up ; 
 physically he was not a bad specimen of Canadian youth. 
 "If what my friend Lennard says is true, you're a lot of 
 blackguards ; that's what you are, a lot of blackguards. 
 And if you touch him you touch me ; I'm game to fight 
 the lot of you." 
 
 The major answered : 
 
 "What your friend says is not true; on the contrary, it's 
 a tissue of falsehoods. Miss Villiers is an old friend of my 
 wife's."
 
 THE HOUSE IN SEFTON PARK 139 
 
 " I've known her since she was in short frocks," interposed 
 the lady. 
 
 "As Miss Villiers?" 
 
 The question was Otway's. The lady resented it with a 
 fine show of indignation. 
 
 "Look here, my fine fellow, you seem to think you know 
 a good deal ; so perhaps you're aware that a girl doesn't 
 always want to use the name she was born with, for the 
 very good reason that she doesn't want every cad to have it on 
 the tip of his tongue. But if you won't take my word, 
 perhaps you'll take hers. Lottie, haven't I known you since 
 you were so high ? " 
 
 Madame's right hand was raised perhaps three feet from 
 the ground. Again the girl was plainly making a pathetic 
 eflfort to remember. 
 
 " I think I've known you a long time." 
 
 " You hear ? Will that do for you ? " 
 
 "It will not; because, in her present state, a week may 
 seem to her to be a long time." 
 
 "A week! Why, she's scarcely been out of my sight 
 for the last five years." 
 
 " That, at any rate, I know to be a lie ; and, as such, it's 
 further proof that she has been, and still is, the victim of 
 some villainous conspiracy. Three months ago she was 
 thousands of miles away from here, and not many weeks 
 before that she was with her father in her own home, where 
 she has resided since she was a child. I insist on your 
 giving me an exact — and accurate — statement of how she 
 came into your hands : that statement I shall at once lay 
 before the police. You will also allow her to be examined — 
 and that immediately — by medical men of my selection. Or, 
 if you are unwilling to comply with my demands, you will 
 surrender her into my charge, and I will take instantaneous 
 steps to place myself in communication with her friends." 
 
 The woman looked him up and down, as if she found 
 herself, at the moment, without any language at her command 
 which would be adequate to the requirements of the position. 
 Then she proceeded to express herself in idiomatic English. 
 
 "Well, you're a cool card upon my word! Is there any- 
 thing else you would like? — the top brick off the chimney? — or 
 the nose off my face ? — or any little trifle of that kind ? Always 
 willing to oblige, I'm sure, but you're a bit too steep ; you
 
 no A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 really are." She turned to her husband. " Do you know that 
 this fellow called me a liar ? Is that the sort of language you 
 intend to allow a perfect stranger to use to your wife in your 
 presence, Major O'Callaghan? — and in your presence, Mr 
 Howard:*" 
 
 Otway stuck to his guns. 
 
 " Don't attempt to bluff me, woman ! Are you going to 
 comply with my request at once, or am I to summon the 
 police?" 
 
 "Oh, he's going to summon the police now — he'll be 
 locking us all up next. — What do you think of this. Major 
 O'Callaghan?" 
 
 The major informed her : 
 
 " I don't think anything at all of it, and you needn't either. 
 The man's a rare old chatterbox ; but that's about all there is 
 to it. You withdraw with Miss Villiers. Miss Villiers, I 
 must apologise to you for this unfortunate, and wholly un- 
 looked-for, incident, and can only express my deep regret 
 that I should have been unwittingly to blame for it. When 
 you have gone, my dear, Howard and I will deal with this 
 gentleman." 
 
 Madame moved towards the door. Otway interposed. 
 
 " Don't you attempt, woman, to take the young lady out 
 of this room without my permission, or you will regret it. 
 Curtis, look to the door; let no one pass. Who did that?" 
 
 Someone, by switching off the electric light — without a 
 moment's notice — had plunged the room into sudden, utter 
 darkness. For a few seconds there was wild confusion. 
 Taken wholly by surprise, bewildered, Otway dashed in the 
 direction in which he supposed Miss Thornton was, only 
 to come crashing against a heavy piece of furniture and to 
 clutch with his hands at the vacant air. Startled, shaken, he 
 stood for an instant to listen, every faculty on the alert. 
 He thought that he heard the swishing of skirts upon his right, 
 and went rushing towards the spot from which it seemed to 
 him that the sound proceeded, with the result that, tangling 
 his feet in some obstacle which lay across his path, he fell 
 headlong to the floor, shouting at the top of his voice as 
 he descended : 
 
 " Confound it ! Those brutes have laid a trap ! Curtis, 
 where are you ?" 
 
 The lad's voice came back to him through the darkness.
 
 THE HOUSE IN SEFTON PARK 141 
 
 ** I'm here all right — what's left of me. Is that you break- 
 ing up the happy home ? Go easy, or you'll bring the whole 
 place down about our ears. Major ! Howard ! this is beyond a 
 joke ; let's have some Hght — where are you ? " There was 
 an interval of silence, then the youngster's voice again : " My 
 hat ! Lennard, old man, it strikes me that they've done a 
 scoot — I believe that you and I are alone in the room to- 
 gether. Haven't you got such a thing as a match upon you ? 
 — because if you haven't, why we're done — hanged if I can 
 find my matchbox anywhere." 
 
 Otway proved that he had a match by striking one. Its 
 flickering flame was enough to show that Curtis's conjecture 
 was correct, and that they had the entire apartment to them- 
 selves ; the quartette had slipped out of it under cover of the 
 sudden darkness. Otway recognised that it was so with much 
 dissatisfaction. 
 
 " I'm hanged if they haven't tricked us ! One of the men 
 turned off the light, and the wom in spirited Elsie out of the 
 room under our very noses. You can bet your life that 
 they've played this trick before ; they've brought it off too 
 neatly for it to be a first attempt. This is a pretty hole in which 
 you've landed me and a pretty den you've brought me to." 
 
 " I brought you's good — you would come." 
 
 "Oh, confound all that, don't make a bigger ass of yourself 
 than you've done already. They can't have got far away ; 
 we ought to have them yet. This match is burning my fingers. 
 Where's the switch for that electric light ? " 
 
 "That's more than I can tell you — hght another." 
 
 Otway lit another. Curtis moved to the door. 
 
 " I believe they've locked us in." 
 
 " Locked us in ! " Otway rushed to him, to find that the 
 door opened readily enough. "You turned the handle the 
 wrong way, or something." They were standing on what they 
 perceived, by the hght of the match, to be an uncarpeted 
 landing. "I shouldn't be surprised if the one we've just 
 come out of is the only room in the house that's furnished. 
 We've landed ourselves in a regular pirate's lair. I noticed as 
 we came up them that there was no carpet on the stairs and 
 that the hall was empty. Hi ! — upstairs there ! — where the 
 devil are you?" 
 
 No information was returned. Curtis hazarded a sug- 
 gestion :
 
 142 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 "I rather fancied, as we were messing about in the darkness, 
 that I heard someone tearing down the stairs, and that then 
 the door was shut with a bang." 
 
 Otway snapped at the young man by way of thanks. 
 
 "Why couldn't you say so before? Wasting valuable time! 
 Of course, that's what they've done ; they've got clear of the 
 house and left us to get on their track if we can." 
 
 They descended to the hall, to learn that the front door 
 was fitted with a patent lock which required understanding, 
 especially when it was manipulated for the first time by the 
 light of a succession of refractory and short-lived matches. 
 By the time they succeeded in opening it both the gentlemen 
 stood in urgent need of the cooler air which awaited them 
 without. So soon as they were on the step the door closed 
 behind them with a click, and for the first time they dis- 
 covered that they were without their hats. This delayed the 
 process of cooling off. 
 
 " Now we're shut out ! " raged Otway. " We can't get back 
 if we want to, and they may still be inside, peeping at us out 
 of one of the windows, for all we know. As for hunting them 
 through the streets, after the start they've got we might as 
 well look for a needle in a haystack." 
 
 Curtis was pointing down the street, which was a long one. 
 
 "There's a cab going along there, anyhow ; and, unless I'm 
 much mistaken, someone has just jumped into it who has 
 been watching us from the pavement ! " 
 
 " Then we'll follow it ! " cried Otway. 
 
 They followed it, — in vain. They kept it in sight round 
 two corners ; but, on turning a third, it was nowhere to be 
 seen. With little spirit and less hope they plodded on until 
 they came to a hansom which was standing outside a house. 
 Otway accosted the driver. 
 
 "Have you seen two ladies pass?" 
 
 "In a hansom were they?" 
 
 "I daresay ; which way did they go?" 
 
 " Why, they came along here not two seconds ago ; went 
 round the next corner, the hansom did." 
 
 " You catch that hansom, and it's a sovereign in your 
 pocket." 
 
 " I'll earn that sovereign, never you fear ! " 
 
 But the driver did not earn that sovereign. He drove them 
 on and on, and round and round, and here and there, and
 
 THE HOUSE IN SEFTON PARK 143 
 
 goodness alone knew where — they didn't ! But he never 
 caught that hansom. It must be conceded to him, however, 
 that he did catch other hansoms ; several other hansoms. In 
 not one of them — so it happened — were the two ladies whom 
 the two gentleman were seekmg.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 SIGNOR ROCHAMBEAU CLAIMS HIS LEGACY 
 
 GEORGE OTWAY, (^ua John Lennard, had very little 
 sleep on the night of the adventure of the house in 
 Setton Park. He spent some time in cursing himself, in many 
 forms, for many things. Again and again he applied to 
 himself every unflattering epithet he could call to mind for 
 having allowed himself to be so egregiously tricked. That 
 the girl who had lately occupied his thoughts to such a 
 singular extent should have been snatched away from him at 
 the very moment when she stood in such dire need of pro- 
 tection was bad enough. Almost worse was the fact — which 
 only dawned upon him by degrees — that he had not the 
 faintest notion of the actual whereabouts of the house in 
 which it had all happened. The man who called himself 
 Major O'Callaghan had spoken of his " little place over at 
 Sefton Park." But Otway's knowledge of Liverpool was of 
 the vaguest kind. He had not noticed in what direction the 
 cab was being driven ; it would have made little difference 
 if he had. In their helter-skelter rush from the premises 
 neither Curtis nor he had observed any number on the door; 
 they had not taken the trouble to learn the name of the street 
 it was in ; they had even contradictory ideas of what the street 
 looked like. Curtis had it that it was a street of red-brick 
 houses; Otway was convinced that they all had stucco 
 frontages. He was prepared to stand by his own impression. 
 But, still, to go to the police with a wild tale about an un- 
 known house in an unknown street of stuccoed houses ! — in 
 a town like Liverpool ! — it might well be that the authorities 
 would require something more definite to go upon before they 
 would be disposed to move. 
 
 For, unwilling though he was, for various obvious reasons, 
 to come in contact with the police, it seemed to him that this 
 was a case in which, for Elsie's sake, he would be compelled 
 to apply for their assistance. He was just preparing to start 
 
 144
 
 ROCHAMBEAU CLAIMS HIS LEGACY 145 
 
 for the nearest police-station when someone knocked at his 
 bedroom door, and, in response to his invitation to come in, it 
 was opened, and a stranger entered. Otway, who had expected 
 a chambermaid, or perhaps a waiter, regarded him askance. 
 
 " Well, sir, what can I do for you ? " 
 
 The intruder was a man of about forty. There was that 
 about his well-worn suit of brown cloth which made it possible 
 that he might be either a traveller in sewing-machines or a 
 hairdresser's assistant. He put his soft felt hat under his left 
 arm. From an inner pocket of his jacket he took a greasy 
 letter-case, and from the letter-case what appeared to be an 
 ancient five-pound note. This he extended for Otway's 
 inspection, speaking with a strong foreign accent. 
 
 "Your name is John Lennard ; not so? Good! You pay 
 yesterday this bank-note. Well ! I ask you where you get it 
 from, because it is my property." 
 
 He recognised the note as one of those which he had 
 found in the metal box on the Island of the Gate of Hell, 
 with the strip of paper attached to the handle, bequeathing it, 
 and its contents, to whoever might be its finder. He had 
 been subsisting on those contents since his return to civilisa- 
 tion, changing a note, or notes, as occasion required. The 
 stranger's words, therefore, were sufficiently startling. 
 
 " Your property ! What do you mean ? Who are you? " 
 
 " I am Joseph Rochambeau. I am Italian. My father, 
 he was also Italian. He kept a restaurant, my father. He 
 made a fortune. Although he was so fortunate he could 
 hardly read or write ; he knew nothing of banks, and would 
 know nothing. Every time he got a bank-note he put it in a 
 box. One day the box was stolen, with all his fortune inside. 
 He went to the police, but nothing was discovered. All he 
 had left was a book in which he had entered the number of 
 every note as he put it into the box. That book he gave 
 to me." 
 
 Otway had been attentively observing the speaker, noticing, 
 in particular, what shifty eyes he had. Of course, his tale 
 might be true ; but there was that in his appearance which 
 suggested most distinctly that it might not. 
 
 "This is a very sad story of yours, Mr Rochambeau." 
 
 " It broke my father's heart ; it killed him ; oh yes ! " 
 
 "Did it affect him to that extent? That makes it sadder. 
 And when did this robbery take place ? " 
 
 K
 
 U6 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 "Oh, a long time ago ; forty or fifty years." 
 
 " And do I understand you to say that your father gave 
 you that book of whicli you speak at the time of the robbery? 
 You bear your years remarkably well, Mr Rochambeau." 
 
 " At the time of the robbery I was not born, no ! When 
 my father died he gave the book to my mother, I was then 
 a very little child. She did not live long ; then it came to 
 me. Here it is." 
 
 He held out what looked like an ancient penny account- 
 book. 
 
 " I see. That is how it was. Then you have yourself no 
 actual knowledge of the robbery." 
 
 " I hear my father talk about it many a time, and my 
 mother also ; oh yes." 
 
 " And you can give me the precise date on which it took 
 place." 
 
 " Not at the moment. I must refer. But that will be very 
 simple." 
 
 " No doubt. In the meantime, how do you connect me 
 with your father's missing property ? " 
 
 " Yesterday I call upon a friend who keeps a restaurant. 
 He says to me: 'Joseph, I have to-day had paid to me a 
 bank-note which is so old it might have been one of those 
 which was stolen from your father ' ; my friend knew my father 
 very well and all about his great misfortune. He showed me 
 the note. I take out my book which I carry always, always ! 
 There, in it, was the number of the note which my friend had 
 received. Here it is ; you can see for yourself." 
 
 Mr Rochambeau held out the note and his book. On the 
 open page, about the middle of a long list, in very faded 
 writing, was a number which was identical with that which 
 was on the note. Otway felt that, to say the least, the 
 coincidence was curious. The Italian went on : 
 
 "The note was endorsed: 'John Lennard, Exchange 
 Hotel.' When I come last night you were not in. So I am 
 here again this morning, as soon as possible, to learn how the 
 note — which, as you can see for yourself, is one of those 
 which were stolen from my father — came into your posses- 
 sion." 
 
 " Before I supply you with the information which you say 
 you require, Mr Rochambeau, you will have to satisfy me on 
 one or two points. You will have to prove that the robbery
 
 ROCHAMBEAU CLAIMS HIS LEGACY 147 
 
 of which you speak really did take place, and then your title 
 to the property which you allege was stolen. When you have 
 satisfied me on those two points I will give you all the 
 information you can possibly desire." 
 
 "You wish me to prove that my father was robbed, and 
 that to my father's property I am the heir ? " Otway nodded. 
 " Good ! it is simple ! I will go and get you what you want, 
 and in an hour I will return and find you here !" 
 
 Mr Rochambeau made, at any rate, one miscalculation; 
 on his return he did not find Otway there. 
 
 So soon as the Italian's back was turned Otway's thoughts 
 reverted to Miss Thornton. In a sudden flash there came to 
 him an idea which he abused himself for not having hit on 
 before. She had told him that her father was a Sussex parson. 
 If so, nothing would be easier than to hunt him up in a clergy 
 list, and to place himself in communication with him without 
 delay. An old copy of the necessary clergy list he found in 
 the smoking-room ; within two minutes he was in possession 
 of the required particulars. That was Elsie's father : The 
 Rev. Marmaduke Branston Thornton, M.A., New College, 
 Oxford, F.S.A., F.G.S., etc.. Vicar of Dullington, Sussex. 
 Nominal value of the living, ^250 per annum. Actual value, 
 about ;!^ 1 50. Population, 981. 
 
 What an idiot he had been ! There was everything as 
 
 straightforward as possible. All he had to do was to 
 
 Should he wire to the vicar of Dullington ? or should he write ? 
 No ; neither in a telegram nor a letter could he give all the 
 explanations which would have to be given. The best plan 
 would be a personal interview. He would go and see him 
 at once. Too much time had been lost already. He hunted 
 out a train in Bradshaw. One left for town in about five-and- 
 twenty minutes. Could he catch it? There was no question 
 of could about it — he must, and would. He threw his things 
 into his bag, paid his bill, and was getting into a cab when 
 someone touched him on the shoulder. A fat man, in glossy 
 broadcloth, with shaven cheeks and iron-grey hair, who held 
 his silk hat in his hand. Otway did not remember to have 
 seen him before. He also spoke with a foreign accent. 
 
 " Pardon me, Mr Lennard, but my friend, Mr Rochambeau, 
 expects to find you here on his return." 
 
 Then Otway recalled his visitor's words, that he proposed 
 to return with the asked-for proofs within the hour. But the
 
 148 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 departing traveller did not intend to allow himself to be de- 
 layed by a trifle of that sort. 
 
 " rU let Mr Rochambeau have an address at which he can 
 communicate with me. Can't stop now — have to catch a 
 train. Lime Street, driver ! Push along ! — five minutes to do 
 it in ! " 
 
 The cabman left the broadclothed gentleman standing by 
 the kerb, with his silk hat in his hand and an expression on 
 his face which could scarcely have been called a smile, and 
 he deposited his fare at Lime Street station well inside the 
 stipulated five minutes. Presently Mr Otway was bowling 
 along the North-Western metals towards London, and, as he 
 hoped, towards Elsie Thornton's father. 
 
 The only incidents which marked the journey occurred at 
 the three stations at which the train stopped. First, as they 
 were leaving Crewe, a man's figure caught Otway's eye as he 
 hurried past the window. It was that of someone whom he 
 had seen quite lately. But he was not sitting at the platform 
 end of the compartment, and, by the time he reached it and 
 had his head out, the figure had vanished. Again at Stafford 
 the figure passed. Although it was by no means cold, the 
 man wore a long dust coat and a voluminous cap pulled over 
 his eyes and ears. Otway was conscious that, as he passed, 
 he paused for an appreciable instant in front of his own com- 
 partment, giving a swift, searching glance within. At Rugby 
 Mr Otway was looking at a group of holiday-makers who were 
 on his own side of the train, and, on turning suddenly round, 
 found that the window at the other end was down, and staring 
 in was — Mr Rochambeau. He was the man in the long dust 
 coat I So soon as he perceived himself discovered the Italian 
 slipped away. There were only a few seconds between his 
 going and Otway's transferring himself to where he had been, 
 but already he had vanished, there was not a sign of him to 
 be seen. 
 
 " I suppose that grey-headed friend of his put him on the 
 scent, and he's accompanying me to town. Perhaps he thinks 
 I'm running away from him with his father's fortune 1 His 
 father's fortune ! That fiver may have belonged to his father 
 once — though his tale's a queer one ; but if he's going to lay 
 claim to any more of the notes which were in that metal box, 
 then I shall say that the fellow's more remarkable for impu- 
 dence — and possibly ingenuity — than for anything else. It
 
 ROCHAMBEAU CLAIMS HIS LEGACY 149 
 
 can only be by a miraculous series of accidents that his 
 father's fortune can have found its way to the Island of the 
 Gate of Hell." 
 
 He lingered for a moment at Euston, eyeing the passengers 
 as they descended from the various compartments, but of his 
 Italian friend there was nothing to be seen. He formed his 
 own conclusion. 
 
 " I daresay that at the game of espionage he is better than 
 I am, and that he can see me when I can't see him. If he 
 only knew it, he's losing a chance. If he's so anxious to have 
 an interview as he seems, I shall be happy to oblige him with 
 one in a cab across town." 
 
 He drove to Victoria in a hansom. Then, finding that he 
 should have to wait nearly an hour for a train to Dullington, 
 he had some lunch in the station dining-room. When he left 
 Victoria it was nearly four o'clock. Although he had kept 
 what he flattered himself was a keen eye about him, he had 
 detected no signs of Mr Rochambeau being in the neighbour- 
 hood. He decided, therefore, that either he had lost him at 
 Euston, or that, for reasons of his own, he had given up the 
 chase. 
 
 The train by which he travelled was a slow one — there were 
 no fast ones to Dullington. That remote hamlet lay on the 
 opposite side of the county to his own High Dene. Still, the 
 country he was entering was one with which he had been 
 familiar for many years. It was with an odd feeling that he 
 was returning, as from the grave, to something which he had 
 supposed himself to have left for ever that he felt the train 
 glide from the platform. Beyond, not many miles away, were 
 the broad lands of which he was lord, the palatial house which 
 he had rendered famous. Was his cousin there? And Dollie 
 Lee? What had they made of the tangle out of which he 
 had slipped ? Had they been as false to each other as they 
 had been to him ? He thought of the look which had been on 
 their faces when he saw them last. If they had installed 
 themselves in his place at High Dene, clothed themselves with 
 his power and his majesty, what would their faces look like 
 when — at his own time — he rose from the dead. For them, 
 then, the day of judgment would have come indeed.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 IN THE TRAIN 
 
 WHILE he was still pondering such matters the train 
 entered Clapham Junction. So far he had had the 
 first-class compartment in which he was to himself. Just as 
 the train was restarting the door was torn violently open and 
 someone came bundling in. So engrossed was he with his 
 own imaginings that until they were clear of the station he 
 did not trouble to see what manner of man it was who had 
 caught the train, as it were, by the skin of his teeth. When 
 he did he discovered, to his unqualified amazement, that it 
 was Harvey, the husband of his landlady at Clapham Junction ; 
 the drunkard and the wife-beater ; the man who, sharing his 
 wife's mistaken notion that he was Jacob Gunston, " the Vaux- 
 hall Junction murderer, ' had set the police, and with them 
 all England, on the hunt for him. No encounter could have 
 been more unfortunate. The man had only to call attention 
 at the next station to his presence, and he would find himself 
 in custody on a charge which would involve all sorts of de- 
 lays and uncomfortable explanations before he would be able 
 to make clear his innocence. 
 
 Mr Harvey's surprise was plainly equal to his own. He 
 stared at his companion as if, instead of being a natural being, 
 he had been some creature of phantasy. When, however, he 
 had decided that he was real, words came from him with a 
 gasp. 
 
 " Mr Scott ! Jacob Gunston ! " 
 
 " Pardon me, Mr Harvey, but, as I would have explained 
 to you on a previous occasion, had you allowed me, I am not 
 Jacob Gunston." 
 
 Qtway's manner, which was suavity itself, seemed to convey 
 to Harvey's mind the impression that he was conscience- 
 stricken. 
 
 "Tell that for a tale ! Do you think that you can deceive 
 me by lies of that kind ? Do you think that I can't see that 
 
 150
 
 IN THE TRAIN 151 
 
 you are shivering and shaking at the prospect of the poHce- 
 man who will soon have his hand upon your shoulder and his 
 bracelets round your wrists ? " 
 
 "You must have keen eyes, Mr Harvey, if you can see that, 
 especially as I myself am conscious of no feeling of the kind." 
 
 " Oh, you've assurance enough to brazen it out, I don't 
 doubt ; it doesn't need you to tell me that you're a brass- 
 bound as well as a blood-stained scoundrel. But, all the same, 
 you know as well as I do that, at last, your time has come, 
 and that in a few minutes you'll be on the high-road towards 
 paying the penalty for the crime which set all England 
 shuddering." 
 
 " Your language reminds me of an old-fashioned melodrama, 
 Mr Harvey : it's a trifle turgid." 
 
 " You laugh at me, do you ! You jeer, you infernal villain ! 
 You won't jeer long, and you'd better laugh your laugh out ; 
 it's the last you'll ever have, unless you're the sort that laughs 
 at the sight of the gallows. You got away once — with the 
 help of that jade of a wife of mine ! I paid her for it, I 
 promise you ; associating herself with such a brute as you. 
 But she's not here to help you a second time. If you so much 
 as try to move I'll stop the train and set everyone in it on to 
 you. I tell you, my lad, that it won't be long before you're 
 looking on the police as your protectors. If the people could 
 get at you they'd tear you limb from limb." 
 
 Before this Mr Otway had understood that if this quondam 
 landlord was not yet in the condition in which he had been 
 wont to see him — absolutely drunk— he had at any rate been 
 drinking. Doubtless, in the case of so experienced an absorber 
 of alcohol, it was necessary that he should consume an ab- 
 normal amount of liquor before he became drunk in the 
 policeman's sense. If that stage lay farther on he had already 
 arrived at a condition in which neither his language nor his 
 actions would be such as might be expected from a perfectly 
 sober man ; for instance, he was capable, on very slight pro- 
 vocation, of stopping the train and making the scene of which 
 he spoke. Otway, quietly observing him, made up his mind 
 that, at any — and all — costs, that sort of thing, should be 
 prevented. He was quite resolved to journey to DuUington 
 a free man. 
 
 He waited a second or two after Mr Harvey had finished 
 his rodomontade, then he put a question :
 
 152 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 "May I ask, sir, what it is you propose to do?" 
 
 "You may ask, but I'm not bound to answer; no man's 
 bound to answer questions put by such scum of the earth as 
 you are ; but I don't mind telling you just to give you warning. 
 The next station we stop at's Sutton. Directly we get there 
 I shall put my head out of the window, and I shall beckon 
 to a porter, and I shall say to him, pointing to you : * Porter, 
 this scoundrel, this confounded villain's Jacob Gunston, the 
 bloody-minded ruffian who killed that poor girl in the railway 
 carriage at \'au.\hall Junction. There's ;!{,'ioo reward offered 
 for him. I nearly earned it once ; this time I'll earn it quite. 
 You fetch a policeman, and we'll have the darbies clapped 
 on him and settle his hash for good and all ! ' That's what I'll 
 say to the porter, and that's what I propose to do : and as sure 
 as you're alive — and will probably soon be dead " — this with a 
 suggestive grin — "I'll do it." 
 
 "Am I to understand, then, that you intend to carry out 
 this agreeable little programme on our arrival at Sutton?" 
 
 Mr Harvey did not seem to notice that the inquirer's tone 
 was almost ominously civil. His tone was, if anything, even 
 more blusterous than before. 
 
 "You are; you're to understand it down to the ground. 
 So perhaps you're beginning to feel as if the rope were already 
 round your neck, and the drop-board falling away from under- 
 neath your feet, Mr Jacob Gunston." 
 
 Tilting his hat on to the back of his head, thrusting his 
 hands into his pockets, leaning back in his corner, Mr Harvey 
 regarded his companion with a smile of malignant triumph, 
 and that same instant Mr Otway stood up. Whereupon 
 Harvey, forsaking his comfortable position, rose also. But 
 he was not only the one vital moment behind the other — he 
 was nothing like so quick. As he made to reach the alarm 
 pull Otway, catching him by the throat, flung him back into 
 his seat, and held him there. Held him there long enough 
 to make one feel that if he held him any longer the eyes would 
 start out of Mr Harvey's head, his mouth never shut again, 
 and the purple veins burst through the skin of his blood-red 
 face. Then he loosed him, having brought him as near to 
 the strangulation point as was pleasant, and he placed him- 
 self on the seat opposite, his manner being courtesy itself. 
 
 " I doubt if you will carry out that little programme of yours, 
 Mr Harvey, do you know."
 
 IN THE TRAIN 153 
 
 Mr Harvey did not answer. He was struggling for breath 
 in a fashion which was not nice to contemplate. When a 
 bull-necked man, of a plethoric habit of body, and with a 
 drink-sodden constitution, has been almost choked, he suffers 
 when he first endeavours to relieve the pressure on his heart 
 and lungs and about the region of the blood-vessels in his 
 head. So George Otway repeated his remark. 
 
 "I observe that I am inclined to doubt if you will be able 
 to carry out that little programme of yours, Mr Harvey." 
 
 The gentleman addressed managed, with an effort, to 
 articulate two words. 
 
 "You ruffian!" 
 
 " Might I request you, when speaking to me, not to use 
 words of that sort? I don't like them ; I really don't." 
 
 Although nothing could have been more urbane than Mr 
 Otway's tone, there was that in the fashion in which he moved 
 a little forward in his seat, holding out his hands carelessly — 
 and suggestively — in front of him, which had a rather curious 
 effect on Mr Harvey. He looked as if he would have liked 
 to have spoken, and with some vigour, but was afflicted with 
 a sudden — and painful — consciousness that he had better not. 
 The other went on : 
 
 "You will remember how I had to treat you to some 
 physical persuasion when once you were having an argument 
 with your wife ? You need not trouble yourself to speak ; 
 you might find the effort painful. I see that the occasion is 
 still fresh in your memory. You will recall the fact that you 
 were as putty in my hands. I assure you that you will be no 
 better off if circumstances should compel me to handle you 
 now. You pretend to believe that I am a murderer, Jacob 
 Gunston. I have already assured you I am not ; so I will not 
 touch upon that point again. I will merely mention that I 
 object to your behaving as you have talked of doing on our 
 arrival at Sutton ; and rather than you should do so I will 
 myself behave as if I were Jacob Gunston. I will squeeze 
 the life right out of you. You understand ? You will there- 
 fore give me your personal assurance that you will not speak, 
 on any subject whatever, to a soul at Sutton or anywhere else 
 without my express permission, or " 
 
 He just touched Mr Harvey's throat with the tips of his 
 fingers, and Mr Harvey submitted. He seemed to subside 
 into inertness, as if the backbone had been taken clean out
 
 154 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 of him, looking at the other with quivering gills and faltering 
 eyes very much as an emasculate cur might regard the master 
 whose anger it knows it has aroused. The change from the 
 blusterer of a few seconds ago was as sudden as it was 
 complete. 
 
 " I promise ! I promise ! " 
 
 " What do you promise ? " 
 
 •' That — that I'll do whatever you tell me." 
 
 " Ah, that's a better way of putting it ; better even than my 
 own way. As long as you keep to that you'll be happy. Now, 
 in order to avoid any possibility of misunderstanding, suppose 
 you come with me to the other end of the carriage. We shall 
 be more by ourselves there, and farther from the noisy platform. 
 Come, Mr Harvey, get up; keep your arms to your sides, and 
 don't lean towards that alarm pull." 
 
 Thus instructed, Harvey moved towards the opposite end of 
 the compartment, dropping, in accordance with further in- 
 structions, into the seat with the back to the engme. Otway, 
 placing himself on the other side, regarded him with something 
 like amusement. 
 
 " Now we're comfortable, aren't we?" Anyone looking less 
 comfortable or more unhappy than Mr Harvey did then one 
 could hardly imagine. " If it's not an impertinence, may 
 I ask at what station you propose to alight?" 
 
 " I'm going to get out at Sutton." 
 
 " At Sutton ? Oh dear ! that won't suit me at all. I 
 couldn't allow myself to be deprived of your society so soon." 
 
 " I must get out at Sutton. I've an important business 
 appointment at five." 
 
 "Have you? That's unfortunate, because you can't get 
 out at Sutton. Because, you see, if you did, so soon as 
 you fancied yourself out of my reach, you might forget your 
 promise and blurt out something foolish, and all sorts of 
 unpleasantness might ensue. I couldn't think of losing 
 you at Sutton ; altogether out of the question. Let me 
 see. I fancy this train runs to Littlehampton. The Little- 
 hampton sea-breezes might do you good. You might go on 
 to Littlehampton. I must make some arrangements which 
 will ensure your keeping silence until you get to Little- 
 hampton. I must think it out. By the way, how is your 
 wife, Mr Harvey ? " 
 
 "She's in hospital."
 
 IN THE TRAIN 155 
 
 'Is she indeed? I suppose you sent her there. How 
 comes she to be in hospital, Mr Harvey ? " 
 
 ** Tumbled down the stairs ! " 
 
 " Fortunate woman ! With, I take it, your assistance," 
 
 "It was as much her fault as mine." 
 
 " At least it was partly your fault. Dear man ! I know 
 that if I were to take you by the throat and strangle you as 
 you sit there, I should be rendering society a service. I don't 
 know why I hesitate, but I do. There ought to be a knacker's 
 yard for such men as you. I assure you of this : that it would 
 need very little provocation to induce me to make your wife 
 a widow, and once more a happy woman. So bear that carefully 
 in mind, especially as we are nearing Sutton station. 
 
 " But it may mean ruin if I don't keep my appointment." 
 
 Out went Otway's hand. Once more his fingers fastened on 
 the speaker's throat, Harvey not making even the faintest show 
 of resistance. 
 
 "Then let it mean ruin to you ; who cares? Not I. You 
 keep silence till we are clear of Sutton station and your eyes 
 fixed steadily on me. If you so much as turn your face to- 
 wards the platform, or move a finger, I'll kill you before any 
 one can come to your help. You know I can ; and I will." 
 
 He released the wretch as the train slowed down at the 
 platform. There was no need to use further persuasion. The 
 man sat staring at him, in a sort of crumpled heap, as if he had 
 been some half-paralysed, wholly panic-stricken, puffed-out 
 rabbit, Otway regarding him, meantime, with an indulgent 
 smile. The train stopped dead ; passengers hurried to and 
 fro ; porters shouted the name of the station ; carriage doors 
 opened and shut ; but those two sat there, eyeing each other 
 in that very singular fashion, motionless ; the one knowing 
 that the other would possibly have given all he had to have 
 dared to shout to the people on the platform ; the other be- 
 lieving that the moment in which he opened his lips would be 
 his last. 
 
 The guard had sounded his whistle, the train had begun to 
 move, when the door of the compartment in which the two 
 men were was opened, and, exactly as Harvey himself had 
 done, a tardy passenger came hurrying in. This was a 
 contingency for which — however undesirable, from his point 
 of view, it might be — Otway had been throughout conscious 
 that he would have to be ready. This, however, was to be
 
 156 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 for him, a day of disagreeable surprises, and for what he was 
 not prepared was the discovery that the new-comer was Mr 
 Joseph Rochambeau. He had seen nothing of him either at 
 Euston or Victoria, although he had looked for him, as he 
 imagined, in all directions. Was it possible, in spite of that, 
 that he had been at his heels all the time. The mere possi- 
 bility conveyed an inference that, as a spy, Mr Rochambeau 
 was possessed of gifts of an unusual and uncomfortable kind. 
 
 As the door opened and shut Mr Harvey gave a start and 
 one quick glance round, only instantly to return his eyes to 
 the face in front of him. Otway, noticing the movement, ex- 
 tended his left hand, opening and shutting the fingers as he 
 did so. Harvey shrivelled, if possible, into a smaller space 
 than before. 
 
 Mr Rochambeau, on his part, seemed quite at his ease. 
 Removing the dust coat, which he was still wearing, he folded 
 it up carefully and placed it in the rack above his head. This 
 compartment, by the way, in which the three men were 
 travelling, was a lavatory carriage, the lavatory door being on 
 the side which was towards the engine. On that side, there- 
 fore, there were only two seats, with the door between. Harvey 
 was in one ; Rochambeau had now deposited himself in the 
 other. Otway faced them both. Having disposed of his coat 
 Mr Rochambeau took off his cloth cap, and wiped his forehead 
 with his pocket-handerchief. He seemed hot. Then he placed 
 his cap with his coat. Settling his elbows on the two arms of 
 his seat he turned his attention to Otway, who, up to that 
 point, to all appearances, had ignored him completely. His 
 voice betrayed a certain amount of irritation. 
 
 " So, Mr Lennard, I did not find you when I returned to 
 the Exchange Hotel." 
 
 When he spoke, addressing Otway as Lennard, Mr Harvey 
 started a second time, but became immediately conscious that 
 the hand was being extended again. In contrast to Mr 
 Rochambeau's, Mr Otway's tone was extremely agreeable. 
 
 " Ah, Mr Rochambeau ! Have you had a pleasant journey? 
 I did not gather that it was your intention to have travelled so 
 far to-day." 
 
 *' It was not ; only you ran away, so I ran after you." 
 
 Mr Otway raised his eyebrows just a little. 
 
 " I beg your pardon? I don't quite follow." 
 
 "Why did you run away from Liverpool?"
 
 IN THE TRAIN 157 
 
 " Run away ? from Liverpool ? My good sir ! What do you 
 mean ? " 
 
 " Did I not tell you that I would return with my proofs to 
 the hotel within an hour?" 
 
 "Well? what concern was that of mine? I mentioned to a 
 person who seemed to be an acquaintance of yours that I 
 would let you have an address to which you would com- 
 municate." 
 
 " You would let me have an address ! I know ! If I had 
 once let you clear away I should never have seen you or heard 
 of you again ; never ! never ! I am not so simple." 
 
 "Then am I to understand that you have come all this way 
 merely because I have ? " 
 
 "Certainly ; I have come after my father's fortune." 
 
 " Your father's fortune ? Really, I don't know whether I 
 ought to feel flattered or amused. By your father's fortune do 
 you refer to the five-pound note which you professed to identify 
 with one mentioned in the small volume which you were so 
 good as to let me look at ? " 
 
 "That is not the only one; not at all; there are others. 
 You paid your bill at the hotel with two notes which were my 
 father's. Your ticket at the railway station with another. It 
 is as I guessed ; you are in possession of the fortune that is of 
 right mine." 
 
 " On my word, Mr Rochambeau, you march. This becomes 
 really interesting. I begin to suspect you of being a character." 
 
 "You will find that I am not one to sit down and starve 
 while another grows fat on what is indeed my own. That I 
 am here to show you.'' 
 
 "Oh, you are to show me that, are you? I am extremely 
 obliged. I trust that the demonstration may have the result 
 which you appear to be taking a little for granted." 
 
 "You laugh at me? Good! We shall see. In affairs of 
 this sort I am not a safe person to laugh at, Mr. Lennard." 
 
 George Otway was indulging in a smile, as if he was enjoy- 
 ing a capital joke, but all the time he kept a watchful eye on 
 his friend in the opposite corner, noting that not only was he 
 taking a lively interest in the new phase of the situation, 
 but also that he had drawn himself up straighter, as if to 
 place himself in a position not to lose a word that was being 
 said. 
 
 "Aren't you a trifle uncomfortable there, Mr Harvey?
 
 158 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 Don't you think it might rest you more if you were to lean a 
 a little more back?" 
 
 Out went his left hand, and Mr Harvey returned to his 
 crumpled-up posture. Rochambeau observed the little scene. 
 
 "This is a friend of yours? I did not know. But it does 
 not matter. I will say in his presence what I have to say. 
 
 " Certainly ; do not let this gentleman's presence prevent 
 your saying anything you may have to say. Under the 
 circumstances that would be a pity." 
 
 " What I have to say then is this : I am here to ask you to 
 return to me my father's fortune, at once, without any excuses ; 
 without any, what you call, shuffling." 
 
 "That, at any rate, is frank. And what, Mr Rochambeau, 
 do you call your father's fortune ? " 
 
 " It consists of bank-notes — I have their numbers and 
 description here," he tapped the breast-pocket of his jacket, 
 " English, American, South American, Spanish, French, to the 
 value of ten thousand, eight hundred and sixty pounds." 
 
 As a matter of fact, Mr Otway had satisfied himself that the 
 sum mentioned was, approximately, the value of the contents 
 of Ebenezer Pullen's metal box. He wondered how the 
 ingenious Italian— he was becoming more and more convinced 
 that Mr Rochambeau was, first of all, ingenious — had learned 
 as much. 
 
 " And you say that these bank-notes were once the property 
 of your father who kept a restaurant — where ? " 
 
 " In London, in Dean Street, Soho." 
 
 "And how came your father — the proprietor of a restaurant 
 in such a poverty-stricken part of London as that was then, 
 to be in possession of such a polyglot collection of bank- 
 notes ? " 
 
 *' My father's customers were what you call foreigners ; they 
 paid him in moneys of all the countries of the world. But 
 that is not the question. I have here the numbers and descrip- 
 tion of the notes in my father's own writing." 
 
 " In your father's own writing? " 
 
 "Certainly ; in my father's own writing." 
 
 " Have you already forgotten, Mr Rochambeau, that you 
 told me that your father could hardly read or write ? " 
 
 Mr Rochambeau seemed to be a trifle nonplussed, an 
 accident which he endeavoured to carry off with an air. 
 
 " He could write well enough for that."
 
 IN THE TRAIN 159 
 
 " Indeed ; could he ? The writing in the book you showed 
 me struck me as being that of an educated man, and distinctly 
 an Englishman's." 
 
 "You wish, then, to say that I do not know my own father's 
 writing, and so to rob me of what is my own ? " 
 
 " Not at all. I do not wish to rob you of anything. I only 
 want you to show that there is anything of which you could be 
 robbed. By the way, the proofs you went in search of: I 
 presume you have them on you now." 
 
 " I have not. After I leave you I remember they were in 
 the keeping of a friend who lives in London. But I will be 
 open with you, Mr Lennard ; that is what I wish, to hide 
 nothing. I understand, alas ! quite well that it will not be 
 easy to prove, to the satisfaction of the lawyers, that the 
 fortune was my father's and is now mine ; it all happened so 
 long ago. Besides, I am a poor man ; I have no money for 
 the lawyers ; I cannot afford to wait for the long processes of 
 the law. It is as an honourable man that I appeal to you ; 
 you know that the circumstances under which you came into 
 possession of the fortune were peculiar." 
 
 "What do you suppose those circumstances were, Mr 
 Rochambeau ? " 
 
 " Ah, how can I tell ! exactly, how can I say ! But I am 
 sure — and you know that it is true — that you did not come by 
 it in an ordinary way. I invite you, you, yourself! to declare 
 openly, candidly, truly, how it came into your hands." 
 
 " All the burden of proof, Mr Rochambeau, lies with you. 
 I should prefer to say nothing until I have heard you to a 
 finish." 
 
 " Good ! I will finish then ! Let us come to terms, Mr 
 Lennard, as two friends, and that for the reasons I have 
 stated. Give me half the fortune, that is, give me ;z^5,ooo, 
 now, at once, and you can keep the rest. I will give you 
 acquittance for the whole." 
 
 "Yours is a generous offer, Mr Rochambeau." 
 
 " Ah, I do not wish to be ungenerous ! not at all ! that is 
 not my character." 
 
 " At the same time I could not consent to deprive you of 
 a single penny which I had reason to believe was yours. But 
 I would remind you that, so far, you have given me no proof 
 that there is even so much as a grain of truth in the story you 
 have been telling."
 
 160 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 "There is the book!" 
 
 "Precisely; there is the book. And about that I am 
 disposed to think .there hangs an eventful history. Would 
 you mind my e.xamining it ? I will use it with every care, and 
 return it to you immediately uninjured."' 
 
 " But willingly ! I will entrust it to you with entire con- 
 fidence. Here is this gentleman to see that everything is 
 fair ! " 
 
 What Mr Rochambeau meant was not quite plain ; but if 
 he was relying on Mr Harvey for anything, his own intuition 
 should have told him that he was leaning on a broken reed. 
 Producing the ancient account-book of the morning he handed 
 it to Mr Otway with something of a flourish. As he did so a 
 scrap of paper dropped out of it on to the fioor, apparently 
 unnoticed by him. With a sudden instinct Otway covered it 
 with his foot, proceeding to examine the volume which had 
 been committed to his charge. 
 
 At an early stage of its existence it had probably cost a 
 penny. It was a common memorandum-book, ruled with 
 cash columns, and had a paper cover which had once been 
 red. In substance it seemed to be a methodical and well- 
 arranged register of the number of certain bank-notes, which 
 could scarcely have been compiled by an uneducated man. 
 
 " The first leaf is missing." 
 
 " I think that the first leaf is not there." 
 
 " Tm sure it isn't. Moreover, it has been torn out recently." 
 
 "The book has been in that condition since I had it." 
 
 "Then you haven't had it long. A leaf has been torn out 
 certainly within the last few weeks, which is unfortunate, 
 because it may have contained matter which proved something. 
 What is left proves nothing. Brown may learn, by some 
 means, what are the numbers of certain notes which are the 
 property of Jones, or he may become possessed of a list of 
 them. But they do not, therefore, cease to belong to Jones. 
 Thank you, Mr Rochambeau for letting me have a peep at 
 your little book. I should like to learn its history ; but I am 
 convinced that you are mistaken in supposing that the entries 
 it contains are in your father's hand." 
 
 As he returned Mr Rochambeau his penny account-book 
 Otway stooped to pick up the scrap of paper which was 
 beneath his foot. As he did so Mr Harvey sprang up in his 
 seat with a cry :
 
 IN THE TRAIN 161 
 
 " Let me ask you, for God's sake " 
 
 He got so far, but no further, because by then Otway had 
 returned to an erect position, whereupon he dropped back 
 into a speechless, crumpled heap. Mr Otway regarded him 
 with inquiring glances. 
 
 " Well, Mr Harvey, what were you about to ask ?" 
 Mr Harvey began to stutter. 
 
 " I — I was going to ask that gentleman to — to close his 
 window ; there's — there's a draught. 
 
 "Were you? The idea is not a bad one. Perhaps, Mr 
 Rochambeau, you would not mind closing your window. 
 There is a slight current of air ; and, also, as we are approach- 
 ing Horsham, the closed window may render us more secure 
 from interruption." 
 
 Mr Rochambeau closed his window, and the train slowed 
 down into Horsham Station, where it remained some minutes. 
 During the whole time, as if by some common tacit under- 
 standing, neither of the three men spoke a word; but so 
 soon as they were off Mr Rochambeau began again. 
 
 " Well, Mr Lennard, what do you say to the offer which you 
 yourself admit is a generous one ? " 
 
 Mr Otway was studying the paper which he had picked up 
 from the floor. 
 
 "I say that I rather fancy that the key to the situation lies 
 in this paper which you dropped. It seems to be a portion 
 of a chart of the Carribean Sea, and shows a small island 
 with which I am acquainted, and, I think, you also. I don't 
 know by what name you know it ; it is known to me as the 
 Island of the Gate of Hell. It was there you found the list 
 of bank-notes which you call your father's, and] which, at 
 that time, contained a statement, signed by Ebenezer Pullen, 
 to the effect that it, in reality, referred to certain notes which 
 were to be found elsewhere upon the island, but which you, 
 in spite of all your efforts, failed to light upon. How long ago 
 is it since you were on that island, Mr Rochambeau ? " 
 
 "You " 
 
 "Steady! guard your language, sir." 
 
 "You think yourself very sharp, eh? You think yourself 
 clever ! " 
 
 " It is not so much that I think myself sharp or clever as 
 that I am strongly of opinion that you are more impudent 
 than either."
 
 162 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 " You will give me my share ! Do not imagine that I am 
 to be cheated. You will give me my share ! " 
 
 " Your share ? Undoubtedly — you have it already." 
 
 " What have I got ? I have got nothing ! Not one dollar !" 
 
 *' Precisely ; that is your share." 
 
 "You make a joke of me? You are wrong; you will find 
 that I am no joke. In that place was more than ;^io,ooo. 
 You found it ? (lood. Yours is the lion's share. But I nearly 
 found it also. I am entitled to something — and I will have 
 it! You will give me ;^iooo, or — you will be sorry!" 
 
 "Then you admit that you have been making an attempt at 
 robbery ; that your father's fortune was but a figure of speech 
 for what never had anything to do with either you or your 
 father. The admission does you credit, but — I am afraid 
 that I shall have to be sorry." 
 
 " Then you will give me nothing ? Think before you 
 speak ! " 
 
 " It is unnecessary for me to think : I will give you 
 nothing." 
 
 There came a sudden outburst of speech from the crumpled 
 figure in the corner. 
 
 " I will speak ! You may kill me, but I will speak ! " 
 
 The effect which might have been produced by Mr Harvey's 
 sudden show of valour was considerably spoilt by the fact that 
 he cowered still farther back into his corner, putting up his 
 arm to shield his head, as some cowardly lad might do who 
 seeks to ward off his comrade's onslaught. Mr Otway only 
 laughed. 
 
 "That's right, speak up. Don't be afraid, say all that you 
 have to say ; you have my entire permission, which I accord 
 the more willingly since I am convinced that, at last, you find 
 yourself in the presence of a kindred soul." 
 
 Thus encouraged, Mr Harvey lowered his arm and sat a 
 little straighter, making a quite gallant effort to gain some- 
 thing of his former bluster. 
 
 " This man, who calls himself Lennard to you, and Scott 
 to me, is, in reality, Jacob Gunston, the Vauxhall Junction 
 murderer." 
 
 Rochambeau regarded the speaker with something in his 
 attitude which was suggestive of a terrier about to spring on 
 a rat. 
 
 " What's that ? "
 
 IN THE TRAIN 163 
 
 " He's the man who killed the girl in the train ; and because 
 I wanted to give him into custody he nearly killed me just 
 before you got into the carriage. There's a reward of ;iCioo 
 for him." 
 
 The Italian's lips parted in a fashion which again recalled 
 the terrier. 
 
 "So ! I remember reading about Jacob Gunston, very well 
 indeed. And this is Jacob Gunston? That's nice for him. 
 Well, Mr Gunston, what about that ;!^iooo, now?" 
 
 "What about it, Mr Rochambeau?" 
 
 " You give it to me you leave the train a free man. Other- 
 wise " He made some odd movements with his hands. 
 
 " You know how they fasten the rope about the neck ? I 
 have seen it ; it is not pretty." 
 
 " I will leave the train a free man, and you will not have 
 a farthing, Mr Rochambeau. Your present tone puts an end 
 to any doubt on that point which may have been existing in 
 my mind." 
 
 " How do you make it out you will leave the train a free 
 man? How do you make it out? There are two of us ; you 
 cannot kill us both." 
 
 "Can't I?" 
 
 "You will be a wise man not to try." 
 
 Apparently the experienced Mr Harvey had seen something 
 in George Otway's face which filled his soul with sudden 
 doubt. He broke into a warning cry. 
 
 " Look out ! Pull the alarm ! pull the alarm ! " 
 
 Possibly Mr Rochambeau himself perceived the danger 
 signal, for he endeavoured to act upon the warning. But it 
 already was too late. As he sprang towards the knob, which 
 was just over Otway's head to the left, that gentleman rose 
 also. He struck the Italian with his clenched fist on the 
 point of the chin a blow which seemed to lift him clean 
 off his feet, and which hurled him backwards, so that he 
 fell in a senseless heap on to the floor of the carriage. And 
 where he fell he lay — still. 
 
 Then Mr Otway turned his attention to the gallant Harvey, 
 who, at sight of what had happened to his hoped-for colleague, 
 broke into hysteric cries. 
 
 " Don't kill me ! don't kill me!" 
 
 " I shall kill you if you make that noise. I sha'n't if you are 
 silent." And Mr Harvey was silent. " Take off your clothes ! "
 
 164 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 The fat man gasped. 
 
 " Take off your clothes, and be quick about it." 
 
 He took off his clothes. There was that, just then, in the 
 other's face and manner which would have induced him to do, 
 without remonstrance, or a show of it, anything that he was 
 ordered to do. He removed his garments with a celerity 
 which, considering the limited space and his dimensions, 
 was surprising. When he had stripped himself to his shirt, 
 without any hint of his intention, George Otway took him 
 by the throat, and thrust his own socks into his mouth, so 
 that they served as an efficient gag. He pinioned his legs 
 with his leather braces and fastened his hands behind him 
 with his handkerchief, so that he was as helpless as a trussed 
 fowl. In that condition he bundled him into the lavatory 
 compartment. He served the still unconscious Italian in the 
 same fashion, thrusting him in after Mr Harvey. Just as he 
 had finished his work, and had shut the lavatory door so that 
 there was nothing to show what was hidden behind it, the 
 train steamed into Dullington Station. 
 
 He descended to the platform with his bag in his hand, 
 and closed the carriage door behind him. He strolled slowly 
 out of the station, leaving his bag in the stationmaster's care, 
 and on reaching the village street paused for a moment to 
 watch the train start again upon its onward journey. As he 
 strode along, swinging his cane, such of the country folk as 
 he encountered wondered what the stalwart stranger might 
 be laughing at. Something seemed to be amusing him 
 hugely.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 Elsie's brother 
 
 IN the dining-room at DuUington vicarage the vicar's wife 
 stood talking to her son. Suddenly she laid her hand 
 upon his arm. 
 
 " Hush ! Someone's coming ! " 
 
 The two stood listening, in her strained attitude, on her 
 frightened face, an agony of attention. The expression on 
 his features suggested something which was worse than fear 
 — the fury of a desperate man. There was a sound of foot- 
 steps crunching the gravel path. 
 
 " Who is it ? " she whispered. 
 
 His tone, as he replied, was grim. 
 
 " I know who it isn't ; it isn't — them." 
 
 " How do you know ? how can you tell ? " 
 
 " My dear mother, if you were in my position — which the 
 saints forbid you ever may be— you'd know, even though 
 you were unable to say exactly how." 
 
 " Whoever it is is coming this way ; what shall you do ? " 
 
 "Just step behind this curtain; don't keep them, whoever 
 it is. In this light nothing will be seen." 
 
 He moved behind the heavy stuff curtain which was draped 
 at one side of the window. Without, the last rays of the 
 departed sun still lighted the sky; within the room all was 
 shadow. Scarcely had he disappeared than a voice came 
 through the open window : 
 
 "Excuse me, but is there anyone inside there? I appear 
 to have taken the wrong path and to have come round to the 
 side of the house instead of to the front." 
 
 Silence within. The mother seemed to hear her own heart 
 beating. Her limbs trembled ; she closed her eyes, as if to 
 shut out something which she feared to see. A scarcely 
 audible murmur came from behind the curtain. 
 
 "Answer! " 
 
 And she answered. 
 165
 
 166 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 " Who is it ? " 
 
 "I beg your pardon, but is this Dullington vicarage?" 
 
 "It is. Who are you? what do you want? The entrance 
 to the house is on the other side." 
 
 "So I now perceive. But the dim light's bewildering, and 
 the garden is such a large one that I appear to have lost my 
 way. Is Mr Thornton, or Mrs Thornton, at home?" 
 
 " I am Mrs Thornton." 
 
 " And I am George Otway." 
 
 There appeared in the frame of the open window, outlined 
 against the faintly glowing sky, a big man, who carried his 
 hat in his hand. 
 
 "George Otway? I seem to know the name." 
 
 " I have called to see you with reference to your daughter — 
 Miss Elsie Thornton." 
 
 "Surely — you are the man who ran away with her ! " 
 
 " Who ran away with her ? " 
 
 The surprise the speaker felt was mirrored in his voice. 
 The woman's tremulous tones betrayed her agitation. 
 
 " I know all about you, sir ; you do not come and find me 
 ignorant. I know that a man who called himself George Otway 
 induced my child to leave the Queen of the Seas in a boat alone 
 with him at dead of night. Where is my daughter now ? Have 
 you brought her home to her mother, sir?" 
 
 " You are under some singular misapprehension." 
 
 " I think not. I have the whole wretched story in Mrs 
 D'Agostino's own hand — the lady with whom my child went 
 as her companion. She has written and told me all." 
 
 " In my turn, Mrs Thornton, I think not. It is true that 
 Miss Thornton and I were alone together in a little boat on 
 the open sea, but the position was chosen by neither of us." 
 
 " I do not understand. I am afraid I must be a very 
 wicked woman, because God seems to have marked me out 
 for so many afflictions. 1 only know that you have taken 
 my daughter from me, sir, and that I want her back again. 
 Where is she?" 
 
 "I saw her last night in a house at Liverpool, and it is 
 because I saw her there that I am here to-night." 
 
 " You saw her in a house at Liverpool ? What do you 
 mean ? " 
 
 " At the risk of occasioning you more pain, Mrs Thornton, 
 I feel that I had better be candid. I fear that Miss Thornton
 
 ELSIE'S BROTPIER 167 
 
 has suffered either from a shock or from some form of illness, 
 which, for the moment, has robbed her of the complete use of 
 her faculties." 
 
 "Robbed her of the complete use of her faculties? What 
 do you mean ?" 
 
 He told her, as briefly and as plainly as he could, exactly 
 what he did mean, narrating the story of his adventure in the 
 house at Sefton Park with as much clearness as he could. 
 She interrupted him from time to time with eager, anxious 
 questions. When he had finished her whole heart seemed 
 in her words. 
 
 "Is what you have told me true?" 
 
 " Madam, it is the absolute truth." 
 
 She examined his face as thoroughly as the dim light 
 permitted, seeming to find on it something which lent her 
 a measure of reassurance. 
 
 "Can I believe you? Oh, if I were only sure that I could 
 trust and believe you." 
 
 The answer came from an unexpected quarter. 
 
 " I think, mother, that you may at least believe this 
 gentleman." 
 
 There stepped out from behind the curtain a figure which 
 was enveloped in what looked like a long black waterproof. 
 George Otway regarded him with something which was very 
 much like angry surprise. 
 
 " I did not know that we were honoured by the presence 
 of a listener." 
 
 The newcomer was not slow to detect the touch of irritation 
 with which the other spoke. In his reply there was a little 
 touch of hauteur, as if he felt that his words were sufficient 
 justification for anything which he might do. 
 
 " I am Frank Thornton — Elsie Thornton's brother." 
 
 " I am glad to have the honour of meeting you, Mr 
 Thornton ; still, may I ask why you have delayed making 
 yourself known to me in so unusual a fashion?" 
 
 Frank Thornton hesitated for a moment, as if doubtful 
 what form his answer should take. His mother went closer 
 to him, touching him furtively with the tips of her fingers on 
 the arm. In both her voice and her manner there seemed 
 to be a spasm of fear. 
 
 "Frank, I — I will take this — this gentleman into the 
 other room."
 
 168 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 " Don't distress yourself with shadows, mother. There are 
 realities enough without them. 1 fancy Mr Otway may not be 
 altogether the sort of person you have supposed." 
 
 His manner, though quiet and self-possessed enough, seemed 
 to do little towards calming his mother's agitation. Her voice 
 was, if anything, more tremulous than before. 
 
 " No risks, my son, no risks ! For God's sake, no risks ! " 
 
 " Hush, mother. Vou conjure up fears which may exist 
 only in your own imagination. Believe me, I will take no 
 more risks than I can help, where there are nothing else 
 but risks. It is essential that you and I should know if 
 what this gentleman says is true : if we may trust him. It 
 seems to me that there is no better way of making sure of 
 that than this." 
 
 " Frank ! " 
 
 Her voice rose in a wail of supplication, as if she besought 
 him not to do the thing which he was about to do, but she 
 was too late. Already, before her cry was uttered, he had put 
 his hand up to his throat, and, loosing the voluminous garment 
 which covered him, let it drop to the floor ; even in the 
 dim light it was made plain that he was attired in the ill-cut, 
 badly-fitting, hideous garb which felons wear. He had not 
 the knickerbockers and grey stockings of the convict, but 
 the brick-dust-coloured trousers, liberally ornamented with 
 broad arrows, which mark the convicted criminal sentenced, 
 not to "penal servitude," but to "hard labour." The revela- 
 tion was followed by silence for, perhaps, ten seconds, during 
 which George Otway had time to digest the fact thus suddenly 
 disclosed to him and to grasp at least something of what it 
 must mean. 
 
 Thornton was the first to break the stillness. In his voice 
 there was no hint of shame, but rather a suggestion of pride 
 and rage and scorn. It needed but an elementary judge 
 of character to perceive that his ostentatious air of icy coldness 
 only served as a cover to the flaming fiery furnace which 
 raged within. 
 
 "You see? I am a felon escaped from jail — and Elsie 
 Thornton's brother. You make the acquaintance of her 
 family under somewhat singular circumstances. Now you 
 understand why, when I became conscious that someone was 
 approaching, I considered it advisable to conceal myself behind 
 the curtain, Mr Otway."
 
 ELSIE'S BROTHER 169 
 
 George Otway was still. Although used to being taken 
 unawares, the surprise, in this case, was so complete, so 
 sudden, and of a nature so entirely unexpected, that even 
 his nimble wits refused to take in, on the instant, all the 
 potentialities of the position. He had associated Elsie 
 Thornton with nothing but innocence, purity, sweetness, 
 truth, honour. The idea of having to connect her with a 
 brother who was a convicted felon required a change in his 
 point of view which even he could not bring about without 
 an effort. Besides, there was something in this brother's 
 bearing which was so different to what one expects to find 
 in a hardened criminal that he wanted, before committing 
 himself in any way, to have some faint notion of what kind 
 of man this really was with whom he had to deal. 
 
 So it happened that the two men tried, in silence, to make 
 out as much as they could of each other in the rapidly 
 darkening room, while the mother held her peace. It 
 was the man in the uniform of shame who was the first 
 to speak. 
 
 "You appear to have been falsely accused, Mr Otway. 
 I also have suffered from the same thing. The charge 
 against you was as serious as could easily be made against 
 a man, but you have still an opportunity to disprove your 
 guilt. For me that opportunity is still to seek ; it is because 
 I am seeking for it that you see me here. I have heard the 
 story which you have told my mother, and am disposed to 
 think, judging by the ear alone, that it has the ring of truth. 
 I should like to have a chance of calling in my eyes as judges. 
 Mother, do you think that we could have a lamp, so that 
 Mr Otway and I could see each other better ? " 
 
 In the woman's voice was the old anxiety. 
 
 "Are you sure, my boy, that it is wise?" 
 
 " I am sure, mother, that it would be unwise to run a risk 
 of Mr Otway and I remaining acquaintances only of the 
 darkness." 
 
 " Let me close the window and draw the curtains, and 
 then you shall have a lamp." 
 
 When the lighted lamp was placed upon the table George 
 Otway saw what manner of persons these were with whom 
 he had been brought into such curious contact. 
 
 Mrs Thornton was a little woman, whose chestnut hair 
 — Elsie's hair — was lighted here and there with grey. Her
 
 170 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 features were small and dainty, she still was pretty, but 
 they were pinched and worn. Hers was the face of a woman 
 who had known much trouble. 
 
 Her son was as large as she was little. Even the hideous 
 costume which he wore could not conceal the fact that he 
 was shaped after a good model, and that he bore himself 
 as a man should do. The close-cropped black hair brought 
 his fine head into clearer outline. Otway was surprised to 
 learn how young he was. He had the clean, healthy look 
 of a well-living youth of three or four-and-twenty. It was 
 a handsome face, and a strong one, full of character. 
 There was resolution in the square jaw ; promise in the fine- 
 cut, aquiline nose ; an attractive quality in the eyes. They 
 were wide apart, set well back in the head, large and open- 
 lidded. One doubted if, in colour, they were violet or dark 
 blue. But they were fearless, unshrinking eyes, which looked 
 at the world steadily and sanely. In them, at the moment, 
 was a stern show of pride, which amounted almost to defiance ; 
 yet one felt that they could be lighted with a radiance of 
 laughter in front of which the sourest temper would have 
 to sweeten. 
 
 Having looked this young man carefully up and down, 
 as a connoisseur might inspect a curio on which he has to 
 deliver judgment, (ieorge Otway arrived at a verdict on at 
 least two points : the one, that, so far as looks were con- 
 cerned, this was just the person he would have chosen to 
 be Elsie's brother ; the other, that anyone who seemed 
 less like the sort of material out of which a jail-bird is 
 fashioned he had never yet encountered. If this man had 
 been condemned to prison by a level-headed jury, then it 
 was for doing something for which no person would have 
 need to be ashamed ; or, in giving him to the world as an 
 example of her handicraft. Nature had either by mistake 
 used the wrong mould, or — told a lie; for even Dame 
 Nature has no right to scrawl Honour and Honesty large all 
 over a man if those are qualities which he does not possess. 
 
 Not the least odd part of the business was that each man 
 seemed to arrive at something like the same decision as 
 regards the other. Presently the young man turned to Mrs 
 Thornton, saying : 
 
 "Mother, I think you may believe Mr Otway." Then to 
 that gentleman himself he said : " So, in Liverpool, last night,
 
 ELSIE'S BROTHER 171 
 
 you saw my sister in a position which suggests that she is 
 in want of help." 
 
 " Indeed I am almost afraid to think how much she 
 may be in want of help." 
 
 " Unconsciously, Mr Otway, you are making my position 
 more than I can bear." Involuntarily the young man 
 closed his eyes, as if seeking to shut out something of 
 horror which it was beyond his strength to look at. " As 
 I have told you, I am here because I seek for a chance to 
 show that I am not the creature which this uniform makes 
 me appear. That I can do it I know, if I can only have a 
 little time and a little opportunity. But, for me, these are 
 the two hardest things to get in all the world : time and 
 opportunity ; as you may guess, and, if Elsie's in the 
 plight you speak of, my first duty is to her. How can I 
 let the precious moments slip by without rendering her the 
 aid of which she is standing in such pressing need? Yet, 
 if I turn to help her, before I can be of any real assistance 
 the small modicum of time and opportunity which I have 
 risked so much to gain will have slipped away, and they 
 will have me back again in the place from which I've lately 
 come. That will mean an end of all hope both for 
 Elsie and for me. So, Mr Otway, you perceive the dilemma 
 in which I am." 
 
 " Before we proceed any further, you and I, I should like 
 to put to you a question, Mr Thornton, which I hope you 
 will not resent. If you are the kind of man I take you for, 
 you won't. You have lately been an inmate of one of His 
 Majesty's jails?" 
 
 " I have ; so lately as this morning." 
 
 "Are you innocent of the offence for which you have been 
 sent there ? " 
 
 " I am ; as innocent as you are." 
 
 " I knew it. But the key-stone of my character's the busi- 
 ness instinct, and I like to have everything, in matters of 
 the least importance, set down clearly in black and white. 
 Will you give me your hand, Mr Thornton? I shall be very 
 glad to give you mine."
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 ESCAPED 
 
 AS they exchanged grips the young man laughed, on 
 which Otway laughed too, saying, as he did so : 
 
 "Thornton, you're the sort of man I've been looking for for 
 some time — the right sort — the sort who, when a villainous 
 fate and a scurvy fortune give him least cause for laughter, 
 laughs still, and with a gay heart. That's the sort of man who 
 wins the battle of life in the end. Apart from the fact that, 
 for her sake, it would give me pleasure to meet even a 
 thirteenth cousin of your sister's, I'm glad to meet you on 
 your own account. Now tell me — with all due apologies to 
 Mrs Thornton — how the deuce comes it that you find yourself 
 in this galley?" 
 
 " Do you mean just where I am ? " Otway nodded. " Well, 
 I've run away." 
 
 " I take it that you've run away. I'm not wanting you to 
 tell me that, being capable of guessing that you're not about 
 in that suit of clothes just for the benefit of your health. But 
 I've always rather taken it for granted that His Majesty's jails 
 are not easy places to get away from ; at any rate, to any great 
 extent." 
 
 Frank Thornton laughed again, shortly, dryly. 
 
 "You're right; they're not. It's like this with me. Not 
 yet a fortnight ago I was found guilty of embezzlement — 
 robbing my employers. Although the offence was a first one " 
 — this with another grin — " the case was a bad one, so that 
 the judge, in his great wisdom, thought it well to mark his 
 sense of the enormity of my guilt by sentencing me to two 
 years' hard labour." 
 
 " Did he? And where's the man who did it?" 
 
 " I know. It is to get within reach of him that I've run 
 away. When I do, I don't think it will be long before I suc- 
 ceed in persuading him that it might be advisable for him to 
 tell the truth." 
 
 172
 
 ESCAPED 173 
 
 This was spoken with a grimness which was eloquent 
 Otway smiled. 
 
 " I shouldn't be surprised if you turn out to be right, if you 
 find him in a proper mood and a convenient place." 
 
 "That's it; it's a question of time and opportunity, both 
 of which things are likely to be most to seek." 
 
 " I suppose they're after you ? " 
 
 " I suppose they are — hot foot, especially after the ^fashion 
 in which I gave them the slip." 
 
 " How did you do it ? " 
 
 "In a tunnel." 
 
 " In a tunnel? I wasn't aware that prisons had tunnels." 
 
 "They haven't. I wasn't in a prison at the time. I'll 
 explain. After my sentence they sent me to Wandsworth jail. 
 There a warder came to me and informed me that I was to be 
 transported to another prison. He didn't condescend to 
 inform me why or where ; and it was only when I found 
 myself at Clapham Junction in company with a dozen other 
 gentlemen in the same position that it dawned on me that 
 we were bound for Lewes. Now I live here ; Lewes jail is 
 over there" — he pointed with his hand— "not so very many 
 miles off. On the way to it we should have to pass through 
 country almost every yard of which I knew. I should not 
 be very far from friends — the kind of friends who never 
 fail." 
 
 He put his arm about his mother's waist and drew her closer 
 to his side. It was odd to see how diminutive she was in 
 comparison with him. 
 
 "There rose in my mind the glimmer of a thought that if I 
 could escape from my custodians, if only for a little while, I 
 might get within reach of a harbour of refuge from which it 
 might be difficult for them to win me back. Before they 
 could do it I might have brought the man, who had chosen to 
 let me occupy the place which he ought to have filled, to a 
 state of mind in which he would make it clear to all the world 
 that they had no right to me at all. So that freedom for an 
 hour or two might mean my restoration to that place among 
 honourable men out of which I had been juggled." 
 
 He stopped for a second to kiss his mother and to smooth 
 her hair with his hand. 
 
 "As I said, it was but a glimmer of a thought. In the 
 brains of the best-conducted prisoners such embryos are born
 
 174 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 at times. I never dreamed that a chance of escape would 
 offer. I had imagined that convicted prisoners, passing from 
 jail to jail, would be kept in such rigid safe-keeping that a 
 chance of slipping away could never, by any possibility, occur. 
 And to do my custodians justice, they did their duty well, 
 never relaxing watch or ward. If it were not owing to two 
 little accidents which would not be likely to recur, I suppose, 
 once in a million times, they would have delivered me, in due 
 course, at the address to which I was consigned. 
 
 "The first accident occurred nearly at the start. It con- 
 sisted in the fact that the guard of the train by which we 
 journeyed happened to be a man whom I have known for 
 many years. He used to live in our village, and began his 
 railway career at the local station. It chanced that my father 
 was able to render him one or two services, and he is a man 
 with a memory. As we were being marched to the compart- 
 ment which had been reserved for our accommodation I saw 
 him standing by the open door. He saw me too. Although 
 he made not the slightest sign of recognition, I knew, all at 
 once, that I had for friend a man in authority, whose heart 
 was not only in the proper place, but whose head, also, was 
 screwed on in the right way. \Vhen we were in he was sup- 
 posed to shut the door and lock it. But I knew — although 
 still he gave no sign — that the locking had been but a 
 feint. 
 
 "That guard was accident No. i. It was when the train 
 was stopping at Croydon that I came on accident No. 2. I 
 discovered ihat the handcuff by means of which I was, as it 
 were, riveted to another prisoner — a drink-sodden Billingsgate 
 porter, who was doing six months for kicking his wife to a jelly 
 — had something the matter with its constitution, which had 
 prevented it from properly snapping, so that I had but to give 
 my wrist a sharp twist to be freed from it. My companion 
 recognised the position at the same instant I did, but, with 
 admirable sagacity, he betrayed no hint of it. Possibly the 
 same idea was taking root in his mind which had already 
 germinated in mine. 
 
 " With me it was beginning to take tangible shape, and that 
 shape was — Balcombe Tunnel. The w^ords — Balcombe Tunnel 
 — were commencing to occupy my brain to the exclusion of all 
 else. Balcombe Tunnel is about the nearest point to Dul- 
 lington. I knew every foot of the country which lies between.
 
 ESCAPED 175 
 
 My companion and I were facing the engine. A warder was 
 on my left. Beyond him was the door, which, although it was 
 supposed to be locked, had the window up. That closed window 
 not only made the atmosphere in our compartment bear a 
 family resemblance to that of the Black Hole of Calcutta — 
 you will understand that we were eight prisoners and four 
 warders : the other four prisoners were with three warders in 
 the compartment behind us — but it promised to put the little 
 excursion I was contemplating beyond my capacity. I should 
 not only have to pass the warder at my side, but get that 
 window down, and turn the handle of that door. It seemed 
 to me that it would be impossible for me to perform those 
 three operations before the ofificial eye: and so, I believe, 
 it would have proved if it had not been for a trifle for which 
 I have a slight suspicion that I was indebted to accident 
 No. I — in other words, to my friend the guard of the 
 train. 
 
 " How he managed it I can only surmise; but if he was not 
 responsible I can only say that, by a very extraordinary coin- 
 cidence indeed, the light went out as we entered Balcombe 
 Tunnel. Suddenly, and without the slightest warning in the 
 way of a premonitory flicker, just as we got well out of the 
 daylight, the gas overhead disappeared, and we were plunged 
 into utter darkness. There ensued, in the pitch blackness, a 
 hubbub and confusion which I will not attempt to describe. 
 My companions were the sort of people to make the most — 
 from their point of view — of so unexpected an occurrence. 
 Shielded from the warders' vision, it did not matter what they 
 did ; and they did it. Quite what happened I cannot tell you. 
 I can only say that within half-a-dozen seconds after the light 
 had vanished I had wrenched myself free of the handcuff which 
 attached me to my companion on the right, and that the 
 carriage was full of noisy and scuffling men. I held my peace, 
 keeping as still as the others would allow me to do, waiting 
 and watching for my chance. The warder at my side kept 
 trying to light a match. Every time a flame appeared some 
 one put it out again. 
 
 "The train was travelling pretty fast. On our side was the 
 tunnel wall. I knew that between us and it was a space which 
 could be measured by inches rather than feet ; that here and 
 there were bays in the brickwork into which men working on 
 the line could draw back to permit trains to pass them. If I
 
 176 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 opened that carriage door the chances were that it would 
 spring back from the wall. And, in any case, the prospect 
 ot having to leap out on to that narrow strip of space in the 
 darkness, with the train going at that rate, was not a pleasant 
 one to contemplate. Yet it would have to be that or nothing. 
 I did think of making a dash for the alarm, stopping the train, 
 and then springing out as it was slacking speed. But then, if 
 I could alight from a motionless, or almost motionless, train, 
 others could, and probably would, do so also. I should be- 
 come the object of a hot pursuit. On the other hand, the 
 persons who would jump in the darkness from a flying train 
 were few and far between. I doubted if even the warders 
 would not think twice before they tried it. 
 
 " So I resolved that I would wait until the train, as 1 
 judged, was at least half way through the tunnel, and then, 
 while it was still moving at full speed, I'd try my luck. 
 
 "It is surprising that I managed to get out of the carriage 
 at all, there was so much rough and tumble horseplay. More 
 than once I was almost driven out of my seat. At last I was 
 quite. Someone giving me a tremendous shove, pushed me 
 forward so that I had to take refuge on the floor of the carriage 
 on my hands and knees. As I put out my arm, to save 
 myself, it came in contact with the warder's arm, who I 
 immediately understood was holding the strap of the window 
 to prevent its being lowered. 
 
 " Somehow that decided me. I dragged his wrist away, 
 got the window down and the door open in a shorter space 
 of time than, I should think, it was ever done before. Almost 
 before I knew it myself I was standing on the footboard. 
 Then someone made a grab at me ; I felt his hand grazing my 
 tightly-buttoned jacket. I realised that, while there was more 
 room between the side of the tunnel and us than I had sup- 
 posed, I was still higher above the ground than I had bargained 
 for. An attempt to reach it with one swinging foot, and so 
 alight as, for instance, one does from a moving omnibus, 
 resulted in failure. My foot touched nothing but the empty 
 air. Evidently I should just have to leap into the darkness 
 and hope for the best. 
 
 " I leaped, and as I did so someone fired a revolver. 
 Whether a warder had aimed at me, or whether he merely 
 desired to sound an alarm, I cannot say, but I had no doubt 
 whatever that the shot had come from one of them. It seemed
 
 ESCAPED 177 
 
 that I banged against the ground the instant I quitted the 
 footboard ; such a bang ! It not only shook every bone in 
 my body, but 1 felt persuaded that at least half of them must 
 certainly be broken. The train went whirling past. I believe 
 that the current of air it left behind did me good. By the 
 time that I was on my feet, and satisfying myself that, so far 
 as I could perceive, no bones of any consequence were 
 shattered after all, the red light on the back carriage was 
 already only a speck in the distance. The train had not been 
 stopped ; it was still whirling on. 
 
 " I was so shaken, so confused and stupid, that it was some 
 seconds before I recollected what it was that I had now to 
 do. Then I began to stumble awkwardly towards the Three 
 Bridges end of the tunnel. By degrees, as my head got 
 clearer and my limbs more under my own control, I quickened 
 my pace, until presently I was making as much speed as, 
 under the circumstances, was possible towards freedom and 
 the light, my object being to get to the end of the tunnel 
 before the train could make Balcombe station and word could 
 be sent to the man in the signal-box which, I knew, was 
 within, perhaps, two hundred yards of the other end, to keep 
 a sharp look-out for my appearance. 
 
 " Balcombe Tunnel is the second longest tunnel on the 
 Brighton line, and it's apt to be damp. I discovered that, 
 then, if I had not been aware of it before. To travel, in 
 darkness which could be cut with a knife, perhaps six hundred 
 yards over slippery, uneven, unseen ground, with a mysterious 
 something — which felt like liquid grease — dropping on you 
 as you go, is an experience of a singular kind. I kept to the 
 wall on my right as closely as I could, being aware that no 
 other train would be likely to come that side for, at any rate, 
 some little time, and that I should be able to see it coming if 
 one did. Yet it was not easy to keep close; it was horribly 
 wet and slimy, and my feet kept getting caught in what I 
 suppose were telegraph wires, and every now and then the 
 wall would vanish from under my finger-tips, which took me 
 quite aback, and worried me, until I became to understand 
 that it was because I had reached a bay. 
 
 " Once I had a fright in spite of myself. I heard a train 
 approaching from behind ; and though my common-sense 
 told me that it must be on the other line, and therefore at a 
 safe distance from where I was, the roar it made filled the 
 
 M
 
 178 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 whole dreadful place to such an indescribable extent that I 
 felt there could be no room there for it and me, and that 
 it was advancing like an avenging monster to compass my 
 destruction. I fought against the feeling at first ; but as it 
 came nearer and nearer, and the roar grew more and more, 
 my reason gave way to panic fear, and I crouched against the 
 sticky, foul-smelling wall, like some shivering cur, trembling 
 as with the expectation that each moment might be my last. 
 As the train went rushing past I am not sure that I did not 
 actually cry out. It had gone, and was out of sight, before I 
 understood that I was really safe, and then I was shaking 
 so that my legs refused to hold me straight. 
 
 "The train had left behind it suffocating smoke and vapour 
 through which, after a while, I recommenced stumbling blindly 
 on. How long it was before I perceived a pencil of light 
 gleaming afar off I cannot say. As a matter of fact, I believe 
 that the gleam was there some time before, in my stupidity, I 
 understood what it meant. When I did understand I moved 
 faster and faster, until at last I came out into the daylight at 
 a run. I came out into the blazing sun, which I found so 
 dazzling that, for still some further precious seconds, I stood 
 blinking foolishly. Then I remembered the man in the signal- 
 box, who, probably by now would be on the look-out for 
 me. 
 
 " Fortunately the box itself was hidden by a bend. He 
 would have to leave it to get a glimpse of me. I doubted if 
 he would venture to do that. I began to scramble up the 
 bank, which was covered with trees and bushes which were 
 thick enough to afford me ample cover. So satisfied was I of 
 this that I sat down in the middle of a clump of bushes to 
 rest and to think things out. It was obvious that the first 
 person to whom I showed myself would know at first sight 
 that I was an escaped prisoner : I was a walking advertisement 
 of the fact. It was broad day, and would be for hours yet. 
 I could not afford to wait for the friendly mantle of the night. 
 If I stayed where I was, waiting for it, long before it came I 
 should have been recaptured. It was of capital importance 
 that I should reach home at the earliest possible moment. So 
 far as I could see I was engaged in a forlorn hope. Capture 
 seemed inevitable. I had got as far as I had done by dint of 
 sheer and unadulterated impudence. The only thing was to 
 push my impudence — or imprudence, if you will — a step or two 
 
 i
 
 ESCAPED 179 
 
 farther until it reached a stage where, even aided by fortune, 
 it was unavailing. 
 
 "I was aware that between the Brighton road — my objective 
 — and Balcombe Tunnel was a lane, which was pretty enough, 
 but, for me, impossible. It was a distance of perhaps two 
 miles, and was bordered on either side by cottages, farms, 
 lodges, gentlemen's seats. It would be easy enough to make 
 my way to Dullington across country, but attired in the garb 
 in which I was } The population thereabouts was scanty ; 
 but, even though that was so, such a conspicuous landmark as 
 I should make would be detected before I had gone a hundred 
 yards. The only means of avoiding an immediate utter fiasco 
 would be by laying hands on some garment, or garments, 
 which would enable me to conceal the uniform I had on. 
 
 " Recontinuing my assent I gained the top of the bank, to 
 find myself brought up by a hedge which bounded a cottage 
 garden. I had come on it so suddenly that I had no time to 
 duck down before I realised that it was there, so that if there 
 had been anyone in the garden, or even at the window, he or 
 she would have spotted me at once. But the garden seemed 
 deserted ; it suddenly struck me as being possible that that 
 was the case with the cottage too. It was a tiny, ancient, 
 thatched building, consisting of, I suppose, at the most, two 
 rooms. The windows were closed ; there was no smoke rising 
 from the single chimney ; the place wore what seemed to me 
 to be a deserted air. With me it was a case of neck or noth 
 ing ; I was between the devil and the deep sea. Situated as I 
 was, the thing might be worth inquiring into. In less than no 
 time I was over the hedge, in the garden, stealing across it 
 into the house. I peered through the small latticed window, 
 but could see no one within. Gaining the door I rapped 
 with my knuckles. P'irst softly ; then, as no answer came, 
 more loudly. As, still, there was no response, I turned the 
 handle, opening the door an inch or two, and then walked in. 
 
 "The moment I had crossed the threshold I perceived that, 
 after all, the place had an occupant ; a woman sat in an easy 
 chair, and looked at me. I was so taken by surprise, and, I 
 fancy, so conscience-stricken, that I could only stand like a 
 petrified idiot and gape. When I recovered myself my 
 impulse was to back out again, and bolt. But, so soon as I 
 moved, the woman spoke. 
 
 " ' You need not run away ; I know who you are.'
 
 180 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 "At her words I stared still more. She had a curiously 
 quiet voice, which I think one finds in people who speak but 
 seldom. Her hair was white, and on her face was a peculiar 
 pallor. As 1 continued to look it began to dawn on me that 
 there was something singular in her attitude ; it was so very 
 rigid. Hers was an old grandfathers chair, whose cretonne 
 covering had been patched so often that but little of the 
 original material was left ; and she sat right back in it, so 
 straight and upright, that one perceived there must be some 
 cause for the erectness of her position. 
 
 " ' You know me ? ' I stammered. ' What do you mean ? ' 
 Then, remembering, began again to back out. ' I — I beg 
 your pardon ; I did not know there was anyone here ; you did 
 not answer when I knocked.' 
 
 "She stayed me again. 
 
 " ' Stop ! Did I not tell you not to go ? Did I not say I 
 know you ? ' 
 
 " ' But how can you know me ? I do not recollect ever 
 having seen you before.' 
 
 " ' You are a prisoner escaped from Lewes gaol, My 
 husband was a prisoner who escaped from Lewes gaol. That 
 is how I know you." While I was silent, amazed at her 
 manner of putting the thing, she continued, in the same odd, 
 lifeless whisper: "They sent my husband to Lewes gaol for 
 poaching. He had not done it; but they sent him, all the 
 same. And while he was there he heard that I had a baby, 
 so he escaped and came to me. And while he was holding 
 the baby in his arms — it was a little tiny baby because of the 
 trouble I was in when I had it — the men from the prison 
 burst into the room and found him. They rushed at him so 
 that the baby was thrown from his arms and fell on to the 
 floor, and was killed, there, before my eyes, as I lay in bed. 
 When he saw that they had killed my baby he fought with 
 them as if he had gone stark mad, so that they nearly killed 
 him too. And when they got him outside, in spite of the 
 handcuffs and the way they had handled him, he broke away 
 from them again, and ran down the slope on to the railway. 
 As he got on to the line a train came out of the tunnel, and 
 knocked him down and cut him into two, so that I lost my 
 husband and my baby both in the same hour. I've never 
 moved out of this room since then. And that's more than 
 five-and-thirty years ago. I've always known that someone
 
 ESCAPED 181 
 
 else would come to me who had escaped from Lewes gaol. 
 And now you've come. I hope that the men from the prison 
 won't find you as they found him.' 
 
 " She told her story in her sepulchral whisper, in a dry, 
 matter-of-fact sort of way which made me shiver. I fancied I 
 could see the frenzied wretch — her husband — plunging down 
 the bank which I had just now climbed, only to be dashed to 
 pieces by the roaring monster as it came rushing out of the 
 tunnel. It seemed quite on the cards that his fate might be 
 mine. I said so. 
 
 " ' I'm afraid that the men from the prison will quickly find 
 me if I can't find some clothes to exchange for these which 
 proclaim me for what I am.' 
 
 " She was silent, as if considering what I had said. 
 
 " ' I've no men's clothes. You should have them if I had. 
 I've only a man's hat ; it's there on the peg. You can take it 
 if you like.' 
 
 " On a peg was a battered straw hat. It was not much in 
 the way of a disguise ; but, still, it was at least something on 
 account, and, perhaps, better than nothing. I had left my 
 own cap behind me in the train. But it seemed that in 
 offering me the hat she had not come to the end of her 
 resources. 
 
 " 'There's my sister's waterproof. I used to be six foot one 
 as a lass, and to-day she's taller than ever I was. It'd cover 
 you pretty well all over, and it's as fit for a man as for a 
 woman. You can take that too. You're welcome to it for her ; 
 if she was in this room she'd tell you so with her own mouth. 
 She's no fonder of the men from the prison than I am.' 
 
 " Well, I tried on the waterproof to which she referred ; I 
 was still wearing it when you appeared. Her sister must be a 
 giantess, because, as she put it, it not only covered me pretty 
 well all over, but it shrouded me entirely. Indeed, unless I 
 held myself very straight, the skirts trailed in the dust, as a 
 woman's might have done. She was also quite correct in 
 stating that it was as suited to a man as to a woman. I am no 
 judge of that kind of thing, but it seems that in the days of its 
 youth it must have been meant for a masculine wearer. Any- 
 how, enveloped in the waterproof cloak, crowned with the 
 battered straw hat, although I must have presented a somewhat 
 incongruous spectacle in a country lane on a summer's day, 
 at least the uniform beneath was hidden, and I doubt if I
 
 182 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 looked a more remarkable object than some of the tramps who 
 patronise our rural roads. 
 
 " I fancy that I didn't, because I marched for over three 
 hours along the Handcross lane and across country here ; 
 and though the few people I passed stared as I went by, and 
 perhaps some of them, when 1 had gone, paused to stare again, 
 none of them seemed to notice anything strange enough about 
 me to warrant them in making uncomfortable remarks or 
 asking awkward questions. 
 
 "I arrived home safely, only to find — when I had gained 
 my haven of refuge— that, by one of fate's little ironies, I had 
 apparently done all that I had done in vain." 
 
 Frank Thornton ceased. As he did so he pressed his mother 
 closer to his side. She, putting up her hands, drew his face 
 down to hers and kissed him very tenderly. 
 
 " My boy ! " she murmured. " My dear, dear boy ! " 
 George Otway, before he spoke, regarded them, as they 
 caressed each other, with a queer light in his eyes. 
 
 " I don't understand you when you say that you have ap- 
 parently done it all in vain." 
 
 " Why, the thing is very simple, and — if it were not to me a 
 question almost of life and death — not without its humorous 
 side. Now that I have reached home it appears that the only 
 masculine garments the house contains are my father's, who 
 happens himself to be away, and as he is about my mother's 
 height his clothes are not likely to be of much use to me. 
 Since I cannot start out again into the night garbed like this, 
 because, sooner or later, detection is bound to come — and if I 
 stay here the probabilities are that my pursuers will be on the 
 scene before the morning — you will yourself perceive that I 
 don't seem likely to gain much by leaping out of that train in 
 the tunnel." 
 
 " It is only a question of clothes ? " 
 " Only ! the mischief is that it's such a large only ! " 
 "Not at all. It seems to be part of my destiny recently to 
 change clothes with other people. I shall be delighted, my 
 dear Thornton, to change clothes with you." 
 " To change clothes with me ! " 
 
 As the two men stood staring at each other there was heard, 
 echoing through the quiet house, the tinkling of a bell.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 A TRANSFORMATION 
 
 AS the tinkling of the bell died away, Mrs Thornton said, 
 half smiling as she observed the tense expression which 
 was on the two men's faces : 
 
 "This time I don't fancy there's any need for apprehension. 
 I think it's Lizzie, my small maid : it has been her evening 
 out. So that we may have the house a little longer to our- 
 selves I will invent an errand which will take her to the 
 other side of the village." 
 
 As soon as the old lady had left the room George Otway 
 turned to her son. 
 
 " Now, Thornton, I'll cut the Gordian knot, change clothes ! 
 That'll get you out of your tangle. I'll don His Majesty's 
 uniform, for, after all, it is His Majesty's ! " this with a 
 whimsical look, "and you shall get into mine." 
 
 " But I don't understand, or, perhaps, I should rather say 
 that I don't think you do. You don't realise that you'd be 
 committing an offence, half-a-dozen for all I know. First, 
 in aiding a felon to escape ; and then, if you went masquerad- 
 ing round the country in this attire, I'm not sure they 
 wouldn't charge you with stealing it, and all sorts of things. 
 I'm convinced they'd find you guilty of a variety of dreadful 
 crimes, so that you'd end by being in a worse plight than 
 I am." 
 
 " My dear fellow, these things are trifles ; it's you who don't 
 understand. The point, as I take it, is this, if you have a 
 day or two's law you'll be able to establish your innocence in 
 the eyes of all the world, isn't that so ? " 
 
 " I believe I shall be able to do so within a very few hours, 
 if I'm only able to get within reach of the man I'm after." 
 
 "Just so! then I shall figure as a hero. People will say: 
 'Just see what this man did so that the truth might be 
 brought to light— actually dressed himself in prison clothes ! 
 Wasn't it noble of him?' You catch the idea? I shall be 
 
 183
 
 184 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 the recipient of the public applause, and I shall have had 
 my adventure into the bargain. I give you my word that 
 there are few things my soul loves like a well-spiced 
 adventure." 
 
 " But " 
 
 " ' But me no buts ! ' The thing's settled ! jump out of those 
 clothes and into mine." 
 
 " But you must let me say a word." 
 
 " Not half a one ! 'Do first, talk afterwards ' ; that's a motto 
 worth your earnest attention. Seriously, the hunters are not 
 likely to give the quarry a longer start than they can help ; if 
 you don't look alive it'll be your fault if I get into serious 
 trouble. So upstairs and effect the transformation, and come! 
 come ! come ! " 
 
 As, with his arm through Frank's, he was urging him 
 towards the door, Mrs Thornton re-entered the room. 
 
 " Come ? " she echoed. " Where ? " 
 
 She stared at the pair in front of her, as if puzzled by the 
 fact, that both of them seemed to be amused. It was Otway 
 who answered. 
 
 "To this son of yours bedroom, Mrs Thornton. I suppose 
 he has a bedroom. You must know that I'm in search of 
 adventure, and he's going to put me in the way of as fine 
 a one as the heart of man could wish for. He's going to 
 lend me this elegant suit of his, so that I can pretend that 
 it's me who preferred Balcombe Tunnel to Lewes gaol, and 
 he's going off in those commonplace garments of mine, as 
 a mere ordinary citizen, who has never heard of Balcombe 
 Tunnel. Within four-and-twenty hours he'll have shown 
 that he's another victim of blind injustice, and I shall be 
 posing as something really almost heroic, don't you know." 
 
 The puzzlement was still on Mrs Thornton's trouble-worn 
 countenance. 
 
 " But, Mr Otway, if you are in earnest — — " 
 
 " If I am in earnest ! Don't I look as if I were in earnest ? " 
 
 " Then why should you do this thing — for us ? " 
 
 " Have I not been telling your son that the passion of my 
 life is a love of adventure .-^ and must I tell you again?" He 
 drew himself up straighter, with something new in his eyes 
 and in his voice. "And then, won't you understand that 
 I have met your daughter and would meet her again ? and 
 that I hold her in such esteem that I cannot stomach the
 
 A TRANSFORMATION 185 
 
 thought that she's a brother who's— you'll forgive me, 
 Thornton — supposed to be a felon. If he can show th^at 
 he's not — as he will do if he's a chance, and that soon — 
 by giving him that chance I shall have made her happy, 
 and shall esteem myself fortunate to have been able to 
 render her so great a service. You see, Mrs Thornton, that 
 is my point of view. It's a purely selfish one, tending in 
 the end only to my own advantage ; so if you'll encour- 
 age this young gentleman to lose no more time I shall 
 be so much nearer the attainment of my wishes. Therefore, 
 P>ank Thornton, if you please, upstairs." 
 
 He held the door open with a flourish, and the pair passed 
 through. 
 
 In a little bedroom, whose open window looked out on to 
 a glory of Banksia roses — as they could tell by the perfume 
 and by the accident that a single flowering spray trailed over 
 the sill — the metamorphosis took place : to all outward seeming 
 the honest man became a felon and the felon an honest man. 
 It was all done, too, with such surprising swiftness. Somewhat 
 to the younger man's bewilderment Otway kept laughing to 
 himself all the time. He was thinking of that first exchange 
 with Jacob Gunston, and of all the singular consequences 
 which had ensued. Some similarity between that occasion 
 and this, or perhaps, some contrast, seemed to tickle him 
 consummately. 
 
 "What are you laughing at?" demanded Thornton, when, 
 for the third time, the other broke into a series of 
 chuckles. 
 
 "Thoughts, my dear Thornton, thoughts! I was thinking 
 of what great consequences come from little causes, and of 
 how much may result from a change of clothes. By the way, 
 have you a razor ? " 
 
 " I believe you'll find an old one in the wash-hand-stand 
 drawer ; I left one there, I know. What do you want a razor 
 for ? To cut your throat actually, instead of metaphorically, 
 as, for all you can tell, you may be doing now ? " 
 
 " Not exactly, sir — not exactly. I want a razor to enable 
 me to remove my beard — for nothing more formidable than 
 that." 
 
 "Remove your beard? Otway, you're not going to dis- 
 figure yourself because of a sudden freak like this ! " 
 
 "I'm not so sure that the result will be disfigurement ; and,
 
 186 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 anyhow, it will grow again. Beards will grow, you know, even 
 when they have been shaved. It's a principle of mine to do 
 a thing thoroughly if 1 do it at all. I'm going to do this 
 thing as thoroughly as it can be done, you can bet on that. 
 Those pursuing friends of yours are going to be diddled as 
 neatly as they ever have been diddled, or you can call me 
 names. Those of them who are hottest on the trail will have 
 your description, even though they may never have seen 
 you in the flesh. If I've a beard, if I'm the hairy 
 monster that I am by nature, they'll know at once that 
 I'm not you. The clothes won't take them in. On the 
 contrary, they'll perceive exactly what has taken place. And 
 that won't suit my book at all. I want them to take me for 
 you, not only at first, but right along." 
 
 "Take you for me! My dear Mr Otway, even with the 
 best will in the world to commit suicide — and it seems you 
 have it — even you can't work miracles." 
 
 " I'm not so sure. It depends on what you mean by 
 miracles, so much lies in the meaning of a word. You see, 
 beard, whiskers, and moustache are gone, with half-a-dozen 
 strokes. Already, I'm not the man I was ; indeed, I hardly 
 know myself." 
 
 The alteration was singular. The fair, well-trimmed beard 
 and moustache had vanished, and instead there was a smooth- 
 faced man, with a square, strong chin, a well-shaped, laughing 
 mouth, and rounded cheeks which were flushed with health. 
 
 "Why," exclaimed Thornton, "you look a dozen years 
 younger. 
 
 Otway laughed. 
 
 "Thank you. Then it would appear that the disfigurement 
 is not so serious as you had feared. You see, I'm coming 
 back to you. The next point is, my hair's too long. I saw a 
 pair of scissors somewhere. Ah, here they are upon this chest 
 of drawers. They've done their day's work, but still they'll 
 do another. If I plant myself upon this chair you can play 
 barber?" 
 
 "Play barber? Do you mean, can I cut your hair?" 
 
 "Well, I don't know that that is quite the phrase, because 
 I don't mean cut in any artistic sense : but can you reduce the 
 hair which is on my head to the dimensions of the hair which 
 still remains on yours? You see, mine's in the fashion of the 
 world ,; yours is in — another fashion. I can't hack at it my-
 
 A TRANSFORMATION 187 
 
 self, but don't you think you could ? I shouldn't fancy that 
 it requires much skill." 
 
 " It doesn't. I imagine that the man who operated on me 
 had never officiated as hairdresser before. If you want your 
 hair to look like mine I don't doubt my capacity to make it." 
 
 " Good. Fall to ! Don't clip pieces off my ears, and make 
 as few incisions in my skin as possible. That's all I ask." 
 
 "Then you ask more than I was able to. The man who 
 handled me used his scissors on more than my hair. He 
 made such a sight of me, indeed, that when I showed myself 
 to the warder that officer declined to allow him to handle 
 anybody else. So I believe that I am the first and last 
 example of his tonsorial powers." 
 
 " Steady ! that's my flesh ; I should say you've nipped off 
 about an inch or so." 
 
 " I beg your pardon. I'm very sorry, I'm sure." Thornton 
 paused to regard his work, so far as it had gone. " I'm afraid 
 I'm making an awful hash of it." 
 
 " I'm afraid you are. It's what I hoped for. Go on. See 
 the thing well through. The result will be quite up to the 
 official standard." 
 
 "Otway, why are you making a spectacle of yourself like 
 this, to speak of nothing else? I can't conceive why you 
 should do it for me." 
 
 " I'm not doing it for you ; put that idea behind you. I'm 
 doing it for your sister. I will be frank. I don't see you in 
 the matter at all ; I only see her." 
 
 Thornton was contemplatively tapping the comb and the 
 scissors together. 
 
 " It must feel odd to feel like that about a woman." 
 
 " It does. I hope, for your own sake, that you'll feel like 
 that when your turn comes. It's one of the few feelings which 
 are worth having." 
 
 "What makes it odder is that it should be for Elsie. If 
 it had been for another girl I know a girl " 
 
 "Do you?" 
 
 "Yes; I do. Now, for her ! But, for Elsie, somehow, 
 
 it's different, and that makes it so funny. Of course, she's a 
 trump and all that, but — well, you see, she's my sister." 
 
 "That's just what I do see. What I don't see is why you're 
 not going on with this hair-mowing job of yours. Now, as 
 close as you please, but don't dig your shears into the soil."
 
 188 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 Soon Thornton announced that his task was concluded. 
 
 " What do you think of that ? " 
 
 "Nothing; or, rather, I think so much I'd rather not say 
 what I do think." Otway was contemplating himself in the 
 mirror. "I tell you what it is, Thornton, if we weren't in the 
 position wc are in, I should ask you to step outside and ex- 
 plain what you mean by it. If you couldn't manage your fists 
 any better than you do a pair of scissors you'd have trouble." 
 
 " Vou made me do it. I knew I should make a botch of 
 the thing." 
 
 " You knew right. ltd be a fair exchange for me now to 
 have a cut at you, but the mischief is you've nothing left 
 to cut at. I couldn't jab at your ears with cold-blooded in- 
 tention." 
 
 " I only just touched one of yours." 
 
 " That's all, with an accent on the just. You might have 
 treated them both alike ; it shows a kind of partiality which 
 the one just touched resents. What's in this bottle?" 
 
 " Permanganate of potash. Otway ! be careful ! don't let it 
 touch your hands, it will stain them if you do ! " 
 
 " It will if it's of decent quality and the virtue's not all 
 gone out of it." 
 
 Otway was pouring some of the contents of a bottle, which 
 he had taken off the mantelshelf, into the palm of his hand, 
 which he had shaped like a cup. Thornton was observing his 
 proceedings with some show oiperturbation. 
 
 " Otway ! don't be an ass ! don't play any tricks ! What 
 are you up to ? It will dye your hair ! " 
 
 "That's what I'm anticipating, if well rubbed into the roots. 
 You see, Thornton, you're a dark man ; that'll be all set down 
 in the description. If they find out that within a few hours 
 you've been turned into a fair one, they'll wonder, and I don't 
 want them to wonder about anything. If they once start 
 wondering, the pretty little trick I am proposing to play them 
 will be spoiled ; I shall have done all these things in vain. 
 Thank you ; I'm obliged by your solicitude ; but my dis- 
 appointment will only begin when I find that this stuff won't 
 make what's left of my hair into, literally, a colourable 
 imitation of yours." 
 
 He was rubbing handfuls of permanganate of potash on to 
 his head with results which were again surprising. His fair 
 hair was disappearing as his beard and moustache had done.
 
 A TRANSFORMATION 189 
 
 and his scalp was becoming crowned with what looked like 
 inky locks instead. The effect, as he saw it in the looking- 
 glass, seemed to afford him satisfaction. 
 
 " That's not so bad ! not by any means so bad for a tyro 
 in the art of hair-dyeing ! Your candid opinion, Thornton. 
 Don't I look about the top as if Nature had intended me to 
 play Othello ? " 
 
 " I don't know if you have such a relative ; but you're rapidly 
 approaching a point at which your own brother wouldn't know 
 you, if you haven't reached it already." 
 
 " How goes the pink and white complexion with the coal- 
 black hair ? " 
 
 " Well, it looks striking, anyhow. It's not the sort of com- 
 bination you're always meeting. If you want to attract atten- 
 tion you've gone the right way to do it." 
 
 "That's right ; smile, my simple-minded youth ! You don't 
 suppose I'm going to leave a work of art half finished ? that 
 I'm going to spoil a masterpiece by omitting a necessary de- 
 tail ! I'm not that kind of person. The thing that's bothering 
 me is how I'm going to attain to your olive skin ; as a com- 
 plexion producer, permanganate of potash seems a trifle 
 drastic." 
 
 "I promise you that you're not going to disfigure yourself 
 to that extent for Elsie's sake or for anyone's." 
 
 Snatching up the bottle which the other had been using 
 Thornton threw it out of the open window. Otway only 
 laughed. 
 
 " Dear me ! here's an autocrat ! throwing one of the finest 
 disinfecting fluids going into the blackness of night ! Didn't 
 I tell you that my mclination didn't lean that way? I fancy 
 this will suit me better." 
 
 " Man ! that's polishing cream for brown boots ! " 
 
 " Exactly ; that why I'm using it ; I want it to make me 
 brown." 
 
 Before Thornton could stop him Otway — with closed eyes 
 and tightly shut mouth — was smearing brown poHshing liquid, 
 not only all over his face, but over his neck and shoulders 
 as well. By the time the process was concluded the final 
 touch had been put to the transformation, no one would have 
 recognised in this dark-skinned, black-haired, smooth-faced 
 creature, with the nearly shaven crown, clad in the hideous 
 brick-coloured clothes, liberally ornamented with broad arrows,
 
 190 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 the immaculately attired, sunny-faced George Otway who had 
 entered the room. Nor was the alteration which had taken 
 place in Frank Thornton's appearance very much less striking. 
 Although the other's garments hung on him a little loosely 
 they fitted him very fairly, on the whole — certainly they served 
 to bring his handsome personality into striking relief — a fact 
 on which the other promptly commented. 
 
 " I say, Thornton, I had no idea what a good-looking chap 
 you were. I'm afraid it's the lamentable truth that it is the 
 tailor who makes the man ! " 
 
 "And I had no idea that I could be so easily persuaded to 
 allow another man — and he a stranger — to suffer in my place. 
 And I'll be hanged if I stand it even now — you make me 
 writhe with shame as I look at you. See here, Mr Otway " 
 
 "See here, Mr Thornton, what money have you on you?" 
 
 " Money ! — not a stiver ! " 
 
 "I think you have. In the pockets you'll find some loose 
 gold and silver, amounting, I believe, to between five and six 
 pounds, and in the letter-case which is in the inside breast- 
 pocket of the coat are notes for fifty more." 
 
 " Do you think I'll take your money ? " 
 
 " I'm sure you will, unless you wish me to brain you with 
 a poker. That amount of cash should be enough to see you 
 off; so off you go, and good go with you." 
 
 " I'll not go. I tell you that I see the position as it really 
 is at last. I'll not permit you to make a martyr of yourself for 
 me — I'm not cur enough to suffer that." 
 
 " Thornton, the man in your position, who will not snatch 
 at a chance to cleanse himself from the shame which stains 
 him within and without, is a cur unspeakable. As your sister's 
 brother, you shall not be that thing — ^if I can help it. You 
 shall not encircle your sister's life — and your mother's life — 
 with a halo of dishonour. I would rather take you by the 
 throat, and show, that way, who is the stronger of the twain. 
 You say you can prove your innocence. I am giving you the 
 chance — freely, gladly, surely ; prove it, sir. If you are the 
 felon your prison guardians think you are, then off with those 
 clothes again, back into your own. In that case — and in that 
 case only — they will become you better than any others." 
 
 "I am as guiltless of the offence with which I'm charged as 
 you are ! " 
 
 " Then prove it, prove it ! Don't stand there talking, chop-
 
 A TRANSFORMATION 191 
 
 ping phrases, splitting hairs, wasting time, knowing that the 
 hounds, who bring ruin, are on your track, but do ! do ! do ! 
 To be caught, and jailed again — that's to slam the door of 
 Heaven in your face — to be condemned for ever to the utter- 
 most courts of hell. For me — let them come ! let them take 
 me— if they can! What does it matter? — what's the odds? 
 It's an adventure, an experience, a new sensation, a game I'm 
 playing, which I shall win in the end, and so laugh in their 
 faces, especially if you're a true man, and not a liar, and can 
 establish your innocence as you say you can." 
 
 " If I only thought " 
 
 " Pardon me, Mr Thornton, it is not a question of what you 
 think, as you will perceive yourself a little later on. Come 
 downstairs ; say good-bye to your mother, and play the man." 
 
 He half led, half pushed him down to the room where the 
 mother was waiting, watching, listening, with anxious heart. 
 She exclaimed at sight of them. 
 
 " How long you've been ! I was afraid Why, Frank, I 
 
 didn't know you. And — who is this ? " 
 
 Otway laughed. 
 
 "This, Mrs Thornton, is yours obediently to command, 
 George Otway, dressed for a fancy ball, which your son is 
 immediately about to open. Now, Thornton, what's your 
 programme ? " 
 
 "I thought I'd walk to Hayford, a village about a couple of 
 miles off, and take a trap from there to the other branch of the 
 Brighton line, and so get on to town." 
 
 " Excellent ! away you go ! The next news we shall expect 
 to have of you is that the guilty man's confessed ! " 
 
 There was a hurried farewell between the mother and her 
 son. She let him out through the front door, lingering with 
 him for a moment in the hall, then returned to the little room 
 in which Otway had remained. 
 
 " Mr Otway, if all turns out well " 
 
 " All will turn out well ; make up your mind that it shall, 
 and it will. God is on the side of resolution." 
 
 " If all does turn out as we would desire, how shall I ever 
 thank you ? " 
 
 " Ah, Mrs Thornton, there's the crux. I'll show you the 
 way in which to thank me all in good time. Don't imagine, 
 for a single instant, that I'm a disinterested philanthropist ! 
 I'm more like a sixty-per-center, as you'll discover later on.
 
 192 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 In the meantime I would ask you to give me your very kind 
 attention for the space of about a minute. IVe left at the 
 station cloak-room — or what, I presume, passes as a cloak- 
 room — a Gladstone bag. Here's the ticket for it. Please get 
 it into your possession at the earliest possible moment. Open 
 it ; here's the key. You will find inside a leather wallet, con- 
 taining a large number of bank-notes ; keep them in safe 
 custody. The rest of the contents — which chiefiy consist of 
 clothes — be so good as to store in some convenient spot. 
 Possibly at some unexpected moment — it may be to-morrow, 
 the day after, next week ; I am afraid I cannot tell you exactly 
 when — I shall reappear, and I may want that money, those 
 clothes, in a hurry ; so, in the exceeding goodness of your 
 heart, have them where they'll be just handy. You under- 
 stand?" 
 
 "I under5T?md, and will do just as you tell me. But, in the 
 meantime, what is it you propose to do?" 
 
 "In the meantime " 
 
 " Hush ! Isn't that some one in the garden ? " 
 
 "In the meantime, Mrs Thornton, I intend to give that 
 person, or persons — I think there's more than one — in the 
 garden, the slip, just as, I fancy, they intend that I sha'n't. 
 We'll see which intention is carried into the fullest execution. 
 The game of hide-and-seek is commencing, in which the first 
 move ought to come from me. Since that window through 
 which I came appears to be blocked, isn't there another point 
 from which I can make a start?" 
 
 "There is the back door; it is on the other side of the 
 house. If you cross the kitchen-garden you will find a gate 
 which will lead you into the paddock, and on the other side 
 of the paddock is a lane which will take you to Chelsfold Wood ; 
 but, in the darkness, at this time of night, what you will do 
 when you get there — if you ever do get there — I don't know." 
 
 " Nor I either, till the moment for action comes. I gener- 
 ally find that then a way opens. Trust in God, Mrs Thornton, 
 and keep your powder dry ; Old Noll's motto wasn't a bad one. 
 I think I'll try that back door of yours. You understand what 
 I said about that Gladstone bag?" She nodded ; it seemed 
 to be beyond her power to speak. " Ah ! they're trying the 
 window ! When they find it's latched they'll turn their atten- 
 tion to the front door. Now's the time for that back door, if 
 you'll lead the way."
 
 A TRANSFORMATION 193 
 
 They had been speaking in whispers ; now they stole out 
 of the room on tiptoe. As they went another effort was made 
 from without to force the window open. The two grotesquely 
 contrasting figures passed through the stone-floored scullery 
 to the servants' entrance. Here Mrs Thornton paused to 
 murmur : 
 
 " Someone may be waiting outside." 
 
 " Is there no point from which we can reconnoitre?" 
 
 " There's a little window on your right ; perhaps I shall be 
 able to see." 
 
 There was no light where they were. Mrs Thornton had 
 guided him through the shadows with her hand upon his 
 wrist. Now she moved a little away from him to where, as 
 he supposed, there was a window, though from where he 
 stood nothing could be seen. Presently she returned to his 
 side, whispering : 
 
 " It is so dark that it is difificult to make out anything, but 
 I don't think anyone is there." 
 
 " We'll chance it : ' nothing venture, nothing win.' " 
 
 " I will unfasten the door ; keep quite still." 
 
 She opened the door, but so noiselessly that he only knew 
 that it was open because the cool night air blew against his 
 cheeks. 
 
 " Now, quick ! as silently as you can ; they are perhaps still 
 on the other side of the house. Keep straight on and you will 
 see the paddock gate shining white in the darkness ! God go 
 with you ! " 
 
 " God stay with you — for Elsie's sake ! " 
 
 He held her cool, trembUng hand for a moment, and was 
 gone. So soon as he was through the door she shut and 
 bolted it — still not making a sound. When it was shut she 
 sank on her knees and leaned her head against it and prayed, 
 the tears trickling through her withered fingers. 
 
 N
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 THE CRY IN THE NIGHT 
 
 WITH George Otway luck went at first. He made his 
 way as best he could over what seemed vegetables of 
 different sorts. 
 
 "That's a cabbage!" he told himself. "And that's an- 
 other ! Hollo ! surely that's a row of potatoes, it nearly sent 
 me sprawling ; and there's a second — I'm in the middle of a 
 potato patch." He paused to listen. " It's a wonder they 
 don't spot me ; it seems to me that I'm making noise enough 
 to wake the dead. What's that ? beans, as I'm a sinner ! — 
 that beanstick nearly gouged my eye out ! It seems to me 
 that if one has to cross this kitchen-garden in the darkness 
 it would be better to survey it in the daylight first." He per- 
 ceived a suggestion of white gleaming through the shadows. 
 *' I suppose that is the gate. It is : I may thank my stars I 
 have got as far as this alive. Now for the wonders of the 
 paddock which lie beyond." 
 
 Here he found it easier going, only stumbling now and 
 then over what might have been roots of trees. Presently he 
 brought himself up against a hedge. 
 
 "This won't do — I can't get over this ; I take it that there's 
 another gate which leads into the lane." 
 
 Feeling his way along the hedge he came to one. In 
 another second he was in what he presumed to be the lane, 
 though the light was still so bad, that, ignorant of the land- 
 marks by means of which country folks find their way in the 
 darkness, remembering what Mrs Thornton had said, he could 
 only make a vague guess at his whereabouts. 
 
 " I don't think she told me whether — to reach that wood — I 
 ought to go to the left or to the right ; this light's so de- 
 ceptive that I shouldn't be much wiser if she had. Anyhow, 
 here goes to chance it ; for me one point's about as good as 
 another." 
 
 When he had gone some little distance along the lane he 
 came to a cottage which stood by the roadside. An open 
 
 194
 
 THE CRY IN THE NIGHT 195 
 
 door showed a lighted room beyond. On the doorstep a child 
 was standing — a girl of about eight or nine. At sight of her 
 he stopped, thinking to ask of her the way ; it felt so stupid 
 to be out in the darkness there, knowing nothing of his 
 surroundings or where it was that he was going. 
 
 "Can you tell me, little girl, where this road leads to ? " 
 
 As he spoke he advanced a little towards her, coming into 
 the patch of light which shone through the open door, so that 
 she could see his form and figure. The moment he did so, 
 screaming like a creature possessed, she rushed back into the 
 cottage. 
 
 " Why," exclaimed Otway, " what's the matter with the 
 child ? " 
 
 A woman appeared in the girl's place ; a big, burly female, 
 holding an infant in her arms. 
 
 " Who are you ? " she demanded roughly. " What do you 
 want ? " 
 
 " I was only inquiring " he began. 
 
 She did not wait for him to finish. Directly she caught 
 sight of him, with an exclamation, she did as the child had 
 done, drew back into the house ; only, unlike the child, she 
 shut the door behind her as she went. He could hear her 
 turning the key in the lock and shooting the bolt. It was 
 done so suddenly that it took him by surprise. 
 
 " That's rural civility to wayfarers ! it's a recollection of the 
 countryman's remark in Ptmch : ' There's a stranger ; heave 
 half-a-brick at him." Then, in an illuminating flash, it 
 dawned upon him what it meant. " By George, what an idiot 
 I am ! It's His Majesty's uniform ; if I hadn't forgotten that 
 I had it on ! " 
 
 It was odd, but he had. In the hurry and scurry of the 
 last few moments it had wholly escaped his attention that he 
 was in felon's attire. The child had seen this dreadful figure 
 coming at her out of the darkness, and, ignorant of what it 
 meant, had screamed and fled. The mother, wiser — if not 
 much — had at least understood that this was the livery of 
 crime. For all she could tell, this escaped felon was some 
 desperate, murderous villain. In that lonely place her 
 natural instinct was to put the protection of the door between 
 herself and him. 
 
 So Otway was left out in the road to reflect how much 
 clothes might be made to mean to a man.
 
 196 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 "Well, it doesn't seem as if it would be of much use to 
 press my inquiries there ; that village mother might take my 
 perseverance as clear proof of my natural depravity. If she 
 has a gun, and were to take it into her head to shoot at me, 
 I'm not sure that she wouldn't be justified of the law. Some- 
 one has said that all men are rogues. I take it from this 
 beginning that I am embarked on the road which will make 
 it clear, beyond all doubt, how very inconvenient it is to have 
 been proved one. The worst of it is that, if any outwardly 
 honest person does come along, that worthy woman will tell 
 her dreadful tale ; the hue and cry will be raised ; and I shall 
 have the whole countryside at my heels. After all, where's 
 the harm of it ? It will give them something to talk of for 
 the rest of their lives ! " 
 
 With this philosophic reflection George Otway pursued, 
 if it could not be exactly called his way, then, at any rate, 
 the way, and that with a degree of speed which seemed 
 to suggest that he was as willing as not to put as wide a 
 space as possible between that countryside and his heels. 
 It was impossible, under the circumstances, to arrive at an 
 accurate perception of distances ; but when he had gone, 
 as far as he could judge, about four miles, without seeing a 
 sign of a human habitation or meeting a living soul, it began 
 to seem to him that he had had enough of the road. More- 
 over, he was tired. He had been up practically the whole 
 of the night before ; had been travelling throughout the day, 
 and in the course of the day a good deal had happened. 
 Pie was becoming conscious of a desire for rest and for 
 sleep. No useful purpose would be served by his tramping 
 through the night. The morning would find him wearied 
 out and out. In that condition he would not be likely to 
 be so much the master of his wits as might be desirable. 
 He was hungry too, and thirsty. So far excitement had 
 enabled him to be oblivious of the fact that, with the 
 exception of a hastily swallowed roll and butter at Liverpool, 
 and an almost equally hasty lunch at Victoria, he had had 
 neither bite nor sup. He was beginning to feel that he would 
 give one of Ebenezer Pullen's bank-notes for a crust of bread 
 and cheese and a pint of ale ; but food seemed unattainable. 
 Even if he had had any money in his one pocket, which was 
 in his jacket — and it was empty — so far as he knew there 
 was not a place anywhere from which anything could be
 
 THE CRY IN THE NIGHT 197 
 
 purchased; and even had there been it was doubtful if they 
 would have sold to such a customer. The probabilities were, 
 if food and drink had been procurable, that the only means 
 by which he could have obtained them was by theft. 
 
 Hunger and thirst he must put up with ; there was no means 
 of satisfying them. But rest and sleep might be within his 
 reach, and that was something. 
 
 He had been conscious for some little time that the road 
 on either side had been lined with trees. A murmuring 
 sound, as of waves breaking on a gently shelving shore, had 
 hinted at a breeze stealing through a multitude of leaves. 
 He thought of what Mrs Thornton had said about Chelsfold 
 Wood. This might be it through which the road was passing. 
 Few better places to take one's ease than under the cover 
 of a giant tree. He scrambled through what seemed to be 
 a ragged and ill-kept hedge upon his right, to come almost 
 immediately in contact with the trunk of a tree. He did 
 not stop to consider. He just subsided on to the ground 
 at the foot, to find himself couched on what felt like a bed 
 of moss. Before he suspected that unconsciousness was so 
 close at hand, he was fast asleep. 
 
 And from slumber he was roused by for a moment he 
 knew not what. He found himself sitting up straight, 
 listening. He asked himself what it was for which he was 
 listening. There was about him that sound in silence which 
 is the note of a summer's night among trees ; that curious 
 commingling of quiescence with movement. It was so still 
 that the faintest noise was audible ; and yet the more his 
 ear became accustomed to the atmosphere the more he 
 understood that the place was full of noises. There was, 
 first, that most languorous of harmonies, the sighing of the 
 air among the leaves and branches, the underwoods, the 
 grasses, and the bracken. He could hear its numerous 
 refrain filling all the world, afar off, round about him. And 
 then there were the movements of the woodland creatures — 
 his accustomed ear began to distinguish them ; the flight 
 of the night birds, the humming of insects, even the passing 
 of the moths ; the sound of small feet moving like velvet 
 pads over the ground ; of unseen forms scurrying through 
 vegetation — these things seemed to make the predominant 
 stillness more obvious. In the silence of the summer night 
 to what was he listening ?
 
 198 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 All at once, in sufficiently surprising fashion, the answer 
 came. He sprang to his feet with a sudden bound, someone 
 had called to him. 
 
 " George Otway ! George Otway ! " 
 
 Who could it be? what did it mean? Not once, but 
 twice, his name came to him, as distinctly as he had ever 
 heard it in his life, from among the trees. Not loudly, but 
 with a penetrating clearness which set him trembling. 
 
 From what direction had it come? From a distance, or 
 from close at hand? It was a question which, for the life 
 of him, he could not answer. The speaker might have 
 been behind the next tree; or, madness though it seemed, 
 a hundred miles away. 
 
 All was still. It must have been imagination. It was 
 ridiculous to suppose that any voice could convey to his 
 mind the impression that it was coming to him from a distance 
 —the absurdity of the thing !— of hundreds of miles. He 
 must have woke out of some sort of dream, and the dream 
 had followed him out of slumber. For a full minute he stood 
 there, with clenched fists, wide-open eyes, straining ears. And 
 then it came again, the voice ! 
 
 " George Otway ! George Otway ! " 
 
 If anything, this time it was clearer, louder than before ; 
 yet still not so much loud as clear; with, in it, a strange 
 acuteness which, as at first, set him all trembling. It was 
 like a cry of pain. But from whom did it come — and 
 whence? It must come from among the trees — it must! 
 That suggestion of distance, which was stronger then before, 
 was the sheerest absurdity. He could not hear someone 
 caUing to him from the other side of the world as, it seemed, 
 he had done. He was the victim of a trick ; of some 
 hallucination. Someone, who had discovered his where- 
 abouts, was leading him into a trap. 
 
 Yet — what a note there had been in it of pain. Surely 
 nobody could have feigned that; it must have been an 
 expression of natural suffering. And where had he heard 
 the voice before? He racked his brain in an effort at 
 recollection. 
 
 It came again — once ! only once ! But what a voice ! 
 " George Otway ! " 
 
 This time the loudness of the cry was more marked than 
 the clearness, though it was clear enough. It came ringing
 
 THE CRY IN THE NIGHT 199 
 
 through the forest Hke a shriek. Beyond doubt some poor 
 creature was suffering, in pain, in infinite distress. That cry 
 could only have been torn from some anguished breast. 
 Someone was in frightful need of instant help. It was worse 
 than folly to stand there, hesitant. He dashed into the cruel, 
 shrouding darkness, shouting as he went blundering among 
 the trees. 
 
 "Who is it? where are you? what do you want?" 
 
 No one answered. He only flushed a cock pheasant, 
 which rose with a discordant clatter into the air. He had 
 startled all the creatures of the forest, so that the place 
 was filled with the tumult of their vociferous alarm. But 
 to his inquiries there was no response. And, presently, 
 perceiving the futility of what he was doing, he paused in 
 his wild career. 
 
 Momentary reflection showed him plainly what nonsense 
 it was to suppose that anyone knew he was sleeping in that 
 forest ; that anyone could know. There were only two 
 persons who could even guess ; it was a million to one 
 against Frank Thornton's doing that. x'\nd as for his mother, 
 she had endeavoured to direct him to Chelsfold Wood. But, 
 in the first place, she certainly could not know that he had 
 reached it ; he himself did not know. And, in the second, the 
 voice had emphatically not been hers, though it had been a 
 voice which he knew, and knew so well. 
 
 "Stuff! rubbish! bosh!" 
 
 He began to load himself with opprobrious epithets, telling 
 himself that his wits were wool-gathering, that, like some 
 raw cockney, he had allowed himself to be fooled. What 
 he had heard had been some creature of the woodland which 
 his excited fancy had transformed. He tried to think of 
 some bird or beast whose cry could have caused him to be 
 so crassly mistaken. Through his mind there flitted stories 
 which country people tell, of the owl bewildering bibulous 
 stragglers by hooting " Who-o-o ! who-o-o ! " amid the funereal 
 trees. Some such trick his fancy must have played him. The 
 explanation lay, no doubt, in just as simple a direction. 
 
 And yet, considering that this must be so, it was strange 
 in what a state of agitation he still was ,; he whom it required 
 so much to agitate. Although the night air was cool and 
 sweet he was damp with perspiration, and seldom a man 
 who suffered less from heat than he did. And it was as if
 
 200 A -^lETAMORPHOSIS 
 
 every nerve in his body had been pricked with a pin j he was 
 still all of a tremble. The reason, doubtless, was that his 
 nervous system had been working at high pressure for some 
 time, so that now, in the unusual environment in which he 
 found himself, it had only needed a little thing to unhinge 
 him altogether. 
 
 Of course, that was the reason ; there could be no other. 
 It was foolish to seek for remote causes when the real ones 
 were obviously close at hand. What he wanted, for brain 
 and body too, was rest — more rest. Let him get to sleep 
 again as soon as he could. Sleep was the sovereign healer. 
 And let him hope that, this time, he might not dream. Since 
 it was useless, in that Egyptian darkness, to try to select a 
 resting-place, he did as he had done before — he sank down 
 just where he was, and courted slumber. 
 
 This time vainly ; for hardly had his limbs touched the 
 ground than the cry came again — and again — and again ; 
 rising, with each repetition, in a crescendo scale : 
 
 "George Otway! George Otwav!! GEORGE OTWAY!!!" 
 
 As a mere example of the power of the human voice the 
 effect was sufficiently amazing ; the entire forest seemed to 
 ring with it. It filled the air to the exclusion of all other 
 sounds. And in it the note of pain was so insistent that, 
 to the startled man, it seemed to penetrate to the very 
 marrow in his bones. The notion that that cry — that ex- 
 pression of human anguish — could proceed from a bird or 
 beast became, on the instant, too preposterous for sober 
 consideration. Someone wanted help ; someone — no matter 
 how the knowledge had been acquired — who knew that he 
 was there. Though he had to search the forest through it 
 was for him to render it. It was out of the question that 
 he should allow such an appeal to go unanswered, cost him 
 what it might. So once more he went crashing blindly 
 through the trees, shouting as he went : 
 
 " I'm coming ! fear nothing ! I'll be with you in a minute ! 
 only endure a little longer ! " 
 
 It was as if his soul was crying to this other soul. 
 
 But the same thing happened as before : the farther he 
 went the clearer it became to him what a wild-goose chase 
 this was on which he was engaged. The same questions 
 returned to him with added force — from whom could the 
 cry have come? and from where? It must have come from
 
 THE CRY IN THE NIGHT 201 
 
 the forest ; or, at least, from the immediate neighbourhood. 
 And yet there was something tugging, not at his intellect, 
 but at his heart-strings, which told him that it came from a 
 distance which — relatively — was infinite. And — again as 
 before — the farther he went the stronger this conviction be- 
 came ; until, at last, staying his advance, as if assured of 
 its futility, he put his hand up to his bewildered head, 
 inquiring of himself: 
 
 " What does it mean ! what does it mean ! " 
 
 And, in that instant, he understood — that is, in a degree. 
 For, while he pressed his palms against his throbbing temples, 
 the cry was repeated, this time with a new and most amazing 
 addition : 
 
 " George Otway ! Come to Elsie ! Come ! " 
 
 Then he knew that soul had indeed cried unto soul, and 
 that this was the voice which, sleeping and waking, he had 
 heard so much of late — the voice of the girl whom he had 
 seen on the previous night in that hideous house in Sefton 
 Park, and who had been snatched from his sheltering arms. 
 Of a surety, well might he ask himself what it meant ; how 
 it came about that, in that woodland place, he should hear 
 her crying to him in the night. And, while he wondered, her 
 voice came to him again ; if anything, louder, clearer still : 
 
 "Help! help! help!" 
 
 In what dire extremity she was — in what an agony of 
 distress — that she should call to him like that from afar. 
 He did not ask himself how this miracle had happened ; 
 how, apparently, the ordinary course of nature had been 
 turned aside to permit of this strange, incredible thing. 
 Inquiries of that sort might come later on. At present the 
 only point of interest with which he was concerned was how 
 he could render the help of which, plainly — as it seemed to 
 him — she stood in such instant, pressing need. 
 
 Clad like a felon — wearing the insignia of another's shame 
 — bedaubed, disfigured, penniless, he could do nothing. He 
 was worse than helpless. With all hands against him, what 
 could his hand do for another? The first thing necessary 
 was to relieve himself of those prison rags. Then, attired 
 in his own clothes, money in his pocket, something might 
 be done, and should be, quickly. The difficulty was to get 
 within reach of that Gladstone bag. Possibly by now, if 
 Mrs Thornton had followed his instructions implicitly, it was
 
 202 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 at the N-icarage. He had but to return there. The hunters, 
 finding that their quarry was away, might have given up the 
 search ; all might still be well. But to return was not easy. 
 If he waited till the morning the whole country would be on 
 the alert ; every creature in it would be on the lookout for 
 him ; to elude them all would be impossible. While, in the 
 darkness, not knowing where he was — having lost all sense 
 of direction — how was he to find the way ? 
 
 Yet it would have to be found. It was the more practicable, 
 less perilous adventure of the two. In the daylight he would 
 not dare to move a step. Darkness would lend him that thing 
 of all others most to be desired — cover. He might pass through 
 the night, no one knowing of his going or of his coming. It 
 was worth trying. He would try ! 
 
 His trouble began before he took his first step ; he had 
 to ask himself in which direction it should be taken. Which 
 was the way out of the wood? He turned slowly round, 
 muttering objurgations beneath his breath. All ways were 
 the same to him. Where he stood he could scarcely see 
 his hand before his face. For all he could tell he might 
 be in the heart of the forest, or on the edge ; on the side 
 nearest to the lane by which he had come, or a mile 
 from it. 
 
 But it was no use dallying. He would have to move in 
 some direction. So he moved. As he moved he caught 
 his foot against some unseen obstacle ; he went head foremost 
 to the ground. As he fell his head struck against what was 
 perhaps a tree-stump. For a second or two he lay half 
 stunned. When he raised himself, still shaky, a voice rang 
 through the darkness. 
 
 " Who goes there ? Halt ! " 
 
 There was no question this time as to hallucination, nor 
 any doubt as to the direction from which the voice might 
 come. The utterance had about it the unmistakable ring 
 of authority ; the speaker was probably within a dozen yards 
 of where he stood. He had fancied, as he had been lying 
 on the ground, struggling against the obscuration of his 
 faculties, that mysterious movements were taking place quite 
 close to where he was. This was what those movements 
 had portended. An enemy was upon him — a gamekeeper, 
 a policeman — he knew not what. Trying to get the better 
 of his dizziness — to collect his senses — he moved towards a
 
 THE CRY IN THE NIGHT 203 
 
 tree which was within reach of his hand, crouching close 
 up to the trunk. 
 
 The voice came again. 
 
 "Is that you, Frank Thornton? We hear you. Don't 
 try to move, or we shall fire." 
 
 "We?" Then there were more than one: the enemy was 
 upon him in force. 
 
 Just then something happened which showed him that the 
 game was up ; that escape was hopeless ; that that help for 
 which that cry in the night had asked would have to be 
 postponed till God alone knew when. A dog — seemingly a 
 puppy— came round the trunk of the tree, sniffing at his 
 legs, making that fuss which only a foolish pup would do. 
 Unless he took the creature by the throat, and there and 
 then choked the life right out of him, the prison doors 
 would soon be slamming in his face. And the chance of 
 doing even that was suddenly at an end, for all at once 
 the shutter of a lantern was turned, a gleam of blinding 
 light was flashing in his face, and out of the darkness two 
 prison warders emerged, each with a gun in his hand. 
 
 He arrived at his resolution on the instant. He threw out 
 his hands, with a laugh. 
 
 "You've got me ! It's a fair catch ! " he cried. 
 
 Directly after there were gyves upon his wrists.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 THE VILLAGE LOCK-UP 
 
 GEORGE OTWAY spent the remainder of that night in 
 the local lock-up, his captors supposing him to be 
 Frank Thornton, escaped felon. On the way to the lock-up 
 one of the warders said to him, jeeringly : 
 
 " So you haven't had such a very long run after all." 
 
 "No," answered George, "I haven't." 
 
 He laughed. He would have been in the best of spirits 
 had he not continually seemed to hear Elsie's voice calling for 
 help : to his mind this fresh adventure on which he was enter- 
 ing promised so much amusement. At the moment they were 
 tramping through the pitch-black lanes. He was not only 
 handcuffed, but to each wrist a chain was fastened, which 
 was attached to a warder's belt on either side of him. The 
 warder on his right flashed his lantern in his face. Suspicion 
 was in his tone. 
 
 "You're a cool hand if you can laugh like that in the mess 
 you're in. You'll take a bit of watching. Don't you think 
 you can give us the slip a second time." 
 
 " I'm sure I can't." 
 
 Otway laughed again. The officer gave a tug at his chain 
 as one might tug at a dog when one desires to keep it in 
 order. 
 
 The prisoner was still. He was wondering if his disguise 
 would not be penetrated by the local police. They surely 
 knew the vicar's son too well to be taken in by a stranger. As 
 it turned out, he need not have anticipated anything of the 
 kind. It seemed likely that the village only boasted a single 
 policeman. That dignitary had accompanied the search 
 party, was with them still — was, indeed, only a foot or two in 
 front — showing the way through the strange country and the 
 darkness, lantern in hand. 
 
 The lock-up proved to be the nearest cottage. Their guide 
 opened the door with a key which he took from his trousers 
 
 204
 
 THE VILLAGE LOCK-UP 205 
 
 pocket. As they entered, a voice — a feminine voice — called 
 to them from somewhere above. 
 
 "Tom, is that you?" 
 
 " Yes, Pollie ; it's me. You go to sleep. I expect I shall 
 be up all night, I shall." 
 
 There was a touch of importance in the speaker's voice 
 which was possibly intended to be impressive. If so, it ap- 
 parently failed to impress the lady overhead. 
 
 " Up all night ? That's a nice thing ! How does anyone 
 suppose you're going to do your duty if you're up all night and 
 all day too ? You haven't had hardly a wink of sleep the 
 whole of this last week to my certain knowledge. You'll be 
 killing yourself before long if this goes on ; that's what you'll 
 be doing." 
 
 The policeman did not seem as if he were in any imminent 
 danger of a tragic end, nor did he seem as if his recent 
 days and nights had been so sleepless as the voice above 
 declared. He was a large, corpulent man, who looked as if 
 he had as easy a time as a representative of the law could 
 reasonably expect, even in a Sussex village. Beyond doubt 
 jobs like the one in hand did not come his way every day ; or, 
 probably, for the matter of that, every year. As he replied to 
 the unseen speaker his manner took on even an extra shade of 
 dignity. He, at any rate, was conscious of the solemnity of 
 the occasion. 
 
 " I've got to do my duty. That's enough. You go to 
 sleep. Let's have no more of it." 
 
 But the lady above was not to be so easily silenced. 
 
 "Well, I never did! The idea of your talking to me like 
 that, Tom Parsons ! I never knew when I married a police- 
 man that I was going to be treated as if I were dirt ; and me 
 not yet married to you six months." 
 
 There was something audible above which sounded as if it 
 were a sob ; if it was, the lady must have had an extremely 
 sensitive nature. However that might have been, the mere 
 sound seemed to touch Mr Parsons to the quick. He looked 
 about him with obvious irresolution ; husbands of six months' 
 standing are, sometimes, sympathetic. 
 
 " I ain't treating you as if you were dirt." 
 
 The sounds above continued. Indeed, they became more 
 conspicuous ; the very voice was broken. 
 
 " Then I don't know what you are a-doing, Tom Parsons,
 
 206 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 that I don't." A pause ; then an inquiry. " Have you got 
 young Mr Thornton ? " 
 
 " We have, of course ; what do you think ? " 
 
 "Surely to goodness you ain't all alone with him down 
 there ! " 
 
 " Certainly not ; don't be so ridiculous. There's three 
 warders from Lewes Gaol." 
 
 " Then I should think they could let you come to bed. 
 Surely it don't take four great, strong men to look after one 
 young gentleman ; I don't think much of them three warders 
 from Lewes gaol if it does." 
 
 The outspoken expression of opinion seemed to disconcert 
 Mr Parsons as much as it amused the three officers alluded to. 
 One of them took upon himself to answer. 
 
 " You're quite right, Mrs Parsons. We're quite capable of 
 looking after our prisoner ourselves ; we should be a queer 
 lot if we weren't, and we won't keep your husband from you 
 another minute. We're married men ourselves, and we know 
 how hard it is on a lady, what's all alone in bed, to be deprived 
 of the society of her husband." 
 
 " Do you hear that, Tom Parsons ? Are you coming 
 upstairs ? " 
 
 " Yes, I do hear ; and I'm not a-coming. I hope I know 
 what's due to myself better than that if you don't. I'm 
 surprised at you, PoUie, I really am ; going on like this when 
 you know what a serious matter this is I've got on hand. 
 Why, if I was to let these gentlemen sit up here all alone by 
 themselves it might go against me all the rest of my life. You 
 don't want to ruin your husband, do you, PoUie?" 
 
 Apparently this pathetic appeal was not without eflfect. 
 The next remark was of a different tenor. 
 
 " I can't make out what they want to bring him here for at 
 all. Why can't they take him straight off to Lewes Gaol 
 instead of putting the responsibility on you ? " 
 
 The warder who had previously spoken explained : 
 
 "There's no responsibility on your husband, ma'am; not a 
 little bit. The responsibility's all ours ; we're the responsible 
 parties. As for taking him to Lewes straight away, it's not to 
 be done. For one thing, there's no trains, and we can't take 
 him all the way in a fiy. We'll clear him off by the very first 
 train in the morning, we promise you that ; but in the mean- 
 time I'm afraid we shall have to claim Mr Parsons' hospitality." 
 
 I
 
 THE VILLAGE LOCK-UP 207 
 
 "That's all right; I understand exactly how it is, I'm no 
 dunderhead. No mere's my wife ; she'll understand too when 
 she gives herself time to think things over. Now, Pollie, you 
 go straight off to sleep, and be a good girl." 
 
 " It's all very well for you to talk about going off to sleep, 
 but it's another thing for me to do it." A pause. Then a 
 sudden variation. " And look here, Tom Parsons, don't you 
 go emptying that barrel of beer. It'll be over a week before 
 the brewer comes, and the barrel's more than half empty as 
 it is." 
 
 The lady above evidently had the gift of saying plainly 
 what she had to say. At this further demonstration of her 
 powers in that direction there was silence below. Mr Parsons 
 looked as if his wife's eloquence was bearing on him a little 
 hardly. The three warders exchanged glances with each 
 other. Then they glanced at him, and as they glanced they 
 winked, and as they winked he winked too. His fresh- 
 coloured face took on a somewhat brighter hue ; he grinned, 
 thrusting his thumbs inside his belt. He assumed what he 
 doubtless meant to be a soothina; tone. 
 
 ' Now, Pollie, don't you worry ; the beer won't hurt us." 
 No,- — I'm more afraid of your hurting the beer." 
 
 " My dear ! my dear ! it isn't like you to be talking like 
 this. Anybody'd think you begrudged a couple of pints." 
 
 " I don't want you to swallow a couple of gallons and leave 
 us to go dry until the brewer comes." 
 
 " That's all right, my girl ; we ain't boozers, none of us — 
 especially when engaged on a serious job like this — or we 
 shouldn't be a-occupying the positions we are a-occupying. 
 You turn over, and you'll be asleep before you know it." 
 
 The same suspicious sounds which had been heard before 
 became distinctly audible again. 
 
 "Aren't you even coming upstairs, Tom, to say good-night?" 
 
 The eldest warder of the three clapped the policeman on 
 the shoulder. 
 
 "That's what the lady wants; she wants you to go upstairs 
 and say good-night. Giving her a kiss or two won't do you no 
 harm, and from what I can see I shouldn't be surprised if it 
 did her good." 
 
 The shamefaced Mr Parsons, acting on this hint, departed, 
 with the evident intention of appeasing — if possible — his almost 
 too demonstrative wife. So soon as he had left the room the 
 
 ((
 
 208 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 same warder said, addressing Mr Otway — he was a grey-haired 
 man, with a not unpleasant face — as he spoke his manner 
 was paternal : 
 
 " Vou see policemen have got hearts as well as other men." 
 
 " I never for a moment thought they hadn't.' 
 
 " No ; perhaps not, but there's lots of you chaps do 
 think so. And they think us warders are like the screws they 
 call us after — hard and sharp, and without any sort of 
 feeling." 
 
 " I assure you that so far as I am personally concerned it is 
 quite the other way. I am confidently expecting to receive at 
 your hands the very kindest treatment." 
 
 The warder's eyes twinkled ; the lines of his mouth became 
 more distinctly defined. 
 
 " Ah ! — that's another question. You knew what you had 
 to expect before you started on your little jaunt this afternoon, 
 or you ought to have known if you didn't. If you're wise, 
 what you've got to do now is make the best of things, and 
 give as little trouble as you can." 
 
 Otway nodded. 
 
 "So I suppose." He added, with a smile: "But I always 
 do try to make the best of things." 
 
 There was something in the quality of the smile which the 
 officer apparently disliked. His manner all at once became a 
 trifle surlier. 
 
 "That's all right. Then you won't mind our putting these 
 ornaments round your ankles. Those legs of yours seem as if 
 they can cover the ground ; we don't want to have no more 
 running after you just yet awhile." 
 
 He had taken from a capacious pocket in the tail of his 
 coat what looked like an extra large-sized pair of handcuffs. 
 They were joined together by a brightly polished curb chain 
 perhaps a foot in length. The warder held them out in front 
 of him as if they were pleasant to look at. 
 
 " Pretty, I call them — and useful too. Not heavy, yet 
 they'd take some breaking. Scarcely scale over a pound ; but 
 if a chap was fastened with a six-inch cable he couldn't hardly 
 be safer held. I don't say that there isn't anything a bit 
 heavier and a trifle less elegant where we're going to; in 
 fact, I shouldn't be surprised if you were to make the acquaint- 
 ance of something a good deal heavier before very long ; 
 you'll probably find someone who'll be of opinion that you'll
 
 THE VILLAGE LOCK-UP 209 
 
 be all the better for it. But in the meantime this is a handy 
 little trifle; you won't be able to get rid of it so easy as perhaps 
 you think. It'll at any rate keep you safe until the first train 
 in the morning, and that I'll swear. Stand still there while we 
 put 'em on." 
 
 George Otway stood still. Click ! click ! the fetters were 
 snapped about his ankles ; he found himself unable to move 
 in any direction more than a few inches at a time. The grey- 
 haired warder contemplated the result with obvious approval. 
 
 " I don't fancy you'll be able to do much running away 
 while you've got those on." 
 
 " I don't fancy that I shall." 
 
 George Otway laughed. The whole situation struck him as 
 exceedingly comical, — it seemed almost incredible that all 
 this while no one was finding him out. His likeness to the 
 absent man must be much greater than he had imagined. 
 The three warders eyed him a little sourly, — his trick of easy 
 laughter was evidently one for which they had an instinctive 
 distaste. The shortest of the three commented on it — a 
 cobby fellow, with short, bristly black beard and aggressive 
 eyebrows. 
 
 "You're easily amused." 
 
 "You think so. I'm not so sure of that. Generally I find 
 it rather hard to be amused." 
 
 "Lawyer, are you? got something to say every time? I 
 know your sort, — turned the key on plenty of 'em in my time. 
 Perhaps you won't have so much to say by the time we've 
 done with you." 
 
 The speaker's looks and manner expressed extreme dis- 
 approbation. The policeman's steps were heard lumbering 
 down the stairs. He reappeared in the room, to be greeted 
 by the cobby man. 
 
 "You've been some time saying good-night to that good 
 lady of yours, Mr Parsons. Perhaps you was forgetting that 
 you haven't shown us where we're to put this here escaped 
 prisoner of ours. We don't want to lose him again, you bet." 
 
 The constable showed traces of embarrassment. His face 
 was redder than it had been ; there was about him a general 
 air of fluster. His attempts to ignore the fact only brought it 
 into greater prominence. 
 
 " Sorry if I have kept you waiting ; but, the truth is, it's the 
 key that I was after— the key of the lock-up. Keep it up-
 
 210 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 stairs, I do. As I haven't had occasion to use it for awhile it 
 seems somehow to have got mislaid. But I've found it." 
 
 He flourished a huge key in their faces as if to prove that 
 that was so. The cobby man was still acrid. 
 
 "Seems to me, Mr Parsons, that you've got your own way 
 of doing things round these parts ; wouldn't quite do for 
 Lewes Gaol." 
 
 There was something in this speech which the policeman 
 resented. His manner became suddenly huffy. 
 
 " When I'm going to apply for a situation in Lewes Gaol I'll 
 remember to ask you to tell me just what's wanted ; but I wasn't 
 thinking of applying as I knows of. This ain't Lewes Gaol." 
 
 The grey-haired warder endeavoured to appease him. 
 
 " No offence, Mr Parsons, no offence ! You're better off 
 where you are, I can tell you that." 
 
 Behind the constable's back the speaker winked at the 
 cobby man, who pursed his lips as if he found it difficult 
 to restrain himself from answering back. The policeman was 
 still aggrieved. 
 
 " That's as may be. My ways please my official superiors, 
 and if they don't please them as are not my official superiors, 
 it seems to me, as far as I'm concerned, that that's neither here 
 nor there." 
 
 " Quite right, Mr Parsons, quite right. You know your 
 duty ; of course you do." 
 
 The grey-haired man was aiming a perfect battery of winks 
 at the cobby man, who was stolidly staring straight in front 
 of him, as if he saw nothing and no one. 
 
 " I ought to. I've been in the force going on for seven 
 years without a mark against me, and this is my second sole 
 charge." 
 
 " I shouldn't be surprised if you was a sergeant before long, 
 Mr Parsons — that I shouldn't. It's men like you what's 
 wanted in the upper ranks." 
 
 At this the cobby man allowed himself to indulge in a 
 transitory grin which was pregnant with the most dire signi- 
 ficance, but it was of such a very fleeting nature that it had 
 vanished before the policeman turned. 
 
 " Here's the lock-up for you. Lock's a bit stiff — wants a 
 new one, that's my belief — so I've told 'em over at head- 
 quarters, but they don't seem to be in no particular hurry to 
 give me one."
 
 THE VILLAGE LOCK-UP 211 
 
 Mr Parsons had been opening — with some difficulty — a 
 massive door which had been let into the wall at one side. 
 As he swung it back upon its hinges a sort of large bare 
 cupboard was revealed beyond. The grey-haired warder 
 entered it, with an inquiring air. 
 
 "So this is the lock-up, is it? That's a good solid door 
 you've got there." 
 
 " It is solid." 
 
 " More solid than these walls seem to be." He was tapping 
 them with the butt of his carbine. " What's beyond? " 
 
 " My garden." 
 
 " Why, they seem to be only one brick thick." 
 
 " That's all." Mr Parsons indulged in a burst of frankness. 
 " It don't take much to get through that wall, I can tell you 
 that." 
 
 " So I should say. Strikes me that a heavy man has only 
 got to lean back sudden to find himself outside." 
 
 " It's not to be done so easy as that — not quite so easy, it 
 ain't. Still, it is to be done. I've only been here four months 
 myself. The man who was here before I was, he got a chap 
 in here one night fighting drunk. He must have hit out in 
 the middle of the night, because he pretty well brought the 
 whole place down about his ears. In the morning they 
 found him fast asleep in the garden." 
 
 "Did they? That sounds as if he was in the country. 
 And I suppose the man that was here before you were heard 
 nothing of what was going on ? " 
 
 "Not a sound; slept like a top through it all. It must 
 have come down with no more noise than if it was a pack of 
 cards." 
 
 " When they rebuilt it didn't they cover it with a sheet of 
 paper so as to make it stronger ? " 
 
 " Just used the same bricks over again ; laid 'em in fresh 
 mortar — that's all they did. It cost eighteen-and-tuppence ; 
 I've seen the bill." 
 
 "Have you? Cost as much as eighteen-and-tuppence, 
 did it ? " 
 
 " You see, it's this way : we never have desprit characters 
 hereabouts ; never ! never heard tell of one ! No one's ever 
 locked up round here; there's never no one to lock up. 
 It's all done by summons — that's how it's done. Why, I've 
 only locked up one party the whole going-on-for seven years
 
 212 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 I've been in the force, and that was a boy as threw a stone 
 through a grocer's window what his mother owed a bill to. 
 If I was to lock up anybody I should take him over to 
 Selston — that's what I should do." 
 
 "Oh, you would, would you? It's a pity you didn't mention 
 these facts before you brought us here. How far might 
 Selston be from this?" 
 
 " A good nine miles by the road, and a bit over." 
 
 " Is it ? I think we'll stay where we are till the first train 
 leaves in the morning. Thornton, you come here." The 
 warder was still in the lock-up of whose powers of safe-keep- 
 ing such flattering things had been said. George Otway went 
 to him. "You sit there." He pointed to a board, which, 
 running across one end, was intended to serve as a seat. 
 "You've heard what Mr Parsons has been saying, so don't 
 you lean back too heavily against this wall. We're not going 
 to shut that door : we're going to leave it wide open. One 
 of us will always be right bang in front of it, and he'll have a 
 gun. We've all got guns. See ! there's mine ! " He thrust 
 the muzzle of his carbine right under Otway's nose. " And 
 they're loaded, our guns are. If you lean back too heavy, 
 or so much as move off this seat without permission, they'll 
 be pointed straight at your head. We were entitled to shoot 
 you down like a rabbit in the wood there. A prison-breaker's 
 got no rights : we officers can shoot him at sight. If you 
 give us any more of your tricks we'll shoot you. We'll load 
 you up with lead, as sure as you're alive ; so the more clearly 
 you understand that the more comfortable you're likely to be." 
 
 By way of answer Otway laughed again. 
 
 " Thanks for telling me ; it's very good of you to make 
 the position so plain." 
 
 " Mind it is plain, that's all. I wouldn't laugh quite so 
 much if I was you. There's nothing to laugh about in the 
 scrape you're in that I can see. Now, down you sit." 
 
 Mr Parsons spoke. 
 
 " I don't know that that seat will hold a man of your weight." 
 
 Otway sat down. The board creaked as he did so, but it 
 was only as the strain came on it first. 
 
 " It's a bit creaky perhaps, but I think its constitution will 
 stand the shock. I only hope you gentlemen won't shoot if it 
 does let me down. By the way, Mr Parsons, I don't remember 
 to have seen you before."
 
 THE VILLAGE LOCK-UP 213 
 
 "And I don't remember to have seen you. Seeing that 
 I've only been here four months ; and that, so far as I know, 
 you haven't set foot in the place since I have been here, and 
 that I came from pretty near the other side of the country, 
 I don't see how I could have seen you." 
 
 This explained how it was that the village constable had 
 failed to perceive, at a glance, that he was not Frank 
 Thornton. But there still remained the fact that the 
 warders had been taken in also ; so with an eye to enlighten- 
 ment, he pursued his inquiries with the same light-hearted 
 air : 
 
 " Nor do I remember to have encountered either of you 
 three gentlemen. Surely we were not companions in the 
 train." 
 
 The grey-haired warder answered, with, in his tone, more 
 than a touch of crustiness: 
 
 " If we three gentlemen, as you put it — or either of us — 
 had been your companions in the train we'd have kept you 
 in the train : you wouldn't have got out of it alive ; you can 
 take my word for that." 
 
 The cobby man announced : 
 
 " If you'd tried on any of your games with me there'd have 
 been an end of one of us ; I rather fancy there'd have been 
 an end of you. I may be wrong; but I never have been 
 wrong in a thing of that sort as yet." 
 
 The third warder, who seemed to be a silent sort of person, 
 gave his view of the position in a very few words. 
 
 " No prisoner ever got away alive from an officer who was 
 worth his salt, and I don't care who hears me say it." 
 
 The grey-haired warder shook his head. 
 
 " I don't know that I'm prepared to quite go so far as that 
 myself, prisoners having given even good officers the slip for 
 the time — only for the time, mind! — to my certain knowledge. 
 But nothing of the kind has happened to either of us three 
 so far, and we're not proposing that it should happen now." 
 
 " We're not," agreed the cobby man. 
 
 The third warder said nothing; he only examined the trigger 
 of his carbine.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 THE WARDER GOES 
 
 THERE was a momentary silence. The three warders 
 stood together in front of the open lock-up, eyeing 
 George Otway, seated on the board at the other end, as if he 
 were some strange creature. Each held his carbine by the 
 muzzle, the butt resting on the floor. The prisoner wondered 
 what would happen in case of an accidental discharge. The 
 probability seemed to be that there would be one warder 
 less, or else there would be a surprise for Mrs Parsons 
 overhead. The policeman leaned in easy attitude against 
 the wall. His interest in the proceedings was almost ostenta- 
 tiously slight, as if he wished to let the others understand 
 how completely he was conscious that the prisoner was not 
 his. Presently the grey-haired warder drew the back of his 
 hand across his lips. As Mr Parsons happened to be looking 
 at the ceiling, possibly thinking of the lady who was above it, 
 the gesture went unnoticed. On its being repeated, still 
 without attracting attention, he tried speech instead. 
 
 " Dry work this." 
 
 '* It is dry work," agreed the cobby man. 
 
 The third warder only looked as if it were. Mr Parsons 
 said nothing ; he continued to gaze at the ceiling. It really 
 seemed as if the bucolic intellect — in the person of a rural 
 representative of the law — was a little difficult to penetrate. 
 With a sigh, as of delicate regret, the grey-haired warder came 
 more directly to the point. 
 
 " Mr Parsons, didn't your good lady say something about a 
 barrel of beer?" 
 
 Then Mr Parsons began to awake to the situation. Bring- 
 ing his eyes down from the ceiling he fixed them on the grey- 
 haired warder's face. 
 
 "She did say something about less than half-a-barrel." 
 
 " Half-a-barrel, I understood her to say, of as good beer as 
 ever came into the house." 
 
 214
 
 THE WARDER GOES 215 
 
 " It is good beer." 
 
 " Ah ! " The grey-haired warder sighed again. The rustic 
 mind was very slow. " Mr Parsons, me and my two friends 
 here haven't had so much as bite or sup not since early this 
 afternoon. You mightn't think it, but it's a fact," 
 
 " Not since early this afternoon ? " 
 
 "Not since early this afternoon. That's a good long time 
 ago, as I needn't tell you, and we've done some moving about ; 
 and, so far as grub's concerned, we're men of regular habits. 
 The consequence is that, for what we're feeling, peckish isn't the 
 word, nor yet dry, neither. We could put away anything." 
 
 " I could," agreed the cobby man. 
 
 The third warder, as usual, only looked as if he could. 
 
 "Now, Mr Parsons, if you was to get us a nice plate of 
 bread and cheese, and a good glass of ale, you might charge it 
 to the county if you liked." 
 
 "Do you think the county'd pay?" 
 
 "Think? — I'm sure ! We'll endorse your claim, that's what 
 we'll do, and then the county'll pay you anything you like to 
 ask — in reason." 
 
 " If I was sure the county'd pay ! " 
 
 The silent warder was moved to unexpected eloquence. 
 
 " Look here, Parsons, if you've got any doubts about the 
 county, sooner than sit up all night starving with hunger, and 
 parched with thirst, I'll pay you for your stuff out of my 
 own pocket ; a price that'll give you a handsome profit, too. 
 I've got money." 
 
 " So far as that goes," observed the grey-haired warder with 
 dignity, " we've all of us got money." 
 
 " Of course we have ! " exclaimed the cobby man. 
 
 " How much " Mr Parsons, having got so far, paused, 
 
 to presently proceed, with an amount of hesitation which still 
 suggested doubt : " How much beer could each of you chaps 
 do with ? " 
 
 "About a pailful," declared the silent man, then added : " I 
 could do with two." 
 
 "Two pailful!" Mr Parsons stared, apparently failing to 
 suspect that there might be anything ironical in the speaker's 
 proclamation of his capacity. "You won't get two pailfuls 
 here, nor yet one. My missis tells me that there ain't hardly 
 more than a gallon left in the cask ; and the brewer, he won't 
 be round for more than a week.''
 
 216 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 The third warder, having been driven into speech, showed 
 himself to be possessed of a flow of language. 
 
 "The brewer! Ain't there publics? If the publics was 
 open do you think we'd trouble you? They will be open by 
 the time you want a sup in the morning. If three chaps was 
 to come to my place, same as we've come to yours, I wouldn't 
 see 'em sinking for want of a drop of ale — no, I'm not that 
 sort." 
 
 Mr Parsons remained, seemingly, in silent contemplation. 
 The three warders watched him anxiously ; never before had 
 they realised how slow the bucolic mind — and body — could 
 be. Then he announced the decision at which, by such 
 laborious processes, he had arrived. 
 
 " ril go and draw a pint a-piece, that'll be two quarts : my 
 missus has got a jug as just holds it." 
 
 The tension on the warders' faces relaxed ; the grey-haired 
 one heaved a sigh of sincere relief. He hailed the policeman 
 as he was going. 
 
 "That's more like it, Mr Parsons; I knew you were a man 
 on whom we could rely. Fill the jug up to the top, never 
 mind about a head on it, let it be all beer. And, look here, 
 don't forget the bread and cheese. And, by-the-way, you 
 might bring a mouthful of bread and cheese for that chap in 
 there." He motioned to Otway. " We're not going to stand 
 him beer, but a mug of water wouldn't do him any harm." 
 
 When the constable had departed in search of the much- 
 desired refreshment the grey-haired warder's manner became 
 quite genial. 
 
 "Now, chaps, gather round, let's get chairs. It don't cost 
 no more to sit than to stand — at least, I hope Mr Parsons 
 won't charge us no more — and we've had about enough of 
 standing for just once in a while. We can all of us keep an 
 eye on our gentleman inside there while we're sitting down — 
 while we're enjoying a glass of as good ale as ever came 
 inside this house." 
 
 Here the grey-haired warder winked. 
 
 Four wooden chairs were placed in a semi-circle fronting 
 the open lock-up. The warders placed themselves on three of 
 them. The fourth was left for Mr Parsons. Some minutes, 
 however, elapsed before he returned. They could hear his 
 lumbering movements in the room beyond. The third warder 
 gave expression to the common feeling.
 
 THE WARDER GOES 217 
 
 " I hope he ain't found that cask emptier than he thought." 
 
 " I hope not," echoed the cobby man, with every appearance 
 of sincerity. 
 
 There came the sound of a running tap. 
 
 "That's not beer," surmised the grey-head. 
 
 They Hstened. 
 
 "No," pronounced the silent man; " that's water. I hope 
 he's not putting water into that beer to make up for any 
 shortage." 
 
 The anxiety on their faces returned. Seemingly they were 
 racked by a haunting fear that their host might be guilty of 
 anything. When his portly form appeared in the doorway, 
 bearing a number of articles before him on a tray, each man 
 turned to him with looks of severity. 
 
 " Glad to see you, Mr Parsons," announced the grey-head. 
 "We was just beginning to be afraid that you weren't 
 coming." 
 
 The policeman said nothing. He placed his tray on a small 
 round table which was covered with American cloth. With 
 much deliberation he handed a plate of bread and cheese to 
 each of the warders and a fourth to Otway, together — in his 
 case — with a large earthenware mug full of water. 
 
 "Thank you, Mr Parsons. It's very good of you to take so 
 much trouble ; this bread and cheese looks dehcious." 
 
 It did look appetising, and the prisoner drank from his mug 
 with every appearance of unqualified enjoyment. Mr Parsons 
 filled four similar jugs with ale out of a large white jug which 
 had a bull's head to serve as a spout. He handed each man 
 one. The grey-haired warder received his with a beaming 
 smile. 
 
 "That's the stuff, Mr Parsons, that's the right kind of ale. 
 Never saw a drop of beer which gave greater pleasure to my 
 eye. Now, gentlemen, I'll give you a toast. Here's to the 
 County Police Force, coupled with the name of its excellent 
 representative, Mr Thomas Parsons." 
 
 Each man drank to the toast, including Mr Parsons 
 himself, who appeared to be unconscious of there being any- 
 thing incongruous in his doing so. He wiped his lips with 
 the back of his hand. 
 
 " Much obliged," he said. " Same to you." 
 
 The three warders seemed reheved, as if a weight had been 
 lifted off their chests.
 
 218 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 " That's a drop of good ale, that is," declared the grey-head. 
 "There's nothing like it." 
 
 " First-rate ale," admitted the silent man. 
 
 For the first time the cobby warder permitted himself to 
 differ. He was smacking his lips with the air of a connoisseur ; 
 there was a suggestion of doubt about his eyes. 
 
 "Seems to me it's a trifle bitterish. I may be wrong, but 
 there it is." 
 
 His grey-haired colleague laughed. 
 
 " It's your stomach what's bitterish, that's what it is. It's so 
 long since it's had anything inside it that it's forgotten what 
 good ale is. I like my beer to have a nip in it, I do, so that 
 I can feel I'm swallowing something as it goes down my 
 throat. Well, gentlemen, I'm going to give you another 
 toast"; he winked, "which will help you to empty what's 
 left in your mugs, so as not to keep our friend, who's waiting 
 to fill 'em up again, waiting. I ask you to drink to a lady 
 who's an ornament to her sex, and just the wife for a future 
 sergeant of police, if not an inspector. Need I say, in this 
 company, that I'm alluding to Mrs Thomas Parsons. Here's 
 to her ! " 
 
 And there was to her; Mr Parsons again joining in drink- 
 ing to the toast. So heartily was it honoured that by all four 
 of them the mugs were emptied ; each one tilting up his own 
 particular mug, so that the last remaining drops might be 
 drained into his mouth. 
 
 The effect produced by the prolonged libation was of an 
 extraordinary kind, one which was undoubtedly unexpected 
 by the drinkers. 
 
 No sooner, for instance, had the grey-haired warder assimi- 
 lated the last remaining drop, than a startled look came on 
 his face, to be immediately followed by one more peculiar 
 still. He half rose from his seat. 
 
 "There's something the matter," he mumbled. 
 
 Apparently something choked his utterance ; at least, he got 
 no further than those four words. Instead of concluding his 
 sentence he made a sort of paralytic grab at his carbine, which 
 he had leaned against the back of his chair, only to send it 
 clattering to the floor. Fortunately it was not discharged 
 upon the spot. In what seemed to be an effort to stay its 
 progress he himself went after it, falling in a sort of helpless 
 lump right on top of the ill-treated weapon. The empty beer
 
 THE WARDER GOES 219 
 
 mug dropping from his hand was smashed to pieces. Where 
 he had fallen the warder remained, uttering, for a second or 
 two, a series of groans which it was unpleasant to listen to. 
 Then he was still. 
 
 His companions were affected with even greater celerity 
 than he had been. The cobby man's hands descended on 
 either side of him, his body shpped forward on the chair, his 
 head fell back, his mouth opened ; in a flash he seemed to 
 have sunk into stertorous slumber. 
 
 The silent officer, who had complained of the bitterish taste, 
 appeared to have been stricken by a painful physical sensation. 
 Clapping his hands to the pit of his stomach, an internal 
 spasm appeared to twist him right round in his chair, toppling 
 it over, with him on top of it, so that he lay quite still, 
 athwart the seat of the chair, in about as uncomfortable a 
 position as he could very well have chosen. The policeman 
 was overcome more quickly than either of the others ; he just 
 collapsed on to the floor as if the bones had been taken clean 
 out of him, and stayed there. 
 
 The transformation had been so sudden, so unexpected, 
 and so complete, that Mr Otway felt for a moment incapable 
 of believing the evidence of his own eyes. One instant the 
 four men had been sitting there in front of him, drinking 
 jovially together, the next they were lying there like so many 
 senseless logs. He stared, and stared, and stared. Then, 
 as none of them showed any disposition to move, he 
 muttered to himself: 
 
 *' It occurs to me that there must have been something 
 radically wrong with the constitution of the best drop of beer 
 that ever came into the house ; it's lucky that they confined 
 me to water." 
 
 All at once he heard a creaking sound without. Someone 
 was descending the stairs. 
 
 " Hollo ! — the plot thickens ! Who comes now ? " 
 
 Although he could see nothing from where he was, he was 
 aware that the door which led into the passage had been 
 opened with as little noise as possible. As a matter of fact, 
 a young woman had put her head into the room ; by no 
 means a bad looking young woman either. The accident that 
 her hair was hanging down her back, and that she seemed to 
 have put on her clothes in a hurry, was not in any way 
 prejudicial to her personal appearance. After she had taken
 
 220 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 a survey of the condition of affairs inside the room, she in- 
 quired in a voice which was rendered tremulous probably by 
 a mixture of agitation and apprehension : 
 
 "Is that you, Mr Frank?" 
 
 Otway unhesitatingly replied : 
 
 " Pray step right in ; always pleased to receive visitors." 
 
 That the new-comer had an intimate acquaintance with the 
 tone of Frank Thornton's voice was immediately disclosed by 
 the astonishment she showed as Otway answered. 
 
 " That's not Mr Frank's voice ! " she cried. 
 
 Coming hurriedly forward into the room, advancing to the 
 open lock-up, she stared at its occupant. The disguise did 
 not take her in for a single second. 
 
 " You're not Mr Frank ! Who are you ? " 
 
 " I hope that Fm the next thing to being Mr Frank, since 
 I believe I have some title to call myself Mr Frank's best 
 friend." 
 
 The woman began to wring her hands, seeming on the 
 verge of tears. 
 
 " But — I don't understand ! — they told me he was here ! " 
 
 " I flatter myself that if it hadn't been for me he would have 
 been here. As it is, I trust that long ere this he's safe in 
 London. We've changed clothes ; that's the explanation of 
 the mystery, my dear woman. I chanced to meet him at the 
 vicarage, flying for something dearer than life, so I took his 
 place and he took mine. As the gentlemen on the floor 
 didn't happen to be in the secret, here I am." 
 
 "Is it true what you're saying? Are you sure you're his 
 friend? Is he really safe?" 
 
 " Yes ; — to all three of your questions." 
 
 "Oh, what have I done! If I'd only known I wouldn't 
 have moved a finger ! " 
 
 " Then, possibly, it's fortunate for me that you didn't know. 
 May I ask if I'm indebted for what has happened to Mr 
 Parsons ? " 
 
 " Mr Parsons ? — my Tom — do you mean has he done this ? 
 The idea ! why he wouldn't have done it for worlds ; if he 
 finds out he'll feel like killing me ! " 
 
 " May I inquire what it is you've done?" 
 
 "Done? — me? I've done nothing." 
 
 " Is that so ? Then who has done something ? " 
 
 " No one's done anything; no one ! It's been an accident, 
 
 I
 
 THE WARDER GOES 221 
 
 that's what it's been, just an accident. I suffer dreadfully 
 from faceache. I got some stuff which does it good and 
 makes you sleep. I kept it in a jug. The jug happened to 
 be hanging on the peg nearest to the barrel. I suppose my 
 Tom didn't see that there was anything in the jug, and filled 
 it up with beer." 
 
 "I see. And I suppose that the fact that you thought 
 Frank Thornton was inside the lock-up had nothing to do 
 with the accident?" 
 
 The young woman showed signs of strong emotion. 
 
 " I've known Mr Frank all my life ; he's always been kind 
 to me. The vicarage is the only service I've ever had. I went 
 there when I first went out, and I stayed there till I was 
 married ; and Mr Frank he's kissed me many and many a 
 time — that was before I knew Mr Parsons — it was only a 
 way he had ! " 
 
 "Just so. And not a bad way either. Goon." 
 
 Mrs Parsons peeped at him from behind the cover of her 
 handkerchief as if she were doubtful as to his meaning. She 
 went on. 
 
 "And when I heard that he was at the mercy of those 
 dreadful men, how could I tell that they'd be wanting beer 
 and that my Tom wouldn't see that there was something in 
 the jug ! " 
 
 "Precisely; how could you? We cannot command the 
 prophet's foresight. By the way, Mrs Parsons, I fancy that 
 if you were to feel in that grey-haired gentleman's coat-tail 
 pocket you'd find something which would relieve me of these 
 ornaments with which he has loaded me." 
 
 The young woman, making no bones about doing what she 
 was told, soon produced a bunch of queer-looking keys. 
 
 " I'm afraid that I myself am rather helpless. Do you think 
 you could unlock me ? " 
 
 "Are you perfectly certain that you're Mr Frank's friend?" 
 
 " Perfectly certain." 
 
 "And that he's safe?" 
 
 "Absolutely — that is, to the best of my knowledge and 
 belief." 
 
 " Then I'll unlock you. I should think I did ought to be 
 able to unlock a pair of handcuffs ; I've not been a policeman's 
 wife for nothing." 
 
 He thought of what Mr Parsons had said about having only
 
 222 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 locked up one small boy in the whole of his official life, he 
 wondered if she had acquired her knowledge by handcuffing 
 her husband and then practising unlocking him. However 
 that might have been, she showed herself deft enough at releas- 
 ing him. Presently he was standing up, freed from his fetters. 
 
 " That's better ; that's a great deal better. Mrs Parsons, 
 you have — wittingly or not — rendered me a great service, and 
 one which I shall never forget. \\'hatever may come of this 
 night's adventure, neither Mr Parsons nor you shall suffer in 
 the end." 
 
 " I do hope we sha'n't, especially Tom ! he's as innocent as 
 a babe unborn ! " 
 
 " I give you my word, my dear woman, that neither he nor 
 you shall suffer. Now there comes the question of clothes. 
 I've had enough of this rig-out, although I've only had it on a 
 few hours. If I go away in it I sha'n't be long at liberty. I've 
 been looking at this gentleman who's lying across the chair. 
 It strikes me that he's about my height and build ; I might 
 borrow his uniform and leave him mine in exchange." 
 
 Mrs Parsons, wiping her eyes, looked up at him with a sort 
 of embryo smile. 
 
 " The idea of your going away dressed like a prison warder ! " 
 
 "It's not a bad idea, is it? I think I'll proceed to put it 
 into execution if you won't mind stepping outside just for 
 half-a-minute." 
 
 Mrs Parsons stepped outside. The change was effected, 
 and in a surprising short space of time. The fit was not all 
 that it might have been, especially as regards the cap, but it 
 served, and warders are not remarkable for the perfect fit of 
 their uniform. He called to the lady without. 
 
 "Mrs Parsons!" 
 
 She reappeared, now more disposed to smile than to cry. 
 He displayed himself before her twinkling eyes. 
 
 "You see, I've managed. Do you think it will do?" 
 
 "Well, I never did ! I never should have known you !" 
 
 "Then that's all right. I think you mentioned — acci- 
 dentally — that P>ank Thornton kissed you — once." 
 
 She had the grace to blush. 
 
 " But that was before I met my Tom ! " 
 
 "Exactly. As I am acting as Frank Thornton's substitute 
 I feel that I should like to do what he would like to do. 
 Good-night, Mrs Parsons."
 
 THE WARDER GOES 223 
 
 He stooped and kissed her lightly on the cheek. Before 
 she could remonstrate he was in the passage, unlocking and 
 unbolting the door. 
 
 "A parting question : how shall I find the vicarage?" 
 
 " The vicarage ? Turn to your left when you get outside, 
 and keep straight on till you get to the end of the street, then 
 it's the first house across the way. You can't help noticing it, 
 because there's a lamp at the gate which is kept burning until 
 the morning." 
 
 Without another word he opened the door, and the tall 
 figure of a prison warder passed out into the night.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 THE DEMON KING 
 
 WHEN George Otway, in the disguise of a prison warder, 
 having in mind Mrs Parsons' words as to the con- 
 stantly burning lamp at the gate, had found the vicarage, he 
 found himself confronted by still another difficulty. There, 
 sure enough, was the light at the gate, but the house itself 
 was in darkness. He could only guess at the time ; but as the 
 month was October, and the faintest gleam of light was be- 
 ginning to show itself on the eastern horizon, he judged it to 
 be somewhere in the neighbourhood of five o'clock. Since it 
 was essential, if he wished to avoid recapture, that he should 
 be out of the district before daylight, it was obviously desirous 
 that he should gain admittance to the house with the least 
 possible delay. If Mrs Thornton had acted on his instructions, 
 and had had his bag brought from the station, he would be 
 able to disencumber himself of his tell-tale uniform and start 
 under as favourable conditions as possible — that is, if he could 
 get at his bag. The difficulty lay in the if. 
 
 It would hardly do to rouse the house, in the ordinary way, 
 by ringing and knocking. Not only might the wrong person 
 come to the door, but more attention might be attracted than 
 was at all desirable. He would have tossed a handful of gravel 
 at Mrs Thornton's bedroom window, if he had known which 
 was her window, but there again was the if. He had not the 
 faintest notion in which part of the house she slept. It would 
 never have done to startle the maidservant possibly half out of 
 her senses by assaulting her bedroom window. 
 
 Possibly the safest method of effecting an entry would be by 
 committing burglary. If he could only find a window which 
 would let him through, by exercising care, and making as little 
 noise as need be, it was quite possible that he might do all 
 that he wanted to do, and be away again before anyone in the 
 house had woke to the consciousness of his presence. He 
 thought that he might take it for granted that the bag — if it 
 
 224
 
 THE DEMON KING 225 
 
 was anywhere — was in the room in which he had changed 
 clothes with Frank Thornton on the previous evening. The 
 point was : how was he to reach the room ? From without he 
 could not even decide upon its whereabouts ; he could not 
 remember from which side it had looked out, and, in the 
 darkness all the windows seemed the same. If he was only 
 inside he believed that he could find it on the instant. 
 
 Oh, for a convenient window ! 
 
 The one which he had found open the night before was now 
 locked, and — apparently — shuttered too. Ingress could not 
 be had through that. Another promising window with large, 
 wide sashes, and a sill raised only a couple of feet above the 
 ground, was also secured on the inside by means of shutters ; 
 he could see them dimly through the pane, which was obscured 
 neither by blind nor curtain. Probably the kitchen was on the 
 other side. So far as he could make out, in the worse than 
 uncertain light, the same conditions did not apply to the 
 window whi^.h adjoined it — that was unshuttered. But it was 
 a small one, the sill being perhaps five feet above the ground. 
 
 There was a knife in the warder's pocket. He tried the 
 big blade first, to find that he could not reach the latch from 
 where he stood. Prowling about in search of something by 
 means of which he could raise himself his foot struck against 
 what seemed to be a plant in a good-sized wooden box. 
 Without hesitation he picked it up in his arms. Although 
 its weight was as much as he could stagger under he managed 
 to get it to the little window. Ruthlessly turning it over, by 
 means of mounting on the exposed side he found he could 
 reach what he wanted. The big blade proving too thick to 
 slip between the sashes he substituted the smaller one. Pre- 
 sently, after a little gentle manipulation the hasp sprang back, 
 with scarcely a sound. In another second the window was 
 open. So small, however, was the aperture thus exposed 
 that it was only with difficulty he could insert his bulky form. 
 Indeed, he stuck quite fast, when he was half-way through, 
 so that he was able to move neither back nor forward; and 
 it was only after some distinctly painful manoeuvres, and a 
 considerable waste of time, that he was able to gain his end. 
 
 " It feels to me," he said to himself, when at last he found 
 himself inside, "as if every bone in my body was crushed 
 out of shape. If I had quite realised how tight that window 
 was I doubt whether, even under the very pressing circum-
 
 226 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 stances, I should have been disposed to tackle it ; it's a 
 wonder I didn't wedge myself in in such a fashion as to insure 
 my being ignominiously trapped. Now, where am I ? I've 
 a notion it's the pantry. Where is the door? I'd give a 
 five-pound note for a box of matches ! " 
 
 When he had found the door, and was on the other side 
 of it, he was not much better off. The darkness was Egyptian. 
 He discovered that he had been mistaken in supposing that 
 he would be any better off when he had effected an entrance : 
 he had not the vaguest idea which way to turn, or what to do. 
 
 So bewildered was he by ignorance of his surroundings 
 that it was with a sense of actual relief that he learnt, all at 
 once, that he had aroused the house. He heard a door being 
 unlocked overhead. A dim light from above served to show 
 that he was in a sort of passage, with the staircase on his 
 right. A quavering voice came over the balusters. 
 
 "Who's that downstairs?" 
 
 In spite of the quaver he recognised the voice : it was 
 Mrs Thornton's. He answered, half beneath his breath : 
 
 " It is I : George Otway." 
 
 The information seemed to occasion the old lady surprise, 
 not unmixed with apprehension. 
 
 " Mr Otway ! Are you sure that you are Mr Otway ? " 
 
 He moved towards the foot of the staircase, intending to 
 give her ocular proof that he really was himself. So soon 
 as she saw him she gave a stifled cry. 
 
 " You are not George Otway ! you are one of those people 
 from the prison back again." 
 
 He ascended the stairs, reassuring her as he ascended. 
 
 " I give you my word, Mrs Thornton, that I am George 
 Otway : I have only once more changed my clothes. Instead 
 of a felon I am now a warder. If you did as I asked you, 
 and my bag is in the house, within five minutes I shall have 
 changed again into my own proper self." 
 
 The old lady still seemed shaking with fright. Clinging 
 to the balusters with one hand, a lighted candle held in the 
 other, an old faded dressing-gown thrown over her night- 
 dress, she stood blinking up at him as if he had been some 
 dreadful visitant. 
 
 " I had your bag brought down, it's in Frank's room." 
 
 "And which is that?" She moved the candle towards 
 the door. "How shall I get a light?"
 
 THE DEMON KING 227 
 
 " Here are some matches. You will find a candle in the 
 room." As he was going she cried to him, with, in her tone, 
 a note of sudden fear : " Mr Otway, what are you going 
 to do?" 
 
 He turned to her, surprised by the change in her voice 
 and bearing: her worn face was working as if she was suffering 
 from some disease of the muscles. 
 
 "Why, Mrs Thornton, I'm going to do nothing; that is, 
 nothing particular. I am only about to clothe myself in 
 my own garments, and I assure you I shall be glad to do so. 
 Then I will relieve you of my presence again as fast as I 
 possibly can. My dear lady, why do you look at me like 
 that, as if I were a ghost? Long ere this Frank should 
 be in safety : everything is going well. I warned you that 
 I might return at any moment, even as a thief in the night." 
 
 She shook her head feebly, as if her feelings were altogether 
 beyond her powers of utterance. 
 
 " It isn't that," she muttered. " It isn't that." 
 
 When, within a very few minutes, he came out of Frank's 
 room, clothed again in his own attire, she was still upon the 
 landing. She greeted him with an odd remark, spoken with 
 an appearance of something more than disquietude, as if she 
 had been treating of some unholy thing. 
 
 " Mr Otway, they told me at the station that, in a first-class 
 compartment on the train by which you had travelled, two 
 men had been found — murdered." 
 
 She dropped her voice, as she uttered the last word, in 
 a fashion which had about it something which was almost 
 ominous. 
 
 He started back, taken wholly by surprise. He had not 
 reckoned that the news would have travelled quite so quickly. 
 
 " Murdered, Mrs Thornton ! But that's impossible ! They 
 certainly were not murdered." 
 
 Observing his discomposure she had apparently drawn from 
 it her own conclusions, regarding him with accusatory eyes. 
 
 " I thought so ! I thought so ! " She repeated her words 
 twice over. " It was not for Elsie's sake only that you came 
 here ! That Frank should be so indebted to you ! My poor 
 children ! Go quickly, sir, before the avengers of blood are 
 at hand, and may the Lord have mercy upon you, for, 
 apparently, you have placed yourself beyond the reach of 
 man's help."
 
 228 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 They were not comfortable words to have ringing in his 
 ears as he went out again into the silence and the darkness 
 of the night ; for it was yet dark, and the light on the horizon 
 was still but the faintest glimmer. His plans were of the 
 vaguest. The sudden alteration in Mrs Thornton's manner, 
 the evident desire which she had shown to be rid of him, 
 to be relieved of the contagion of his presence, had affected 
 him so unpleasantly, that he had scarcely stayed to obtain 
 from her explicit instructions as to the road by which he 
 was to travel. So he started forth on his fresh journeying 
 in a state of mental confusion and discomfort which were 
 as unusual as they were unwelcome. 
 
 It was altogether beyond the range of possibility that 
 Harvey and Rochambeau had been found murdered, none 
 knew that better than he did. But was it possible that they 
 had been found dead? He had done nothing which could 
 have been responsible for bringing their careers to such a 
 sudden termination ; but, still, if they were dead he would 
 be in a truly terrible position. 
 
 And that Elsie's mother should have imagined that he 
 could have been guilty of such a crime ! Should, indeed, 
 seemingly have taken it for granted, that he had two men's 
 blood upon his hands ! The sting lay in that — that she 
 esteemed it as even conceivable that he could be such a 
 wretch ! Elsie's mother ! 
 
 He strode on through the night, his fists clenched, his lips 
 pressed tightly together, saying hard things of himself to 
 himself, not knowing where he was going, or seeming to 
 care. How far he had gone, or how long he had been 
 about it, he had no notion, when a sudden sound made him 
 pause. A whirring, buzzing sound was coming towards him 
 through the air. 
 
 "It's a motor," he decided. 
 
 It was yet at a considerable distance, only the perfect 
 stillness which prevailed rendered it audible at all. Himself 
 a motorist, acquainted with motorists' ways, his first thought 
 was that it was some record-breaking gentleman, who was 
 taking advantage of the deserted highways, and the absence 
 of the police, to give his car its head. A brief period of 
 listening, however, showed that that could hardly be the 
 case. His trained ear enabled him to perceive that the car 
 was not only not going fast ; but that it was varying its pace
 
 THE DEMON KING 229 
 
 in a fashion which suggested eccentricity on the part of the 
 motor or the chauffeur. It would give a forward whizz, which 
 would continue for a second or two, to suddenly change to 
 a snail-like crawl, which would give place, as suddenly, to 
 another whizz, returning to a snail-like crawl, followed by a 
 regular burst, for perhaps a dozen seconds, only to subside 
 again into a more pronounced crawl than before. This erratic 
 method of progression — as was shown by the varying volume 
 of sound — was repeated over and over again. 
 
 " Either someone's trying experiments on lines of his own, 
 or there's something wrong with the works. I believe he's 
 coming my way. He is ! What wouldn't I give for a ride 
 upon his car ! Just the thing I'm wanting. If he'd only give 
 me a lift he might dash across country in any direction he 
 chooses. Is the fellow talking to himself?" 
 
 He was certainly talking to someone, and at the top of his 
 voice. Presently he began singing, too. After an interval of 
 perhaps another couple of minutes two vivid white lights 
 appeared upon his right, at a considerable distance from 
 where he was standing. 
 
 " That shows how straight the road is ; I should say that 
 those lights must be the best part of a mile from where I am. 
 What a row the fellow's making ; he must be stark, staring 
 mad. If so, he ought to be just the man for me." 
 
 Someone on the approaching motor was singing, at the top 
 of a sufficiently loud voice, snatches from a surprising variety 
 of popular songs, passing from grave to gay, from the severe 
 to the ultra-frivolous, with an ease and rapidity which indicated 
 — to say the least — a musical taste of an unusually cosmo- 
 politan kind. It almost seemed as if he was adapting the 
 pace of his car to the style of his song, crawling along to the 
 stately cadences of " Nazareth," flying to the Uvely strains of 
 " Keep off the Grass." As he neared Otway he was bellowing 
 something in German which, if his rendering was the correct 
 one, went with a positively irritating drawl, so slowly did his 
 motor move — with the apparent intention of keeping time to 
 the song, that it scarcely seemed to move at all. Otway hailed 
 him when he was within a yard or two. 
 
 " Hollo ! what might that song be with which you're 
 favouring the stilly night? It's strange to me." 
 
 The vocalist stopped both his singing and his car, answering 
 the inquiry as if it were the most natural thing in the world
 
 230 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 that such a question should be addressed to him by a perfect 
 stranger, in such a place, at such a time. 
 
 " That's a German students' song, in two-and-twenty verses, 
 each verse has two-and-twenty lines, and each line has to be 
 sung three times over. It's adapted to an all-night sitting, 
 since it takes all night to sing it through. And as the air's 
 of no account, and the words are meaningless, it doesn't matter 
 what state you're in when you're singing it. Who are you ? 
 You look as if you were a gentleman, and you sound as if 
 you're one." 
 
 Otway's tone, as he replied, was dry. 
 
 " It's very good of you to say so. I've been listening to 
 you for a quarter of an hour, wondering what sort of jaunt 
 you were out on." 
 
 "Oh, I'm riding to the devil; there's nothing like a motor 
 for an excursion of the kind ; and, at this time of the morning, 
 what are you doing here listening to anything ? " 
 
 " I'm beginning to wonder." 
 
 "The deuce you are. Then, if that's the sort of man I've 
 met he ought to be fit company for a ride with me." 
 
 " Nothing would please me better. Where are you going ? " 
 
 " To Southampton or to Dover, to Land's End or to John 
 o'Groats, into the next hedge or ditch, it's all about the same 
 to me." 
 
 "Then if that's the case a whizz to Southampton would 
 exactly suit my taste." 
 
 "A whizz, you say? Then, by jingo! you shall have it. 
 I'll show you what a 50-horse-power can do when the road 
 is clear. Up you come ! " As George Otway mounted to the 
 vacant seat, the driver shouted, " Perkins ! " 
 
 Although the tonneau to all appearances was empty, an 
 answering voice came from the rear : 
 
 " Yes, sir ! " 
 
 "Are you prepared for sudden death ?" 
 
 " I hope I am, sir ; I ought to be by now." 
 
 " What you ought to be, and what you are, are two different 
 things, entirely. Don't be an ass ! I'm going to see what this 
 car can do. You know what that means, so you'd better hang 
 on by your eyelids." 
 
 The voice came again, only more faintly than before, with, 
 about it, something which suggested a sigh. 
 
 "Yes, sir."
 
 THE DEMON KING 231 
 
 The chauffeur explained to the puzzled Otway, his explana- 
 tion, however, only serving to increase his puzzlement. 
 
 "That's Bob Perkins. He's supposed to be my driver, 
 and he'd like to drive me, but I prefer to drive him, as, you'll 
 observe, I'm about to do. He's a timid soul, with a rooted 
 objection to seeing himself rushing to eternal smash. As I 
 hate to have him fidgeting at my side, asking what's to become 
 of his wife and children if I make a funeral of him— which 
 obviously is a preposterous thing to ask— and I dislike thinking 
 that he's studying the shape of my head from behind, con- 
 sidering which is the most promising spot to whack at, I make 
 him stop, not on the seat, but under it. I've had it constructed 
 specially for his accommodation, and I pay him double wages 
 for stopping there. He's not in my way, and if there's a 
 burst-up he comes in handy — that is, if there's anything left 
 of him, which there generally seems to be. Although he's of 
 a different opinion himself, the man appears to be unsmashable. 
 Do you know anything about motors?" 
 
 "A little." 
 
 " Perhaps enough to know a good one when you see it ; this 
 you're on is a beauty. I call her My Queen, sir, My Queen, 
 because she is my queen for the present, my very latest 50- 
 horse-power queen. She's the best car in England, never 
 mind what the other fellows say. I've won prizes on her for 
 going up-hill and for going down, for stopping and starting, 
 for steering and for all sorts of gymnastics, for speed and for 
 endurance, for time and for distance. I've won obstacle races 
 on her, I've performed every kind of feat with her which 
 automobile ingenuity could suggest, and she's cost more money 
 in fines than any car of her age in Great Britain." 
 
 "That's a comfortable reflection, at any rate." 
 
 " It is. I'm going for all the records, the championship in 
 fines among the rest. It's my intention that every rural 
 policeman — rural, mind : I bar the cities, I'm not a Juggernaut ! 
 throughout the length and breadth of England shall have told 
 lies about me before I've finished. I don't know how many 
 thousand of them there are, but it will take some doing. I 
 mean that every one of them shall know me by sight, so that 
 they can tell lies about me, even to their grandchildren in the 
 days which are to come. I'm a striking figure ; they won't 
 need to see me twice in order to have my image impressed 
 upon what they call their brains."
 
 232 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 He was, as he said, indeed a striking figure : a huge man, 
 judging from the way he towered over the by no means 
 dwarf-like Otway on the seat at his side, possibly six feet five 
 or six in height. He had a long red beard, as long almost as 
 a woman's hair. As the car swept onward the wind drove it 
 over his shoulder in a fashion which made its unwieldiness 
 more obvious. A moustache of equally preposterous dimen- 
 sions decorated his upper lip. Otway felt, as he eyed him, 
 that he reminded him of nothing so much as the ogre in the 
 Christmas pantomime. He seemed to enjoy the glances with 
 which Otway was favouring him. 
 
 " You'd know me again, wouldn't you ? " 
 
 "Among a million." 
 
 The huge man laughed. 
 
 " There's conviction in your tone ; I've not a doubt you're 
 right. They call me the Demon King, but whether it's 
 because of my temper, or my morals, or my appearance, or a 
 combination of the three, I never am quite sure. I played 
 the Demon King in a children's pantomime which I had in 
 my own house last year, played it without the slig4itest make- 
 up. Everybody congratulated me on the way in which I 
 looked the part." 
 
 " I can believe it, easily." 
 
 " I thought you would. You're the sort of companion I 
 like to have when I'm riding to the devil. Is this whizz 
 enough for you ? " 
 
 "Just about. How fast are we going?" 
 
 " It depends on who is the timekeeper. The average rural 
 policeman, with his twenty-five-shilling stop-watch in his 
 hand, and his senses nowhere, would tell you a hundred-and- 
 twenty miles an hour, and swear to it. I tell you about fifty, 
 and you can bet on me. But if we do come to a down grade, 
 and I don't put on the brake, or slow her, that rural policeman 
 won't be such a liar after all." 
 
 They were flying on at such a pace that the mere pressure 
 of the air against their mouths and faces made it difficult to 
 speak. To make themselves audible they had to shout. The 
 speed at which they were going — through the darkness ! — 
 rendered it impossible for them to say what kind of 
 country it was through which they were touring. But the 
 terrific bumping which they had to endure, occasionally 
 almost jerking Otway off his seat, although he was clinging
 
 THE DEMON KING 23:3 
 
 to it with both hands, made it sufficiently plain that the road 
 over which they were passing was not remarkable for the 
 excellence of its surface. 
 
 The chauffeur called attention to the fact with a sudden yell : 
 
 "Nice easy going, these country roads." 
 
 Otway yelled back at him : 
 
 " You think so ? The position of the bones in my body 
 will be altered if this goes on long." 
 
 "You wait till we come to a nice stretch of unrolled flints; 
 then your real enjoyment will begin." 
 
 Otway thought of the unfortunate Bob Perkins underneath 
 the seat. 
 
 " Won't that man of yours be banged to bits ? " 
 
 "A little banging does him good — calms his mind." 
 
 Otway was inwardly of opinion that it would calm his body 
 too — that is, if, at the end of the journey, there was any of 
 it left to calm. Suddenly they leaped round a corner almost 
 at right angles, with a mad twist, which all but sent the car 
 over on one side, and the two men off it on the other — what 
 had happened to Bob Perkins one could only guess. It was 
 some moments before Otway had recovered breath enough 
 to shout : 
 
 " Is that the way in which you always go round corners?" 
 
 " Generally. I like her to take 'em in her stride ; shows 
 you how she answers to her helm. If you like — just to show 
 you what she can do — I'll take you round a hundred-foot 
 square at sixty miles an hour." 
 
 " Thank you ; when I'm looking for trouble of that sort I'll 
 let you know." 
 
 Suddenly the bumping increased ; the wind assailed them 
 with greater force ; particles of dust came dashing against 
 their faces, pricking them as if it had been powdered glass. 
 
 "Aren't we going faster?" 
 
 " It's down-hill— now's the time for your rural bobby with 
 his watch." 
 
 " What hill is it ? " * 
 
 " Haven't a notion." 
 
 "What's at the bottom? — can't you see? — I can't; the 
 dust and the wind together are about blinding me." 
 
 "Same here — don't worry — trust to fortune, that's my 
 motto ; sometimes I come to grief, and sometimes I don't — 
 you've got to take your chances."
 
 234 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 In spite of the speaker's reckless words Otway had suffi- 
 cient command of his sense of perception to perceive 
 that he not only kept a keen look-out, spotting bends and 
 objects in the road which were quite invisible to his passenger, 
 but, also, that he negotiated them with admirable skill. 
 Again the pace slackened — although they were still being 
 bumped and whirled through the air. 
 
 " We're at the bottom — now for the up-grade. I'll show 
 you that she can go up as well as down." 
 
 " I hope you know the road." 
 
 " In a general sort of way — that is, I've been over it before, 
 in broad daylight. Going at this rate, through the darkness, 
 I'm almost as much a stranger on it as you can be. Hollo ! — 
 what's that? Some fool's left something lying on the road." 
 
 It seemed that some "fool" had. The car seemed to 
 strike against some unseen object which caused her to bound, 
 like a thing of life, into the air. Otway thought that, this 
 time, they certainly were over. But in a fashion which seemed 
 almost miraculous, the car, righting herself, went speeding 
 on. 
 
 " That was a shaver ! " admitted the driver. 
 
 Otway did not need to be told. He was beginning to 
 wonder if, after all, he would not have been better off, if, 
 refusing to take advantage of Mrs Parsons' good offices, he 
 had stayed in her husband's lock-up. Nor were his doubts 
 appreciably eased by what his companion said next. 
 
 " From where I met you I take it to be under forty miles 
 to Southampton — perhaps thirty-seven. The sun gets up at 
 twenty minutes past six ; you shall be there in time to see 
 him rise — if the machine lasts out. That will give us some- 
 thing under three quarters of an hour to do it in ; you asked 
 for a whizz, and you shall have one. If any rural policemen 
 are taking an early walk abroad, they'll be of opinion that I'm 
 exceeding the legal limits — those men are such scoundrels." 
 
 He was as good as his word, though there were times when 
 Otway would rather he had not been. Just as the first 
 rays of the sun were commencing to gild the sky the " Demon 
 King," who had lately been coming along at an almost in- 
 credible rate of speed, stopped with a sudden jerk which 
 caused his passenger to almost break both his neck and his 
 spine. 
 
 " We've arrived ! " he exclaimed, in a tone ot triumph.
 
 THE DEMON KING 235 
 
 " Done it to a tick ! I call that something like a whizz, don't 
 you ? " 
 
 Otway was so shaken, and so generally disorganised, that 
 his speech was not so fluent as he would have desired. 
 
 " Rather — rather too much of a whizz for me." 
 
 " There you are ! — ^I give you what you ask for — good 
 measure, well pressed down ! — and now you're not satisfied. 
 Human nature all over ! Well, here's Southampton ; do you 
 want me to take you to Plymouth ? " 
 
 "Thank you.— I'm extremely obliged, but I won't put you 
 to so much trouble, I think I'd rather descend right here." 
 
 "Then descend at once; or you'll have to do it while I'm 
 moving." 
 
 Otway descended, as rapidly as his disjointed condition 
 allowed. Scarcely had his feet touched the ground before 
 the car was off; giving him no opportunity to thank its owner 
 for the service he had rendered him. He watched it as it 
 vanished — with a roar — in a cloud of dust. 
 
 " I wonder what's become of poor Bob Perkins ? "
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 THE CIRCUS KING 
 
 HE himself felt half dazed. He was aching all over, 
 almost as if he had been severely pummelled. He 
 was covered from head to foot with dust; his mouth was 
 parched by the dust which he had swallowed — he could 
 hardly see out of his eyes. The first thing needful was clean 
 water — and plenty of it. His own acquaintance with South- 
 ampton was of the slightest ; the car appeared to have 
 deposited him on the extreme confines of the town. By 
 the time he had reached the heart of the city the world 
 was stirring. He entered an inn in the High Street, accost- 
 ing a dishevelled waiter. 
 
 "Can I have a bath at once? I've motored over with a 
 gentleman who has gone on farther ; I feel as if fresh water 
 would do me good." 
 
 The waiter shook his head. 
 
 " Ah, them motor cars is dirty things ! The bathroom's 
 this way, sir." 
 
 By the time he had finished breakfast the morning paper 
 was down from town. He was prepared for the announce- 
 ment which confronted him directly the sheet was unfolded, 
 though he had not expected that it would have been displayed 
 in quite such startling fashion : 
 
 "Jacob Gunston again! 
 The Vauxhall Junction Murderer on the Brighton 
 
 Line ! 
 
 He conceals the Bodies of two more Victims in a 
 
 Lavatory Carriage ! " 
 
 There was the story with which he was already too well 
 acquainted, told for all it was worth — and a little more. One 
 would have supposed, from the use of the word "bodies," that 
 the "two victims" had been found dead. Not a bit of it. 
 
 236
 
 THE CIRCUS KING 237 
 
 They had been found very much alive and kicking. Indeed, 
 it was because of the noise they made that discovery had 
 followed. The tale they had poured out to greedy ears had 
 been distinctly of the coloured kind ; still, Otway recognised 
 that there was enough of truth in it to make it extremely 
 desirable that he should keep, for a time, out of reach of the 
 police. If his association with Frank Thornton's flight became 
 known, as it probably would before long, then the desir- 
 ability of such a proceeding would become appreciably in- 
 creased : the law looks with revengeful feelings on those who 
 help a felon to escape. 
 
 Not the least awkward feature of the matter, from his point 
 of view, lay in the fact that the paper contained a complete 
 list of the numbers of Ebenezer Pullen's bank-notes ; supplied 
 by Mr Rochambeau from the list contained in his "father's" 
 note-book. As Pullen's legacy stood, to all intents and 
 purposes, for all he had in the world this was awkward. 
 Before long the whole world would be on the lookout for 
 those bank-notes. If he were not detained in the act of 
 attempting to cash one it would still serve as a clue which 
 would at once put the pursuers on his heels. 
 
 So, at a single sweep, his whole fortune became but so 
 much waste-paper. Apart from Pullen's notes he possessed 
 but six pounds four shillings and ninepence. 
 
 As he was considering this uncomfortable fact, the waiter 
 began to clear away the breakfast things. He was a friendly 
 creature, with a tendency to be loquacious. As he piled the 
 various articles on his tray he said, in a casual sort of fashion : 
 
 " I see that there Jacob Gunston's been at his tricks again." 
 
 Otway started ; he remembered with a sensation of emphatic 
 relief, that he had shaved his face, dyed his hair, stained his 
 cheeks with Frank Thornton's brown shoe polish, changed 
 his clothes. He certainly did not now resemble — at least, to 
 the casual eye — the description given of him in the paper. 
 Therefore the air of indifference with which he replied to the 
 waiter was not an affair of outside show only. 
 
 "So I see." 
 
 " A pretty sort, he is. I should like to have the handling 
 of him. A pity men like him can't be drowned while they're 
 babies. But the police will have him in the end, you'll see." 
 
 Although he did not say so, George Otway hoped that he 
 should not see, just at present.
 
 238 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 That night he was on the steamer which was bound to 
 Havre. Feeling strongly that it would be just as well if he 
 was out of England for a while, since his funds would not 
 permit of his going far away, it occurred to him that a short 
 sojourn in France might give him an opportunity of consider- 
 ing the situation, in comparative safety and seclusion. 
 Besides, six pounds might perhaps be made to go farther in 
 France than in England. 
 
 The boat left the South-Western Railway Company's wharf 
 at midnight. Otway enjoyed a last pipe on deck as she 
 steamed down Southampton Water. A burly man, dressed 
 in a lurid suit of check tweeds, came up to him. He had a 
 big cigar between his lips. 
 
 " Fine night," he observed. 
 
 Otway admitted that it was. As the man turned towards 
 him the air was scented with whiskey. Although he was 
 certainly not drunk ; equally certainly he had taken sufficient 
 to make him disposed to be confidential with a perfect 
 stranger. 
 
 " This is the fiftieth time Fve come across this way ; the 
 fiftieth time to-night, it is." 
 
 " Is that so ? You should know it pretty well." 
 
 " I should ; and I do. There's few ways I don't know, if 
 it comes to that ; few ways from anywhere to anywhere. Fve 
 done 'em all. Fm the Circus King." 
 
 Otway smiled ; this was the second king he had met within 
 the last four-and-twenty hours. The first had been the 
 Demon King ; this, it seemed, was a king of another genus. 
 The stranger continued, oblivious of the other's smile : 
 
 " Yes, Fm the Circus King, that's who I am : Brown, the 
 Circus King." 
 
 Otway began to understand. 
 
 " I have heard of you, and of your circus, Mr Brown." 
 
 " That's nothing. Most people have. It's only fools who 
 haven't. Not that my name is Brown. The name that Fve 
 a right to is FitzGerald Sanderson Giffard. Most men, with 
 a name like that of their very own, would have stuck it on 
 the bills. But I said, ' No ; we've had too much of the 
 aristocracy on the bills already. I'll be Brown.' So I am 
 Brown : Brown, the Circus King." 
 
 He was silent, as if he wished this solemn fact to permeate 
 the other's intelligence by degrees. Then he went on :
 
 THE CIRCUS KING 239 
 
 " My show's at Rouen ; not the greatest show on earth : 
 I don't go in for bunkum of that kind. My show's the 
 Hippodrome of the New Century, that's what my show is, 
 neither more nor less. Looks well in French. I've been 
 over the way in search of talent, and I haven't found it." 
 
 "That's unfortunate." 
 
 " It's worse — it's awkward — damn awkward. I've got a pro- 
 gramme a couple of foot long. On the bottom of it's printed 
 'The Management reserve the right of altering this programme 
 should occasion require.' And occasion does require, you 
 bet, all the time. Half of the names on it are dummies, only 
 about six inches of it's genuine turns. Audiences don't like 
 it, not even French ones." Otway deemed it more than 
 possible ; but did not say so. The Circus King was looking 
 him up and down with eyes which, though they were more 
 than a little bloodshot, still were keen enough. " You're not 
 in the profession yourself, I suppose ? No offence ! but 
 there's something about your cut which would take the 
 women's fancy if they saw you in the ring ; and I'm so pushed 
 for talent, that, rather than go back empty-handed, I'd ask 
 King Solomon in all his glory if he was any hand at dancing 
 tubs. If you're looking out for an opportunity to distinguish 
 yourself, here's the chance of a lifetime." 
 
 Otway was tickled. He was quick to see that, if the man 
 was serious, here was an opportunity, indeed ; though hardly 
 the sort of opportunity the speaker painted. The police 
 would scarcely look for him in a circus ring ; and the change 
 out of his original six pounds would not go far even in France. 
 
 " I've never tried my hand at that sort of thing ; I'm afraid 
 I should be of no use to you at all." 
 
 The Circus King seemed to be of a different opinion. 
 
 "You're the very man I'm looking for; the very man. 
 Shake ! " 
 
 He held out a grimy palm, 
 
 "Before I shake I should like to know what I'm shaking 
 about. If I've any talent, in your sense, candidly, I've not the 
 faintest shadow of a notion in what direction it lies." 
 
 "Can you shoot?" 
 
 " I have shot." 
 
 "You know one end of a gun from another? " 
 
 " I certainly do know that." 
 
 He did not mention that few men were his equals with
 
 240 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 either a shot gun or a rifle ; and that with a revolver he could 
 hold his own. Nor did the Circus King appear to consider 
 it of the least importance that his new acquaintance should 
 lay claim to proficiency of any sort or kind. 
 
 "Then I tell you what you shall be, you shall be Bull's 
 Eye, the American Champion Shootist, the Marksman of 
 the Plains. I'll have your life's story on a little special note 
 in the programme. Pity you haven't only got one eye ! " 
 
 "Thank you ; I'm just as well contented with two." 
 
 " You wouldn't put a patch over one of them ? " 
 
 "What's the notion?" 
 
 "The public have a fancy for a one-eyed marksman. I 
 have thought, more than once, of trying one who was stone 
 blind ; but I'm not quite sure how it would work. It wouldn't 
 make any difference to their shooting if they were all stone 
 blind, I do know that." 
 
 "I'm afraid I don't quite follow." 
 
 " My dear boy, I've got a piano that is a piano. You take 
 away the front, there's a metal disc attached to each wire, you 
 aim at the discs — with a repeating rifle — the notes are struck, 
 and so you fire out a tune ; in France it's the ' Marseillaise,' in 
 England it's 'God Save the King,' in Ireland it's 'The 
 Wearin' o' the Green — ' always cater for the public taste. 
 Wonderful effect on an audience that act has." 
 
 " But I could no more fire out a tune — as you put it — than 
 you could fly." 
 
 "You say you know one end of a gun from the other." 
 
 "Yes ; but that's one thing " 
 
 "That's the thing. All you've got to do is to point the 
 barrel right ahead — if you can do it standing on your head all 
 the better, but that's not indispensable — and pull the trigger. 
 You leave the rest to me. Don't you worry yourself about 
 trifles. Amazing what you can do in the shooting way, with a 
 man who knows one end of a gun from the other. Now, I've 
 got an electric device. You fire at the ivory buttons. Every 
 time you hit one it illuminates a letter, until you've got ' Vive 
 la France ' in flaring twenty-four-inch capitals. I tell you that 
 takes 'em ! " 
 
 " But don't you ever get found out ? " 
 
 " Not if a man acts on the square, and is an honest 
 gentleman. Of course there are scabs about. My last 
 marksman, he was one. He had a little difference with one
 
 THE CIRCUS KING 241 
 
 of the members of my company, so he takes it out of me ! 
 Nice game that was. One night he was firing out the ' Mar- 
 seillaise,' the tune was going strong, but I found that, instead 
 of cheering like mad, the people were holding their sides with 
 laughter. Then I saw that that black - hearted scoundrel 
 instead of pointing the muzzle of his weapon at the piano, like 
 a man, was aiming it all over the shop. It didn't matter 
 where he aimed, every time he pulled the trigger a note was 
 sounded : of course that gave away the show. The audience 
 didn't like it. But I don't suppose you'd play me a trick like 
 that." 
 
 " I think I may safely undertake to say that I wouldn't do 
 that." 
 
 "Then, shake!" 
 
 Still with some appearance of doubt Otway yielded his hand 
 to the other, and "shook," but there was evidently no doubt 
 whatever in the mind of the Circus King. 
 
 " My dear boy, you're Bull's Eye, the American Champion 
 Shootist, the Marksman of the Plains, and don't you forget it. 
 Later, I shouldn't be surprised if we rigged up another act for 
 you, most of my crowd do double turns. Let me see — you 
 might be the Brawny Bedouin ; the Big Bandit of Bokhara ; 
 the Latest Strong Man of the West, and do the Samson and 
 Delilah business — breaking ropes, and chains, and lifting horses 
 and carts with your teeth, and that sort of thing." 
 
 " I suppose that also would be arranged." 
 
 The Circus king closed his left eye in a portentous wink. 
 
 " My dear boy, in my place everything's arranged : it's all 
 done on a system : nothing's left to chance. I've got all the 
 necessary apparatus — magnificent fit-up ! The only thing that's 
 wanted in a show like mine is talent." 
 
 They talked till the steamer was far out at sea. On 
 reaching Havre they went on together, by train, to Rouen. 
 There Mr Brown introduced him to a large canvas tent, 
 which, according to a huge legend which ran nearly half-way 
 round it, was 
 
 " L'HiPPODROME DU SlECLE NOUVEAU." 
 
 On entering, they were greeted by a young lady in fleshings. 
 
 " This," explained the Circus King, " is Madeleine, Nature's 
 
 Miracle; the Greatest Bender the World has ever seen — and
 
 242 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 likewise Pauline Petroski, the Russian Lady Bare-Backed 
 Rider of the Cossack Steppes — SaUie, my dear, this is our 
 new Bull's Eye." 
 
 As the young lady looked up at him with laughing black 
 eyes George Otway was disposed to think that he was entering 
 on the queerest adventure of all. 
 
 I 
 
 I
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 A BENDER 
 
 W™ oTwaf "-n'hif '^^ ^^-g -^-duced to her, 
 character of BulPs Ey; the aI "''' A"^ ™°^^ ^"^P"^i"g 
 Marksman of the pfaLVtas tTl^''; ^^k'"^P^°" S^°°^^^^' ^hf 
 who was at once Seleine N ."^ ° \^' P'""^P ^^""g ^^^y 
 Bender the VVorfd hL eve, U ^'^^' ^ ''^'' '^' ^^^^^^^^ 
 
 are'y,^ ?»''"' ^""' "■">''=°dy calls me Sallie. And who 
 
 Z°cu? ht sh;«:°™ '"'"<'"- - - Bu,.-s Eye. ,he— " 
 
 namloutsidt™"-; *" "'>' ''^ '" *^ ""& but what's your 
 
 .n^'-rete ^or.sih^cri^, >^'''^*' --^ - ^- 
 
 i am John Lennard." 
 " Oh, you are John Lennard • T qpp » tk^ • , 
 
 hVptS-XThltfasS™-"^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 real ? » '^'^"^^ ^^""g woman. " Are you 
 
 he^hould^eX' ' "'°"'"' " '™' '° '^ '" ''°"^' ^= '° ""a! 
 "Well, I shouldn't care to back myself to fire out a tune on 
 
 24'?
 
 244 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 a piano with a rifle ; which feat, I understand, according to 
 the bills, is one in which I am supposed to be peculiarly 
 proficient. You, I take it, are all that the advertisements 
 represent you to be." 
 
 " At any rate, I'm not a fraud. I suppose there's hankey- 
 pankey everywhere ; but there's a bit too much of it about 
 Brown's show for this child. I can ride. I was on a horse as 
 soon as I was out of long clothes, but that's not my special 
 line of business, I don't pretend it is. There's heaps can beat 
 me at that game. But Brown's never satisfied with your doing 
 one thing well ; if he could he'd make you do the whole bag 
 of tricks single-handed. I'm a bender, that's what I am ; and 
 if there's anyone can beat me at bending I don't know who it 
 is. If I could only find a backer I'd be willing to match 
 myself against anyone who's going — each side to name half-a- 
 dozen tricks, and each trick to score one point. It isn't 
 everybody who can do this : it's a new thing I am going to try 
 to-night. I was practising it just before you came." 
 
 Miss Price, the freedom of her limbs in no way trammelled 
 by the tights which displayed her well-shaped figure to such 
 advantage, suddenly flung herself forward on to the palms of 
 her hands, so that, her body supported by her rigid arms, she 
 was, all at once, upside down, with her feet in the air. She 
 remained, quite motionless, in that position, for perhaps a 
 dozen seconds, as if it were the most natural thing in the world 
 that a lady should be completely at her ease when topsy-turvy. 
 Then, very slowly, she twisted her right leg seemingly half 
 round in its socket, lowering it down her back till her foot 
 embraced her neck. When the operation was completed she 
 repeated it with the left leg, lowering it, however, down the 
 front of her, instead of the back ; so that one leg was on either 
 side of her body. Then, with the same uncomfortable slowness, 
 she raised her left hand from the ground, stretching it out till 
 it clasped her right knee ; leaving her supported on one hand 
 only. Lowering herself, till her whole distorted body was 
 balanced on the crown of her head, she gripped her left knee 
 with her right hand ; and, bending her neck till one wondered 
 when the moment would come that it would snap, commenced 
 to turn a series of grotesque, dreadful somersaults across the 
 ring. Otway felt that he was expected to applaud ; but the ex- 
 hibition was, to his mind, such an unpleasant one that it was all 
 he could do to keep himself from interrupting the performance.
 
 A BENDER 245 
 
 When she had wriggled herself a certain distance, returning 
 in the same manner as she had gone, she proceeded, as it 
 were, to unfasten herself; a process which evidently required 
 infinite care, as well as considerable time. At last she was 
 again upside down upon her hands ; then sprang lightly back 
 upon her feet. Her face was geranium scarlet, the blood- 
 vessels seemed bursting through her skin, the eyes starting 
 from her head ; and she was gasping for breath, but still she 
 smiled, with what was unmistakably an air of triumphant 
 satisfaction. 
 
 "Well," she demanded, seeing that Otway still kept silent, 
 " what do you think of that ? " 
 
 He would have been sorry to have been compelled to say 
 what he thought, so he temporised. 
 
 " Wonderful ! wonderful ! Isn't — isn't it rather painful ? " 
 
 " It is and it isn't. If you keep yourself just so it's not 
 so bad ; but if you let yourself get a bit rusty, my crikey ; it 
 gives you beans. When you're putting yourself back the 
 joints won't go into their proper places, and— oh, sometimes 
 I could shriek ! It would give the audience a shake-up if you 
 were to let yourself go ; but it would be the end of you so 
 far as the profession was concerned. I have fainted, some- 
 times you can't help it, but I've always managed to keep 
 right till I was straightened out again. If you were to go off 
 while you were all knotted up, goodness knows what would 
 become of you." She shuddered, as if the prospect were too 
 dreadful even for her to contemplate. " The great thing is to 
 be always practising ; a dozen times a day, if you can ; never 
 lose a chance. Extraordinary how soon your joints get rusty. 
 Why, I've travelled all the way from Marseilles to Nice in a 
 lover's knot ; that's one of my great specialties, a lover's 
 knot. Of course, I had the carriage all to myself; but if 
 anyone had happened to look through the window it would 
 have been a bit of all right ! " 
 
 Otway tried to picture to himself this distinctly prepossess- 
 ing looking damsel traversing that lonely stretch of country 
 in — what horrible dislocation of shapely limbs would result — 
 of all things in the world — in a lover's knot ? 
 
 A man, who he had been conscious had been watching 
 them for the last two or three moments, with arms folded 
 across a sufficiently broad chest, advanced to where they were 
 standing. Otway, anticipating a friendly greeting, for the
 
 246 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 spirit of the place seemed to be one of hail-fellow-well-met, 
 was surprised by the brusque fashion in which the newcomer 
 addressed him. 
 
 " Well, my fine cove, who might you happen to be? " 
 
 The question was asked in a tone of voice which was 
 scarcely meant to be friendly. Otway looked the questioner 
 up and down. Although not tall, he was broad out of all 
 proportion to his height ; his chest measurement would not 
 have discredited a giant. Without being in any way gross, 
 he would not improbably have turned the scale at seventeen 
 stone. The expression of his face, which was naturally surly, 
 was not improved by the fact that he appeared to have had 
 his nose broken at some period of his life ; and afterwards 
 set, possibly by some amateur chirurgeon, a little out of the 
 straight. Otway returned his stare, with a smile. 
 
 " Without intending the least discourtesy, might I turn 
 your question round, and ask who you might happen to be?" 
 
 The fashion in which his inquiry had been received seemed 
 to take the broad-chested man slightly aback. He glowered 
 in silence, as if at a loss for words ; when they came they 
 certainly did not breathe a more amicable spirit. 
 
 " I'll tell you who I am, and pretty soon, if you're very 
 anxious to know ; and I'll tell you something else as well : 
 this young lady's my property. I don't allow no one to go 
 fooling about with her ; so just you take the tip from me. 
 You sheer off; or you'll find I'll make you." 
 
 However, on this occasion he "sheered off" himself. 
 While Otway, not a little amused by this sudden explanation 
 of the gentleman's unfriendly attitude, was about to assure 
 him that nothing could be further from his mind than any 
 desire to " fool about " with Miss Sallie Price, he turned on 
 his heels, and, with his arms still folded on his capacious 
 chest, strolled leisurely, and with dignity, to the side of the 
 ring. Otway, watching him as he went, inquired of the lady 
 who he was. Her reply was a little startling. 
 
 " He's the Dandison Brothers." 
 
 "The Dandison Brothers? Pardon me; but, although 
 the Hippodrome of the New Century is, beyond all doubt, an 
 abode of the marvellous, I don't quite see how one single 
 gentleman can be brothers." 
 
 "They call him the Dandison Brothers; it's because he 
 fancies that he's bigger than all the rest of them put together.
 
 A BENDER 247 
 
 He's their representative, besides ; acts as their agent. So far 
 as their show's concerned, he's their pillar." 
 
 "Their pillar? But, who — or what — are the Dandison 
 Brothers?" 
 
 "Acrobats; used to be in the first flight; but that was 
 years ago, when the original Dandisons were kids. Their 
 business was all new then ; but now it's been copied all over 
 the place. And, then, they've quarrelled among themselves, 
 and each one's started a troupe of his own, so that now I don't 
 know how many lots of Dandison Brothers there are about. 
 But I believe these are the original lot — at least, what's left 
 of them. They wouldn't come here because Brown couldn't 
 afford to pay their terms — they used to draw their hundred 
 and twenty pound a week — well, if it wasn't for me." 
 
 " I understand : they come because you're here." 
 
 " Well, it isn't them ; it's him. He's a bad-tempered brute. 
 If they don't let him have his own way he's nasty, and he 
 can be nasty if he likes. He will be where I am ; so just for 
 the sake of peace, they let him have his own way, and here 
 they are." 
 
 " He must be very fond of you." 
 
 "He says he is." 
 
 " And you, aren't you very fond of him ? " 
 
 There was something in the young lady's manner which 
 prompted the question. 
 
 " Me ! fond of him ? I wouldn't touch him with a pair of 
 tongs if I could help it. He knows that ; he ought to, I've 
 told him often enough. He want's me to marry him ; he's 
 asked me, well, often he's asked me over a dozen times in 
 a day, so I lay he's asked me a good deal over a thousand 
 times. He comes up, quite casual like, it might be where we 
 are this minute, and he says, perhaps at the top of his voice, 
 looking as if he had a bad attack of indigestion, which is 
 what I believe he suffers from, ' Now Sallie Price, I want you 
 to be my wife ! Do you hear, I want you to be my wife ! ' 
 Sometimes I say nothing ; sometimes I let him have a piece 
 of my mind ; sometimes I throw something at him. It's all 
 the same, it makes no difference to him ; he keeps on asking 
 me. And then if he sees anyone treating me with decent 
 civility he starts hammering them. If you don't look out he'll 
 be wanting to knock your head off before very long." 
 
 "I trust that, if occasion arises, 1 may be able to meet
 
 248 A >rETAMORPHOSIS 
 
 all his requirements in that direction ; in the meantime, let 
 him want. He seems to be an all-round pleasant kind of 
 individual." 
 
 " The plain truth is we can none of us abide him ; I know 
 that he makes my life a regular misery, always fighting with 
 everybody I like; then you don't want to have a man you 
 abominate always worrying you to marry him, sometimes 
 right out in the middle of the street. The troupe would soon 
 send him packing if it weren't that he's such a first-rate pillar; 
 and, as things are, a good pillar isn't such an easy thing to get." 
 
 "What do you mean by a pillar?" 
 
 " Well, you see — he stands on the ground, and two men 
 stand on his shoulders, and four men on theirs, and two on 
 theirs, and one on top, nine of them altogether — and he stands 
 up under the lot. It isn't every one can do it." 
 
 "So I should imagine." 
 
 " Keeps as steady as a rock he does, never flinches ; they 
 do say he's the finest pillar in the profession." 
 
 At this juncture the Circus King, the great Brown himself, 
 advanced towards them from one side of the ring, with the 
 apparent intention of encountering a lady who approached 
 them from the other. This lady was, with the possible 
 exception of the Mother of Caracas, the very largest lady, 
 as regards build, George Otway had ever seen ; a fact which, 
 as in the case of that distinguished personage, was accentuated 
 by the dress she wore. This lady was clad in a silk dress 
 of a peculiarly vivid blue, cut low at the neck, with short 
 sleeves, and a long train which trailed in the dirt behind her. 
 It was true that it was old and dirty, and so torn and worn 
 that here and there it was a wilderness of darns, but, still, 
 such a costume, in such a place, at such an hour ! Otway, 
 amazed at the spectacle she presented, inquired of Miss Price 
 who the lady was. 
 
 "It's Mrs Brown." 
 
 " Brown ?— Not his wife ? " 
 
 Miss Price nodded. 
 
 "She has been shown as a fat woman." 
 
 " Has she ever been shown as anything else ? " 
 
 " Now she's the Dancing Walrus ; the Elephantine Equili- 
 brist ; the Most Ponderous Lady Who Ever Danced on a 
 Slack Wire. It says on the programme that she weighs five- 
 and-thirty stone." 
 
 !
 
 A BENDER 249 
 
 "Even if you take ten stone off! on the slack wire! such a 
 figure ! is it possible?" 
 
 "Why, she's our Ai turn! When she's getting up every- 
 body splits their sides with laughing. And when she's on ! — 
 of course she can't do much, but everybody's so surprised to 
 see her do anything at all that they shout themselves hoarse. 
 Take care; here she is."
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 bull's eye 
 
 THE Circus King and his truly massive other half had 
 come within a few feet of each other. The lady spoke, 
 in a deep, resonant voice, which somehow recalled the roar of 
 a bassoon. 
 
 " So, Mr Brown, you're back again." 
 
 " I am, my dear, and glad to see your sweet face. How's 
 business? " 
 
 " Bad — awful — disgusting." 
 
 Each word represented a lower note, the last seemed to 
 come from the neighbourhood of the lady's boots. 
 
 "That's unpleasant news." 
 
 " It's so bad that it doesn't deserve to be called business at 
 all. If I were to tell you what amount of money was in the 
 house last night you'd shudder. But what can you expect ? 
 There's nothing and no one to attract the public." 
 
 "There's you, my dear. If there's a greater attraction 
 going than you are I should like to know who and what it is. 
 If the public don't flock in their thousands to see you, then 
 it's because the public taste is bad, that's all. Vou can't get 
 behind that, my dear." 
 
 " I'm not what I was. I lost three pounds last week." 
 
 Otway thought that if she had lost thirty it would have been 
 a good thing, but it seemed that opinions differed. 
 
 "That is sad news, very sad. That'll never do, never! 
 You must eat more." 
 
 " I'm always eating as it is. I eat so much that it gives me 
 indigestion. Then I can't sleep o' nights." 
 
 " Dear me ! worse and worse ! Sound sleep and fattening 
 food are both things you must have plenty of if you want to 
 keep up a figure like yours. And no exercise, my love, no 
 exercise. We can't have you fading away." 
 
 The idea of that marvel of ponderosity being in any danger 
 of fading away seemed to be so remote as not to be worth 
 
 250
 
 BULL'S EYE 251 
 
 consideration, yet, to judge from the serious expression on tlie 
 Circus King's countenance, he might have been watching lier 
 dwindhng before his eyes. The lady diverted the conversation 
 into a less personal channel. 
 
 "Well, Mr Brown, what talent have you brought with you 
 from the other side ? " 
 
 The Circus King began to rub a horny hand across his 
 bristly chin, the worried look on his face becoming distinctly 
 more marked. 
 
 "I've not had a great catch, my lamb, not a great catch. 
 This," he extended his arm towards Otway with what that 
 gentleman was convinced was a twitching of his eyelid, "is all 
 the talent I've succeeded in procuring." 
 
 "This!" The word was uttered with an emphasis, and 
 accompanied by a look, which hardly conveyed a compliment. 
 " My goodness ! And pray, sir, who might you be ? " 
 
 George Otway felt that, under the circumstances, the 
 question was rather an awkward one to answer. 
 
 "I'm" he began, but when he had got so far the Circus 
 
 King answered for him. 
 
 " This, my love, is Bull's Eye, the American Champion 
 Shootist, the Marksman of the Plains." 
 
 On receiving this information the lady's manner, and 
 language, became even more unflattering than before. 
 
 " That old fraud ! I should have thought, Mr Brown, that 
 after your last experience you would have had enough of 
 it." 
 
 " My dear, you are unreasonable, most unreasonable ! One 
 of the finest acts at present before the public, an absolute 
 money magnet, absolute ! Think of the magnificent ap- 
 paratus ! what it cost me ! you wouldn't have it wasted ! why 
 I paid eleven pound ten for the piano alone ! " 
 
 "You'll pay more for it before you've done, if you don't 
 take care." 
 
 "You don't understand, my pet, you really do not under- 
 stand. We are now dealing with a gentleman, twenty-two 
 carat, hall-marked, a man in whom I have the most implicit 
 confidence. He wouldn't give the show away for any amount 
 of money. I'm sure of it, perfectly certain." 
 
 Considering the extent of their acquaintance George Otway 
 felt that the Circus King was a courageous man. His wife 
 seemed to be of a less sanguine disposition.
 
 252 A META]\rORPHOSIS 
 
 "That's all very well, but I know better. When they've 
 once got their knife inside you they can't resist a chance of 
 giving a twist to the handle, they're all the same." She 
 addressed the new Bull's Eye again in a somewhat deprecia- 
 tory strain. "Is there nothing else you can do, sir, except 
 shoot nothing out of a gun and hit nothing with it?" 
 
 " Frankly, madam, while I have been enjoying the pleasure 
 of Miss Price's conversation I have been thinking things over, 
 and have recalled one or two matters, at which I used to be 
 something of a hand, which might be of service in such an 
 establishment as this." 
 "What's one of them?" 
 " I can both fence and box a little." 
 The Circus King shook his head. 
 
 " Fencing's no good, it don't attract the sort of public we 
 cater for. And as for boxing, I don't know how that would do 
 over here. In a scrap Frenchmen don't use their hands much, 
 they're better with their feet— the savate, you know. Would it 
 be a comic act?" 
 
 " How do you mean, a comic act?" 
 " Can you really fight, or can you only play the fool ? " 
 Otway laughed. 
 
 " You put it frankly. I can only say that I used to be able 
 to use my hands." 
 
 "Did you? then what's your idea? Call on someone in 
 the audience to come into the ring and have a couple of 
 rounds with you ? " 
 
 " In that case I might easily meet more than my match." 
 " What do you think ? Of course we should arrange that, 
 we're not mugs. We should- put our own man among the 
 audience, and you'd fight him. But, before we go any further, 
 
 what I want to know is " The Circus King paused to tilt his 
 
 hat back, and scratch his head. "You see, this is a sort of 
 thing in which you'll have to do something, and I want to 
 know what you can do. I've got gloves, isn't there somehow 
 you can show us what you can do with them ? '' 
 " If you like it, I'll have a turn with you." 
 " With me ! " The Circus King drew back ; to assume an 
 air of greater dignity. " I'd have you to understand, sir, that, 
 as Brown the Circus King, it's out of the question that I should 
 box with anything but first-rate quality." 
 
 •' I'll try to show you as much quality as I can."
 
 BULL'S EYE 253 
 
 The Circus King waved his hand in the air, apparently to 
 wave away the notion. 
 
 "No, sir, no! As the proprietor of this establishment I 
 tell you that it's out of the question. It's nonsense, sir, 
 nonsense." 
 
 His wife seemed to be of a different opinion. 
 
 " I don't see why it's nonsense, Mr Brown : why can't you 
 box the man? You needn't kill him; and I daresay he won't 
 quite kill you." 
 
 Otway laughed again. 
 
 " I certainly undertake that there shall be no killing on my 
 side.'.' 
 
 But the Circus King was not to be persuaded. 
 
 " My sweet, I see your idea, and I could trust myself not 
 to do this gentleman an injury, but, in my position, it's out 
 of the question that I should seem to attempt to strike a 
 member of my company, quite. So let us have no more 
 about it. But in an establishment of this character, there 
 ought to be someone who is able to do what is required. Ah, 
 there's Tebb ! I understand, Sam Tebb, that you have the 
 reputation of being a fighting man. Perhaps you wouldn't 
 mind obliging this gentleman — as a favour." 
 
 Sam Tebb proved to be the pillar of the Dandison Brothers. 
 He had been sitting on the side of the ring, observing the 
 proceedings with an air which did not suggest the warmest 
 approval. Now he slouched towards the little group in the 
 centre ; demanding, as he did so : 
 
 "What's the game?" 
 
 The Circus King explained. 
 
 " Our friend here, Sam — the latest acquisition to our list of 
 unrivalled attractions, — proposes to enliven our programme 
 by an exhibition of artistic boxing. In order to furnish the 
 act with a title which shall at once embellish and describe it, it 
 seems necessary that we should have a little rehearsal, so 
 perhaps you wouldn't mind putting on the gloves with him ; 
 say, for a couple of minutes." 
 
 " Don't blame me if I hurt him ; that's all." 
 
 " We sha'n't blame you, Sam, not in the least ! not in the least ! " 
 
 Otway added his disclaimer to the Circus King's. 
 
 "I won't blame you, Mr Tebb; indeed, I shall be obliged by 
 your putting yourself to so much trouble." 
 
 Sam Tebb grinned ; not pleasantly.
 
 254 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 " No trouble — it never is any trouble for me to fight 
 anyone — it's a direction in which I'm always willing to oblige." 
 
 "Jim," cried the Circus King, hastily, as if fearful Tebb's 
 words and manner should have too much effect on the latest 
 acquisition, calling to a nondescript individual who was loiter- 
 ing on the other side of the ring. " Go and fetch a couple of 
 pairs of boxing gloves, and look sharp about it — you'll find 
 'em in the property tent ! " 
 
 While the gloves were being fetched the two gentlemen 
 divested themselves of their coats and waistcoats ; Miss 
 Price taking advantage of an opportunity which offered to 
 whisper in Otway's ears : 
 
 " Take care of him ; he's a dangerous man ; he's fought for 
 money." 
 
 " Has he? Then this time he's going to fight for fun." 
 
 Miss Price looked at him as if she thought that he was 
 treating the matter more lightly than he ought to ; but, perhaps 
 noticing that her too-persistent wooer was observing her with 
 malignant eyes, and fearful lest he should make Otway suffer 
 for any attentions which she might pay him, she withdrew 
 from Otway's immediate neighbourhood. While they were 
 still waiting for the arrival of the gloves quite a number of 
 persons put in an appearance in or about the ring. Among 
 them Otway noticed eight men who stood close together ; and 
 who, although they were outside the ring, seemed to take a 
 lively interest in what was going on. He was afterwards to 
 learn that they were the remaining members of the Dandison 
 Brothers' troupe. 
 
 "We sha'n't want chairs, or seconds, or any of that kind of 
 thing, I suppose?" inquired the Circus King; as if he rather 
 hoped they would. 
 
 If such was the case his hopes were damped by Mr Tebb. 
 
 "Not we, we sha'n't want anything." Then he added, with 
 what seemed to be his characteristic grin : " Except, maybe, 
 a bit of soft ground for one of us to fall on." 
 
 The Circus King seemed anxious lest the point of this liittle 
 witticism should be misapprehended. 
 
 " Of course, Sam, you understand that this is just a little 
 friendly set-to — a mere matter of form — simply to serve the 
 object I have described to you." 
 
 " I understand," said Sam, and his tone was grim. 
 
 The gloves were brought ; the men in position. The more
 
 BULL'S EYE 255 
 
 George Otway surveyed Mr Tebb the more conscious he 
 became that he had the build of a fighting man. It seemed 
 possible that the "exhibition of artistic boxing" might be, to 
 an uncomfortable extent, on one side only. He was aware, 
 indeed, that such was the general anticipation : that the 
 spectators quite expected to see him knocked out as soon as 
 the fun began. They knew Sam Tebb, and the sledge-hammer 
 force which was behind his blows ; they regarded Otway with 
 the half-amused contempt with which the average human is 
 apt to regard the man of whom he knows nothing. 
 
 That feeling vanished before the "little rehearsal" had 
 continued ten seconds, it needed less time even than ihat 
 to perceive that the new-comer had not spoken vainly when 
 he claimed to be able to use his hands. Tebb's methods were 
 those of a man who counts his antagonist as quite unworthy 
 of his serious consideration ; his idea seemed to be that, if he 
 chose, he could make an end of his opponent with a single 
 blow. He tried to get that blow home at once, leaping at him 
 as soon as the word was given, feinting with his left, intending 
 to do the real business with his right. 
 
 But it was just those tactics which Otway had foreseen. 
 His rapid survey of Mr Tebb had led him to the conclusion 
 that, however fit he might be as a pillar, from a pugilist's point 
 of view he was altogether out of condition. Not only so ; he 
 was inclined to suspect that, as a fighter, his best days were 
 over ; that he was in the state which Miss Price so much 
 feared, one of rustiness ; that if he met a man who really 
 could extend him he would not last long. He knew himself 
 to be as hard as nails ; after his experiences of the last few 
 months it would have been strange if he had not been. Let 
 Tebb try to force the pace if he chose, he had only to keep 
 him off — he would soon tire. 
 
 Still, the force with which he had come at him took him a 
 little aback. He, himself, had merely proposed to show that he 
 was not a novice with the gloves, so that the Circus King 
 might know that he was not dealing with a perfect duffer. He 
 had never meant real business. The ferocious intention Tebb 
 displayed amazed him. Had one of those blows got home 
 there would have been an end of him upon the spot. But 
 they did not get home. He slipped aside as Tebb came 
 blindly on, landing him slightly on the cheek as he went by. 
 It was but a touch, but it seemed both to surprise and anger
 
 256 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 Mr Tebb. Twisting round with unexpected agility, ducking, 
 he got in a swinging left-hander on the other's ribs. Otway 
 staggered, recovering himself just as he seemed bound to fall. 
 The blow taught him caution : during the remainder of the 
 round he took care that nothing else got home. 
 
 At the conclusion of the round the Circus King softly 
 clapped his hands. 
 
 " Bravo, sir ! — well done ! You can use 'em. I shouldn't 
 be surprised if the act tickled the Frenchmen after all. We'll 
 call it A Lesson in the Art of Self-Defence taught by one 
 of England's Champion Boxers." 
 
 "Self-defence!" growled Tebb. "You call that self- 
 defence ! It's the first time I ever heard running away called 
 self-defence. You get him to stand up like a man, just as if 
 he was inside a ten-foot ring, he'll be dead before the round's 
 half through. Him one of England's champion boxers ! Go 
 on ! " He spoke to Otway, with a grin. " Have you had 
 about enough, or would you like a little bit more?" 
 
 "Thank you, Mr Tebb, it's very good of you ; I don't think 
 I should mind a little bit more." 
 
 Certain of the spectators laughed ; his light-hearted bearing 
 was in such marked contrast to the other's surliness. Besides, 
 the man was unmistakably no cur. Their merriment was not 
 approved of by Mr Tebb. 
 
 "All right," he grumbled. "You wait a bit, and I'll give 
 you something to laugh at, and him, too; only let him stop 
 jigging about, as if he was a blooming ballet-dancer." 
 
 Otway inwardly resolved that this time he would see what 
 could be done by sticking to his ground, within reason ; 
 having a sort of vague idea that he might actually be able to 
 teach Mr Tebb a lesson. He had noticed that he was what 
 pugilists of a certain school call "very clever with his head"; 
 dodging it swiftly up and down, and from side to side, to avoid 
 the blows which were aimed at it. George Otway had once 
 been taught a trick which was sometimes effective with fighters 
 of that sort ; he proposed, if opportunity offered, to put it into 
 execution. 
 
 For a while, Otway acting on his determination to keep his 
 ground as much as possible, there were some really smart 
 exchanges ; each man showing an indifference to punishment 
 which warmed the spectators to applause. More than once 
 Tebb got in a hot one ; though he did not by any means have
 
 BULL'S EYE 257 
 
 all the fun to himself: Otway, while waiting for the chance 
 he hoped for, managing to get in one or two smart taps, which 
 had the apparent effect of making the other half beside him- 
 self with rage. This was just what he desired, since it was 
 necessary that his antagonist should lose his judgment if his 
 manoeuvre was to succeed. 
 
 On came Tebb, more bent than ever on getting in a knock- 
 out blow. For a second or two the men were so close together 
 that they had hardly room for hitting ; it being part of Tebb's 
 tactics, while his arms were working like piston rods, to 
 actually lean his face against the other's chest so that he could 
 not get at it. This was Otway's chance. Leaning right for- 
 ward, he reached over Tebb's head, and struck him on the 
 back of the neck, at the same time springing smartly back- 
 ward. Over went Sam on to his face ; and there he lay. 
 There were shouts of applause from the spectators, the voice 
 of the Circus King being specially conspicuous. 
 
 " Bravo, sir ! " he exclaimed. " Serve him right ! " 
 
 If Sam Tebb chose to lie still it was possibly because he 
 was of opinion that a little repose might do him good; it was 
 evidently not because he had been deprived of conscious- 
 ness : as the comment which he made, as he scrambled to his 
 feet, on the proprietor's outspoken remark, plainly showed. 
 
 "Serve me right, did it? Very good. I'll remember that; 
 and you'll find I've got a good memory." He turned to 
 Otway. " That wasn't a fair blow ; that was a coward's blow, 
 that was. I'll kill you for it before I've done with you." 
 
 Sam Tebb was evidently ready to resume the proceedings 
 at once. The proprietor interposed. 
 
 " Now, Tebb, no nonsense ! We've had enough of it ! That'll 
 do ! We just wanted to see if our friend here could use his 
 hands, and you went for him as if you were fighting for your 
 life. I tell you that what you got serves you right." 
 
 "Serves me right, does it? I'll serve you right for a row 
 of pins, talking to me like that, an old fraud like you ! " 
 
 The remaining eight Dandison Brothers, who had come 
 into the ring some time ago, gathered round their irate and 
 wrong-headed pillar. 
 
 " Don't be a bigger fool, Sam, than you can help. What did 
 you want to go for the chap for as if you wanted to murder 
 him? It was a good thing for him that he did down you, 
 and maybe a good thing for you, too."
 
 258 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 "That's your opinion, is it? I don't care that for none of 
 you." He had removed the gloves from his hands, and now 
 tossed them from him with a gesture which was meant to be 
 significant. "Well, Mr American Champion Shootist — bah! 
 fancy your working that old swindle ! " He turned his head 
 to express his disgust by spitting on the ground. " In that 
 lesson on the art of self-defence, which I'm told you're going 
 to treat us to, would you like to have me for a pupil ? You 
 might down me again ; and, on the other hand, you mightn't," 
 
 "I'm aware, Mr Tebb, that I very much mightn't, being 
 conscious that it was only by a fluke that I succeeded in doing 
 it this time. Still, I should be only too happy in having so 
 promising a pupil." 
 
 "Fluke, you call it, do you? Next time, maybe, I'll fluke 
 you. Brown, you place his act where it don't clash with ours, 
 and when it's on you call on me. You'll find me willing to 
 oblige." 
 
 Mr Tebb, swaggering across the ring, disappeared from 
 sight, as if the further proceedings had no interest for him. 
 Miss Price addressed herself to the latest acquisition. 
 
 "You shouldn't have said you'd go through the act with 
 him — I wish you hadn't. He's a dangerous man ; he neither 
 forgives nor forgets ; he'll do you a mischief if he can." 
 
 "It's very good of you. Miss Price, to show so much solici- 
 tude on my behalf In my time I have met several persons 
 who would have done me a mischief if they could. I must do 
 with Mr Tebb as I did with them — I must try to prevent 
 him." 
 
 The Greatest Bender the World has ever seen looked up at 
 him with her big, honest eyes as if she were genuinely con- 
 cerned on his behalf. Before she had a chance of hinting 
 as much in words Mrs Brown spoke. 
 
 " Well, sir, it seems that you can fight as well as shoot 
 nothing out of a gun. Is there anything else you can do?" 
 
 " I used to be rather decent with a pair of Indian clubs, 
 swinging them, you know. It's rather effective if they're 
 swung well to music." 
 
 The notion seemed to commend itself to the Circus King. 
 
 " That's not a bad idea of yours ; and I've got the very 
 costume for an act like that, bought it only a week or two ago. 
 A French Zouave's, dark-blue jacket and waistcoat, baggy 
 Turkish trousers, yellow leggings, white gaiters, sky-blue sash,
 
 BULL'S EYE 259 
 
 and a red fez with a yellow tassel. The coat might be a little 
 tight, perhaps, but nothing to speak of. You'll look magnifi 
 cent as a French Zouave, sir." 
 
 Otway seemed doubtful. 
 
 " A coat that's a little tight doesn't seem promising for 
 swinging Indian clubs : you want plenty of room about the 
 arms and shoulders." 
 
 "Take the coat off, sir, take the coat off; and the waistcoat 
 too, if you like. Hand them to the attendant who hands 
 you the clubs. You want a uniform like that to make an 
 effective entrance in. Leave all that sort of thing to me." 
 
 "Is there anything else you can do?" persisted the insati- 
 able Mrs Brown. Then she went on to explain. " You see, 
 sir, our programme wants strengthening, both as regards 
 quantity and quality. We ought to have at least five more 
 turns." 
 
 " I'm afraid I can't undertake to give you that." 
 
 "Come, my dear sir," urged the Circus King, in a tone 
 of encouragement, "there's only two more wanted, we've 
 got three already. There's the shooting act." 
 
 "The shooting act!" 
 
 Mrs Brown's deep diapason was meant to express the last 
 degree of disdain, but her husband stuck to his guns. 
 
 "Yes, my dear, the shooting act. As I have said, over 
 and over again, it's one of the greatest acts at present before 
 the pubHc, and I don't intend that the money I paid for that 
 matchless apparatus shall be wasted. Then there's the boxing 
 show and the Indian clubs, that's three turns. Now — think ' 
 can't you find a fourth ? Anything will do : quantity is what 
 we want, not quality." 
 
 His wife added a postscript of her own. 
 
 " We should like a little quality if there's any available." 
 
 "Of course, my dear, of course; our good friend here 
 understands that quite well. He's not likely to offer us 
 anything which is not of the highest quality, but — now, have 
 you thought?" 
 
 "Well, there is one thing, and I fancy, from your point 
 of view, that that's the best of the lot, at which I am — 
 although I say it — a bit of a dabster." 
 
 "I knew there was, I was convinced of it. In you, my 
 dear sir, the artiste exudes from every pore. And that is ? " 
 
 "Throwing."
 
 260 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 "Throwing?" Brown's face fell. "But anyone can throw." 
 "Not quite in the sense I mean. You hang up a lot of 
 small bottles on strings as they do in shooting galleries. You 
 give me some round shot, I throw them at the bottles, and 
 with each shot smash one in regular order. Or you have 
 them numbered, and I smash them in any order the audience 
 likes to name. I'll smash glass balls, as they're sent up out 
 of a trap, perhaps eight out of ten, and do it pretty smartly 
 too. I'll throw a ball up in the air and hit it with another 
 as it descends, and do it with three or four at once. Y'ou 
 start half-a-dozen men running round the ring with all their 
 might, wearing, say, grotesque hats, and carrying small articles, 
 I'll send the hats flying, and what they're carrying also; if 
 you like, knock pipes out of their mouths. Place small 
 figures at different points near the roof, I'll tumble them all 
 over while you say Jack Robinson." 
 " Without apparatus ? " 
 
 "With nothing but my hand and some small balls. If 
 you're really good at throwing there is no end of telling 
 things which you can do." 
 
 The Circus King's manner suggested something like en- 
 thusiasm. 
 
 " My dear, dear boy, I'm not surprised ! I needed no 
 teUing ! I saw it at a glance ! Directly I observed you on 
 the boat I said to myself: ' There's talent — talent that's unique.' 
 Your idea's immense — immense ! Consider everything signed, 
 sealed, and settled. We'll rehearse this afternoon — with full 
 orchestra — seven instruments. I'll rush off to the printer's, 
 have handbills printed, posters printed, programmes printed. 
 Within two hours every man, woman, and child in this city 
 shall know that talent has arrived in Rouen. Before long 
 we shall have made you known to all France — to all Europe — 
 I may say, to the entire world. Depend on me, my dear, dear 
 boy, depend on me ! " 
 
 Otway only laughed. 
 
 As he was moving off Miss Price touched him on the arm. 
 She had exchanged her professional attire for the costume 
 of every-day life. He thought how nice she looked, and 
 what a pleasant face she had. 
 
 " What's he going to give you for it all ? " 
 
 " Give ? Do you mean pay me ? Oh, we haven't yet 
 touched on the question of terms."
 
 BULL'S EYE 261 
 
 "Haven't you? Then, if you take my advice, you pretty 
 soon will, unless you are a simple-minded innocent or money's 
 no object." 
 
 "But money's an object of very considerable importance." 
 
 " Then have everything on a fair and square business basis 
 at once. There he is, tackle him now, before he goes to the 
 printer." 
 
 Thus prompted, he waylaid the Circus King as he was on 
 the point of departure. 
 
 " By the way, Mr Brown, we have said nothing yet about 
 terms. What are you going to pay me in return for all I am 
 going to do for you ? " 
 
 "What am I going to pay you? My dear boy, this inquiry 
 is unexpected." He looked as if it were, and unwelcome 
 also. "As an amateur — of course you are an amateur — it 
 is the general custom to pay a premium — often a very large 
 premium — for the magnificent advertisement obtained by 
 making a first appearance in an establishment of such uni- 
 versal reputation as mine." 
 
 "Is it? Then I'm not that kind of amateur. With me 
 it's a question of no pay, no play." 
 
 " Dear me ! dear me ! I had no idea that you had such 
 a commercial mind. I wish to be generous — I am always 
 generous. But at the same time I wish to be just to myself, 
 and — and to Mrs Brown. And, of course, so far as you are 
 concerned the whole thing's merely an experiment which may 
 result in fiasco. Shall we say— shall we say " 
 
 He was evidently thinking how little he should say. Otway 
 cut his meditations short. 
 
 " No we sha'n't, that isn't enough, you'll have to make it 
 more than that." 
 
 "My dear, dear boy, I haven't even named a figure yet. 
 Shall we say — eh — five francs a night ? " 
 
 "We'll say ten, cash down each evening before I commence 
 to perform. Of course, that is only to start with. If I make 
 the resounding success we're both of us expecting I shall 
 require a very considerable advance in a very short time." 
 
 " My dear sir, what a financial soul you have." Mr Brown 
 sighed. " Then we'll say ten." 
 
 As he quitted the managerial presence it all seemed to him ex- 
 cruciatingly funny. He had not been inside a circus for years, 
 and now he was to perform in one ! — to do four "turns" each
 
 262 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 evening for ten francs a night ! Could the future have any 
 queerer fate in store for him than that ? 
 
 Quitting the circus premises he found the Dandison Brothers 
 loafing about the entrance. Some of them had English news- 
 papers. He heard one of them say, as he strolled past : 
 
 " This Jacob Gunston's a fair scorcher. Fancy tackling two 
 chaps like that in a railway carriage single-handed, and in 
 broad daylight, mind." 
 
 It was Sam Tebb who spoke next. 
 
 " And getting clean away with all those bank-notes, over ten 
 thousand pounds' worth. But, mark my words, it will be those 
 bank-notes which will do him. So soon as he changes one 
 the 'tecs will be on his track, and then it'll only be a question 
 of a few hours before he's buckled." 
 
 George Otway, as he went out, pressed his hand against 
 his jacket pocket. In it was the wallet which contained the 
 bank-notes of which Sam Tebb had spoken. Ebenezer Pullen's 
 fortune did not bid fair to be of much service to him after 
 all. But at least he would not be compelled to change one 
 of the notes while he continued to be in receipt of the muni- 
 ficent sum of ten solid francs a night. 
 
 As he was turning into the Rue Thiers a carriage came 
 round the corner out of the Rue Jeanne dArc. On the 
 opposite side, facing the horses, a girl was sitting, who had 
 her face turned from him, as if she were looking at something 
 which was on the other side of the street. 
 
 It was Miss DoUie Lee, the original cause of all the trouble 
 that had come to him. The sight of her so startled him that 
 he stood stock still, as if his feet had become suddenly glued 
 to the pavement. Had she seen him ? What was she doing 
 there? Who was she with ? What did her presence in Rouen 
 portend ? These questions, rushing through his brain, received 
 no answer. 
 
 While, all bewildered, he was endeavouring to ask himself 
 if he should continue his progress or choose another way, 
 he heard a voice, speaking behind him, say distinctly : 
 
 "Jacob Gunston ! " 
 
 He wheeled round on his heels. There was no one near who 
 could possibly have been the speaker, indeed, there was no one 
 within fifty yards of where he stood. And the voice had seemed 
 to come from someone who was standing close to his ear. 
 
 Was that hideous name to haunt him ?
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 SEMADINl's TROUPE 
 
 I AM sure he will kill you if he gets a chance." 
 Miss Price and George Otway — " Bull's Eye, the 
 American Champion Shootist " — were having a frugal mid-day 
 meal together at the Cafe de I'Etoile ; the words were ad- 
 dressed by the lady to the gentleman. They were spoken in 
 all seriousness ; he received them with a twinkle in his eyes. 
 Leaning towards her across the table he replied, in a light- 
 hearted undertone : 
 
 " Entirely in confidence, and between ourselves, in my time 
 I have encountered two or three persons who, I believe 
 had the desire to kill me if they could only get the chance 
 The chance to do that sort of thing is not found every 
 day ; it is just that which has been always wanting. I 
 must make it my particular business to see that, on this 
 occasion, in the case of the gentleman you refer to, it is want- 
 ing still." 
 
 Her shrewd, honest eyes did not return the twinkle which 
 was in his, her whole expression denoted genuine concern. 
 
 '* You take things so lightly ; I wish you wouldn't. Sam 
 Tebb's a man who'd stick at nothing to pay a grudge he owed. 
 After what has happened he'll leave no stone unturned to do 
 you all the mischief he possibly can. He told me himself last 
 night that he'd do worse than murder you ; when he says a 
 thing like that he means it. I wish you'd promise me that 
 you'd be on your guard." 
 
 It was a moment or two before George Otway answered. 
 When he did it was a little more gravely than before, but 
 still with a smile. 
 
 "If it were not that I do take things so lightly I'd have 
 been dead and buried long ago. Taking it all in all, Dame 
 Fortune has not used me over well ; it amuses me to dare her 
 to do her worst. As for Mr Tebb, if he has designs upon my 
 life I'll not put an end to them by worrying. But I promise 
 263
 
 264 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 you this : if he gets either under or over my guard he'll have 
 more shrewdness than I credit him with." 
 
 Although he spoke so carelessly he knew — as well as she 
 knew — that, so far as it went, the peril was real enough. He 
 had now been a member for eight days of the company which 
 was intended to attract the public in their thousands to the 
 Hippodrome of the New Century, and during those eight days 
 things had happened. 
 
 As a performer — in his small way — he had won popular 
 favour. His manipulation of the Indian clubs had met with 
 the approval of the public ; his exhibition of the art of self- 
 defence had met with at least equal success ; he had shown 
 really unusual deftness in throwing at various objects under 
 curious conditions ; he had performed almost incredible feats 
 with a rifle. Could he have had his way the turn in which 
 he figured as Bull's Eye would have been cut bodily out of the 
 programme, but the Circus King would not hear of it. It cer- 
 tainly was effective enough so far as confiding audiences went — 
 the tune which he was supposed to shoot out on the piano was 
 always received with a roar of applause — while the per- 
 suasion which had been brought to bear on Mr Brown from 
 more quarters than one only succeeded in producing from 
 him a restatement of the enormous sum which he had 
 expended on the purchase of the " unrivalled apparatus " and 
 a declaration of his resolution not to allow the money to be 
 wasted. 
 
 "You know the thing is a fraud," Otway pointed out. " In 
 the long run they're bound to find it out ; indeed, as you're 
 aware, they found it out once already." 
 
 "Just so, and that only bears out what I say. Because, 
 although the show was given away, by a scoundrel " — here the 
 Circus King regarded Otway with what that gentleman felt 
 might almost be construed as a meaning glance— "they still 
 come to see it. No, my dear boy, it's our most effective act, 
 and the programme is not sufficiently strong to permit of our 
 leaving out the most attractive item. In fact, talent's scandal- 
 ously hard to find, and, in consequence, the programme's con- 
 foundedly weak; if something doesn't turn up to strengthen it 
 very soon goodness only knows what will happen." 
 
 It certainly was the truth that in the Hippodrome of the 
 New Century, in more senses than one, things were all at sixes 
 and sevens. More than once the audience was so small that
 
 SEMADINI'S TROUPE 265 
 
 the management seriously doubted if it was worth while go- 
 ing through the performance. One dreadful night less than 
 a louis was taken at the doors. It was true that it was raining 
 cats and dogs ; but, still — less than a louis ! — not sixteen English 
 shillings ! The takings never reached quite such a low point 
 again ; but a circus, even when it is conducted on the most 
 economical lines — as the Circus King's emphatically was— 
 costs a good deal of money to keep it going. George Otway 
 saw plainly enough that he had found no permanent resting- 
 place, since, at any moment, the Hippodrome of the New 
 Century might close its doors and its entire troupe be stranded. 
 If he could manage to put together a few francs before that 
 hour came he would have to be content, but he found it hard 
 to save much out of ten francs a day. 
 
 Affairs were not improved by the dissensions which existed 
 in the company itself. Mr Sam Tebb, the "pillar" of the 
 Dandison Brothers' troupe of acrobats, had taken a most pro- 
 nounced dislike to the new Bull's Eye, and, so far from en- 
 deavouring to conceal his dislike, he lost no opportunity of 
 flourishing it in the public face. Although the relations 
 between Miss Price and Otway could not have been more 
 innocent— and were no concern of his in any case — he chose 
 to regard them with his most jaundiced eye. Since thrashing 
 the gentleman was a task which he would undoubtedly have 
 found difficult of accomplishment, in a spirit which was neither 
 heroic nor lover-like he actually tried violence on the lady 
 instead. Unfortunately for him — if luckily for the lady — 
 George Otway caught him in the act, the result being that he 
 was handled in a fashion in which he had not been handled 
 for many a year. If it had not been that they were interrupted 
 the contest might have had very serious consequences indeed.' 
 
 The following evening Mr Tebb— who certainly was not 
 without bull-dog courage of a kind — in spite of all protests 
 from his friends and the management, insisted on stepping into 
 the ring and putting on the gloves with Otway, when, as One 
 of England's Champion Boxers, that gentleman proceeded to 
 give the audience an illustrated lesson in the art of self-defence. 
 Tebb had drunk enough bad brandy to make his natural 
 obstinacy more unmanageable still, and to inflame him with an 
 altogether uncontrollable desire to pay Otway out for the 
 treatment he had accorded him the night before. Nothing 
 more of the nature of a fight to a finish was probably ever seen
 
 266 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 in a circus ring before. Tebb would not be denied. Although 
 he inflicted heavy punishment he was himself sent to ground 
 over and over again, only, each time, to renew the attack with 
 increased ferocity. 
 
 Fortunately — as it turned out— the spectators, on that 
 occasion, were few, if select ; yet by the time that Tebb was 
 dragged — kicking, struggling, and cursing — from the ring, the 
 place was in an uproar. A large section of the people present 
 not unnaturally resented the substitution of a sanguinary, and 
 by no means scientific, encounter, for an elegant display of 
 the more graceful characteristics of boxing. ^Vomen and 
 children screamed ; men shouted " Shame " ; refusing to allow 
 the performance to continue after Tebb had been dragged 
 away, until the Circus King himself came forward, and, in 
 somewhat peculiar French, proffered such apologies as were 
 within his power. Even then, during the remainder of the 
 evening, electricity was in the air, so that the programme 
 concluded amid sounds which were much more suggestive of 
 booing and hissing than applause. 
 
 " I've borne more from Sam Tebb than any other man ever 
 would have done," declared the Circus King; "but that's the 
 last time he shall ever set foot in a ring of mine. I know 
 something of Frenchmen ; it doesn't take much to make them 
 red-hot with excitement ; it would have needed very little 
 to have made that crowd go for the blooming show itself. 
 If there had been more of them they'd have wrecked 
 it." 
 
 The Dandison Brothers did not again appear in the 
 Hippodrome of the New Century. With one accord the 
 eight set upon their pillar ; and, beyond a shadow of doubt, 
 used him as no pillar would desire to be treated. Then, 
 shaking the dust of Rouen off their feet, they started in search 
 of fresh fields and pastures new ; in other words, of a fresh 
 engagement and another pillar. Tebb declined to budge. 
 It was then that he announced, in the hearing of quite a 
 number of persons, that before he finished with George 
 Otway he would do worse than murder him ; among those 
 who listened there was not one who doubted that he would 
 do his utmost to keep to the letter of his word. 
 
 Otway himself was only too well aware that he had, without 
 the slightest intention of doing anything of the kind, added 
 another to the already sufficiently long list of his enemies —
 
 SEMADINI'S TROUPE 267 
 
 one who would not impossibly prove to be the most im 
 placable of them all. 
 
 The place which the Dandison Brothers had occupied in 
 the programme was taken by a so-called troupe of performing 
 wild animals. Against these Otway did vigorously protest. 
 
 The troupe — which was a most heterogeneous affair — con- 
 sisted of a hippopotamus, a pleasing variety of serpents of all 
 sorts and sizes, half-a-dozen wolves, two lionesses and two lions, 
 and a tiger and a tigress. Their proprietor was a man who 
 called himself Semadini ; a Uttle, hatchet-faced fellow who, on 
 the face of things, was quite incapable of adequately control- 
 ling such a menagerie. He had had a partner ; but, the troupe 
 being a financial failure, the partner had had enough of it. 
 Semadini, together with his wife — a big, raw-boned woman — 
 and two sons — lads respectively about sixteen and seventeen 
 — was left in sole charge of this singular, and, indeed, un- 
 controllable collection. Semadini's own income had lately 
 been so precarious and scanty that he had scarcely been able 
 to keep himself and his family, let alone supply his animals, 
 with an adequate supply of proper food. The consequence 
 was that they were all of them more or less in a state of savage 
 hunger — although Semadini strenuously denied it. Otway per- 
 ceived that such was the case directly he saw them. 
 
 The idea was that a large cage should be erected in the 
 centre of the arena ; that the animals should be let loose in 
 it ; and that then Semadini should enter and go through the 
 usual senseless performance with them. The fact that he 
 declined, point blank, to carry out the latter part of the 
 programme showed plainly enough what his opinion was of 
 their tempers and of the state of discipline they were in. He 
 wanted to stay outside the cage, and, so far as possible, go 
 through the performance from there, a notion which the 
 Circus King altogether declined to countenance. 
 
 " You've undertaken to enter a den of wild beasts and 
 there demonstrate the power of the human will. How are 
 you going to demonstrate anything if you stop outside? 
 People will laugh ; and in this circus we've had enough of 
 that sort of thing just lately." 
 
 "You'll be his murderer if you do send him in," maintained 
 George Otway. "What's more, you'll place yourself in a very 
 responsible position if you let the creatures go into the ring at 
 all — cage or no cage. They're more savage even than in
 
 268 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 their original state ; he admits himself that it's some time 
 since they went through what he calls a performance. If 
 they suddenly find themselves together, with a number of 
 people about them, they'll not only go for each other, they'll 
 go for the people also ; it'll have to be a stronger cage than 
 this man's gimcrackery which will keep them from getting at 
 the audience, especially that great brute of a hippopotamus. 
 Another thing — and to this 1 would call your particular at- 
 tention — those living cages are none too strong ; they look to 
 me as if they were falling to pieces : he seems to have tinkered 
 them together with tin tacks. Those animals of his have only 
 got to get really desperate and throw themselves about in 
 style; they'll be loose in no time, and flying at your throats." 
 
 Mr Brown, rubbed his bristly chin, appearing not to relish 
 Otway's outspoken remarks. Semadini, finding himself 
 stranded at Rouen after a long course of ill-fortune, had 
 been glad to accept any offer bearing promise of immediate 
 cash, come from what quarter it might, so Brown had got 
 him at his own terms. Those terms were so low, and — in 
 face of the defection of the Dandison Brothers — the Circus 
 King was so conscious of the desperate need in which his 
 establishment stood of a fresh attraction, that very strong 
 reasons would have been needed to induce him not to make 
 the most of what he felt was, for him, an excellent bargain. 
 So he allowed Otway's expostulatory words to go unanswered, 
 though he could not but admit that the noise which the 
 hungry creatures were making was a disquieting sound. 
 
 On the evening of the day on which he endeavoured, in 
 vain, to persuade the Circus King to have nothing to do with 
 Semadini and his animals, George Otway made his very last 
 appearance at the Hipjiodrome of the New Century. 
 
 All through the day he had been conscious of a curious 
 uneasiness. To begin with, in the night Elsie Thornton had 
 called to him again ; called to him for help. He had heard 
 her voice with such appalling distinctness, her need had been 
 so hideously urgent, that he could not shake off the feeling 
 that it behoved him to go to her assistance without a moment's 
 hesitation or delay. Yet, whither was he to go? — north, south, 
 east, west? By now she might be on the other side of the 
 globe for all that he could tell. What was the use of his 
 setting out, like some mad knight errant, on a journey to 
 nowhere ?
 
 SEMADINI'S TROUPE 269 
 
 Another cause of his uneasiness was the fact that he 
 had, that day, again seen DoUie Lee. He was entering the 
 cathedral, seeking, in the shelter of its peaceful magnificence, 
 that calm of mind of which he stood in such sore need, when, 
 as he swung open the outer leathern door, she came through 
 the inner one. They all but collided. Then she passed into 
 the street and he under the gothic arches of Notre Uame. 
 He was not even sure that she had noticed him at all. She 
 was laughing at the moment ; how well he knew her pretty, 
 careless laughter, and how the sound of it seemed to send a 
 thrill right through him ! She was with a gentleman— he only 
 saw that it was not Frank Andrews — by whom her whole atten- 
 tion seemed to be absorbed. Noting the elegance of her attire, 
 the indefinable air with which she wore it, the atmosphere of 
 the Lady of Fashion which she carried about with her, George 
 Otway found himself suddenly borne back to a world out of 
 which he seemed to have been borne, centuries ago, for ever. 
 
 He needed all the peace of mind that the cathedral could 
 give him. 
 
 Then there was his concern on the subject of Semadini's 
 animals. His real fear was that — unless some precaution was 
 taken, which did not seem likely to be taken — some frightful 
 catastrophe might ensue. To crown all, there was Mr Tebb. 
 He was always meeting Mr Tebb. He had a shrewd suspicion 
 that Sam Tebb was dogging his steps, though with what 
 intention he could not conceive. Even Tebb could hardly 
 meditate assault and battery in broad daylight in the streets of 
 Rouen. Yet, wherever he was, when he looked round, Sam 
 seemed to be somewhere in sight.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 THE TRICK WHICH FAILED 
 
 WHEN, as the hour for commencing the performance 
 was approaching, he was moving through the ram- 
 shackle passage-way, which led to what were ironically called 
 the artistes' dressing-rooms, he encountered the Greatest 
 Bender the World has ever seen, Miss Price's greeting — in 
 the light of his own forebodings — took him somewhat aback. 
 
 " Do you know, I'm feeling all mops-and-brooms ; I can't 
 make it out ; I hope nothing awful's going to happen." 
 
 "What should happen?" 
 
 "Why, heaps of things; in a place like this there's always 
 plenty of awful things which can happen. I know the last 
 time I felt like this I put both legs out while doing the 
 splits ; I thought I was going legless to an early grave. That 
 was pretty awful, I can tell you that." 
 
 " If you feel as if anything of that kind were going to happen 
 to you to-night, if you take my very strong advice, you'll keep 
 out of the bill, let Brown say what he likes. In your case a 
 warning voice on that subject is something which you dis- 
 tinctly ought to listen to." 
 
 She shook her head ; regarding him with glances which were 
 at once both doubtful and anxious. 
 
 "No; this time it isn't myself that I'm afraid for; it's — oh, 
 I can't make out what it is." Then she added, with a sudden 
 change of subject : " I wish those brutes wouldn't make that 
 horrible hubbub." 
 
 Semadini's animals seemed to be all roaring at once ; in 
 their roaring, to the observant ear, there was a very uncom- 
 fortable note. Otway knit his brows. 
 
 "Semadini — or, failing him, then Brown — ought to feed 
 them ; they're half beside themselves with hunger, that's what 
 it is. I've spoken to Brown about it ; he says it's no business 
 of his to feed other people's cattle. If he doesn't look out, 
 before he's finished he'll wish that he had made it his business. 
 
 270
 
 THE TRICK WHICH FAILED 271 
 
 If you want to keep wild beasts in captivity on their good 
 behaviour you have to feed them properly. If you don't, it's 
 not only a shameful cruelty, it's shortsighted policy ; and 
 when they're genuinely hungry, the Lord help anyone they 
 can get at." 
 
 That evening there was a larger audience than George 
 Otway had hitherto seen. There was a fair number of people 
 in all the seats ; the cheaper parts were crowded. Possibly 
 the news that Semadini's animals would make their first 
 appearance had attracted the public ; but George Otway could 
 not but feel that there might be some other, and more sinister, 
 explanation of the unwonted concourse. 
 
 The Circus King came to him while he was squeezing 
 himself into the ridiculous Zouave costume he was compelled 
 to don for his first turn. The manager was all jubilation. 
 
 " Told you, my boy, those brutes would fetch em ; I ought 
 to know what draws the people if anybody does. There's 
 something like money in the house to-night." 
 
 "Then if I were you I'd feed the brutes who've brought it." 
 
 " Just what I was thinking of doing ; the fact is, they're 
 making such a din that they pretty nearly drown the band. 
 But Semadini says that it would never do to feed them now; 
 he says that after they're fed there ought to be an interval of 
 at least three hours before they're taken into the ring." 
 
 "Then Semadini's an idiot; and, if you'll bring him here, 
 I'll have much pleasure in telling him so. If you turn those 
 creatures out into the arena hungry there'll be trouble ; and 
 if it isn't trouble of the very worst kind you may think your- 
 self lucky." 
 
 " You're an alarmist, my dear boy, an alarmist ; if we didn't 
 occasionally take some risks our profession couldn't go on for 
 a single day. And don't try to teach your grandmother; 
 Semadini knows his business. His show will come on at the 
 very end ; after your shooting act." 
 
 " My shooting act ! That's something else I'd wish you 
 could manage to do without." 
 
 " My dear boy ! my dear boy ! On a night like this it will 
 make a bigger hit even than Semadini." The expression of 
 the speaker's countenance became somewhat changed as, 
 after a moment's hesitation, he continued: "There's only 
 one drawback ; that brute Tebb's in front. We couldn't very 
 well refuse to admit him, as he offered his money at the pay
 
 272 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 box with the rest, and was accompanied by half-a-dozen 
 friends." 
 
 " Brown — you must excuse my saying so — but you're an 
 ass. Whatever Sam Tebb offered you ought to have refused 
 to admit him. He means mischief, as you know as well as I 
 do, and he'll make it. What you call my shooting act will 
 have to be omitted." 
 
 The Circus King chose to assume what he probably meant 
 to be an air of dignity. 
 
 " I'd have you to know, sir, once more, that what I call 
 your shooting act will not be omitted. You're paid to go 
 through with it ; you're announced to go through with it ; the 
 house expects you to go through with it ; and you'll have to 
 go through with it ; unless you're the kind of person I've not 
 hitherto supposed you to be. I would inform \ou, further, 
 sir, that I'm not accustomed to be called an ass ; particularly 
 by one of my own artistes; don't let it occur again. As 
 Brown, the Circus King, in this establishment my word goes, 
 and my word only. Criticism of any kind is uninvited, and 
 is objected to. A nod is as good as a wink to a blind horse, 
 sir; let that hint be final, sir." 
 
 The Circus King having departed, George Otway shrugged 
 his shoulders. 
 
 " Extraordinary how a man may pass his whole life in 
 fancying himself something and yet be nothing after all. I 
 don't believe that much intellect is required to run a circus on 
 the lines of the Hippodrome of the New Century, but I fear 
 that even that small modicum Brown's without. Semadini's 
 brutes mad with hunger ; I with that barefaced fraud to 
 brazen out ; Sam Tebb thirsting for anybody's gore in general 
 and mine in particular : it doesn't need a vivid imagination 
 to foresee that if, before the evening's done, there isn't a 
 pretty flare-up, which isn't down in the programme, it'll be a 
 wonder." 
 
 George Otway prophesied better than he knew. 
 
 The moment he made his first entry he understood that 
 matters would very probably be — so far as he was personally 
 concerned — even worse than he had guessed. Sam Tebb's 
 voice was audible in insolent salutation. 
 
 " Here's the little beauty ! What ho ! my bounding black- 
 guard ! " 
 
 Almost more ominous still were the murmurs which pro-
 
 THE TRICK WHICH FAILED 273 
 
 ceeded from a small group of French officers who sat together. 
 From the remarks they made they apparently resented his; 
 being attired in Zouave uniform, speaking of it as a "scandal,' 
 and an "insult to the army." 
 
 He made haste to remove at least the offending cap, coat, 
 and waistcoat, a proceeding on his part which was greeted 
 with significant applause. 
 
 But what disconcerted him more than anything else was 
 the sudden discovery that Dollie Lee was present ; she was 
 sitting in the front row among a number of smartly dressed 
 French and English people who evidently formed one party, 
 and who had plainly come to laugh rather than to admire. 
 That she would recognise him seemed scarcely possible, 
 since his cheeks were still clean shaven, and, by way of extra 
 disfigurements, he wore a wig and a false moustache. But 
 the mere fact of having to make such a spectacle of himself 
 in presence of the woman who had used him as she had done 
 was a sufficient strain upon his nervous system. Not only 
 did he feel incapable of doing his best, but, somehow, the 
 band and he seemed to be at loggerheads, so that, when he 
 was supposed to be swinging his clubs to music, they kept 
 one time and he another. When the turn was concluded the 
 applause was distinctly feeble. As he was quitting the scene 
 he heard Dollie Lee's musical laughter ringing out above all 
 other sounds. It stung him as if he had been cut by the 
 lash of a whip. 
 
 "Went rather slack, didn't it?" commented Mr Brown, as 
 he came out of the ring. 
 
 " Slack ! " retorted Otway, with a laugh which was but a 
 forced echo of Dollie's merriment. " If you want to know 
 what slack means you wait till you see how my other turns 
 go." 
 
 The spirit of laughter, once evoked, proved impossible to 
 lay. The audience was in a merry mood : quick to see 
 humour in everything. They screamed at Mrs Brown on the 
 slack wire as the Dancing Walrus ; screamed even more than 
 that lady altogether relished. They laughed at Sallie Price 
 on her first appearance as Pauline Petroski, the Russian Lady 
 Bare-Backed Rider of the Steppes ; when she came out of 
 the ring her cheeks showed white with rage through the 
 grease paint. 
 
 "The cowards, to laugh at me! because that wretched
 
 274 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 horse slipped ! It was Sam Tebb who started them, I 
 know ! Only wait, and I'll be even with him yet." 
 
 " It strikes me that, while we're waiting, he'll be getting 
 about even with us. If the whole force of the establishment 
 had been required to do it, Brown ought to have kept him 
 out." 
 
 Miss Price thought that, as he was speaking, George Otway 
 looked more serious than she had ever seen him. His boxing 
 act was omitted, it being strongly felt that, if Tebb was in 
 front, he might insist on donning the gloves ; and then, in 
 the present e.xcited state of the house, there might be turmoil 
 indeed. The throwing act, which had hitherto always gone 
 so well, for once in a way fell fiat. 
 
 The erudite Circus King had discovered some affinity 
 between throwing and the Greek Games. He had insisted on 
 entitling the act 
 
 Glaucus the Greek ! Throwing Extraordinary ! 
 The Olympian Games outdone ! 
 The Discobolus at a Discount ! 
 
 The fact that these words appeared on the programme in 
 what he called French, as well as in English, did not tend 
 to an improvement of their sense. To make the thing con- 
 sistent — for, in his way, he was a great stickler for consistency! — 
 he had dressed Otway in what he called Greek costume ; the 
 principal features of which consisted of long, flowing hair and 
 beard and a huge, shapeless cretonne garment, of an un- 
 comfortably vivid green, which he called a peplus. George, 
 taking nothing seriously, would have been willing to have 
 been rigged up as Guy Faux ; and, indeed, Brown had proved 
 himself no bad judge of the taste of that particular section 
 of the public for which he catered. So far, applause had 
 been the order of the day ; no one seemed to see anything 
 incongruous in the whole affair. 
 
 But that evening there chanced to be persons present of 
 a more cultivated taste, with a keen eye for the ridiculous. 
 As Glaucus the Greek entered the arena, his green cretonne 
 "peplus" streaming behind him, a shout of laughter arose, 
 which was not made less by Tebb shouting out : 
 
 " What ho ! my bonny boy, you're back again ; you don't
 
 THE TRICK WHICH FAILED 275 
 
 think that that lot of furniture covering can hide you from 
 your father's eye." 
 
 George Otway saw that DolHe Lee, with her handkerchief 
 hiding her face, was doubled up in inextinguishable laughter ; 
 one of the things which had first attracted him to her was her 
 quickness to see a jest. He could have taken Tebb by the 
 throat and throttled him there and then. He could hit 
 nothing ; he missed most of the glass balls as they rose up 
 into the air out of the trap; he even missed most of the 
 bottles, which, up to then, he had never missed. His 
 occasional hits were greeted with derisive applause ; his 
 frequent misses with yells of laughter; when the act was 
 ended the whole audience was holding its sides. As he 
 passed he distinctly heard Dollie say : 
 
 " That's one of the very funniest things I ever saw in all my 
 life ! " 
 
 The fact that what the girl said was true, that he had 
 been so unintentionally funny, made it all the bitterer. That 
 he should have descended to play the clown — and such a 
 clown — with her to feast on his discomfiture ! 
 
 " You don't seem none of you up to the mark, to-night," 
 was Brown's greeting as Otway came raging out of the ring. 
 "One would have thought that, with a fine house like this, 
 you'd all of you have done your level best ; but, hang me ! 
 if you don't all of you seem to be trying to do your level 
 worst. You're not all of you supposed to be clowns, don't 
 you know ; you're not all of you meant to start 'em laughing. 
 Perhaps you'll remember that when you go on for your shooting 
 act, and try to leave an impression on the high-class audience 
 which we've got in this establishment to-night that there's 
 someone in the place who isn't a perfect fool." 
 
 George Otway said nothing, though he could have said 
 much. He had a strong premonition that the worst was 
 still to come ; that Sam Tebb, for one, meant to get some 
 solid return for the money which he had paid at the door. 
 Had it been feasible, with or without Brown's permission, 
 he would have declined to go on for the shooting act even 
 at the eleventh hour. But, since the audience had already 
 hotly resented the omission of two items from the programme, 
 he recognised that he would probably be incurring more risk 
 by leaving it out than by going through with it. 
 
 So, when the time came, he entered the arena as Bull's
 
 276 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 Eye, the American Champion Shootist, the Marksman of 
 the Plains, to do the last turn that was ever enacted in the 
 Hippodrome of the New Century. 
 
 His entry was received by the audience with chilling 
 silence, in striking contrast to the shrieks of laughter in 
 which they had just been indulging. As if to make up for 
 their stillness, Semadini's animals began, all at once, to make 
 a frantic uproar, which almost suggested that the ill-fed beasts 
 were making frenzied efforts to escape from their cages. 
 
 The act began with some comparatively simple feats of 
 marksmanship. Otway, who — judged by the standard of 
 the ordinary sportsman — was a first-rate shot, had insisted 
 on doing them fairly and squarely, with the unassisted aid 
 of his own gun and eye. That night his very honesty of 
 purpose proved a drawback. He was conscious that there 
 was some unwonted excitement behind the scenes ; realised 
 each second more and more plainly that there was something 
 unpleasantly ominous about the increasing discord which 
 Semadini's half - maddened brutes were making in their 
 rotten cages. His eye was out, his hand unsteady. As 
 when he was throwing, so now with the gun ; he could hit 
 nothing. When the people perceived — as they imagined — 
 what a poor figure he made even with a gun, the laughter 
 recommenced. He noted — in spite of, and above — everything 
 else, the little musical peal which came from DoUie's lips each 
 time he missed. 
 
 Presently he came to what was supposed to be one of 
 his two great feats. Fixed against a board on one side 
 of the arena was a device consisting of crystal letters some 
 ten or twelve inches high. In the centre of each letter 
 was a small metal disc. He was supposed to aim at and 
 hit this disc, and each hit was supposed to electrically 
 illuminate one of the letters, until the whole design blazed 
 out "Vive la France"! As a matter of fact, the magazine 
 rifle with which he was supposed to fire was charged with 
 blank cartridges ; each time he pulled the trigger, with his 
 foot he pressed a button which was concealed in the flooring, 
 and that lighted each letter in turn. 
 
 He went through the first part without a hitch ; there 
 flamed the device, the apparent result of his almost incredible 
 skill. The people stared and cheered, a little puzzled to 
 find that the man who could just now do nothing could
 
 THE TRICK WHICH FAILED 277 
 
 yet bring off, with such certainty and ease, a seeming miracle. 
 Otway noted, as a bad sign, that a loud and altogether 
 uncalled-for volume of applause proceeded from a group of 
 men, among whom Sam Tebb was a conspicuous figure. 
 
 And all the while he was aware that behind the scenes 
 that inexplicable excitement was growing more and more, 
 and that Semadini's animals were continually raging more 
 wildly. 
 
 He came to the second feat, which was, if possible, an 
 even grosser piece of humbug than the first. What purported 
 to be an ordinary piano confronted him, the wires and 
 keyboard being disclosed by the removal of the entire front. 
 Attached to each wire was again a metal disc, which he 
 was supposed to hit, and so strike a note ; and thus, in time, 
 " fire out " a tune, in this case the " Marseillaise." The whole 
 affair, however, being actually produced by pressing a con- 
 cealed button as before. 
 
 The moment he pulled the trigger he knew that something 
 was wrong; although he simultaneously pressed the button 
 no note came, until after a perceptible interval, when it 
 sounded with disconcerting clearness. The audience tittered. 
 He pulled the trigger a second time ; still no note, till after 
 an even longer interval than before. The audience laughed 
 outright. A third time ; on this occasion no note came at 
 all, even though he waited, pressing the button again and 
 again. He glanced round at the giggling people, noting 
 DoUie's profound enjoyment of his discomfiture. He looked 
 towards the artistes' entrance ; there seemed to be no one 
 there to render him assistance. He would have to carry 
 the thing off single-handed somehow, or face the storm 
 which he saw was brewing. 
 
 Before he could decide what to do — whether to do anything 
 at all — the issue was withdrawn from his control. As he was 
 about to draw the trigger for the third time the piano began 
 to play the Marseillaise right through, seemingly of its own 
 accord, from beginning to end. The audience broke into a 
 roar of inextinguishable laughter. While the bewildered 
 Otway was wondering whether the instrument was bewitched, 
 or — failing that — what could have happened to the thing, 
 Sam Tebb climbed on to the bench on which he had been 
 sitting, holding something in his hand. Then George Otway 
 understood.
 
 278 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 Tebb began to shout at the top of his voice, in a mixture 
 of idiomatic English and very colloquial French, whose meaning 
 was none the less sufificiently plain to those who heard. 
 
 " It's a fraud ! a dirty swindle ! that's what his little game 
 is ! He can't shoot for nuts — or nutshells either. There's 
 nothing in that gun of his ; he just stamps upon a push-piece, 
 and that does the business. But for once in a way I've been 
 in front of him ; I've tapped the wire ; I've got the push-piece 
 in my hand ; I'll fire out the ' Marseillaise ' for you ! " 
 
 He did. The ill-treated national air of France crashed through 
 the circus in somewhat original time. There were shouts of 
 " Shame ! shame ! " mingled with shrieks of laughter. 
 
 "Now, my boys," shouted Sam, "let's be even with the 
 sweep; let's have our money's worth out of him; the dirty 
 hound ! " 
 
 He came scrambling down over the seats into the ring, 
 followed by twenty or thirty others. The rest of the audience, 
 catching the infection of his and their example, rose to its 
 feet. In another moment almost the entire assemblage was 
 making for the man who had been so conspicuously marked 
 out as a butt on whom to vent their common indignation. 
 George Otway, without flinching from where he stood, waited 
 for their onrush with a smile upon his face. 
 
 Suddenly above the shouts and cries of the excited people 
 rose another sound ; one still more ominous : the sound of 
 the crackling of wood. All at once the arena was filled with 
 a blinding smoke. 
 
 " Fire ! fire ! " someone shouted. 
 
 " II a cri6 au feu ! " a Frenchman screamed. 
 
 On the instant the mood of the people changed. Excitement 
 became bewilderment ; eagerness, doubt ; fury, terror. From 
 a determination to wreak vengeance on the man who had 
 offended them they passed to a frenzied desire to save their 
 own lives. 
 
 Even above the tumult of the frightened people there rose 
 the voices of wild beasts ; and something more than their 
 voices. Instinct told George Otway that his fears had been 
 realised : that those ramshackle cages had tumbled to pieces 
 when the moment came in which their strength was really 
 put to the trial. 
 
 Semadini's troupe of wild animals had broken loose.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 THE LAST OF THE HIPPODROME 
 
 T was some seconds before the bewildered spectators 
 realised the full extremity of their position ; it is doubt- 
 ful if some of them ever realised it at all. The whole 
 place was in confusion. When a large number of people are 
 gathered together in an ill-constructed building, the entrances 
 and exits to which are of the most rudimentary kind, there 
 can be no worse beginning. The exterior of the structure 
 was of canvas : it had the appearance, indeed, of a huge 
 canvas tent, like the travelling circuses with which we are 
 familiar enough in England. But the Circus King's establish- 
 ment was not intended to be removed daily, or even weekly, 
 from town to town or from village to village. It was his 
 custom to visit large towns only, and, having arrived at one, 
 to remain there, sometimes for months together. With the 
 idea, therefore, of giving to his circus at least the seeming 
 of more stability, he had lined the canvas with an ingeni- 
 ous matchboard frame, thus giving it the appearance, when 
 within, of being built of wood — an addition which, in any- 
 thing like unpropitious weather, made the interior drier and 
 warmer — and, to that extent, added to the comfort of his 
 patrons. 
 
 It was just this addition, however, which, at a moment like 
 this, increased the peril a hundredfold. 
 
 When, incited by Sam Tebb, the majority of the audience 
 thought only of taking senseless and cowardly vengeance 
 upon George Otway, the remainder, taken unawares, un- 
 hinged, unnerved, thought only of fleeing from the uproar 
 thus unexpectedly aroused. Constitutionally averse to scenes 
 of all and every kind — fearful of they scarcely knew what — 
 their one desire was to get out of the circus into the safety 
 of the open air. Women and children screamed ; they clung 
 to each other. Fathers sought to protect their frightened 
 families from suffering from the excitement of their fellows ; 
 they thrust at the angry men who went wildly stampeding 
 279
 
 280 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 past them. Everywhere people were looking about them 
 with apprehensive gaze, seeking for the quickest means to 
 escape from the building. They saw the performer standing 
 in the ring, in his shirt, bare-headed, motionless, erect, with 
 a smile upon his face, apparently waiting for the frenzied 
 crowd to do its worst to him ; all they wanted was not to 
 see him, to get away — somehow, anyhow — before they became 
 witnesses of the tragedy which might at any moment be 
 enacted before their unwilling eyes. 
 
 In their unthinking haste they defeated their own purpose, 
 blocking each other's passage in their eagerness to be out of 
 the building, so that the cries of the women and children 
 became louder, the expostulations of the men who sought 
 to safeguard them /iiore vigorous ; while, in the arena below, 
 the people were making a noise which recalled the barking 
 of hounds who, at the end of a hunt, are closing upon the 
 quarry which stands at bay. 
 
 It was while the crowd contained in the flimsy building 
 was already in this state of dangerous confusion that the 
 ominous sound of crackling wood became audible, that 
 blinding, choking smoke came driving into the auditorium. 
 It was then that someone shouted : 
 
 " Fire ! " 
 
 That most awful of all cries when men and women are 
 crowded together within imprisoning walls. 
 
 For one brief, merciful moment hardly anyone really 
 understood what the cry really meant, even guessed at the 
 nature of the danger which was already on them. 
 
 They passed by a series of well-defined stages to aw-ful 
 comprehension. First, the noise which had prevailed was 
 stilled. In the arena men ceased to shout at Otway, to bellow 
 threats, to rain curses. On the benches around women and 
 children stayed their screams, husbands and fathers hushed 
 their voices. For a second or two a new, sudden, strange 
 silence filled all the place — the silence of expectancy, of 
 wonder, of inquiry. People looked in each other's faces, 
 asking — dumbly — what was the meaning of the something in 
 the air ; what was about to happen ; what fresh item was to form 
 part of the evening's programme. And all of them were still ; 
 there was only that dreadful noise of crackling wood. 
 
 Then again someone shouted : " Fire ! " 
 
 And the questions which they had been asking themselves
 
 THE LAST OF THE HIPPODROME 281 
 
 were answered— they understood. The confusion which had 
 for the moment ceased became, on the instant, more con- 
 founded. 
 
 "Fire! fire! fire!" shouted some, again and again, with 
 ever-increasing violence, as if the mere repetition would avail 
 them anything. 
 
 " God have mercy on us ! " screamed some ; " Help ! help ! 
 help ! " others, as if by mere force of lung-power they might 
 command it. .Some called to each other by name, children 
 cried to their parents, wives to their husbands, women to 
 men. 
 
 And the men ? from many of their lips came oaths. For, 
 when a crowd, finding death, in its most horrid shape, grinning 
 at it with devouring jaws, is seized by panic, there are not 
 many heroes in it then. Chivalry goes by the board. Love is 
 apt to be forgotten : all sense of duty lost. The order is — each 
 for each. Life can only be won by fighting for it. In a fight of 
 that sort it is strength, and strength only, which prevails — the 
 weak must die. 
 
 So it was in that circus then. Men, returned to that state in 
 which self-preservation was the one law of nature, began to 
 thrust from them the women who turned to them as to their 
 natural protectors. Fathers freed themselves violently from 
 their children's clinging hands; husbands hurled from them 
 their wives ; lovers their sweethearts. They were like so many 
 beasts contending madly with each other to be first out of the 
 trap which was baited with death. 
 
 Two persons were present who preserved their calmness : 
 one was George Otway. That quality in the man which 
 seemed to make him more and more master of his fate the 
 more fate threatened was in the forefront then. He had 
 waited for the people to assail him, with smiling indifference 
 and careless mien. Now that their madness had taken 
 another shape, and much worse than the destruction with 
 which they had menaced him was already on themselves, his 
 indifference vanished ; his calmness became a noble indigna- 
 tion. He saw that, by their own action, they were bringing 
 on themselves — on to all they held dear to them — the doom 
 they sought with such blind, insensate fury. 
 
 " For shame, men, for shame ! Do you forget that you are 
 men that you behave as if you were imbecile cowards ! Don't 
 conduct yourselves like madmen, and worse ! Your best
 
 282 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 chance of safety lies in keeping cool. The women and 
 children first ! if you will only keep your heads there is safety 
 for all of you ! " 
 
 His voice rang through the building, above the sound of the 
 crackling wood, the din of the shrieking people. But he might 
 as well have shouted to the wind. The crowd the gods have 
 made mad it is not easy for one man, single-handed, to make 
 sane. 
 
 " Let 'em alone ! Let 'em burn, if they like, who cares ? " 
 
 The speaker was Sam Tebb. He, the original cause of the 
 confusion which promised to have so horrible an issue, was 
 the other person in the building who kept his head. He stood 
 alone by Otway's side, having gained that position before the 
 alarm of fire was raised, intending to be the first to do him 
 mischief. Now he kept his ground, looking about him at the 
 frenzied people with a grin which, under the circumstances, 
 was diabolical in its cynicism. He still held the disconnected 
 end of the wire which was in electric communication with the 
 piano; as he spoke, he again "fired out" the "Marseillaise." 
 Otway snatched the wire from his hand. 
 
 To all the other discords was added the discord of the 
 hungry brutes; the only paths to safety, already hideously 
 insufficient, were blocked by maddened creatures, daring 
 anything in their desire for food. Along the passage through 
 which the performers had been wont to gain access to the 
 ring crashed the hippopotamus. Three men, in the uniform 
 of French soldiers, had fought their way through all sorts of 
 living obstacles till they were actually at the doorway. Now 
 it seemed that all they had to do was to fight each other, to 
 see who should be through it first. 
 
 But someone was through it first for whom they had not 
 reckoned — a tiger. And the new-comer showed as much 
 eagerness to get in as they had been showing to get out. 
 .More, he was instantly reinforced by a comrade — his wife. A 
 great tigress came pressing past him, with open jaws, from 
 which projected huge yellow teeth, snarling as she came in a 
 fashion it was not agreeable to listen to. Still more, close on 
 the haunches of these two enormous striped cats, the most 
 dangerous of all the carnivora, pressed two lionesses and a 
 lion. True, they were not the largest of their kind, but they 
 were still big enough, in their present mood, to work havoc in 
 a frightened crowd of people who, even had they been able to
 
 Tin: lAST OK TlIK I11JM*(JI)K()MK 2«:i 
 
 use them, were wholly without the means of s<;ll |jrole< lion. 
 Withijul was heard ihe yd[)[niv^ (il weaves, wlio, allhou^ii 
 tortured hy hunger, had yet suliicient self-restraint to wait 
 until their betters were satisfK^d, lj(;ing conscious, perhaps, thai 
 there was enough for them all and to spare. 
 
 Thus the whole of Semadini's troupe was inside that circus 
 in a space of time which scarcely extended to more than a 
 second, ready to perform - though the performance which 
 they were ready to go through was not of the description which 
 was set down in the programme — and such of the audience as 
 had some fragments of their wits still left to them were waiting 
 for the [performance to commence, though hardly with the 
 feelings which they had anticipated would he theirs when they 
 started out for their evening's amusement. 
 
 As had been the case when the alarm of fire was first given, 
 there was an appreciable pause in the proceedings. Tliose 
 who had some faint glimmering of what had taken place, of 
 what was about to happen, ceased to contend with their fellows 
 as to who should be first at the door. Their disposition was 
 all at once in the contrary direction, they pressed back. 
 Particularly was this the case with the three soldiers who, by 
 the exercise of sheer brute strength, had gained the place of 
 honour in the feast ; they pressed back for all they were worth, 
 evincing the same frantic desire to retreat as they had just 
 t)een showing to advance. 
 
 The lions and the tigers evinced, on their side, an inclination 
 to indulge in momentary consideration before proceeding to 
 the next stage. Possibly the choice of subjects which they 
 found confronting them was unexpectedly large. Perhaps, 
 also, they were overawed by mere numbers. However that 
 might have been, they remained for some moments where 
 they were, neither going backwards nor forwards, but moving 
 their heads, as if furtively, from side to side, with ugly, 
 snarling, distended, salivarous jaws, ears laid well back, tails 
 twisting and untwisting, beating against their sides, as if they 
 strove to lash their rage still higher. One waited, with dread 
 expectancy, for the instant in which they would make their 
 spring and would have in their jaws something human to 
 feed upon. 
 
 In the ring Tebb laughed. 
 
 Otway was silent. He still retained the rifle with which 
 he was supposed to fire out the tune. Slipping out the blank
 
 284 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 cartridges he supplied their place with the loaded ones which 
 he used for the genuine tricks. Tebb perceived his purpose. 
 
 "The bullets in those things wouldn't penetrate a quarter- 
 inch board — I know ; I've had many a lark with them ; you 
 couldn't hardly kill a man with them. As for trying to 
 kill a lion or a tiger with one of those things, why, you 
 might as well use them to sink a man-of-war. You might 
 sting 'em perhaps, but the more you sting them the nastier 
 you'll make them. As for the hippopotamus, I don't believe 
 they'd even tickle him. And he's the one who's going to 
 do most mischief. Wait till he finds he's made a mistake 
 by coming in here and starts looking for some way out. A 
 steam-roller on the rampage will be nothing to him. The 
 only good you can do with that pretty toy is to use it to 
 blow your own brains out with." 
 
 " I'll use it to blow yours out first." 
 
 Tebb only grinned. 
 
 " I'm agreeable. There's going to be things going on in 
 here very soon which I'd just as soon not see. It's bad 
 enough to be burnt alive without being crushed to a jelly by 
 a lot of frightened fools, not to speak of that light-weight 
 of a hippo. But when it comes to being clawed about by 
 Semadini's animals to save his pocket and provide them 
 with a free meal, I draw the line at that. So as we're in 
 for all the lot together, both you and me, I'd just as soon 
 death comes to me out of that toy rifle — straight, I would. 
 Hollo ! here's something else, smoke and flame. Now the 
 real fun is going to commence."
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 A HOLOCAUST 
 
 AS Tebb spoke, a great tongue of flame came leaping 
 through the artistes' entrance, as if it were seeking 
 to stretch itself out as far as possible to see what it could 
 reach. Otway could feel the heat from where he was standing, 
 though he was some nine or ten feet from it. Many who 
 were nearer were scorched and singed ; the clothes of some 
 of those who were actually in front were set on fire. The 
 disappearance of the flame was followed by blinding smoke, 
 which got into people's eyes and ears and noses, so that 
 they could neither see nor breathe. One effect it had ; by 
 getting into their throats and choking them, it stifled their 
 cries, so that one might be sure that the tumult of shrieks 
 which presently arose did not come from those who had 
 suffered most. They perforce were still. 
 
 The hippopotamus, standing in the very passage-way of 
 the smoke and flame, was driven by pain and terror to utter 
 madness. It rushed wildly forward, seeking frenziedly for 
 some way out of this awful trap into which it had untowardly 
 wandered, giving utterance, as it went, to curious, ominous 
 cries, which were half-grunts, half- squeals. Those people 
 who could not get out of its way went down before it like 
 ninepins. It lumbered over them, apparently heedless of 
 the fact that they were beneath its tread. 
 
 Otway was all but carried off his feet by the rush of those 
 who were anxious to avoid the maddened brute. His brain 
 seemed to whirl round him. It was only by exercising a 
 great effort that he was able to keep control of his senses. 
 He was conscious that on one side Tebb was swearing lustily, 
 while he battered with both fists someone who had appealed 
 to him for help, possibly on the principle which supposes 
 that a drowning man will clutch at a straw. Presently Otway 
 realised that on his other side a woman was speaking to him. 
 
 " Please help me ! please help me ! " she gasped rather 
 
 285
 
 286 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 than said. "Is there no way out? Can nothing be done? 
 I don't want to be burnt, and I'm afraid of that great beast." 
 
 With altogether indescribable feelings George Otway became 
 suddenly aware that the speaker was Dollie Lee. She had 
 seemingly become separated from the members of her own 
 party ; perhaps in their frantic desire to save themselves at 
 all and any price they had become oblivious of her existence. 
 Her appearance, quaintly enough, irresistibly reminded him 
 of Rugby football ; she looked as if she had just come out of 
 a hot scrimmage. There remained no trace of the daintiness 
 with which he had always associated her. Her hat was off, 
 obviously it had been torn from her head. Never a truer 
 artistic instinct in the matter of a hat than Dollie Lee's. 
 Her hair was in dire disarray, "pads," "rolls," and other 
 contrivances of the hairdresser mingling with the hair itself. 
 Her dress was torn away at the neck, as if someone had 
 clung to it with fingers which refused to be loosed so long 
 as there was something to hold on to. Part of her bodice 
 had been torn away, probably when her dress had yielded, 
 so that one white shoulder glanced up at Otway. 
 
 The spectacle she presented — for he knew that, had she 
 been mistress of herself, nothing could have seemed more 
 tragic to her than that she should appear in the least degree 
 dishevelled, even with so much as a tress of hair loose or her 
 hat on one side — the sound of her voice in his ears, 
 although the hoarse, gasping accents in which she spoke 
 were so unlike the soft harmonies of her natural tones ; the 
 consciousness that, if she was not exactly in his power she 
 was helpless, and that during, at any rate, the next few moments 
 he could do with her precisely what he would, and that 
 probably no one but he and she would ever know what he 
 did ; these things served to clear his brain more than any- 
 thing else could possibly have done. 
 
 He replied to her inquiry. 
 
 "If you will stick close to me I think that I may be able 
 to get you out in safety. The people have lost their heads 
 so completely that, for the moment, it's vain to think of 
 trying to do anything for them : if we are not careful we 
 shall be involved with them in wholesale destruction. Per- 
 haps, if we show an example, some of them, regaining their 
 senses, may follow our lead. Our best hopes of safety lies 
 through the sides of the tent. The wood is but matchwood ;
 
 A HOLOCAUST 287 
 
 there is only canvas beyond. With a knife, and a little level- 
 headedness, we should be able to win our way out easily." 
 
 Even while he spoke he had been steering her to the side 
 of the tent, avoiding the people as best he could. He had 
 perhaps forgotten that, in the disengaged hand, he still 
 retained the miniature rifie, and that it was loaded with ball 
 cartridge, if so his memory was jogged in singularly unpleasant 
 fashion. Suddenly someone seized the butt : there was a 
 report, an exclamation from the girl at his side. He saw that 
 on her white shoulder there was a crimson stain. He turned 
 to see who was responsible for the explosion ; to find that 
 Sam Tebb, whom he had left struggling with half-a-dozen 
 people, had regained his side, and that it was he who had 
 gripped the weapon. That the thing had been no accident 
 was shown by the grin with which Tebb returned his gaze 
 and by the words he uttered. 
 
 "Why, missy, he's trying to kill you! If I were you I 
 wouldn't trust yourself to him ; he's the kind of bloke who 
 would murder anybody for a tanner. You had better throw 
 yourself under the hippo's feet than let him get you in his 
 hands ! " 
 
 "You brute !" was Otway's only answer. 
 
 Rapidly transferring the rifle from one hand to the other 
 he struck Sam with his clenched fist full in the face. Mr 
 Tebb, taken unawares by the quickness with which the blow 
 had been dealt, went staggering backwards. Before he could 
 recover himself and return to the onslaught he was caught 
 in an eddy of people who were endeavouring to avoid the 
 maddened hippopotamus. Whether he would or would not, 
 they bore him with them ; for the time George Otway saw 
 him no more. 
 
 He was able to devote himself to the girl beside him. 
 
 "Are you hurt?" 
 
 " Not much ; I think it's only grazed my shoulder, but— it's 
 pretty painful." 
 
 She closed her eyes, looking so white and frail that for the 
 moment he feared she was going to faint. 
 
 " Did you — did you fire at me on purpose ? " 
 
 " I didn't fire at all, it was that scoundrel who fired." 
 
 Her eyes opened very wide. 
 
 " But why did he fire at me ? " 
 
 " I don't know that he did fire at you— in particular— his
 
 288 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 one desire was to do me a mischief; he thinks he owes me 
 a grudge. But this is not the place in which to attempt 
 explanations, if we are not out of it quickly we shall probably 
 never get out of it at all. I fancy that outside they're doing 
 their best to extinguish the fire before it really gets hold of 
 the tent, but if it does get hold of it — and, in spite of their 
 efforts, it may do so at any moment — then we shall at once 
 be in the heart of a flaming fiery furnace, and it will be a 
 case of good-bye to this world for all of us." 
 
 He was aware that, while he was endeavouring to induce 
 her to press forward she was regarding him with wondering 
 and, indeed, half fearful eyes. 
 
 " I do not remember ever to have seen you before, but your 
 voice sounds strangely familiar. Who are you ? " 
 
 " We occasionally do encounter a voice which reminds us 
 of one which we have heard somewhere, some time, before." 
 It was an ironical impulse which induced him to add, " I am 
 Bull's Eye, the American Champion Shootist, the Marksman 
 of the Plains." 
 
 " Bull's Eye ? The American Champion Shootist ? " She 
 echoed his words, with som.ething in her tone and manner 
 which suggested more than uneasiness. Suddenly she clung 
 tightly to his arm, demanding, " What is that ? " 
 
 There had been a thunderous roar, heartrending shrieks ; 
 then more roars, and more shrieks ; then a tumult which it 
 was not good to listen to. Otway knew well enough what 
 had happened. He knew that Semadini's hungry brutes had 
 singled out their victims and seized them ; that they had 
 leaped at helpless men and women and struck them down ; 
 that they were holding them prostrate beneath their murderous 
 jaws, making ready to devour them. But he hardly saw his 
 way to tell her so. All his faculties were directed to one end, 
 to get her in safety out of that tent of death. If he could 
 only do that, and thus show others the path to safety, help 
 might still be obtained in time, even for those miserable 
 wretches in the wild beasts' paws. 
 
 Meanwhile he did not see what end would be gained by 
 telling her that the Hippodrome of the New Century was 
 being turned, in more senses than one, into a shambles ; if 
 she could not guess it for herself, then surely this was a case 
 in which ignorance was bliss. But, all at once, she saw some- 
 thing which gave her a clue, or she understood the meaning
 
 A HOLOCAUST 289 
 
 of what people were screaming, of that horrid din, of the look 
 on his own face, and, before he had the least expectation of 
 what was about to happen, she was clinging to him in a sort 
 of frenzy, shrieking like a thing possessed : 
 
 " The lions ! the lions ! save me from the lions ! " 
 
 At that moment the hippopotamus came lumbering past 
 them, actually grazing against her as it went. If he had not 
 swept her off her feet she would have been under the great 
 brute's. So soon as he had her in his arms he felt her go all 
 limp : he looked at her ; she had fainted. The unannounced 
 items on the programme of the evening's entertainment had 
 been too much for DoUie Lee. 
 
 As he observed her, motionless, silent, helpless in his grasp, 
 seemingly already dead — wholly unlike the creature of life 
 and laughter whom he had once known too well — the comment 
 which he made beneath his breath was sufficiently grim. 
 
 Holding her above his head as if she were a child — and, 
 indeed, in physique, she was a child compared to him — he 
 strode towards the side of the ring. He clambered up over 
 the benches. As calmly and quietly as if he had no special 
 cause for concern he laid her on the uppermost bench. 
 There, unfortunately, the smoke was worse than below. He 
 divested himself of the fantastic sash he was wearing, stretch- 
 ing it over her face, with the idea of protecting her in some 
 degree from the choking fumes. Then, standing upright, he 
 dashed the sole of his heavy boot against the boards in front 
 of him. It went through them as if they had been paper ; 
 indeed, such unexpectedly slight resistance did they offer that 
 it was with difficulty he preserved his own balance. There 
 was a rent through which a man might have thrust his head. 
 
 Kneeling, he began to take advantage of the aperture thus 
 made to tear away the surrounding woodwork with his hands. 
 Presently there was an aperture some six or seven feet in 
 diameter, through which three or four persons could pass 
 together with ease. The smoke was getting worse and worse. 
 He kept his mouth closed, breathing as little as possible 
 through his nostrils. Whatever efforts they might be making 
 outside to keep the fire down did not seem to be meeting with 
 much success. Tongues of flame kept darting into the circus 
 in a fashion which made it wonderful that the whole place was 
 not already in a blaze. Probably it was because they had not 
 yet succeeded in reaching a vulnerable point, but the time
 
 290 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 would come, and come quickly. Then there would be a 
 holocaust indeed. 
 
 A bowie knife, slung in a case to his belt, formed part of 
 his costume as Bull's Eye. He drew the knife, slashing the 
 canvas which was beyond the woodwork, slitting it open as far 
 as he could reach both above and below him. The fresh air 
 which came through the incision was the sweetest he had ever 
 tasted. It seemed that his proceedings were being observed 
 by people without. When he looked out his appearance was 
 greeted by a roar of voices. He bawled to them in French : 
 
 " Cut the canvas open ! Tear the woodwork down ! People 
 are being burned alive, devoured by tigers. Don't stand there 
 doing nothing : every moment wasted means that more lives are 
 being lost 1 " 
 
 He saw that people were beginning to move about, 
 apparently doing as he suggested. 
 
 When he returned his head inside the circus he found that 
 Dollie Lee, having recovered consciousness, was sitting up, 
 staring at him with something in her eyes which was beyond 
 his comprehension. 
 
 "Quick ! give me your hand! I'll lift you out ; then you'll 
 be safe; but there's no time to spare." 
 
 Instead of doing as he bade her she shrank away from him, 
 holding back her skirts as if to keep them from the pollution 
 of his touch. 
 
 " I won't come near you ! — I won't ! You are — you are 
 some dreadful thing ! I'd sooner die than you should touch 
 me." 
 
 Her change of mood was so unexpected — she spoke with 
 such singular vehemence — that, for a moment, he was speechless. 
 Then he laughed, swift, as it was his wont to be, to see 
 humour in a seemingly mirthless situation. 
 
 " I don't wish to touch you. Jump without my assistance 
 if you prefer it ; only jump. Get out of this you shall." 
 
 "Then stand on one side! I tell you again that I would 
 sooner burn than let you touch me." 
 
 "That's right, missy ; you've found him out, I see. Don't 
 let him touch you. Didn't I say he'd murder you if he could 
 only get the chance to do it." 
 
 This was Sam Tebb, who came scrambling towards them 
 over the benches. Evidently he had suffered in freeing him- 
 self from the unwelcome attentions of the panic-stricken people.
 
 A HOLOCAUST 291 
 
 His attire was all in disorder, his face was scratched and bruised, 
 but his mood had not improved, nor did the sight of him 
 sweeten George Otway's temper either. 
 
 "Tebb, if you come here, or again attempt to interfere in 
 what is no concern of yours, this time I'll make you regret it." 
 
 He still held the bowie in his hand. Sam pretended to 
 think that he was brandishing it at him. 
 
 " Knife me, would you, you murdering skunk ! Don't you 
 think you'll frighten me with that. Don't you be afraid for me, 
 missy ; he's one of the sort that's only dangerous to women. 
 You give me your hand — you trust yourself to me^I'll see 
 you're safe." 
 
 George Otway stood aside. Tebb came lumbering up to 
 them, breathless but triumphant. Just then what had been 
 threatening took place — the flames caught hold of the tent 
 itself. A stream of fire ran, like a living thing, up the wood- 
 work to the roof. With a rapidity which seemed miraculous 
 it traversed the entire surface, leaping from side to side, crack- 
 ling as it went, until, with the increase of volume, the sound 
 became a roar, and the entire roof was one great blaze. 
 
 " Hurry ! make haste ! " cried DoUie Lee, whom this sudden 
 transformation scene had plainly disconcerted. "Give me 
 your hand. Help me out before it's too late." 
 
 She held out her hand to Tebb, who, making as if to take 
 it, blundered against Otway. Apparently feigning to believe 
 that he was in the way, he thrust out his shoulder towards 
 George, endeavouring, with all his force, to hurl him back- 
 wards down the benches towards the ring. Had he succeeded, 
 for Otway the consequences might have been serious. But he 
 did not succeed. His intended victim proved to be planted 
 more firmly on his feet than he had bargained for. 
 
 The sublimest patience knows an end at last; there had 
 come an end to Otway's. When he perceived what — without 
 the slightest provocation — the dastard would have done, he 
 took him by the throat with his two hands and, standing as 
 he did on the tier of seats above him, lifted him bodily by the 
 neck. Whirling him round, he flung him through the air as 
 far from him as he could. 
 
 Then he turned to DoUie Lee, his manner showing that, 
 this time, he meant business. 
 
 " No more nonsense, if you please. Come here ! " 
 
 Taking her in his arms, without asking for her yea or nay,
 
 292 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 he sprang with her through the torn canvas into the darkness 
 beyond. The leap was greeted by the crowd without with 
 salvoes of applause. He had to descend — with the girl in his 
 arms — some twelve or fourteen feet before he reached the 
 ground. It was strange that he landed with so little damage 
 as he did ; for, even as he was passing through the air, he 
 felt her fingers assail his face, evidently bent — regardless of 
 the danger to herself — on doing him as much mischief as she 
 could. Under such conditions, while he endeavoured to 
 baulk her in her apparent desire to thrust out his eyes with 
 her finger-nails, it was no wonder that, as he alighted, he 
 should have stumbled, and that, in attempting to right himself, 
 he should have let her slip from his grasp. 
 
 The slip was nothing ; he had her on her feet again almost 
 as soon as she came in contact with the ground. Yet she 
 assailed him like a wild cat. 
 
 " You threw me down ! You did it on purpose, you 
 coward ! you unspeakable thing ! " she screamed, in a voice 
 which he would never have recognised as Dollie Lee's. " He 
 shot at me just now, and tried to kill me ; now he has tried 
 to kill me again ! " 
 
 George Otway had to retain her slender wrists tightly in his 
 strong hands to prevent her flying at him tooth and nail. 
 
 " You lie, and you know it ; but if I had killed you I should 
 have used you no worse than you deserved." 
 
 Someone else came leaping through the cut canvas — Sam 
 Tebb. 
 
 As he reached the ground the flames burst through the top 
 of the tent with a roar as of many waters, illumining the dark- 
 ness as with an unholy light. With a cry of dismay the crowd 
 surrounding it fell back. Almost in the same instant the 
 whole circus collapsed like a house of cards, with a rushing, 
 swirling, thunderous noise, which those who heard it would 
 never forget, mingled, as it was, with the shrieks of human 
 beings and the cries of wild beasts. 
 
 While Otway — half beside himself with the horror of the 
 thing — was wondering what could be done to save from that 
 awful hecatomb the men, women, and children who were 
 being consumed to ashes, someone caught him by the arm. 
 It was Sallie Price. 
 
 " Come farther back, you'll be burned yourself if you don't 
 take care. I've got your things ; here they are, all but
 
 A HOLOCAUST 293 
 
 the pocket-book. Sam Tebb's got that ; I saw him steal 
 it." 
 
 "Saw me steal it, did you? But perhaps you don't know 
 he stole it first." 
 
 Tebb held above his head the wallet which contained the 
 bank-notes which had once been Ebenezer Pullen's, bellowing, 
 with the full force of his stentorian voice : 
 
 " This man is Jacob Gunston ; he's wanted in England on a 
 charge of murder. There's a price upon his head, in my hand 
 I have the proof of it. Who'll help me hold him fast till the 
 police can come and hold him in safe custody ? " 
 
 Otway looked at the speaker, and even then he smiled. 
 
 " So that's the bee you've had in your bonnet all night, is it, 
 Sam Tebb ? If you take my advice you'll be wiser than you 
 seem, and — give me that pocket-book." 
 
 " I'll see you ! " 
 
 The conclusion of the sentence was a volley of curses. 
 
 "Is that the tone you take? It's done me no good, 
 Ebenezer Pullen's legacy, but, at least, it shall do me no 
 further harm." 
 
 Snatching the pocket-book from between Tebb's fingers he 
 threw it from him so that it fell almost in the centre of the 
 burning circus. Sam leaped at him, with an oath. 
 
 " I'll pay you for that ; you shall go after it." 
 
 " I think not." 
 
 DoUie Lee urged Sam to deeds of daring. 
 
 " Kill him ! " she cried. " If you kill him I'll give you a 
 thousand pounds." 
 
 " I'll do my best to earn the money, missy." 
 
 " But you won't succeed." 
 
 Otway, lifting Tebb from his feet, was about to throw him, 
 when, making a herculean effort, Sam regained his equilibrium, 
 and, locked in each other's grip, the pair went spinning round, 
 until, Otway seeming to trip over some unnoticed obstacle, 
 the two men vanished in the flaming fiery furnace.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 SALLIE PRICE 
 
 " T DO believe he's coming back to life." 
 
 Miss Sallie Price perhaps spoke louder than she thought. 
 George Otway, Ipng in his bed, opened his eyes as if in answer 
 to her words. He glanced about him in meditative fashion ; 
 then he looked at her, and he said : 
 
 " I believe I am." 
 
 'Whereupon Miss Price's behaviour was singular. She 
 dropped, rather than sat down, on the chair which was by the 
 bedside; she put her handkerchief up to her eyes, and she 
 burst out crying. Otway regarded her in silence for some 
 moments, as if he wondered what she was doing. Then he 
 asked : 
 
 " Why are you crying ? " 
 
 " Because I'm so happy." 
 
 It was possibly because he regarded the answer as in some 
 degree illogical that he held his peace. Lying quite still he 
 watched her, as if pazzled ; then his eyes went round the room 
 again, then back to her. It might have been because it seemed 
 to her that his gaze contained a question that she exclaimed, 
 between her sobs : 
 
 "I thought that you were never coming back." 
 
 "Back?" He echoed the word as if in doubt as to its 
 meaning. "Where have I been?" 
 
 " I don't know. Where do people go when they are lying 
 between life and death ? " 
 
 " I see. I've been ill." 
 
 " I should think you have been ill. I hope, for your own 
 sake, you'll never know how ill you've been. You've been — 
 awful." 
 
 He appeared to be groping in the hiding-places of his mind 
 for a key to the situation. 
 
 " Burnt : haven't I been burnt ? I seem to have been seeing 
 so many flames." 
 
 294
 
 SALLIE PRICE 295 
 
 "I shouldn't wonder. You were more than half burnt if 
 you weren't quite. When we got you and Sam Tebb out of 
 that flaming fiery circus you were like two cinders. I never 
 thought you'd come back to life again, but you have." 
 
 "Sam Tebb?" He pronounced the name as if he were 
 endeavouring to associate it with something which would endow 
 it with definite meaning. " I remember — the Circus King 
 — Brown — the Hippodrome of the New Century — wasn't it 
 burnt?" 
 
 " I should think it wasj to dust and ashes." 
 
 " And what has become of Tebb ? " 
 
 " He's alive ; but that's about all he is, and that's more than 
 he deserves to be. He's a bad lot, if ever there was one ; it's 
 through him you're where you are. They do say he'll never 
 again be the man he was — there's an end of his pillar days — 
 one leg's charred all to nothing." 
 
 There was another pause, then another question. 
 
 " Where am I ? " 
 
 Miss Price's tone, as she replied, seemed to become, all at 
 once, unnecessarily aggressive. 
 
 "Where are you? Why, where do you think you are? 
 Where do you suppose you ought to be? You couldn't have 
 gone to that cockloft of yours you called a room, not in the 
 state you were — they wouldn't have taken you in. So I had 
 you brought to my place — it's handiest and most convenient — 
 and here you're going to stop till you feel like going down the 
 stairs four at a time." 
 
 " And how do you manage ? " 
 
 "Oh, first rate; what do you think? There's a cupboard 
 that's half as big as some houses ; it's a splendid place to sleep 
 in." 
 
 "Is it?" Otway asked the question with a dryness which 
 lent it peculiar point. " How long have I been here?" 
 
 " Getting on for six weeks now." 
 
 She said this glibly, as if six weeks were so short a period of 
 time as to be really not worth mentioning. But if she had 
 said six years the statement could scarcely have had a more 
 surprising effect upon George Otway. He opened his eyes to 
 their widest extent and stared. 
 
 " Six weeks ! Do you mean to say that for six weeks I've 
 been in possession of your quarters?" 
 
 "Well, what's wrong? If you're here six months I tell you
 
 296 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 you sha'n't stir out of them till you can go down the stairs four 
 at a time?" 
 
 " But, my dear Miss Price " 
 
 " Don't you call me Miss Price ! I won't have that ; you 
 call me Sallie." 
 
 "Who's been footing the bills? Because Id no money, 
 unless my memory fails me." 
 
 "Then your memory does fail you, because you'd the better 
 part of two louis." 
 
 " Two louis ! All the ingenuity in the world wouldn't 
 stretch two louis over six weeks. Besides, haven't I had a 
 doctor ? ' 
 
 " Of course you've had a doctor ; what rubbish are you 
 talking ? I know a bit about a good many things, but I don't 
 pretend to know how to bring a man who's been turned into 
 a cinder back to life again. But this sort of thing won't do. 
 You've been out of your senses for six weeks, and now, if you 
 go chattering away like this, you'll be out of them again in less 
 than no time. You turn over and go to sleep this minute; 
 you're under my orders, and Pll soon let you know it." 
 
 With every appearance of meekness he suffered her to place 
 him with his face to the wall. Since, for a whole minute, he 
 said nothing, the presumption was that, on her instructions, he 
 was going to sleep — a presumption, however, which he pre- 
 sently dispelled by addressing her in the very mildest possible 
 tone of voice. 
 
 "Sallie!" 
 
 "Well? Didn't I tell you to go to sleep? I thought you 
 were asleep by now." 
 
 "Has a lady called to see me or to make inquiries?" 
 
 " Do you mean Mrs Frank Andrews .'' " 
 
 " Mrs— who ? " 
 
 Apparently her question so startled him that he turned half 
 round in bed and sat up upon his elbows. 
 
 " How dare you upset the whole bed when I've just arranged 
 you comfortably ? I shall have more trouble with you yet, I 
 can see that plainly. Mrs Frank Andrews was the name upon 
 her card ; that's all I know, for I saw it myself. Mrs Frank 
 Andrews, High Dene, Sussex ; 24 Carlton House Terrace, W. ; 
 and Dunslane Castle, N.B., all those addresses were upon the 
 one card." 
 
 So Dollie Lee had married his cousin Frank, who owed
 
 SALLIE PRICE 297 
 
 everything he had in this world to him, George Otway : they 
 had consummated their treachery. More, they were in undis- 
 puted ownership of all the glories which were his— his houses, 
 his millions. And he was lying there, hunted, helpless, penni- 
 less ; a dependent on the charity of the Greatest Bender the 
 World has ever seen, soft-hearted Sallie Price. If, when 
 Brown's Circus was burning, Dollie had detected in Bull's 
 Eye—in the man who was doing his best to save her life— even 
 a dim resemblance to the man she had so foully wronged, 
 that was the explanation of her sudden venom. Once the 
 mistress of his millions, he thought it extremely probable that 
 she was the sort of girl who would dare and do anything to 
 retain her hold of them. 
 
 Sallie's words suggested that in so thinking he was not far 
 wrong. 
 
 " She tried at your old place, and when she found that you 
 weren't there she did her best to discover where you'd got to; 
 but, as she didn't seem to mean no good to you, I put a spoke 
 or two in her wheel and stopped her. She stayed in the town 
 four days, then she went ; but I shouldn't be surprised if she's 
 told somebody to keep an eye on you and let her know if 
 you're found. She certainly doesn't seem to be a friend of 
 yours." 
 
 There was an interval of silence before he spoke again. 
 
 " Has anything been seen of the pocket-book containing 
 bank-notes which I threw into the fire to save it from Sam 
 Tebb ? " 
 
 " Nothing, so far as I know ; and, so far as I'm concerned, 
 I'm glad." 
 
 There was something in her tone which caused him to turn 
 towards her again. 
 
 "Why are you glad?" 
 
 It was an instant or two before she answered. 
 
 " Because I believe that they mean trouble, those bank-notes 
 in that pocket-book. I'm not only thinking of what I heard 
 Sam Tebb say, though that was enough to make me think, 
 I've heard enough about them from you since you've been ill." 
 
 " Have I •" he stopped, as if to consider what form the 
 
 question had better take, "have I been — talking?" 
 
 She laughed, an odd, dissonant laugh. 
 
 " Talking ! — I'll be straight with you — I always have been 
 straight, and I always will be — you've been doing nothing else
 
 298 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 but talk. While I've been sitting by your bed, listening to 
 what, I daresay, you'd sooner have cut your tongue out than 
 talked to me about, I've felt mean ; almost, like, as if I were 
 listening at a keyhole. But what could I do? I couldn't go 
 and wait outside till you had finished ; I daren't leave you a 
 moment for fear of what you'd be up to. It would have been 
 no use stuffing cotton-wool into my ears, I'd have heard you 
 through all the cotton-wool that ever was. So I just said to 
 myself that directly you came to I'd tell you I'd been listening, 
 so now you know." 
 
 Miss Price spoke with a heat which seemed to afford her 
 patient amusement. Something like the ghost of a smile 
 flickered across his wan features. 
 
 " And what have I been talking about ? Nothing very 
 dreadful, I hope." 
 
 " I don't know what you haven't been talking about. I've 
 said to myself, lots of times, that it was all just sheer mid- 
 summer madness ; the sort of stuff one would talk when one 
 was light-headed. And then all of a sudden you'd say some- 
 thing which made me wonder if it was all such rubbish after 
 all." 
 
 " How do you mean ? " 
 
 "Why, you should have heard the way you've been talking 
 about money — you might have been rolling in it, like Lord 
 Rothschild or that there Mr Morgan. Once you said : ' I'm 
 willing that it should cost me two hundred and fifty thousand 
 pounds ' ; as if it wasn't a quarter as many farthings. It was 
 some sort of a house you seemed to be talking about; but 
 what sort of a house it would be that would cost all that 
 amount of money is more than I can say." 
 
 Otway remembered that two hundred and fifty thousand 
 pounds had been the sum he had originally intended to expend 
 upon High Dene, though that amount had been considerably 
 exceeded by the time the place was ready for occupation. 
 
 "And then you talked about a girl." 
 
 "What girl?" 
 
 " You called her Dollie. The way you've gone on about 
 her ! Sometimes that fond ; and sometimes — oh, my gracious ! 
 that brimstoney ! If she'd been here it'd have scorched her 
 just to hear you talking ! " 
 
 "We'll leave alone the remarks I made about a girl called 
 Dollie. Was that all I talked about ? "
 
 SALLIE PRICE 299 
 
 Miss Price, who had crossed to the other side of the room, 
 was standing with her back towards the bed. She was 
 arranging some odds and ends upon a Httle table, almost 
 as if she were endeavouring to gain time for reflection before 
 she answered. 
 
 " I wish it had been." 
 
 This time there was that in the fashion of her speech which 
 seemed to have the effect of keeping him still ; apparently she 
 read that in his silence which tied a knot in her tongue. It 
 was with something like a catching in her breath that, when 
 the pause had extended to an uncomfortable length, she 
 repeated her own words. 
 
 " I wish it had been all you talked about." 
 
 The repetition prompted him to question her. 
 
 " Why do you say that again ? " 
 
 She replied to his inquiry with another — turning towards the 
 bed to ask it. 
 
 "What do you know of Jacob dunston?" 
 
 Possibly the query was one for which he had been prepared, 
 and he answered unhesitatingly : 
 
 "Very little." 
 
 His answer seemed to move her to something very like anger. 
 
 " Don't say that when I had to listen to you for the last 
 six weeks. Mary Renwick is my cousin." 
 
 "Mary Renwick? Indeed. I'm afraid I don't know the 
 lady." 
 
 His answer seemed to surprise her more than anything 
 which had hitherto been said. 
 
 "You don't know Mary Renwick! She was engaged to 
 Jacob Gunston ! " 
 
 "Now I think I begin to understand. Mary Renwick is 
 the young lady who has been causing so much trouble." 
 
 "Mary Renwick causing trouble! Jacob Gunston is a 
 murderer; he deceived her besides. What I've suffered, 
 knowing what I do know, having to stand here and hear you 
 talk, no tongue can tell. Tell me— don't be afraid to tell 
 the truth ; you won't come to any hurt from me anyhow ; only 
 tell the truth — are you Jacob Gunston ? " 
 
 " I am not ; and for one sufficient reason if for no other, 
 Jacob Gunston is dead." 
 
 "Jacob Gunston dead! What do you mean? How do 
 you know ? When did he die ? "
 
 300 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 " That I cannot exactly tell you, lying here ; but it seems 
 to me to be years ago. He committed suicide by jumping 
 into the Thames over Southwark Bridge." 
 
 " But — he was alive just before you came to Rouen." 
 
 " Pardon me ; I was alive — not Jacob Gunston. That's 
 where Mary Ren wick — a lady with whom I have no sort of 
 acquaintance, has been causing trouble. Knowing nothing 
 at all about the real circumstances she has been acting on 
 the presumption that I am Jacob Gunston ; whereas I happen 
 to be George Otway." 
 
 " George Otway ! Not the millionaire ?" 
 
 " The same man." 
 
 " My gracious ! No wonder you talked about two hundred 
 and fifty thousand pounds as if it was nothing. But — how 
 came you to Rouen — to be mixed up with the Circus King ; 
 to be Bull's Eye?" 
 
 " It's a long story ; one day, perhaps, you shall hear it all. 
 It had a good deal to do with the lady you heard me speak 
 about as Dollie, and who is now, it seems, Mrs Frank 
 Andrews, my cousin's wife." 
 
 " I knew it ! I was sure of it ! I said to myself that what- 
 ever else might have got you in a mess she has had most 
 to do with it." 
 
 "That chapter in my life's shut down. Some day I may 
 continue writing it. If I do, by the time I've finished it 
 that lady and I may be able to cry quits. I'm afraid she's 
 even a more curious character than I thought she was, and 
 I credited her with a good deal of singularity." 
 
 He was silent, and she also. She was fidgeting here and 
 there about the room in a style that was scarcely characteristic, 
 as if conscious that an unspoken question was trembling on 
 he tip of his tongue, the asking of which she was desirous 
 of postponing to the latest possible moment. All at once 
 it came, as if timidly. 
 
 "Was there anything else I talked about?" 
 
 "What should there have been?" 
 
 " That is what I am asking you. You say I talked about 
 all manner of nonsense." 
 
 "You did." 
 
 This curtly ; as if, 'for her part, she should prefer to consider 
 the subject closed. But he persevered. 
 
 " Did I mention any other lady's name ? "
 
 SALLIE PRICE 301 
 
 "You seem to have had to do with a good many ladies in 
 your time." 
 
 As if depressed by the snub thus brusquely administered 
 he lay quite still, until, as if conscious-stricken by the con- 
 templation of her own severity, Miss Price said, with an 
 ostentatious air of complete indifference which seemed more 
 than a trifle forced : 
 
 "You said something about a Miss Thornton — I believe 
 it was her you spoke about as Elsie." 
 
 Otway drew a long breath and closed his eyes. They were 
 still closed when he spoke again. 
 
 " She seems to have been with me all the time." 
 
 Miss Price's tone, as she replied, was distinctly tart. 
 
 " So I should think, by the way that you've kept on about 
 her — about your being in a boat with her, and on an island, 
 and I don't know what." 
 
 " She's in some great trouble ; I've seemed to hear her calling 
 to me all the time. I must go and help her." 
 
 " Then you just won't ; not yet a while, at any rate. The 
 idea ! Why, you couldn't stand up straight to save your life. 
 What sort of trouble do you suppose she's in ? " 
 
 " She's in the hands of wicked men and women, wholly at 
 their mercy — I daren't think." 
 
 "Where is she?" 
 
 " I don't know, I can't tell. I hear her voice calling to me, 
 but I can't make out where it comes from — sometimes it seems 
 so close and sometimes so far away. But I shall know soon ; 
 soon she will tell me just where she is, and then I shall go 
 to her." 
 
 "Oh, will you? Then it won't be soon, I can tell you; 
 if you're not more manageable I shouldn't be surprised if it's 
 never. You keep on talk, talk, talking, when you're so weak 
 that you can scarcely hold yourself together. I don't want to 
 stop in Rouen for the rest of my Hfe ; so, as I don't mean to 
 go until I've seen you out of it, perhaps you'll do your best 
 to get well at once. Turn over now, and go to sleep like a 
 
 good child." 
 
 He obeyed her with a tractability which in itself was 
 eloquent of the state that he was in. He was still so long 
 that she was beginning to think that he actually had gone to 
 sleep, when he spoke again. 
 
 " Sallie ? "
 
 302 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 " Well ; what's the matter now ? " 
 
 " Are you out of an engagement ? '' 
 
 " Bless the man, what a question to ask ! How can I be 
 in an engagement when I'm here in Rouen nursing you ? " 
 
 " But how do you manage, when it's all going out and 
 nothing coming in ? " 
 
 " You don't suppose I've been as long in the front rank of 
 the profession as I have without putting by something for a 
 rainy day ? I'm not a spendthrift to that extent, I do hope. 
 Don't you worry about me, I've got what's as good as the 
 Bank of England to draw upon. All you've got to do is to 
 get well as fast as ever you can, and faster ! It'll be one of 
 the happiest days in my life, the one on which I see you 
 running downstairs just as you used to be able to : I'll be 
 that proud to think that I had a hand in helping you to do it." 
 
 "Sallie, you're a dear, good soul; you won't find me un- 
 grateful when I come to be myself again, if I ever do ! " 
 
 " If you ever do ! What do you mean by sighing like that ? 
 If you choose you'll be yourself again inside a week, and 
 you'll best show your gratitude by choosing. Now, will you 
 go to sleep?" 
 
 That time he went to sleep without another word. After a 
 few minutes of complete silence she leaned over his bed and 
 looked at him. He was sleeping as peacefully as a child, 
 breathing softly and regularly, smiling as he slept. That smile 
 of his seemed to cause her to knit her brows. 
 
 " He's dreaming of Elsie ; that's why he's smiling. He's 
 dreaming that he's happy, at last, with her." 
 
 She sighed, as if the idea of his happiness did not convey 
 to her mind any too pleasant associations. She smoothed a 
 crease out of the sheet with a gentle touch. 
 
 " So I'm a dear, good soul, am I ? and I sha'n't find him 
 ungrateful. It does sound funny. I'm a practical sort of 
 creature, I ought to be if I'm not; but the castles that once 
 I started building ! How he would laugh if I told him about 
 them, he'd see how comical it was. To think of his being 
 George Otway, the great George Otway ! — and I, Sallie Price 
 the Bender ! I'd have hit anybody who'd have told me that 
 I should one day be ashamed of being a bender, but when I 
 think of what he is — and how he must look down on girls 
 like me — I am. A pretty sort that Dollie of his must be, Mrs 
 Frank Andrews ! To my mind she's got her character written
 
 SALLIE PRICE 808 
 
 on her face ; he's mistaken if he fancies it'll be easy to get the 
 better of her. If he gives her so much as a ghost of a chance 
 she'll land him in a worse hole than he's in already — he fights 
 fair, she doesn't. I wonder what sort that Elsie is. I don't 
 suppose she deserves him — I don't believe any woman alive 
 could do that — but I do hope, for his sake, that she's better 
 than that — beauty." 
 
 Having made certain that he was sound asleep she went to 
 a wooden box which stood in a corner of the room, and, 
 having unlocked it, extracted from its deepest depths a small 
 tin box. When she had unlocked that also she proceeded to 
 inspect its contents. To judge from her manner they did not 
 afford her unmixed gratification. They consisted, for the 
 most part, of money, but the whole amount was so small that 
 she regarded it with an air which, the more she looked, the 
 more woebegone it became. She counted and recounted it 
 again and again, in the apparent hope of detecting herself in 
 an error, but the sum total remained obstinately the same. 
 Its insignificance seemed to appal her. 
 
 " That's the Bank of England I told him I'd got to draw 
 upon, my goodness ! The Bank of England doesn't seem to 
 be keeping a very large balance in its vaults just now. It did 
 seem a good deal when I started ; I know it took me a good 
 long time to get it all together ; I'll never get as much again, 
 never ! But — how it's melted ! I only hope that it'll last as 
 long as it's wanted to. I don't wish to have to sell anything. 
 A girl like me finds it easier to sell things than to buy 'em. 
 I do hope it'll last till he gets his strength and is able to do 
 for himself; it'll be a bad job for me if it doesn't. If it does, 
 I sha'n't mind." 
 
 Having once turned the corner of the road which led to 
 recovery George Otway's progress was rapid, and yet, it would 
 seem, not fast enough for his nurse. He gradually became 
 conscious that her anxiety for the complete restoration of his 
 health was even greater than his. One morning he asked her. 
 "Why are you so desperately desirous to get me up and 
 away ? I can see you are. Be honest, Sallie. Is there any 
 special reason? And who is that with whom you are so 
 constantly holding confabulations outside the door?" 
 "That's Jeanne Duclos." 
 
 " And who may Jeanne Duclos happen to be ? " 
 " She's the girl who has the next apartment ; she's been very
 
 304 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 good while you've been ill. She has done all my shopping 
 and errands, and — helped to hide you." 
 
 " Helped to hide me ? What do you mean ? " 
 
 " There's bills all over Rouen offering a reward to anyone 
 who finds out where you are." 
 
 " Bills all over Rouen, Sallie ! " 
 
 " I believe that Mrs Frank Andrews has done it all. She's 
 paying everything for Sam Tebb, and she herself offered me 
 a hundred pounds if I would tell her where you could be 
 found." 
 
 " But of what use would that information be to her?" 
 
 " That's more than I can tell you ; you ought to know if 
 anyone does. I know she's given it out all over the place 
 that you're Jacob Gunston, and that you're wanted by the 
 English police for murder." 
 
 "Has she? I owe that to Mr Tebb. Although I do not 
 happen to be Jacob Gunston, as she is probably well aware, 
 I do not wish to come into contact with the police just yet." 
 
 "That's what I thought, and that's why I've been hiding 
 you. Jeanne Duclos and I are the only two people who know 
 you're even alive ; without her I don't know what I should 
 have done." 
 
 " I should like to see this Jeanne Duclos." 
 
 "That's easy. Although you did not know it, you saw her 
 often enough when you were light-headed. She's in her 
 apartment now. I'll fetch her this moment if you'll lie still." 
 
 Although she went to fetch her he did not lie still. On 
 the contrary, no sooner was she out of the room than he was 
 out of the bed. He proposed to try an experiment. 
 
 " I wonder," he said to himself, "if I could manage to stand." 
 
 So he put the matter to the proof, and learnt that, at 
 present, such a feat was beyond his power. His legs showed 
 a tendency to double up as soon as he relied on them for 
 support, while the room went swimming round him in a 
 fashion which was not a little disconcerting. He sank back 
 on to the edge of his bed, feeling more physically strange than 
 he had ever done in the whole course of his life. As he sat 
 there, hardly knowing whether he was on his head or heels, 
 suddenly he heard someone call to him by name. 
 
 " George Otway ! " 
 
 Not loudly, but most distinctly, the words came to him. 
 Startled, he looked about the room, searching for the speaker.
 
 SALLIE PRICE 305 
 
 "Yes," he answered. "Who wants me? who spoke?" 
 
 No one vouchsafed the information, and there was ap- 
 parently no one from whom it could have come. For a 
 moment he supposed the thing to have been a delusion born 
 of his mental and physical weakness. But, all at once, it 
 came again — louder, more distinct than before. 
 
 " George Otway ! " 
 
 On the instant he understood. It was the voice which had 
 been calling to him through all these weary weeks, the voice 
 which had called to him that night in the wood : it was Elsie's 
 voice. Her extremity of need had continued all this time, 
 yet he had been able to do nothing to help her. She had 
 cried to him continually for aid, and cried in vain. How 
 long was she to appeal to him for what, perchance, was dearer 
 to her than life, and he, perforce, keep still ? 
 
 U
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 AT THE WINDOW 
 
 WHEN Miss Price returned she found him sitting on the 
 edge of the bed, trembling hke a child. 
 
 " Didn't I tell you," she exclaimed, " to lie still? What do 
 you mean by getting up like this directly my back was 
 turned ? " 
 
 " She called to me," he said, in what, in the extremity of 
 his weakness, was almost like a childish whimper. " She 
 called." 
 
 "She called? Who's she?" 
 
 " Elsie ! She's always calling to me for help, and I can 
 give her none." 
 
 " No ; and you never will be able to, either, if you won't 
 obey orders and behave like a rational being. Back you go 
 into bed this moment." 
 
 And back he did go, almost before he knew it, she tuck- 
 ing him up and making him generally comfortable, with a 
 business-like vigour which was more soothing than he was 
 capable of owning. 
 
 "Can't leave you a moment but you're in some mischief. 
 I suppose if I'd been a second longer you'd have been trying 
 to break your neck by tumbling down the stairs." 
 
 She called attention to the girl who had followed her into 
 the room ; a young woman of twenty-four or five — by no 
 means ill-looking — of the honest, stalwart, Norman type. 
 
 "This is Jeanne Duclos ; you wanted to see her, and here 
 she is ; there isn't a better girl in the whole of France." 
 
 " Oh, Mademoiselle Sallie ! " 
 
 "I say there isn't ; and don't you mademoiselle me." Miss 
 Price addressed herself to Otway. " Now, how are you 
 feeling ? " 
 
 "Thank you, better. If I could only get to Elsie when she 
 calls ! " 
 
 " You'll have to get somewhere soon, and that's straight ; 
 
 306
 
 AT THE WINDOW 307 
 
 and that's what I've brought Jeanne in here to tell. What's 
 that, Jeanne, you were telling me about the sergent-de-ville of 
 yours ? " 
 
 Thus invited, Mademoiselle Duclos started off in English 
 which, if idiomatic, was pleasant and sufficiently compre- 
 hensible. 
 
 " My cousin, Pierre Bompard, is sergent-de-ville. He says 
 to me this morning : ' We know where is that Englishman, 
 that Jacob Gunston, whom all the world is looking for. He 
 thinks himself very clever ; but before twenty-four hours are 
 past we will have him under arrest, for certain." 
 
 " And what is that about someone coming from England ? " 
 " He says also, Pierre Bompard, that an agent of police 
 arrives to take Jacob Gunston back with him to England." 
 
 " So you see," went on Miss Price, speaking to her patient, 
 "I'm in a bit of a hole. I don't want to start you off when 
 you're not fit to put a foot to the ground ; but, at the same 
 time, I don't want them to come and arrest you in your bed." 
 " Do you think there's any real danger of their doing any- 
 thing of the kind?" 
 
 " I don't want to think it — and I've tried not to — but I'm 
 afraid there is. For one thing, I don't believe Sam Tebb is so 
 near death's door as I fancied ; and, if that's the case, I 
 shouldn't be surprised if he's given them the office as to where- 
 abouts you may be found." 
 
 " Pierre Bompard, he say to me : ' Mademoiselle Sallie, she 
 know where is Jacob Gunston.'" 
 
 "When I heard that," admitted Sallie, "I went hot and 
 cold all over. I'll swear that Sam Tebb's finger is showing 
 there. And there's been somebody hanging about this street 
 the last day or two whose looks I don't fancy at all." 
 " He is a spy ; for sure he is a spy." 
 
 "So, you see, it's this way. Jeanne here is going to play a 
 game of her own which will put them off the scent for a day 
 or two — perhaps three or four — but we can't be certain. So — 
 although I hate to have to do it ! — it seems only fair to warn 
 you that, unless you want to be caught in a trap, you'll have to 
 be ready to clear out of this, at a moment's notice, fit or 
 unfit." 
 
 " Thank you for giving me the warning ; it's another mite 
 added to the debt of gratitude I owe you already. I think, 
 also, that what you've told me will act on me like an excellent
 
 308 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 medicine. I've no intention of allowing Sam Tebb to score 
 at my expense, or Mrs Frank Andrews either. I'll begin to 
 put on strength so fast that in less than no time you won't 
 know me for the same man ; so that when the moment does 
 come ril be able to let them find me missing." 
 
 On the afternoon of the third day after this conversation 
 George Otway was lying in that condition of being neither 
 awake nor asleep, which is one of the pleasantest attributes of 
 the state of convalescence, when he had what, if it were a 
 dream, was the most realistic he had ever dreamed. 
 
 He was walking in Paris : he knew it was Paris, because, as 
 he walked, someone kept whispering in his ear, as if to impress 
 the fact on his mind : 
 
 "This is Paris! this is Paris!" 
 
 Presently he came to a street called the Rue du Bois. As 
 if to render it impossible for him to forget that that was the 
 name of the street, something seemed to stop him and to call 
 his attention to the mural tablet on which was inscribed 
 Rue du Bois. When he had thoroughly digested that fact 
 he passed on down the street on the left-hand side. So far 
 as their exterior went, the houses were of good size and 
 decent enough ; yet, as he went by them he was oppressed 
 by the feeling that there was something evil in the air. 
 Although there was nobody but himself in sight he was 
 conscious of voices shouting to him. Though he did not 
 understand what they were saying he knew that they were 
 warning him against some danger which threatened more and 
 more each step that he advanced. Paying no heed to them, 
 he went on and on. 
 
 The street was a long one. He had gone more than half 
 way down it, always on the left side, when he came to a house 
 in front of which he stopped, as if constrained by some irre- 
 sistible force. The house was of the same pattern as the rest ; 
 he would have said that there was nothing to distinguish it 
 from its fellows had not his eye all at once been caught by a 
 fragment of red curtain which was fluttering through an open 
 window on the uppermost floor; he told himself that he 
 should always know it again because of that red curtain. 
 Moving downwards his glance settled on the huge door. 
 Suspended to it, apparently by nails, as if she had been 
 crucified, was Elsie Thornton. He knew that she was dead, 
 in spite of the fact that she was looking at him with wide-open
 
 AT THE WINDOW 309 
 
 eyes which seemed to congeal the blood in his body. The 
 agony that was in her face ! the expression of unspeakable 
 pain ! and the reproach ! As, riveted to the ground, he stood 
 and gazed at her, from the dead lips came words : 
 
 " If you had only come when I called you I should be still 
 alive." 
 
 Suddenly he found himself wide awake, with those words 
 still sounding in his ears. What did it mean ? Had he been 
 awake or dreaming? Had this vision, if vision it was, been 
 sent to him as a token and a sign ? How plainly, even in the 
 bright sunlight of his room, could he see the oblong tablet 
 against the wall— Rue du Bois, the shadowed street, the 
 fluttering scrape of red streaming from the window far down 
 the road on the side on which he was. She had called to 
 him, and called ; he had never known from whence the call 
 had come. Was it indeed a vision he had had ? and did it 
 mean that Elsie Thornton was in the Rue du Bois, in a 
 house with a red curtain, in frightful need of help from him ? 
 
 Where was the Rue du Bois? In Paris? He knew his 
 Paris pretty well, but nothing of a Rue du Bois. What did it 
 matter? He would go to Paris, if possible, within the hour; 
 then, if there was a Rue du Bois, what strange mercy, unknown 
 to man's philosophy, had been shown to him? Surely the 
 interpretation of this thing was that, if he hastened, he would 
 still be in time ; but, if he made no haste, after the coming of 
 this sign, then her blood would be on his head. 
 
 To him the reflection was Hke the touch of a spur to a high- 
 mettled steed. 
 
 Then and there he rose from his bed. During the last three 
 days, as he had prophesied, his strength had returned to him 
 quickly. Each day, with his nurse's sanction, he had risen for 
 awhile, so that he might become accustomed again to stand on 
 his own feet. Already he had progressed so far that he was 
 able, with but little difficulty, to dress himself in the clothes 
 which he had not worn since, for the last time, he had attired 
 himself as Bull's Eye. He laughed to himself as he noted that 
 he had grown so thin that they hung upon him as they might 
 have done upon a scarecrow. His waistcoat was so loose that 
 it might have been made for a man twice his size. 
 
 " There's room for filling there. In the meantime, it would fit 
 none the worse if a reef was taken in behind." 
 
 As he spoke Sallie Price came into the room. There was
 
 310 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 that in her manner which betokened agitation. She seemed 
 short of breath, as if she had rushed upstairs at top speed. 
 When she saw him standing there she broke into an ex- 
 clamation, which was part amazement, part pleasure. 
 
 " So you are up, thank goodness ! and dressed ! What have 
 you heard ? " 
 
 " I should like to hear that there was more of me to fill this 
 waistcoat. In the meanwhile, I should be obliged if you would 
 take it in, or whatever the process is called, so that it might be 
 a little more of a fit." 
 
 "There is no time for that : you must go at once." 
 
 "At once? What do you mean? Have you — have you 
 also had a vision?" 
 
 "A vision? I don't know anything about a vision, but I 
 believe that the police have found out where you are." 
 
 "The police?" 
 
 " The police ! They may be here any moment ; you must be 
 out of this, if possible, inside ten minutes. Where will you go." 
 
 " I will go to the Rue du Bois." 
 
 " The Rue du Bois. Where's that ? " 
 
 "In Paris; at least, I dreamed it was in Paris. It will take 
 me some time to walk there. How far is it by road ? " 
 
 " What are you talking about ? You're not going to walk 
 there ! It's nearly a hundred miles." 
 
 " My dear Sallie, how am I to get there if I don't walk, 
 unless someone gives me a free lift by the way, since I have 
 no money?" 
 
 " No money ! I'll soon see that you have money." 
 
 From her trunk she took the small tin box which stood to 
 her for the Bank of England. 
 
 " Here are five Napoleons for you." 
 
 " I'll not have you: five Napoleons, I've robbed you of too 
 much already." 
 
 " You can speak to me like that ! " 
 
 "Why should I not speak to you like that when it's true, 
 Sallie? Tell me, honestly, how much money have you left? Stay, 
 in such a matter I'll not trust you; I believe you'd leave 
 yourself penniless if you saw a chance of doing me a service, 
 I'll see for myself." 
 
 He took the cash-box from her unresisting, trembling hands. 
 She watched him, all frightened, like some guilty thing, as he 
 ransacked its contents.
 
 AT THE WINDOW 311 
 
 "Why, there's only a hundred and thirty francs all told, 
 and you'd give me a hundred of them. Sallie, with what fresh 
 crime would you saddle my conscience ? " 
 
 "I can get an engagement whenever I want; I know of 
 one now where I can open next week." 
 
 "I daresay, but you've got to get to it, and next week is 
 some way off." 
 
 "If I get a little short I've heaps of friends to whom I've 
 only to write, and they'll send me what I want. You shall 
 take some, or I'll throw the lot into the street." 
 
 " I'll take ten francs." 
 
 " You shall take half of all I've got ! " 
 
 "Sallie, don't let's try to quarrel, you and I, because it 
 isn't to be done. I'll take thirty. No ! it's no good. If you'll 
 not be content with my having thirty, I'll not have one. 
 That'll take me to Paris, and still leave me with enough to 
 turn round. Good-bye, you best and truest friend that ever 
 was given to a man in a hole ! " 
 
 She caught his hands in both of hers, there was a sob in 
 her voice. 
 
 " You mustn't say good-bye — not good-bye — you must tell me 
 an address where I can find you." 
 
 "When you've an address at which you can be found, write 
 what it is to John Lennard, Poste Restante, Paris ! so soon as 
 I have it I'll post you up in all that I've been doing." 
 
 "You promise?" 
 
 " I promise." 
 
 That evening George Otway reached Paris, tired by the 
 railway journey — though it only took two hours — yet with grit 
 enough left in him to enable him, at a pinch, to play the man. 
 At the St Lazaire station he told a cabman to drive him to the 
 Rue du Bois ; wondering, with a beating heart, if, after all, the 
 cabman would say he had never heard of such a place. Then 
 what would there be left for him to do ? 
 
 The driver hesitated, seeming to search the map of Paris 
 which he had in his head. 
 
 "The Rue du Bois. There is a Rue du Bois in the 
 Arrondissement de I'Observatoire ; it is the only one I know, 
 from here that is no end of a distance." 
 
 Otway's heart leapt up in his bosom. 
 
 " No matter how far it is, take me to the Rue du Bois." 
 
 As the driver had said, it proved to be "no end of a
 
 312 
 
 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 distance " ; especially did it seem so, in that ramshackle, slow- 
 going fiacre, to the fevered, impatient man inside. 
 
 He dismissed the cab at the corner of the street. The 
 instant he saw it he knew that he was on no fool's errand, that 
 the vision had been indeed a token and a sign. This, beyond 
 the faintest shadow of a doubt, was the street down which he 
 had walked while lying on his bed that afternoon at Rouen. 
 He tore down it now, at the top of his speed, searching eagerly 
 the houses on the other side of the way for a window with a 
 red curtain. He had almost reached the bottom when a 
 window in the highest storey of the house immediately opposite 
 was thrown wide open and a girl appeared at it, screaming, 
 with the full force of her lungs, in accents which started him 
 trembling like a leaf: 
 
 " George Otway ! George Otway ! " 
 
 She had pronounced the name twice when it seemed that 
 someone seized her from behind and dragged her back. The 
 window was closed almost more quickly than it had been 
 opened. All was still. 
 
 The girl who had just called to him from the window of 
 that house in the Rue du Bois was Elsie Thornton : she who 
 had called to him so often he had not known from whence.
 
 , CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 DONNA LUISA REDIVIVUS 
 
 IT had happened so suddenly that for a moment or two 
 George Otway was not quite clear in his own mind as to 
 what exactly had occurred — the window had been opened, 
 the girl had looked out, she had twice called upon his name, 
 had been dragged back into the room, the window refastened, 
 — all, it seemed to him, inside two seconds ; at any rate with 
 such surprising quickness that, before his attention had been 
 fully roused, the incident was closed. 
 
 He remained, motionless, on the other side of the street, 
 with his eyes fixed upon the window in question, half expecting 
 that it would be reopened and a further scene in the drama 
 be enacted ; and his expectations did not go wholly unrealised. 
 For, presently, the window was partially opened, an arm pro- 
 truded, the persiennes — those Venetian shutters which are 
 associated with every house in France — were released and 
 drawn to, and, presto ! the window had vanished, and only the 
 shutters remained. The action was significant ; evidently 
 precautions were being taken to prevent the girl making a 
 second appeal. 
 
 Otway arrived at an instant decision. Crossing the street 
 he gave a vigorous pull at the bell handle which dangled 
 against the wall. A clanging peal resounded through the 
 courtyard on the other side of the heavy door. He waited, 
 but no answer came. He rang again and again, and even a 
 fourth time, before anything transpired to show that his 
 summons had attracted the attention of those within. Then 
 a small trap was thrown back, and a harsh feminine voice 
 demanded, in French : 
 
 "Well, who is it? What do you mean by making all this 
 clatter ? " 
 
 Otway replied, in the same language : 
 
 " I wish to see Miss Thornton." 
 
 "And who, in the name of goodness, is Miss Thornton? 
 There is no one of that name lives here. It is because of this 
 
 313
 
 3U A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 person you try to break our bell, a person of whom one has 
 never heard ! " 
 
 " If you prefer that I should use a name which certainly 
 is not hers: I wish to see Miss Villiers." 
 
 " Miss Villiers, ah, now we advance : you speak of the poor 
 mad girl? But no one can see Miss Villiers : she is not in a fit 
 state to see anyone." 
 
 " She is in a fit state to see me. I insist upon your opening 
 the door and admitting me at once ! " 
 
 " Name of a dog ! you insist ! And, pray, who are you, that 
 you talk as if the house were yours ? " 
 
 " Never mind my name ! It is enough for you that I am a 
 friend of Miss Villiers, as you call her, and that, if you do not 
 wish to have trouble with the police, you will instantly let me 
 see her." 
 
 "Trouble with the police. My good man, you talk as if you 
 aimed cannons at one's head. You will understand that this 
 house is not mine, I am but the concierge. I obey orders, and 
 only admit certain persons. If you will condescend to wait 
 I will go and inquire if I am to admit you." 
 
 "Go, then: only make it clear to whoever you may be 
 going that I intend to be admitted, and be so good as not 
 to keep me long." 
 
 Muttering something beneath her breath the concierge with- 
 drew, the trap was closed, and George Otway was left to cool 
 his heels at his leisure — left longer than he relished. Seconds 
 became minutes, it seemed to him that the minutes became 
 many. After an interval, which appeared to him to be unduly 
 long, he sounded another peal upon the rusty bell. Still no 
 signs of the returning co?icierge. What might not be taking 
 place within ? What might they not be doing to Elsie while 
 they kept him dallying at the gate? Before he gained the 
 other side they might have put her beyond his reach. He 
 kept up a perpetual clanging till the trap was once more thrown 
 back and the coarse voice was heard again. 
 
 " A thousand devils ! you make hubbub enough to disturb 
 the entire neighbourhood. Do you think that at my age one 
 rushes up and down a hundred stairs as if one was ten ? For 
 me, it is an affair to ascend to madame's apartment." 
 
 While she grumbled she unlocked the wicket — the fact that 
 it needed unlocking was of ominous import. He found himself 
 confronting a sturdy, ill-tempered-looking woman about forty-
 
 DONNA LUISA REDIVIVUS 315 
 
 five years of age, whose upper lip was ornamented with a 
 moustache which was almost of masculine dimensions. She 
 scowled at him from under heavy overhanging eyebrows. 
 
 " Well, my lad, you don't seem to be a person of so much 
 importance that you should cause all this commotion. As 
 I said to madame, if she does not wish to let you in I will 
 soon see that you are taught to behave. Yes, I, Marie Cagnol. 
 But, madame, she is too good-natured, she says : ' I will see this 
 noisy person.'" 
 
 " And who is madame ? " 
 
 "I ask, who are you? — you reply, it is no afifair of mine. 
 To your question I give the same answer." 
 
 She had taken him into the house, and was now leading the 
 way up what seemed to him to be endless flights of stairs. 
 Already fatigued by his journey he began to fear that if they 
 had much farther to go he would have to sit and rest, and, 
 before all else just now, he wished to conceal all signs of 
 physical weakness. As it was, he had to momentarily pause 
 to take breath. 
 
 "This madame of yours lives, then, at the top of the house? 
 Is it necessary that one should mount for ever ? " 
 
 "What does it matter to you where she lives? If you had 
 wished that she should live on the ground-floor you should 
 have told her so. Did I not say to you that one does not 
 rush up and down a hundred stairs? Now you see for your- 
 self how it is." 
 
 As she said this she turned to him with a grin which was 
 distinctly not a pleasant one. She rapped with her knuckles 
 at the panels of the door in front of which she had paused, 
 then opened it to speak to someone within : " Here, madame, 
 is the individual who will not give his name, but who talks of 
 trouble with the police if I refuse to admit him." Suddenly 
 she discovered that the room had no occupant. "Ah, 
 madame is not here. Enter, then. No doubt madame will be 
 with you in a minute, if you will only have the condescension 
 to take a chair and to wait." 
 
 Acting on her suggestion he entered. The moment he was 
 in the door was closed, and he heard what sounded singularly 
 like the slipping of a bolt. Filled with a new suspicion he 
 tried the handle. The door refused to budge. 
 
 " Outside there, open this door at once ! What do you 
 mean by fastening me in ? "
 
 316 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 The only reply was a slight noise which might have been a 
 chuckle. He shook the door again and shouted a second 
 time. This time there was not even a chuckle. He looked 
 about him. The room was brilliantly lit by electric bulbs. 
 On one side were three windows shaded by curtains. Drawing 
 the hangings aside from one of them he was about to open it 
 to learn what was without when he became conscious of a 
 sound behind him and turned to find that a second door, of 
 whose existence he had been unaware, had been opened on 
 the other side of the room, and that a woman had entered. 
 
 He stared at her in silence, knowing he had seen her before, 
 yet unable for the moment to say just where. She, on her 
 part, was silent too, regarding him, steadfastly, with a smile, 
 which was rather a sneer, which he instinctively resented. 
 That she did not need even momentary consideration to recall 
 who he was, was obvious. 
 
 " So, Mr Lennard, we meet again." 
 
 So soon as she spoke he knew her : she was Madame 
 O'Callaghan, the wife of young David Curtis's chance acquaint- 
 ance. Major O'Callaghan. It was only because he was still 
 not quite himself that he had not recognised her on the 
 instant. She was the woman who, coming with Elsie Thornton 
 into the room of that house fn Sefton Park, had introduced 
 her as Lottie Villiers, the woman who had filled him with such a 
 sense of repugnance, who had lied to him, who, above all, had 
 whisked Elsie away from underneath his very nose. If he 
 had only had his wits about him it was her appearance which 
 he would have been expecting. No wonder that she greeted 
 him with a combination of a smile and a sneer. 
 
 Seeing that he still kept silence she continued, endowing 
 what seemed innocuous words with some venomous quality as 
 she uttered them : 
 
 " The pleasure of meeting you again was one which I 
 thought it not improbable would fall to my lot. Indeed, I 
 had rather expected that our acquaintance would have been 
 renewed before this." 
 
 " It is not my fault that it has not been." 
 
 "No? your misfortune? That is rather prettily put." 
 
 "You omitted to furnish me with your address so that I 
 might hand it to the police." 
 
 " Did I, indeed? What a singular omission. Very careless 
 conduct on my part, wasn't it ? "
 
 DONNA LUISA REDIVIVUS 317 
 
 Advancing farther into the room she placed herself in a 
 position in which she could see him more to her advantage. 
 The shabbiness of his attire ; his generally dishevelled ap- 
 pearance ; the signs of recent illness which marked not only 
 his face but also his attenuated form seemed to occasion 
 her surprise. 
 
 "Really, Mr Lennard, you don't look as if the world had 
 been all lavender to you just recently. That's a shocking 
 suit which you have on : a worse fit I never saw. It must be 
 a generation ago since it cost even as much as fifty shillings. 
 And surely it is years since you saw a decent barber. If I 
 saw you, as a casual stranger in the street, I should have 
 guessed that you had just come out of a workhouse : I give 
 you my word that you look sufficiently ill-fed. I assure you 
 that I should not be at all surprised to learn that the purpose 
 of your presence here is to beg a hearty meal." 
 
 " As you know perfectly well, I am here to see Miss 
 Thornton." 
 
 "To see whom?" 
 
 " To see Miss Thornton." 
 
 "Who is this who speaks of Miss Thornton ?"
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 ELSIE 
 
 THE question was asked by someone else who had come 
 into the room by the door through which Madame 
 O'Callaghan had entered; a voice which stirred his pulses 
 with a sense of familiarity which was almost painful. When 
 he looked to see who the speaker was he felt as if he must be 
 in some sort of waking dream when he found himself con- 
 fronted by Donna Luisa D'Agostino, the Mother of Caracas. 
 As if to render the sense of illusion more complete she was 
 attired, if not in the identical gown of crimson satin which 
 had made her so conspicuous a figure on board the Queen of 
 the Sens, then in one which, to his masculine eyes, seemed 
 exactly like it. She was as huge as ever, and moved towards 
 the centre of the room with a clumsy, awkward gait which 
 became her as ill as her costume. 
 
 She did not appear to be so surprised to see him as he had 
 been to see her. On the contrary, placing herself on a chair, 
 resting her elbows on the table which was in front of her, 
 removing the big cigar which she was smoking from between 
 her lips, she addressed him as off-handedly as if she had only 
 been parted from him half-an-hour before. 
 
 "So again you are an uninvited guest of mine; and what 
 is it you call yourself this time ? Are you Rothschild ? or are 
 you Pierpont Morgan?" 
 
 Instead of answering her question he made a demand. 
 
 " Donna Luisa, I have to request that you will at once 
 allow me to see Miss Thornton." 
 
 " Ah ! It is that which is the lure which has brought you." 
 She turned to Madame O'Callaghan : "So that blunder of you 
 and your friends may not turn out to be such an imbecility 
 after all. It has been the misfortune of my life to have been 
 the plaything of idiots. If, after all, one of them has been 
 guilty of doing something sane it is a recompense which I 
 assuredly deserve." 
 
 318
 
 ELSIE 319 
 
 Madame O'Callaghan said nothing, her very silence being 
 eloquent of the fact that the Mother of Caracas was once 
 again the ruling spirit. Donna Luisa puffed at her cigar for 
 a moment or two in silence. Then she spoke again to 
 Otway. 
 
 " You will have heard that that expedition of mine failed." 
 
 " I have heard nothing." 
 
 "No? Then I now present you with the information. It 
 failed : in the first place, because it was conducted by in- 
 dividuals who were— mostly— fools ; the kind of fools who 
 make a mess of everything ; and, in the second place, 
 because I, being enraged, behaved also like a fool. You will 
 recollect that I did you the honour to propose that you should 
 become my husband." 
 
 " I confess that I was so unreasonable as not to be 
 enamoured with the future which you had sketched for me." 
 
 "So I imagined. What I did not expect was that you 
 would take the line you did, or I would have taken my own 
 precautions. When I learned that you and Miss Thornton 
 had been sent overboard together there was a bad half-hour 
 for certain persons on the Queen of the Seas." 
 
 It required no effort on Otway's part to enable him to 
 believe that statement. At the mere recollection a look 
 which was almost worse than murderous came into the 
 speaker's eyes. There was an iron rigidity about the set of 
 her jaw which suggested all sorts of unpleasant possibilities. 
 When, after an interval, she went on, it was with a hard bitter- 
 ness which, for some occult reason, seemed to make Madame 
 O'Callaghan wince. 
 
 " I gave my instructions to certain persons that you must 
 be found, you and Miss Thornton also. I did not care a 
 snap of the fingers if the girl was found at the bottom of the 
 sea, but I had set my heart on finding you alive. Judge, 
 then, of my delight when I learn that they had found Miss 
 Thornton, but not you. They find the girl upon what they 
 declare to me to be an uninhabited island on which was a 
 volcano in a state of eruption. She fights with them like a 
 wild cat; yet they bear her away with them in triumph. Yes, 
 in triumph ! — think of it, the fools ! — and of you they learn 
 nothing, hear nothing, see nothing. I believe they were 
 afraid of the volcano. I spent a small fortune on an expedi- 
 tion to discover you, and all they discover is that wretched
 
 320 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 girl. Believe me, I am pleased. And yet it would seem as 
 if I were to score off their blunder after all, since you have 
 discovered yourself."' 
 
 " I again ask you to allow me to see Miss Thornton." 
 
 "You shall see her, I promise you. But, as a beginning, 
 it is necessary that you and I should come to a little under- 
 standing. By way of preface I may mention that, as I have 
 entered, for the second time, into the bonds of holy matri- 
 mony, you need not anticipate the renewal of a certain 
 proposition." 
 
 " I have to tender you my sincerest congratulations." 
 
 " You congratulate yourself, also, a little, eh ? Well, that 
 is by the way. I will not pretend that I have exactly the 
 husband I would myself have chosen. There were certain 
 circumstances which made it necessary that I should suffer 
 him to marry me, so on that point I will say no more. I 
 cannot, however, forget that, as your wife, I should have been 
 in a position to do certain things which now are beyond my 
 power. It becomes, therefore, desirable that I should place 
 myself in a situation in which I shall possess as many as 
 possible of the advantages which, as your wife, I should have 
 enjoyed." 
 
 George Otway laughed outright. The calm matter-of-fact 
 air with which Donna Luisa talked of subjects which are, 
 in general, only delicately hinted at was not a little enter- 
 taining. 
 
 " I would again remind you that I am here to see Miss 
 Thornton who, I have reason to fear, is being detained in this 
 house against her will." 
 
 " I will explain as clearly as I can. If you will pay me a 
 hundred thousand pounds you can leave this house at once, 
 and you can take Miss Thornton with you for all I care. If 
 not, I shall get the money from your cousin Mr Frank Andrews; 
 and, in return, I will undertake that you shall never again be 
 George Otway the millionaire." 
 
 " How will you prevent it ? " 
 
 " For the present that does not matter. Let me assure you 
 that I will prevent it." 
 
 Donna Luisa turned to Madame O'Callaghan. 
 
 " Ring the bell," she said. 
 
 Madame pressed an ivory push -piece. Almost simul-
 
 ELSIE 321 
 
 taneously the door was opened, and Mr Bianchi — of the Queefi 
 of the Seas — came into the room. Donna Luisa addressed 
 herself to Otvvay. 
 
 "This is my husband." 
 
 He nodded, smihngly. 
 
 " I guessed as much ; Mr Bianchi displayed so much anxiety 
 lest anyone else should occupy that august position. My 
 heartiest congratulations, Mr Bianchi, on your — deserved — 
 promotion." 
 
 Mr Bianchi was silent. He looked both sour and out of 
 temper, as if he feared that he was being laughed at. Nor 
 would one have guessed, from his demeanour, that he was 
 overwhelmed with happiness at his good fortune. His wife 
 spoke to him in the same off-hand fashion she used for every- 
 one. Indeed, had it not been for her positive statement to the 
 contrary, one would almost have suspected him of being her 
 servant rather than her lord and master. 
 
 "You perceive, here is the husband you robbed me of. In 
 spite of you and of those fools, after all, I have him. I tell 
 him that for a hundred thousand pounds he can live, but he 
 will not promise to give me the money." 
 
 " He is stark mad ; I have always said it. You had better 
 get the money from his cousin, Frank Andrews. He will give 
 it to you fast enoutih." 
 
 " I believe that, for once, you are right. I have asked you 
 to come here in order that there may be no misunderstanding. 
 For the last time, Mr Otway, I have to tell you that if you 
 will not give me the amount I require, to oblige your cousin — 
 who will give it me, and more — you will be dead, and worse 
 than dead." 
 
 Mr Bianchi interpolated an observation of his own. 
 
 " He will be a great deal worse than dead, I promise him 
 that. But he is one of those pig-headed Englishmen, and mad 
 even for an Englishman ; he will not even listen to reason. 
 You will not get him to believe that his life is in any danger 
 till he has actually worse than lost it. You had better make 
 an end at once and get the money the quickest way — from the 
 cousin." 
 
 George Otway, who had been turning one or two things 
 over in his mind, and at the same time regarding the faces 
 in front of him, had arrived at the conclusion that he was in a 
 delicate position. It occurred to him that it might be as well
 
 322 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 to gain a little time in order that he might be able to study 
 that position in all its bearings. 
 
 " Before I will enter into a discussion with you on any 
 subject whatever I must see Miss Thornton." 
 
 The three exchanged glances. Donna Luisa spoke. 
 
 "Let him see her. What does it matter? He is in our 
 hands. Ring again." 
 
 Once more Madame O'Callaghan pressed the push-piece. 
 This time there entered four men. In two of them Otway re- 
 cognised Major O'Callaghan and Mr Howard, of the house in 
 Sefton Park ; in the other two he fancied he recalled members 
 of the motley crowd which was on board the Queen of the Seas. 
 The major greeted him with an affable movement of his 
 hand. 
 
 "Ho! my old friend Lennard. And how is my friend 
 Curtis? Still willing to give lessons in poker? Our parting 
 on the last occasion of our meeting was so abrupt that I really 
 had not time to say good-bye ; I trust he's going as strong as 
 ever." 
 
 Otway did not answer. He regarded the speaker with a 
 look which, if looks could scorch, would have scorched him 
 there and then. He turned to the woman who seemed to 
 have this curious collection of persons at her beck and call. 
 
 " Donna Luisa, I did not think that, in your retinue, you 
 numbered quite such scum of the earth as this man represents. 
 He is a card-sharper, a pander, and a thief. I must ask you 
 not to permit him to address himself to me. I shall certainly 
 give him no answer if he does." 
 
 The Mother of Caracas made a little eccentric movement 
 with her cigar. 
 
 " I have already told you that I am not always able to 
 choose my own society. I do not vouch for the characters of 
 all the persons who are in my service. Sometimes, the worse 
 their characters the better they are suited to my purpose. 
 One of you bring down the girl." 
 
 Major O'Callaghan chose to think that the request parti- 
 cularly referred to him. He left the room. During his ab- 
 sence Donna Luisa and Bianchi held a whispered consultation, 
 at the end of which Bianchi said something to one of the two 
 men — whom Otway seemed to remember as having been on the 
 Queen of the Seas — in consequence of which, as it seemed, the 
 man to whom he had spoken also quitted the apartment.
 
 ELSIE 323 
 
 Immediately afterwards there came into the room someone 
 whom, for a second or two, Otway did not recognise. It was 
 a woman, only partially clothed, the garments she was wearing 
 being ill-assorted odds and ends, like so many unclean rags. 
 Her hair, all unbound, strayed loosely down her shoulders, 
 looking as if it had been untouched by a brush for weeks. 
 Her face was white and drawn, there were hollows about the 
 eyes. She not only looked as if she had been insufficiently 
 fed, but there was something about her which suggested that 
 she was haunted by some unresting fear. As she entered she 
 gazed about her with a dazed expression, as if her eyes were 
 dazzled by the unaccustomed light. 
 
 Otway stared at her with incredulous wonder. It was only 
 after prolonged inspection that it dawned on him as being 
 even possible that this pitiable object, this frail wreck of a 
 woman, could be all that was left of Elsie Thornton. 
 
 "Elsie!" he cried. 
 
 At the sound of his voice she turned and looked at him. 
 As she did so he was relieved of one fear. The obscurity 
 of mental vision which had dimmed her perceptions when 
 he had last encountered her in the house in Sefton Park 
 had passed, at least in part, away, for when she saw him 
 she knew who he was. And not only did she know, but 
 the fashion of her countenance was changed, so that it all 
 at once was lighted up by a transfiguring smile. Her hands 
 fell to her sides, her lips were parted, she stood straighter, 
 her breath was quickened, traces of colour came into her 
 sunken cheeks, she said, half beneath her breath, as if 
 sudden joy had rendered her incapable of speaking loud : 
 
 "You!" 
 
 When she spoke he began to tremble. He all at once 
 was speechless. He could not even move from where he 
 was, but could only dumbly hold out his arms to her. 
 
 But it seemed that that was all she needed and that the 
 gesture was eloquence enough for her. For, as if in answer 
 to his unspoken invitation, she came straight across the room 
 and passed between his outstretched hands. And there, before 
 them all, he folded her about with his arms and pressed her 
 to his breast. Looking up into his face she said, with a sound 
 which was half sob, half laugh : 
 
 " I called to you so often and you never came." 
 
 Then his voice returned to him.
 
 324 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 "I heard you call, but I could not come, because I did 
 not know where you were." 
 
 "I tried to tell you." 
 
 "And I tried to understand, but only this afternoon did 
 knowledge come to me, at last, then I hastened to you as 
 fast as the train would carry me. Come, let us go. We 
 will talk to these creatures in a more effectual strain when 
 we are out of the den which holds them." 
 
 " When ! " 
 
 The echoed adverb came from the Mother of Caracas. 
 She had been observing the proceedings with an air of 
 complete indifference, as if this man and woman, who, after 
 passing through the valley of the shadow of death, had 
 found each other at last, were marionettes upon a mimic 
 stage. She used the butt of the cigar which she had almost 
 consumed to light a fresh one. Otway took up the challenge 
 which her interjectional interposition seemed to have thrown 
 down. 
 
 " Precisely, Donna Luisa, when — and when is now. Come, 
 Elsie, let us go at once." 
 
 He began to move with her across the room, no one doing 
 anything to stay them. Donna Luisa spoke to him as he went, 
 apparently more interested in the proper ignition of her new 
 cigar than in the topic on which she touched. 
 
 " Nothing, Mr Otway, will give me greater pleasure than 
 to learn that you do propose to go at once and that you 
 intend to take Miss Thornton with you, only — there are 
 certain details which must be gone through first." 
 
 By this time Otway, still with his arm encircling Elsie, had 
 reached the door through which he had entered, to find it 
 still closed against his egress. He endeavoured to speak 
 with an assumption of authority which went far beyond 
 what he really felt. 
 
 " I insist upon your opening this door for me at once." 
 
 "Certainly. The door shall be opened, against your cheque 
 for a hundred thousand pounds." She produced a cheque form 
 from a pocket-book which she produced from some receptacle 
 in the bosom of her dress. " Here is a cheque on a bank 
 which I happen to know will honour your signature for con- 
 siderably more than a hundred thousand pounds. You have 
 only to fill it up for that small sum, sign it, and give me your 
 word of honour that you will not attempt to stop payment,
 
 ELSIE 325 
 
 and you and Miss Thornton are free as air. Indeed, I shall 
 be very happy to do anything in my power for your comfort." 
 
 " Do you think that you can blackmail me or force me 
 to give you a monstrous sum as a ransom from a wholly 
 imaginary danger?" 
 
 " If you are not a more foolish person than even I suppose 
 you to be you will give me what I ask, and that without the 
 least demur. You see, Mr Otway, it is actually a question of 
 the old-fashioned formula — your money or your life. In any 
 case I shall have my money, even if you choose to lose your 
 life, because, as you are very well aware, that cousin of yours 
 will be willing to pay lavishly for certain news that you are 
 dead at last — or as good as dead — or, perhaps, even better than 
 dead. So, which is it to be : your money, or your life?" 
 
 The answer came from the girl in his arms. 
 
 " Don't give her a farthing ! " 
 
 " I'll not ; nor half a one." 
 
 The Mother of Caracas still remained outwardly impassive. 
 
 "Very good; so it's to be your life. We'll have it — and 
 more than your life — before we've done with you, you may 
 depend on it." 
 
 George Otway drew the girl still closer to him and met 
 the woman's gaze with unflinching eyes. He was aware that 
 Bianchi and his friends were smiling, as if in anticipation 
 of pleasures to come. He was also conscious that each 
 man of them held a revolver in his hand.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 AN UPPER ROOM 
 
 MAKE him safe, and keep him safe." 
 The instruction was addressed to Mr Bianchi by 
 the Mother of Caracas. He turned to the four men at his 
 back, uttering only one word. 
 
 "Gentlemen !" 
 
 He smiled at them and they at him. All five, smiHng 
 together, moved across towards where George Otway stood, 
 with his arm about the girl. When they came to within 
 three or four feet of him Bianchi spoke again. 
 
 " If you please ! " 
 
 And all five halted. Each man held a revolver, keeping a 
 finger on the trigger. Bianchi pointed out the fact to Mr Otway. 
 
 "You see?" 
 
 George Otway did see. He remembered that midnight 
 incursion into his cabin on board the Queen of the Seas. 
 He saw that now, as then, it would need very little to start 
 those revolvers firing. Bianchi explained the situation in 
 his own fashion. 
 
 "The question is whether — as the policeman puts it — 
 you will go with us quietly, or whether we shall have to use 
 persuasion." 
 
 " Where do you propose to take me ? " 
 
 " No questions answered." 
 
 " Aren't there ? You will have to answer one question, 
 or a good deal of persuasion will be required. What do 
 you intend to do with Miss Thornton ? " 
 
 Bianchi shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "Is that all? A little matter of that sort doesn't count; 
 I will go outside the rule and reply. Miss Thornton goes 
 with you where you go." 
 
 " In that case " 
 
 George Otway cut short his sentence at the beginning, 
 looking at the girl with an unspoken inquiry in his eyes. 
 
 326
 
 AN UPPER ROOM 327 
 
 '* Go with them," she said. 
 
 Otway considered, reading the purpose which was on the 
 faces in front of him. Then, since he saw no alternative, 
 he assented. 
 
 " I am at your service, sir." 
 
 Major O'Callaghan associated a coarse laugh with a horrible 
 allusion to Miss Thornton. Stung into imprudence, stepping 
 forward, Otway struck the speaker across the face. Almost 
 simultaneously the major, raising his revolver, fired. Otway 
 became conscious of a sudden sensation, as of burning. His 
 left arm dropped helpless to his side. The major laughed again. 
 
 " There's one arm done for. Repeat the same performance 
 with the other and I'll do for that as well." 
 
 Elsie came hurrying to him. 
 
 " Has he hurt you ? Take care ! Never mind what he 
 says ! They will kill you ! " 
 
 " Though they kill me no man shall speak as that man 
 spoke and go unpunished." 
 
 The voice of Donna Luisa came from the table at the 
 back of the room. 
 
 " You are mistaken, George Otway. Be under no delusion. 
 Each man will say and do to you and to the girl exactly 
 what he pleases. If you show resentment it will be you who 
 will be punished, unless you fill up this little cheque for a 
 hundred thousand pounds." 
 
 "That I will never do; on that point you have already 
 heard my final decision." 
 
 " Then we will get the money from your cousin ; probably 
 within the next four-and-twenty hours. Gentlemen ! " 
 
 " March ! " 
 
 The command came from Bianchi, with a movement of 
 his revolver towards the door on the opposite side of the 
 apartment. 
 
 " Come ! " whispered Elsie. 
 
 It was her command which he obeyed. They went together 
 to the door at which Bianchi had pointed, the five men close 
 at their heels. Madame O'Callaghan sneered as they passed, 
 smilingly : 
 
 "Good-bye, Lottie, darling. Now, at last, you're going 
 to be happy." 
 
 But Donna Luisa said, grimly regarding them over the 
 ash of her cigar :
 
 328 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 " Otway, you're a fool." 
 
 But neither Elsie nor her companion said a word. In 
 silence they passed from the chamber, up what seemed to 
 Otway to be endless stairs, until they came to a door at 
 the top of a narrow flight, which someone opened. 
 
 " Enter ! " directed Bianchi. 
 
 They entered. The moment they were in the door was shut 
 behind them, locked, and barred. The place in which they 
 were was in pitchy blackness. 
 
 *' Where are we ? " asked Otway. 
 
 Elsie replied, her voice sounding strangely in the darkness : 
 
 " It is the place in which they have kept me a prisoner 
 for I dont know how long now ; it is so long that I have lost 
 all count of time." 
 
 " Was it at the window of this room that I saw you to-night ? " 
 
 "That was the room below. They had taken me there 
 to find out — once more — if I would do as they wished. So 
 I ran to the window and called to you. Now I wish I hadn't." 
 
 "You must not say that. If you only knew how I have 
 longed to come to you. Is this an attic ? " 
 
 " I don't think it is even an attic ; I fancy it must have 
 been intended as a lumber room, or something of that kind. 
 It hasn't a window." 
 
 " No window ? But I seem to feel fresh air." 
 
 "That comes from a trap-door in the roof, they have left 
 it open. Sometimes the rain comes pouring through." 
 
 "The dear creatures! But, if the rain gets in, it is just 
 possible that someone might get out of it." 
 
 " No one could ; it is so small it is only a few inches square. 
 And then it is so far above the floor. The ceiling slopes ; 
 where the trap-door is it must be twelve feet high. Give me 
 your hand, I will show you where it is." She took his hand, 
 leading him through the darkness. "Take care ! we are near 
 the wall ! " 
 
 " How can you see ? " 
 
 "I can't; but I know. I have been here so long that I 
 know. Put out your hand, you will feel the wall. The 
 trap-door is right above us. Look up, if the night is fine 
 you will see the sky. It is fine, I can see a star. Can 
 you not see it too ? " 
 " I can see it very well." 
 " It shines down on us, glowing brightly, like a beacon
 
 AN UPPER ROOM 329 
 
 of hope. Don't you think it may have been sent to us to-night, 
 of all nights, to bid us hope?" 
 
 " Beyond a doubt it has." 
 
 " How often have I just stood here, watching for the stars. 
 When I have seen one I have felt that God has not forgotten 
 me. When I have not— which has been very often, for, you 
 see, the trap is so small— I have been afraid He has. It 
 has been so lonely up here at night in the darkness — so 
 lonely." 
 
 " Do they never give you a light ? " 
 
 "Never. When the daylight goes I see nothing until the 
 morning comes. And, as I sleep so badly, you cannot think 
 how long the nights seem, especially when it is cold or wet." 
 
 "Is the place decently furnished?" 
 
 " There is no furniture at all." 
 
 " No furniture ? Then — do they keep you here in the 
 daytime?" 
 
 " They keep me here always." 
 
 " Always ! But there must be some furniture ? Is there 
 nothing which serves as chair or table or bed ? " 
 
 " There is nothing ; nothing at all. The place is quite 
 empty." 
 
 "But how do you manage about sleeping?" 
 
 " As I can. I lie on the floor. Sometimes — when it is 
 raining — it is wet. It is never very clean, and it is always 
 hard. I do not get much sleep." 
 
 " Do they treat you better as regards food ? " 
 
 " Sometimes a whole day passes without their bringing me 
 any food at all ; once there were two days. Then I thought 
 they were going to starve me to death. The food is never 
 very nice when they bring it. They never give me plates or 
 dishes. They just tumble it on the floor, so I have to pick it 
 with my fingers and eat it as if I were a dog. I get so 
 hungry that I could eat anything anyhow. I never knew 
 what hunger meant till they shut me up in here." 
 
 " But what have you done to them that they should behave 
 to you as if they were devils ? " 
 
 There was an interval of silence before she answered. She 
 was so close to him that he could feel her trembling. 
 
 "They want me to do something which I won't do; they 
 are so wicked themselves that they think it doesn't matter 
 what a girl does; and, because I won't, they think they can
 
 330 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 make me by treating me like this. But they never will ; 
 never ! never ! never ! " 
 
 She spoke with a note in her voice which caused him — 
 almost unconsciously— to draw her closer to him. As he did 
 so he leaned against the wall at his back, feeling all at once 
 as if his legs were giving way beneath him. She was quick 
 to detect that something was wrong. 
 
 "What is the matter? You are trembling! the wound is 
 worse than you said." 
 
 His voice had suddenly become faint and tremulous. 
 
 " I don't think it's the wound. The truth is, I've not been 
 very well just lately, and — the excitement has been a little 
 beyond me." 
 
 Something— as he put it— had been a little beyond him. 
 Even as he spoke she felt a quiver go all over him. She 
 tried to hold him up, but, before she guessed what was 
 about to happen, he had slipped through her arms on to the 
 floor. She felt him lying, an inert mass, at her feet.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 DOLLIE AND HER HUSBAND 
 
 THE library at High Dene : high noon. Mr Frank 
 Andrews in a restless mood, flitting from chair to 
 chair, standing, walking here and there. In his hand a 
 letter, with which he continually fidgets. Reclining at full 
 length on a couch his wife — Mrs Frank Andrews — the Dollie 
 Lee of long ago. Nothing could be in more complete 
 contrast than her demeanour and her husband's. He in 
 perpetual motion, as if some internal machinery prevented 
 his remaining still, even for a second ; she in immovable 
 repose, observing his incapacity to remain quiescent with a 
 little smile of amusement. If anything, she has grown 
 prettier, and if certain rounded contours suggest undignified 
 plumpness in the not distant future, they are not yet 
 sufficiently accentuated to lessen her charms. There is 
 about her an air of daintiness which, in some odd way, 
 recalls an exquisite child. It would have needed a shrewd 
 judge of human nature to detect in this delightfully delicate 
 little lady even a suspicion of guile. 
 
 " It begins to look as if you were not mistaken after all." 
 
 The remark came from Mr Andrews, in a tone which 
 more than hinted that the gentleman was not in the very best 
 of tempers. The lady, on the other hand, replied in 
 mellifluous accents which were the very essence of sweetness ; 
 but, as is the case with so many sweet things, there was a drop 
 of bitterness even in their saccharine quality. 
 
 " In matters of importance I endeavour to be accurate. 
 In a matter of such first-rate importance I think you might 
 have taken my accuracy for granted. It would have been at 
 least more courteous." 
 
 " Courtesy be hanged ? " 
 
 "If you please. Still, it seems a pity. What has courtesy 
 done to you that you should wish to hang it ? " 
 
 "Don't talk that fiddle-faddle stuff to me now. It's 
 
 331
 
 332 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 because you seem incapable of taking anything seriously 
 that I laughed when you said you believed you had seen the 
 fellow alive at Rouen."' 
 
 " I did not say I believed : I said I had seen him." 
 
 " But you said it in a way which made it impossible to tell 
 if you were, or were not, joking. You don't seem to realise 
 what it means to us if George Otway is alive." 
 
 " Don't I ? You are again mistaken." 
 
 "You wouldn't wear that don't-care-a-dam air if you did." 
 
 "Shouldn't I?" 
 
 Her lips were parted in a pretty smile which Mr Andrews 
 did not notice, and the meaning of which would have 
 eluded him if he had. 
 
 " If George Otway didn't commit suicide, if that wasn't 
 his body which was found in the Thames, if he is alive at the 
 present moment, then you and I are beggars — and worse. 
 He can call us to account for every penny of his we have 
 spent, and since I certainly shall be unable to refund a 
 single one of them I shall be a ruined man for ever and a day." 
 
 " I realise that very clearly, I assure you." 
 
 " Then do you speak so gaily because you suppose my ruin 
 won't affect you ? " 
 
 " My dear Frank, can you conceive it as being even possible 
 that I should not wish to share your fall whatever it might 
 be?" 
 
 " Bah ! talk sense ! do you think I don't know you through 
 and through? If you could gain sixpence by drowning me 
 to-morrow you'd do it, and never turn a hair." 
 
 " I shouldn't do it for sixpence, really, Frank. You ex- 
 aggerate ; and I assure you you don't know me, although you 
 think you do. Shall I ever forget what were my feelings when, 
 in that Rouen circus, among those crazy people, with death 
 staring us in the face, I first heard his voice. I recognised, on 
 the instant, that he had played on us some extraordinary, some 
 incredible trick. He had detected me first. When I appealed 
 to him for help, he regarded me with a smile in his eyes for 
 which I could have torn his heart out. If I had not been so 
 conscious that he was the only creature present who was capable 
 of doing anything to save me I would willingly have helped 
 him burn. As it was, I did my little best." 
 
 Mr Andrews paced in silence up and down the spacious 
 apartment, biting at his thumbs as he went.
 
 DOLLIE AND HER HUSBAND 333 
 
 "I had not credited him with so much malice." 
 
 His wife laughed, lightly, merrily, as if she had not a care in 
 the world. 
 
 "You darling Frank! To be sure, he has treated both of 
 us very badly — and yet, it is not so certain. We have had a 
 pretty decent time upon the whole — at least, I know I have — 
 and that fact cannot be altered even if I have to suffer for it 
 afterwards. It is not yet plain that we shall have to suffer — 
 either you or I." 
 
 "When he is tired of masquerading, of playing the game of 
 cat and mouse, he has only to walk in at the front door and 
 there is an end of us for ever." 
 
 " Precisely ; but perhaps it mayn't be so easy for him to 
 walk in at the front door as you seem to suppose." 
 
 " Do you mean because, in some way, which I don't under- 
 stand, you or somebody else, has mixed him up with that 
 murdering scoundrel, Jacob Gunston? Even granting that 
 the misapprehension has gone so far as you seem to suppose, 
 he has only to prove himself to be George Otway to prick the 
 bubble on the instant." 
 
 "Again I am not so certain. The matter has gone beyond 
 a jest. He has been doing some very queer things, has our 
 dear friend, and has got himself into such a tangle that only by 
 process of law can it be unravelled. And if the law does get 
 hold of him he'll have a very, very hard time. What a joke it 
 would be if he came to be hanged." 
 
 " No fear of that, it's much more likely that hanging's the 
 fate in store for us ! " 
 
 " I'm not so sure that I'd mind that if I were hanged for 
 him." 
 
 There was something in the tone in which she said it which 
 caused her husband to cease for a moment from his restless 
 peregrinations and to turn and stare at her with startled 
 eyes. 
 
 " DoUie ! take care ! walls have ears ! And even if they 
 haven't, there are things which — though spoken in jest — are 
 left better unsaid." 
 
 " I'm not afraid of the ears, and when you and I have to 
 deal with a situation such as confronts us now there are things 
 which must be said. What do you suppose is the meaning of 
 the letter which you have in your hand ? " 
 
 " That we shall soon learn. Donna Luisa D'Agostino will
 
 334 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 tell us. The carriage has gone to the station to meet her. At 
 any moment she may be here." 
 
 "Just so, and find us unprepared." 
 
 "Unprepared ! How do you mean — find us unprepared?" 
 
 " My dearest Frank, this is a matter in which it is essential 
 that you and I should see clearly, eye to eye. Don't play the 
 innocent with me, and try to play the man. You can some- 
 times, you know." 
 
 " I don't know why you talk like that, unless you wish to 
 exasperate me." 
 
 "Not at all. On the contrary, I particularly wish not to 
 exasperate you. I want you to look facts in the face, that's 
 all." 
 
 " I've half a mind to jerk the whole thing up, hunt up Otway 
 on my own account, and trust to his good-nature to let me 
 down lightly. If I'm not careful you'll lead me into some 
 infernal mischief" 
 
 "When you talk like that I begin to suspect you of a desire 
 to exasperate me. Frank ! " 
 
 "What do you want?" 
 
 " Come here ! " 
 
 She held up her finger, with a siren gesture, beckoning to 
 him with smiling lips and eyes. He hesitated, then crossed to 
 where she lay, stretched out at full length upon the couch. 
 
 " Well, what is it ? " 
 
 " Kiss me ! " 
 
 " I don't want to kiss you." 
 
 "Oh yes, you do, you always want to kiss me, and I want to 
 be kissed. Kneel down, so that I can put my arms about 
 your neck and hold you tight." Without remonstrance he 
 obeyed. Drawing his face to hers, she pressed her lips to his, 
 as if she sought to inoculate him with her spirit by means of a 
 kiss. " Frank, you know you love me." 
 
 "Sometimes I wish I didn't." 
 
 His voice seemed hoarse. She laughed, as if to herself, her 
 lips still close to his. 
 
 "You can't help loving me whatever you may wish. I hold 
 you with bonds which are stronger than steel. To kiss me 
 you'd sell your soul." 
 
 " I've already sold it." 
 
 " I know you have, you — goose ! We've both of us done 
 that — if we ever had any souls to sell. So, since we have
 
 DOLLIE AND HER HUSBAND 335 
 
 nothing else to take to market, let us make as much as we 
 possibly can out of what we've already disposed of. Now, 
 Frank, listen. At the present moment you and I are two of 
 the greatest persons in England. You don't want to become 
 all at once nothing and nobody, a butt and a gibe, and to 
 drag me with you." 
 
 " I emphatically don't." 
 
 "Then let Donna Luisa D'Agostino find us prepared." 
 
 " I tell you again I don't know what you mean by prepared." 
 
 " Evidently, from her letter, she has got George Otway, 
 somehow, in her hands, and is willing, for a price, to murder 
 him." 
 
 " Dollie ! " 
 
 " She would murder him, not us. We should be as innocent 
 as babes." 
 
 " Let me go, I knew you'd try to get me into some con- 
 founded hole." 
 
 " I won't let you go ; and as for a confounded hole, you 
 couldn't be in a more confounded hole than you're in already. 
 It's only likely to be a question of price — so I judge from 
 her letter. And it seems to me that, in our position, price 
 ought to be no object. To have George Otway really dead 
 is a consummation for which we should be willing to pay 
 anything." 
 
 " But if I were willing to listen to anything so horrible for a 
 single second, which I'm not, you don't seem to understand 
 that this fiend of a woman would have us in our power." 
 
 " We should also have her in ours. Are you afraid she 
 would blackmail us?" 
 
 " Afraid ! It's not a question of fear, it's a certainty ; she'd 
 bleed us for all we are worth." 
 
 " My dear Frank, in any case it would be worth our while 
 to pay her a fat annuity, but I'm not so sure that we need 
 do it. George Otway once dead — and this time I give you 
 my word that I will see, personally, that there is no deception 
 — I don't see of what we need be alarmed." 
 
 "Not with that woman holding over us her sword of 
 Damocles ? " 
 
 "What sword of Damocles? She will be the criminal, 
 not us." 
 
 " She will have acted as our agent." 
 
 " Well, what then ? "
 
 336 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 " If at any time we should refuse to comply with her 
 demands, and you may be sure they will be monstrous ones, 
 she has only to open her mouth and we shall be within 
 measurable distance of the gallows. My God ! the very 
 thought of it makes me shiver." 
 
 "Something makes you shiver, Frank dear, but I don't 
 quite understand what. In the first place, she'll have to prove 
 agency, which, as I shall manage matters, she won't find easy ; 
 and, in the second, if anyone goes to the gallows, she will. 
 I expect, when it came to the sticking-point, the thought 
 of it would make her shiver quite as much as it does you." 
 She softly smoothed his hair and smiled at him. " Darling, 
 you leave the whole management of the business to me. 
 Only give me carte-blanche as to money, it shall be done 
 as cheaply as possible, I'm no fonder of giving something 
 for nothing than you are. I undertake to so arrange things 
 that if it comes to a question of who has the whip-hand, this 
 woman shall be in our power and not we in hers." 
 
 " Do you mean that you wish to see her alone and without 
 my appearing on the scene at all?" 
 
 He was looking down at the hand with which she had 
 just been fondling him, or he could hardly have failed to have 
 been struck by the very peculiar smile with which she answered 
 him. 
 
 " I don't go quite so far as that, Frank dear. I think it 
 ought to be obvious that you and I are acting together ; I 
 only want you to leave the actual diplomacy to me, that's all." 
 
 Soon afterwards a servant entered to announce that the 
 carriage had returned from the station, and that Donna 
 Luisa D'Agostino and Mr Bianchi were in the drawing-room. 
 When the servant had gone, the husband and wife looked at 
 each other, the husband being the first to speak. 
 
 "Who's Mr Bianchi? She said nothing about anyone 
 coming but herself. I should have thought the fewer wit- 
 nesses the better." 
 
 His wife, who had risen from the couch, shrugged her 
 pretty shoulders. 
 
 " What does it matter who he is ? I suppose persons of 
 that sort occasionally run in double harness." She laid her 
 two hands upon her husband's shoulders. " Now, Frank, 
 you understand, you're to leave as much of the talking as 
 you conveniently can to me."
 
 DOLLIE AND HER HUSBAND 337 
 
 li 
 
 I'll leave it all, if you wish. I repeat that I'm perfectly 
 willing not to put in an appearance on the scene." 
 
 "Thank you; but since this is a game which you and I 
 must play together I don't think that that would be quite 
 the thing." 
 
 Again her dainty features were lightened by that enigmatic 
 smile.
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 THE PRICE OF BLOOD 
 
 WHEN Mr and Mrs Frank Andrews followed each other 
 into the great drawing-room they found, in an arm- 
 chair, a huge woman, clothed in a singularly lurid costume 
 of crimson satin. Mrs Andrews, whose taste was proverbial, 
 was so startled by the spectacle her visitor presented that, 
 forgetting her good manners, she stared at her a moment 
 in speechless silence. Behind the lady's chair, standing like 
 a soldier at attention, was a spare, dark-skinned man with 
 bead-like eyes. Mrs Andrews opened the ball with a formal 
 inquiry. 
 
 " Donna Luisa D'Agostino?" 
 
 The woman in the arm-chair inclined her head. 
 
 "That is my name." She motioned to the man at the 
 back of her chair. "And this is my husband, Bianchi." 
 
 "Your husband? I see." Mrs Andrews regarded Mr 
 Bianchi as if she did not quite know what to make of him 
 or of his wife either. "We have had a letter from you." 
 Donna Luisa merely nodded. " In that letter you intimated 
 a desire to favour us with a visit." The visitor nodded again. 
 "We should be glad — since you are a perfect stranger to 
 us — if you will explain what your letter means." 
 
 Donna Luisa's reply, if it could be called a reply, not 
 impossibly took Mrs Andrews aback. 
 
 " You speak for your husband, as I speak for mine ? " 
 
 Mrs Andrews endeavoured to conceal any discomfiture 
 she may have felt with a laugh. She turned to the gentleman 
 in question. 
 
 " I don't know that I speak for him in any peculiar sense, 
 do I?" 
 
 " Excepting that I am prepared to endorse whatever you 
 may say." Mr Andrews addressed his visitor, a little senten- 
 tiously : " My wife and I are one." 
 
 Donna Luisa's answer was a trifle grim. 
 
 338
 
 THE PRICE OF BLOOD 339 
 
 " My husband and I are also one. We speak with a 
 common mouth — mine. I only say this in order that we 
 may understand each other. As to what I wrote you, the 
 meaning is very simple. You possess this house, this property, 
 this great fortune, you and your husband, because it is 
 supposed George Otway is dead. He is not dead. He lives. 
 There is the affair in a nutshell." 
 
 Mrs Andrews's manner, when she spoke, was sweetness itself. 
 " But, pardon me, Mr Otway is legally dead and buried. 
 As I have already observed, you are a stranger to us. What 
 proof have we that what you say is true ? " 
 
 " The proof is easy, since he is at present a prisoner in 
 my house." 
 
 "A prisoner in your house? Dear me! And on what 
 grounds do you detain him ? " 
 
 " I detain him because I want to make some money out 
 of him, that is why." 
 
 Mrs Andrews indulged in musical laughter, as at the best 
 joke in the world. 
 
 " That is a very original idea. And how do you propose 
 to make it?" 
 
 "You give me money to keep him dead." 
 "What quaint notions you have ! And what a weird way of 
 expressing them ! What do you mean by keeping him dead ? " 
 "That depends." 
 " On what ? " 
 " On your own wishes." 
 
 "I see. But suppose that we wouldn't mind if he were 
 actually dead ? " 
 
 " If you will give me enough I will undertake that he shall 
 be murdered." 
 
 Mrs Andrews raised her pretty shoulders and shivered. 
 " You mustn't talk like that, you really mustn't. I couldn't 
 bear to think of anything horrid happening to that dreadful 
 man, badly though he's used us." 
 
 " It is only a word. I come from a country where they 
 think no more of killing a man than of killing a rat. It is 
 an affair of habit. We have it, you haven't — that is the 
 difference." 
 
 " I only hinted that we shouldn't mind if he were actually 
 dead. We couldn't dream of having anything to do with 
 compassing his death. That would be too too dreadful."
 
 340 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 " I understand. You wish us to do all the dirty work our- 
 selves." 
 
 " I did not say so. I did not know that there was any 
 what you call ' dirty work ' to be done. Please take it clearly 
 from me that neither Mr Andrews nor I can allow ourselves 
 to be associated with anything which is in the least degree 
 questionable." 
 
 Donna Luisa did what she probably seldom did do — she 
 smiled, the smile revealing a set of large, square, discoloured 
 teeth. 
 
 " You are a clever woman ; but in this case it is not 
 necessary to be so clever. With me it is simply an affair of 
 business. You keep your share of the bargain and I will keep 
 mine." 
 
 Mrs Andrews opened her eyes with an expression which was 
 almost infantile in its innocence. 
 
 " Bargain ? What bargain ? " 
 
 " What will you give me to keep him dead ? " 
 
 " I tell you again I don't understand what you mean by 
 keep him dead." 
 
 "In my country, when they want a person to give no 
 further trouble, yet do not wish to do away with him outright, 
 they place him in a position in which he loses his sight, his 
 power of speech, his senses altogether. It is not their fault 
 he gets in that state. It happens so. Then they say that he 
 is better than dead." 
 
 " What a terrible idea ! How the poor creatures must 
 suffer." 
 
 " They suffer the tortures of the damned. They themselves 
 would sooner die a hundred times. I have seen it often, so 
 I know." 
 
 A look came on the speaker's face which was not pleasant 
 to contemplate. Mrs Andrews regarded her as if she had 
 for her a curious fascination. 
 
 " And what becomes of them afterwards ? " 
 
 " What does it matter ? They are changed beyond all 
 recognition. They do not know who they are themselves ; no 
 one knows who they are ; it is of no consequence. ' 
 
 "Then they dont die?" 
 
 " Not of necessity — not, sometimes, for years and years. 
 They live often to be very old. Not long ago I saw in a 
 street in London an old man carrying what you call a sand-
 
 THE PRICE OF BLOOD 341 
 
 wich board. It seems he was not quite blind ; he felt his 
 way with a stick. Although he did not know it — no one 
 knows it — he is the rightful owner of one of the greatest estates 
 in South America. I spoke to him : he did not know me ; it 
 was very funny." 
 
 Mr Andrews said something which, at first sight, seemed 
 hardly germane to the subject under discussion. 
 
 "If you don't mind, my dear, I think I'll open a window." 
 
 His wife checked him as he was moving to effect his 
 purpose. 
 
 "I don't think I would, Frank, if I were you. It's not very 
 hot." 
 
 " I feel it stifling." 
 
 Mrs Andrews raised her delicately-arched eyebrows. 
 
 "Surely it's not quite so bad as that ; I'm quite cool. I'm 
 afraid I should feel a draught. Come, Frank, sit by me, and 
 keep still." 
 
 Mr Andrews shook his head. Instead of going to her he 
 leaned against a table, thrust his hands into his pockets, and 
 frowned. The conversation did not seem to be giving him 
 pleasure. Wholly unmoved by her husband's mutinous 
 behaviour Mrs Andrews fixed her pretty, pleading eyes on 
 Donna Luisa's face, as if she saw something in her saturnine 
 countenance which, though it would have filled others with 
 feelings of repulsion, afforded her no little satisfaction. She 
 continued, in the same soft, soothing tones in which she had 
 spoken throughout : 
 
 "How interesting it is to hear you talk, it gives me a new 
 sensation, you are so full of the unusual." She began to pick 
 with the tips of her fingers at the embroidery on her frock, 
 pursing up her lips as she did so, as if she were turning some- 
 thing over in her mind. " I'm afraid it would scarcely do to — 
 as you put it — keep him dead ; that is hardly what one would 
 like. You see, one never knows." 
 
 " One never knows what?" 
 
 " If a person, as you phrase it, is better than dead, one 
 never knows all sorts of things. If he is really dead, one 
 knows everything." 
 
 " You would prefer that he should be dead ? " 
 
 " Infinitely, oh dear me, yes ; that would be so much more 
 satisfactory," she uttered a little sigh — "if Providence ap- 
 proved."
 
 342 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 " It is only a question of money. He shall be dead in four- 
 and-twenty hours if you give enough. In Europe there is so 
 often trouble when a person is killed. In my own country 
 it is not so. Even if they prove you did it you are not yet 
 at an end — not by any means." Again her visage was distorted 
 by the grin which revealed her uncomfortable-looking teeth. 
 "Here it is different. If you kill a little baby that is not 
 yet really alive, what a fuss there is made. You go about for 
 ever after as if you had a rope about your neck. That is why 
 I should prefer to arrange that he should be better than dead." 
 "We shouldn't like that at all; it wouldn't suit us a bit. 
 George Otway is supposed to be dead, and we should like him 
 to be dead— really and truly — as he's supposed to be." 
 
 " Very good. It is enough. By this time to-morrow he 
 shall be dead— really and truly — if you will only give enough." 
 Mrs Andrews was still picking with the tiny tips of her 
 slender fingers at the embroidery on her frock. 
 "What's the figure?" 
 "Two hundred thousand pounds." 
 " That's a deal of money." 
 " There's a deal to be done for it ! " 
 
 " That sum would be a complete and final quittance of all 
 claims." 
 
 " Of all claims, a complete and final quittance. The money 
 once paid you would never see or hear of me again, and I 
 should never see you. That would be better for both 
 parties." 
 
 " So I should imagine." Mrs Andrews looked up at her 
 husband gaily, saucily. " Well, what do you say, my dearest 
 lord ? " 
 
 As he answered, Mr Andrews paced to and fro ; his restless 
 fit had apparently returned. 
 " What do we get for it ? " 
 
 " I will see we get all that we want. The point is, it's a 
 frightful lot of money." 
 " When must it be paid ? " 
 It was Donna Luisa who answered. 
 "Now." 
 
 Mr Andrews ceased to walk up and down, and stared. His 
 wife observed her visitor with laughing surprise. 
 
 "Now? Do you mean that two hundred thousand 
 pounds is to be given you this instant minute?"
 
 THE PRICE OF BLOOD 343 
 
 " He will continue to live until it is given to me — that is 
 what I mean." 
 
 Mrs Andrews laughed aloud. 
 
 "What an extremely business-like person you seem to be, 
 almost too business-like, I fear, for us. Supposing you had 
 the money, what guarantee should we have that you would 
 carry out the letter of your bond?" 
 
 " You could come and see him killed." 
 
 "Come and see him killed.?" Mrs Andrews puckered up 
 her charming features into a queer grimace. " That would 
 be amusing; 1 should like to see him killed. Still, I'm not 
 sure it would be altogether the wisest thing to do. I fancy 
 that the best arrangement we could come to would be one on 
 these lines. The price is a large one, but I think, Frank, 
 dear, that I speak for you when I say that we would be 
 willing to pay even that price for a certain event. Am I not 
 correct, Frank, in saying so?" 
 
 Her husband turned his face away from her before he 
 answered. 
 
 " I'm willing to do exactly as you wish." 
 
 Her countenance was illumined by a happy smile. 
 
 "You always spoil me, Frank; you are so good." She 
 addressed herself to Donna Luisa : " You perceive that we 
 are not likely to haggle about terms, only — we don't want 
 to have any risk of giving something for nothing. You say 
 George Otway will be dead by this time to-morrow. Where 
 can his dead body be seen?" 
 
 " In my house in Paris." 
 
 " Good ; then I will see it there." 
 
 "What do you mean? — you will see it there?" 
 
 " I will run over to Paris by to-morrow morning's boat for 
 the especial purpose of seeing George Otway dead. In the 
 interim, Mr Andrews and I will give you our joint undertaking to 
 hand you two hundred thousand pounds on your proving, to my 
 satisfaction, that George Otway is dead. Show me him dead, 
 and you shall have the money there and then. Will that 
 content you?" 
 
 Donna Luisa looked at the man standing erect, rigid, 
 behind her chair. They exchanged glances. For the first 
 time Mr Bianchi spoke : 
 
 " Am I to understand, madam, that you and your husband 
 will give us a written promise to pay us the amount so soon
 
 344 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 as you receive ocular proof that George Otway is dead, and 
 that you, yourself, will be in Paris to-morrow to receive that 
 proof?" 
 
 " You have stated what I would wish to be the basis of 
 our understanding very clearly, sir." 
 
 Bianchi spoke to his wife. 
 
 " I think that such an undertaking as madam refers to may 
 be considered equivalent to a cash payment." 
 
 Donna Luisa acquiesced. 
 
 " I think so also." 
 
 Later, Donna Luisa D'Agostino and Mr Bianchi were being 
 driven to the railway station in one of the High 1 )ene broughams. 
 They were examining, with keen interest, a sheet of crested 
 notepaper on which something was written. Bianchi tapped 
 it with his finger. 
 
 "George Otway's death warrant," he muttered, half beneath 
 his breath. He smiled. Donna Luisa took the sheet of paper 
 from him, with a characteristic comment. 
 
 " I knew that man would bring me good fortune so soon 
 as I saw him in my cabin on board the Quee?i of the Seas. 
 I saw money shining at me out of his eyes." 
 
 Bianchi ventured on what was perhaps intended for a 
 little jest. 
 
 "You perceive, my dear, that you will do almost as well 
 out of him as if you had made him your husband." 
 
 The jest — if it was one — fell flat, the lady repudiating the 
 suggestion with scorn. 
 
 " That is nonsense. If I had married him it would not have 
 been necessary to kill him to obtain from him two hundred 
 thousand pounds. If I had made him my husband he would 
 have given me a million willingly to have afforded him an 
 opportunity to divorce me, I know. When you deprived me 
 of an opportunity of making him my husband you did me an 
 injury not to be forgotten ; for what, after all, are two 
 hundred thousand pounds, especially when it must be 
 shared with others?" 
 
 Bianchi knitted his brows. 
 
 "This time there will be but little sharing. I think that 
 this is a matter which you and I can manage by ourselves." 
 
 "I think so also." 
 
 Husband and wife looked at each other long and steadily, 
 murder in their eyes. The woman slipped George Otway's
 
 THE PRICE OF BLOOD 345 
 
 death warrant into her unbuttoned bodice, so that it lay 
 close to her breast. 
 
 In the drawing-room at High Dene Mr and Mrs Andrews re- 
 mained for a few minutes together, tete-a-tete, after their visitors 
 had gone. The gentleman exclaimed, almost as soon as the 
 door was closed, regarding the lady with an expression in which 
 incredulity was mingled with something else : 
 
 "You don't seriously mean that you will go to Paris to- 
 morrow to see the fellow lying dead ? " 
 
 The lady was trifling with some of the numerous rings which 
 almost covered her slender fingers. 
 
 "Why not? I assure you — since he overheard us at the 
 stile — it has been my constant dream to see him lying dead. 
 When they showed me the battered body they had taken 
 out of the river I was glad, for I knew, by the look of 
 what was left, that he had had a pretty bad time before he 
 died. But from the moment when, in that Rouen circus, I 
 learnt that he had tricked us, and that all the while he 
 lived, I have had one great desire — that I might kill him, 
 giant as he is, with my own hands, and see him, at my 
 feet, dead, so that I might spurn him with the toe of my 
 shoe. And now my desire's to be all but realised. I 
 sha'n't sleep all night for thinking that to-morrow I'm to 
 see him really dead. I hope they'll kill him in some horrid 
 way, so that to-morrow, when I see his carcase, it may be 
 a carcase and nothing more." 
 
 Mr Frank Andrews drew himself away from her. When he 
 spoke in his voice there was a tremor. 
 
 " Dolly, you only talk like that — you don't mean it } " 
 
 " Don't I ? You know better. I do mean it, and you know 
 I mean it. In me there is what I believe to be an inextinguish- 
 able thirst for blood. It has never yet been gratified ; but, if 
 I only had the chance, all those who've ever slighted me 
 I'd like to kill : what a feast of killing I'd have. I'd like to 
 smear my milk-white body with the blood of all those whom 
 I hate— and they are many. What an orgie it would be! 
 Then, like a snake which has had a plethoric meal, I'd rest 
 a while. How lovely it would be to rest and dream— and 
 dream — after one has had one's fill of killing ! " 
 
 This time Mr Andrews's discomposure was almost uncom- 
 fortably obvious. He drew farther and farther from his 
 daintily-fashioned little wife, observing her with fearful eyes.
 
 346 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 It seemed to him that — at least for the moment — she had 
 all at once become insane. 
 
 And in Paris there was a sparrow which had been caught 
 in a trap. In catching it the trap had broken its wing. 
 Attached to its broken wing was a scrap of paper which 
 told how Elsie Thornton and George Otway, held prisoners 
 in a certain house in the Rue du Bois, were in urgent need 
 of help. 
 
 Already the prisoners in that garret at the top of the 
 house had given up hope. It appeared to them that God 
 had forgotten them. They had been three days without 
 food. Starvation stared them in the face. The little 
 strength that was in him had gone out of Otway, so that 
 he could scarcely stand. It seemed to Elsie that he was 
 dying before her eyes. 
 
 And speeding back to Paris was Donna Luisa DAgostino, 
 with George Otway's death warrant snuggled cosily against 
 her breast, while she planned with her husband how they 
 could keep to themselves the price of his blood. 
 
 At High Dene Mrs Andrews— once the Dollie Lee of his 
 fondest adoration — dreamed, still wide awake, of seeing 
 him dead. 
 
 And no man came to that sparrow which was caught in 
 the trap.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 SALLIE PRICE HAS VISITORS 
 
 WHEN George Otway left for Paris to pry into the 
 meaning of the vision of the house with the red 
 blind, Sallie Price, so soon as she was left alone, going to the 
 head of the staircase, listened as he descended. Satisfied 
 that he had reached the foot, rushing back to her own apart- 
 ment, flinging back the one window as wide as it would go, 
 she thrust her body half through it in an effort to catch a last 
 glimpse of him as, far below, he passed along the pavement. 
 When, after he had vanished wholly from sight, she returned 
 into the room and closed the window, her face seemed un- 
 comfortably white. 
 
 " Thank goodness he's got safely away." 
 
 But, somehow, she did not look thankful ; and, if her 
 dominant feeling really was one of thankfulness, she had an 
 odd way of showing it. Breaking into a passion of tears she 
 threw herself on to the bed which he had so recently quitted 
 and cried as if her heart was breaking. The mood, however, 
 was but short-lived. Presently she sat up, and, wiping the 
 tears from her still streaming eyes, addressed herself in tones 
 of anger. 
 
 "What a selfish wretch I am, crying because he's safe ! If 
 
 he'd stayed, and they'd got him, then !" The sentence 
 
 remained unfinished. Her glance fell on the still open cash- 
 box. " He's only taken thirty francs. What's thirty francs to 
 a man in his position ? — especially as he's fitter for a hospital 
 than anything else." She examined the remaining contents of 
 the box. "A hundred francs, that's all ! I don't know who's 
 most in want of them, he or me. The worst of it is I'm so 
 behind with the rent. There won't be much change left when 
 I've paid up all that's owing, and then," with a sigh, 
 "what I shall do goodness only knows." Suddenly the ex- 
 pression of her countenance changed : she seemed to be 
 straining every faculty in the act of listening. " Who's that ? 
 
 347
 
 348 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 I shouldnt wonder if it's them police ! I do believe they're 
 coming ! " She had just closed the cash-box, and locked it in 
 her trunk, when there came a knocking at the door. " Who's 
 there ? " 
 
 The door was opened. A voice inquired in English : 
 
 " May I come in?" 
 
 " Seems to me that you're in already. Who are you ? and 
 what may you please to want ? " 
 
 "Am I speaking to Miss Price ? " 
 
 *' You are : but you neednt if you don't choose, nobody 
 asked you to. " 
 
 " I understand that you have an invalid in your charge." 
 
 " Do you ? Then you understand all wrong, because I've 
 nothing and no one in my charge except myself, and that's 
 charge enough for me." 
 
 Instead of showing the slightest sign of being offended at 
 the abrupt fashion of Miss Prices speech the visitor laughed. 
 There was something in the quality of his laughter which 
 caused the lady to observe him with closer attention than she 
 had hitherto condescended to show. 
 
 " He doesn't look as if he was a policeman," she told her- 
 self, " nor yet as if he was one of Sam Tebb's friends 
 either; and yet, if he isn't, who is he, and what does he 
 mean by coming asking questions? One thing's sure, he's 
 good-looking enough for anything." 
 
 Exactly what Miss Price meant by her latter remark was not 
 altogether plain, but there certainly was not much fault to 
 find with the stranger on the source of his looks. He was 
 tall, well-built, young : all three good things in themselves, 
 and his face was not by any means the worst part of him. As 
 he laughed at her she felt that she had seldom seen anyone 
 whose exterior was better adapted to inspire confidence at 
 sight ; and Sallie Price was a young lady of experience, better 
 acquainted than she would have cared to own with the shady 
 side of human nature. It was this fact which possibly 
 explained the acridity with which she still chose to regard the 
 stranger. 
 
 "What may you be laughing at? Think I'm funny? 
 Because, if so, you're wrong, and you'd much better take your- 
 self off to where you'll find someone who really will amuse you." 
 
 It seemed the visitor feared that the lady addressed him in 
 that somewhat unusual strain because he had offended her.
 
 SALLIE PRICE HAS VISITORS 349 
 
 " I beg your pardon for laughing ; but I have come as a 
 friend to see a friend, and your apparent assumption that my 
 presence here must necessarily have an unfriendly meaning 
 struck me as curious." 
 
 "Oh, it struck you as curious, did it? — and you've come as 
 a friend to see a friend, have you? — and what friend might 
 you have come to see ? " 
 
 Again the stranger smiled ; and Miss Price could not blind 
 herself to the fact that there was something very pleasant in 
 his smile. 
 
 " He has been recently known in Rouen as Bull's Eye, the 
 American Champion Shootist. Having learned how you 
 have acted towards him the part of good Samaritan, and 
 have even coaxed him back from death to life, I had hoped 
 to find him here." 
 
 " Then he's not here, and that's all about it ; and as for me 
 playing the part of good Samaritan, you go and try that sort of 
 talk on someone who likes it ; I don't." 
 
 " I'm sorry to learn that my friend is not here ; and I am 
 also sorry, Miss Price, that you should show such a disposition 
 to misconstrue everything I may say." 
 
 She noted — in spite of the lingering remnants of the smile — 
 the look of genuine disappointment which had come upon his 
 face. 
 
 " What's your name ? " 
 
 " Frank Thornton." 
 
 " Frank Thornton ! Then you're one of her lot ? " 
 
 " Her lot ? What do you mean ? " 
 
 She bit her lip ; the words had escaped her unawares. She 
 eyed him, for a second or two, in silence. 
 
 "Are you any relation to Elsie Thornton?" 
 
 " Elsie ! She's my sister ! What do you know of Elsie 
 Thornton ? " 
 
 " What do I know ? " 
 
 Miss Price laughed queerly. She thought of the hours she 
 had sat by George Otway's bedside with Elsie Thornton's 
 name continually on his delirious lips. The stranger pressed 
 her with a volley of questions. 
 
 " Where is she? Have you seen her ? What has she been 
 doing all this time ? Is she well ? How is it that my mother 
 has heard nothing from her for so long ? " 
 
 " I know nothing of your sister except that I have heard
 
 350 A METAMOKPHOSIS 
 
 her spoken of. Tell me, what is the name of the man you 
 have come to see ? " 
 
 " George Otway." 
 
 " And you are indeed his friend ? '' 
 
 " When I owe to him all that makes life worth living ! What 
 a question to ask ! Why, not long ago I was a felon, 
 sentenced to a term of imprisonment for a crime of which 1 
 was innocent. I knew that if I could only regain my freedom 
 for a few hours I could establish my innocence beyond all 
 doubt or question. I made a mad attempt at escape. When 
 I was within an ace of being recaptured I met George Otway, 
 who was then to me an utter stranger. I told him my story. 
 He then and there insisted on rendering me that help of 
 which I stood in such pressing need. He donned my felon's 
 garb " 
 
 "Your felon's garb?" 
 
 " My felon's garb. He clad me in his own clothes, and, 
 bidding me God speed, started me again on what, without his 
 aid, would have been a hopeless venture. With his help I did 
 all that I had set out to do, and more : induced the guilty to 
 confess, made plain my innocence, and, obtaining the King's 
 pardon for what I had never done, went back into the world 
 without a stain upon my character. If it had not been for 
 George Otway I might have been still a branded felon, and 
 you ask me if I am indeed his friend." 
 
 "And what became of him after he had put on your prison 
 clothes ? " 
 
 "They captured him, mistaking him for me. In his turn 
 he escaped, came to France, became a performer in a circus. 
 It was only yesterday that I learnt that he had told my mother 
 the whole story in a letter which he had written in Rouen. I 
 rushed here posthaste, only, it seems, to find that he is here 
 no longer." i 
 
 " He has gone to her." 
 
 "To her?— to whom?" 
 
 "To whom? Stupid! I beg your pardon, but some 
 people's denseness is enough to provoke a saint. He has 
 gone to her for whose sake he did so much for you, to your 
 sister, Elsie Thornton." 
 
 " But where is she?' 
 
 "She's in Paris." 
 
 "In Paris?"
 
 SALLIE PRICE HAS VISITORS 351 
 
 "Yes; at least, he said she was in Paris. 1 can't think of 
 the name of the street. According to him it all came to him 
 in a kind of a sort of a vision — where she was, and all about 
 it — and nothing would suit him but that he should start off 
 there and then. He did tell me the name of the street, but I 
 can't think what it was." 
 
 "Try and think." 
 
 " I am trying, aren't 1 ? — what do you suppose I'm doing ? — 
 but 1 was in such a state of flurry when he told me that it 
 went in at one ear and out of the other. I know it was Rue 
 du something, and that's all I do know. Hush ! there's 
 someone else coming up the stairs ; 1 do believe it is them 
 dratted police this time." 
 
 " Police ! " 
 
 " Yes, police ! There's plenty of idiots in this world, and 
 to spare, and some of them have got it into their idiotic heads 
 that he's a murderer — he, who wouldn't hurt a fly ! Jacob 
 Gunston they think he is, and they've been hounding him 
 all over the place as if he was the biggest scamp that ever 
 went unhung. It was only because I knew that they were 
 after him again that I let him go to Paris, though he really 
 wasn't hardly any more fit to go than if he was a baby. Keep 
 still ! Mind your face ! Here they are ! If it's them don't 
 you let out that you know any more about him than if he 
 was the man in the moon." 
 
 There came a sharp tapping at the door. Without waiting 
 for an answer the handle was turned, and someone entered — 
 an individual clothed with the air of authority which goes with 
 the not particularly becoming costume of the French sergent- 
 de-ville. At his heels were two subordinates. Behind him 
 was a person whom, although he was in ordinary civilian attire, 
 the keen-witted Sallie Price immediately guessed to be an 
 English detective. He was big-bearded and burly, and would 
 have made two of the Frenchman who was, for once in a way, 
 his colleague, who happened to be short, and generally under- 
 sized, with a hatchet-shaped face and pinched features, and a 
 long, thin, waxed moustache, which stood out, like two 
 pieces of wire, on either side of his bad-tempered-looking 
 mouth. 
 
 The instant he was in the room he addressed himself to 
 Frank Thornton with a take-it-for-granted air, which, under the 
 circumstances, was a little surprising.
 
 352 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 " Your name is Jacob Gunston. I arrest you. You are my 
 prisoner. Secure him ! " 
 
 His subordinates showed a wiUingness to obey their superior 
 officer's command which some people might have found em- 
 barrassing. But his "prisoner" only smiled. 
 
 " I'ardon me, I am not Jacob Gunston. My name is 
 Thornton — Frank Thornton." 
 
 The sergent-de-ville displayed contemptuous incredulity. 
 
 "Your name is not Jacob Gunston? Of course not! It 
 is all a mistake ? I know ; it is always a mistake. It is ex- 
 traordinary how full the prisons are of mistakes. All the same, 
 you are my prisoner. I arrest you on a charge of murder." 
 
 I'rank Thornton still laughed. 
 
 " But I assure you that this time you are making a mistake. 
 I only arrived in France this morning, and my name is 
 Thornton." 
 
 "You only arrived in France this morning? — that is a pretty 
 tale which you expect me to believe. This is the fellow, is it 
 not?" 
 
 He beckoned to the Englishman, who had remained upon 
 the doorstep. The burly man looked Frank Thornton up and 
 down. Stroking his beard, he addressed him in English : 
 
 "What do you say your name is?" 
 
 " F>ank Thornton ; my father is the vicar of DuUington, in 
 Sussex." 
 
 "You are the person who jumped out of the Lewes train 
 in Balcombe Tunnel?" 
 
 " I am that well-known blunder of the police. You, appar- 
 ently, are one of the men who blundered. Do you propose to 
 place another blunder to your credit by arresting me for a 
 man whom I have never seen ? " 
 
 " You have never seen Jacob Gunston — you ? " 
 
 "Yes — I. I tell you again that I have never seen Jacob 
 Gunston in my life." 
 
 "You expect me to believe that, when I know, as well as 
 you know, that it was Jacob Gunston who helped you to 
 escape from your father'.s house." 
 
 " You are under a complete misapprehension ; that was not 
 Jacob Gunston. Possibly you don't know it — being a police- 
 man you would be ignorant of simple facts — but Jacob Gun- 
 ston happens to be dead." 
 
 " Dead ! " The bearded man uttered a sound which was,
 
 SALLIE PRICE HAS VISITORS 353 
 
 perhaps, meant to be a derisive laugh. " I like that. He 
 wasn't dead half-an-hour ago, and I do know so much. 
 Here, you, Tebb ! " he called to someone who had seemingly 
 preferred to remain modestly in the background, somewhere 
 down the stairs. Heavy footsteps were heard ascending. 
 Soon there appeared — Sam Tebb. He had not escaped the 
 consequences of being nearly roasted alive any more than had 
 been the case with George Otway. Bodily he seemed to have 
 decreased to half his original size, a fact which was accentuated 
 by a stoop which almost bent him double. Indeed, it seemed 
 that it was only with the aid of a stick that he could walk at 
 all. No one would have taken him then to be the famous 
 "pillar" of the Dandison Brothers : he would have been a rash 
 individual who would have proposed to balance nine stalwart 
 men on those poor, tremulous shoulders. The detective ad- 
 dressed him with an air of authority which could hardly have 
 been agreeable to Sam's notoriously sensitive feelings. " Come 
 here, you, Tebb, step as lively as you can." Mr Tebb dragged 
 himself into the room in a fashion which was hardly suggestive 
 of liveliness. The burly gentleman directed his attention to 
 Frank Thornton : " Is this our man, or isn't it?" 
 
 Mr Tebb's features, as he stared at the young man out of 
 his bleared eyes, were expressive of supreme disgust. 
 
 "That? No ! He ain't no more our man than I am — ain't 
 nothing like him. Our man's hid under the bed or some- 
 where. Trust that young baggage of a girl to stow him out 
 of sight if it's to be done, and to trick you if she can. I know 
 her." Sam's glance wandered round the room. Apparently 
 his malevolence had increased with the decay of his physical 
 powers. When he saw Sallie Price he snarled at her, like 
 some toothless, but still vicious, cur. "So, it's you, is it? 
 Curse you for a treacherous cat ! Been harbouring him, have 
 you? — been harbouring a bloody-minded murderer? You 
 won't save him. They'll hang him for all your harbouring — 
 hang him till he's dead. And if right was right, they'd hang 
 you with him — you devil's daughter ! " 
 
 In return Miss Price regarded him with flushed cheeks and 
 flashing eyes and lips just a little curled. 
 
 " You've not improved, either in manners or appearance, Mr 
 Sam Tebb ; and I can't congratulate you on the new trade you 
 seem to have taken up. But when there's no more left of a man 
 than there is of you I suppose he does what he can, poor wretch ! "
 
 354 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 Mr Sam Tebb's temper seemed to be even shorter than it 
 used to be ; the lady's retort seemed to deprive him of every 
 vestige of self-control. 
 
 " You Jezebel ! " he screeched. 
 
 He raised his stick, as if to hurl it at her, apparently 
 oblivious of the fact of how much he himself stood in need of 
 its support, with the result that, had not the detective sup- 
 ported him by slipping his arm about his shoulders, he would 
 have dropped on to the floor. The burly man's comment 
 on his behaviour was plain, if not comforting — especially when 
 one considered what a Goliath Mr Tebb had recently been. 
 
 " None of that, you fool ! You'd better keep your hands 
 off the girl, even if you want to quarrel with her. By her 
 looks I should say she could thrash you with hA little finger." 
 He questioned the lady in question. " Now, my girl, no 
 more of this nonsense. What have you done with Jacob 
 Gunston ?" 
 
 " Don't you call me your girl, because I'm not your girl ; 
 and if every girl was of my mind they'd only use you police- 
 men to wipe their boots on. As for your Jacob Gunston — don't 
 know the gentleman — never set eyes on him since the day I 
 was born." 
 
 "Oh, you haven't, haven't you? Then what have you 
 done with your friend Bull's Eye, the American Champion 
 Shootist?" 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 "That's your tune, is it? Let me warn you that you won't 
 do him a service by trying to keep him hidden." 
 
 " Much obliged for your warning — especially as I never 
 asked for it." 
 
 The detective turned to the sergent-de-ville. 
 
 "You had better let your people search the room, though 
 I'm afraid my man has given us the slip. Someone has given 
 the girl the office, so that she was able to get him away 
 before we came." 
 
 Ready-tongued Sally Price was derisive. 
 
 "That's right! run the rule over me! don't bother about 
 my feelings — I suppose I didn't ought to have any. Search 
 the room I search the house ! search the whole neighbour- 
 hood for all I care ! A nice lot of men you are, making 
 free with a girl's belongings." 
 
 Miss Price stormed on ; now in French, now in English ; 

 
 SALLIE PRICE HAS VISITORS 355 
 
 now in a mixture of both. But her storming went unheeded, 
 except by Mr Tebb, who kept up with her a running inter- 
 change of courtesies. They searched the room, turning 
 everything upside down with a thoroughness which SalHe 
 violently resented, or pretended to resent, because there was 
 not improbably more than a touch of make-believe about her 
 show of rage. 
 
 Having ransacked her room the intruders proceeded to act 
 on the girl's ironical advice : they first went through every 
 other room on the same floor, then through every apartment 
 in the house. While the examination was going on a sergent- 
 de-ville was left upstairs to keep Miss Price and J'rank 
 Thornton company — with the apparent intention of prevent- 
 ing their giving a hint to any person who might be concealed 
 of what was going on. 
 
 The examination concluded, the detective addressed a few 
 parting remarks to the mocking Sallie. 
 
 " He's done us again, has Jacob Gunston ; thanks to you, 
 I fancy. But don't you make any mistake ; he's pretty nearly 
 shot his bolt. They're looking out for him all over Europe. 
 He's made himself pretty notorious, has your friend. I know 
 for certain that he was in Rouen an hour ago ; and you may 
 take it from me we'll know where he is in an hour from now."
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 THE TRAPPED SPARROW 
 
 " T SHOULDN'T be surprised if he was right," exclaimed 
 
 X Sallie when, the poUce having quitted the premises, 
 she w^as alone again with Frank Thornton. 
 
 "And what it he is ? " demanded Frank. " ^tell you again 
 that the man they're after is no more Jacob Gilfcton than you 
 are, as he can prove with the greatest ease if he likes." 
 
 " That's all very well, but you don't know policemen as well 
 as I know them ; they're not so open to proof as you might 
 think. Anyhow, they'd lock him up to start with, and, in 
 his present state, that, alone, might be the death of him. No, 
 thank you ; if he's going to prove he's not the chap they're 
 after I'd sooner he did it before they lay their hands on him, 
 then there wouldn't be so much chance of his coming to any 
 hurt through them ! " 
 
 "You said he was going to Paris: have you recalled the 
 name of the street he told you he was going to ?" 
 
 " Rue du something, but I can't think what. All the time 
 those animals were in the room I was racking my brains to 
 try to think ; but, although the name's almost at the tip of my 
 tongue, I can't get it quite. It'll come to me all of a sudden, 
 I know it will ; but goodness only knows when that all of a 
 sudden is going to be." 
 
 " And, in the meantime, what do you propose to do ? " 
 
 " I'm going to Paris after him. The name of the street 
 may come to me there, if it doesn't before ; and, anyhow, I 
 may find him without it." 
 
 " I, also, shall go to Paris." 
 
 " No one objects. I do believe that you're his friend ; I'm 
 sure that it's to do your sister a good turn he's gone. For 
 her sake he'd think nothing of risking his life a dozen times a 
 day. I shouldn't be surprised if he's risking it now ; I've a 
 sort of feeling that he is. I've a kind of an idea that that 
 sister of yours has somehow got herself into a very awkward 
 
 356
 
 THE TRAPPED SPARROW 357 
 
 hole, and, if she has, it's two to one that he tumbles into it 
 also in his attempts to get her out. If he does, seeing that 
 he's as weak as a baby, he'll be more in need of help than 
 she is. It'll be all U P with him if help doesn't come in 
 time." 
 
 "Then, if that really is your opinion, for heaven's sake do 
 endeavour to recall the name of that street." 
 
 " I tell you I can't, I can't, I can't. Do you suppose I 
 wouldn't if I could ? All the while at the back of my head 
 I'm struggling to get at it ; the more I struggle the more it 
 eludes me. If I could only give my brain a rest, and not 
 try to think, then it might come ; so, if you're going to Paris, 
 off you go ! " 
 
 "Can't we go together?'' 
 
 " Not if I know it ! I'm not quite such a simple child ! 
 Don't you know that one of those policemen is cooling his 
 heels at the corner of the street ? So soon as I show my face 
 he'll shadow me. If I go to Paris they'll take it for granted 
 that he's gone to Paris; and they might find him first, which 
 wouldn't suit my book at all. No ; you travel by yourself ; 
 put up at a respectable hotel, where I'll report myself as soon 
 as I come." 
 
 "You promise ?" 
 
 " Faithfully ! I'll just let you have a slip of paper stating 
 where I shall be at a certain hour ; only I shall be there 
 exactly five hours before the time stated. Five hours, you 
 understand?" He nodded. "To-morrow morning I'll come 
 on to Paris by a way of my own. I've given people the slip 
 before to-day. I don't think it'll be so difficult to dodge these 
 foreigners as perhaps they think." 
 
 On that understanding they parted. He wrote down the 
 name of the hotel at which he proposed to stay : the Hotel 
 Central, 40 Rue du Louvre; she sUpped it into her bodice. 
 As she had prophesied, dawdling at the corner of the street 
 he perceived an individual who was unmistakably an agent 
 of the police. 
 
 As it seemed to him to be a matter of indifference whether 
 his movements were or were not spied upon he moved towards 
 the man with the intention of addressing him. But, as he 
 advanced the man retreated ; he quickened his pace ; the 
 man quickened his — evidently the individual had no intention 
 of being questioned. Thornton recognised the fact, at last,
 
 358 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 with amusement. When he relinquished the chase the man 
 
 was actually out of sight. 
 
 "If Miss Price had realised that our friend might have 
 been so easily got rid of she might have taken advantage of 
 my chasing him to get away herself." 
 
 He retraced his steps, to see what would happen. When 
 he came in sight of the point from which he had started he 
 was amazed to see, in the distance, dawdling at the street 
 corner, a man who, if he was not the one he had just been 
 chevying, was certainly a near relation. It began to dawn 
 upon him that when, in France, the authorities set a watch 
 upon a person they are not to be so easily bluffed as, in his 
 haste, he had imagined. All the way to Paris, and all the 
 way through the streets of Paris to his hotel, he had a curious, 
 and by no means comfortable, feeling, that he was being 
 shadowed, though, for the life of him, he could not have 
 said, with any degree of certainty, by whom. 
 
 "What does it matter?" was the reflection with which he 
 endeavoured to console himself. "All the police in Europe 
 may know what I am doing for all I care. As for Otway, 
 he has nothing to fear from them. If that girl is right he 
 is much more likely to need their help." 
 
 How right " that girl " was he did not dream. 
 
 Three days passed. He saw nothing, heard nothing, of 
 Miss Price. They were not pleasant days. On the contrary, 
 in after years he was wont to look back at them as three of 
 the most unpleasant days he had ever known. What had 
 become of .Sallie he had not the faintest notion, but he had 
 plenty of fears. Had she boasted of being able to do more 
 than she could perform ? Instead of scoring off the police, 
 had they scored off her? Was it possible that, remembering 
 the name of the street which she had protested to him had 
 escaped her memory, ignoring her promise, she had gone 
 off to it on her own account, and so had fallen into a trap ? 
 She was not that kind of woman. He told himself, over and 
 over again, that he was convinced that she was not that kind 
 of woman ; and yet — in what position was he if that was 
 what she had done? He was divided between different 
 impulses. Should he telegraph to her at Rouen, asking 
 what she meant by her behaviour? The telegram, falling — 
 as it probably would do — into the hands of others, would 
 work more harm than good. Should he return, himself, to
 
 THE TRAPPED SPARROW 359 
 
 Rouen and find out what was happening? That idea, he told 
 himself, was utterly absurd. Wherever she was, the odds were 
 a thousand to one that she was not still at Rouen, unless 
 
 Unless what? Unless she was in trouble with the police. 
 That fear so grew on him that he would have gone back 
 to Rouen to see if there was anything in it had not, on 
 the morning of the fourth day, something happened. 
 
 That was the day on which Donna Luisa D'Agostino 
 and her husband, Bianchi, were to earn two hundred thousand 
 pounds, and on which Mrs Frank Andrews was to journey 
 to Paris, to see, with her own eyes, George Otway — dead. 
 
 Frank Thornton was finishing dressing when a waiter 
 brought him an envelope, observing that it had just been 
 brought by hand messenger and that the messenger had 
 requested that it should be delivered at once. Frank tore 
 it open. Within was a small slip of paper, on which was 
 written in a firm, bold hand, "Boulevard Edgar Quinet. 
 Cemetary gate. Three." 
 
 "That means, I suppose, that I am to meet Miss Price 
 at the cemetery gate on the Boulevard Edgar Quinet five 
 hours before three o'clock — that is, at ten sharp. It's past 
 nine now : I shall have to bustle. Before I start I'd better 
 know where I'm going to. What cemetery does she mean ? 
 and where's the Boulevard Edgar Quinet ? " 
 
 With the aid of his map of Paris he made out that the 
 cemetery in question was that of Montparnasse, in the 
 Quartier du Montparnasse, and that the Boulevard Edgar 
 Quinet was the road which ran along its northern boundary, 
 not so very far from his own hotel. 
 
 It was not yet ten when a cab set him down at the corner 
 of the boulevard ; but so soon as he alighted he perceived 
 on the other side of the road a feminine figure which he 
 had no difficulty in recognising as that of the lady he had 
 come to meet. The fashion of her greeting was not quite 
 what he expected. 
 
 "Why ever did you take a cab? I hope you told him 
 to drive half round Paris before he brought you here, or 
 a police spy has got his eye glued on me already." 
 
 Frank glanced round. He saw no one whose appearance 
 aroused suspicion ; but then people were constantly passing 
 to and fro, any one of them might be the spy in question. 
 He addressed the lady.
 
 360 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 " But why have you been so long ? what has happened ? 
 A nice three days I've been having ! " 
 
 "I give you my word I haven't had a nice time either, 
 a pretty roundabout route I've had to take to get to Paris, 
 and I shouldn't be surprised if the police have kept their 
 eyes on me in spite of all the care I've taken. But I've 
 thought of the name of the street. It only came to me last 
 night as I was entering Paris, and after I'd given it up in 
 despair: it's the Rue du Bois." 
 
 " The Rue du Bois ? Where's that ? " 
 
 " Why, just close to where we are ; I found it on the 
 map ; that's why I asked you to meet me here. Come along, 
 I'll show you." 
 
 As they went they met a small boy coming out of the 
 cemetery gates. As soon as he was clear of the precincts, 
 with a furtive look about him — possibly to see that he was 
 safe from official interference — he produced from under cover 
 of his jacket — a bird. 
 
 "Why, you naughty boy!" exclaimed Miss Price, whose 
 sympathies were keen where birds were concerned. " It's 
 a sparrow ! a poor sparrow ! What are you going to do with 
 it ? I believe you caught it in the cemetery. How dare you ! 
 Let it go at once." 
 
 The young gentleman resented her interference, judging 
 from his sullen expression and grumbling tone. 
 
 "What's the good of letting it go? It can't fly; its wing's 
 broken." 
 
 " Then you've broken it, you wicked child ! " 
 
 The boy denied the accusation, stoutly. 
 
 " I haven't ! It was caught in a trap, and I took it out ; 
 I haven't done anything to it at all." 
 
 "What is that fastened to its poor wing? Why, it's a piece 
 of paper ! How queer ! how can it have got there ! Take 
 it off — gently ! there may be something written on it ; let's 
 see what it is." The small boy removed the scrap of paper 
 with such care as he was capable of. "Well! — is there 
 anything on it?" 
 
 "There's something written, but I don't know what it 
 is. I can't read writing." 
 
 He handed the paper to Miss Price, who read, with 
 astonished eyes, and feelings which beggar description. She 
 read first to herself; then she cried :
 
 THE TRAPPED SPARROW 361 
 
 "Listen to this." 
 
 And then she read aloud to Frank Thornton : 
 
 "George Otway and Elsie Thornton are imprisoned in 
 an attic at the top of the house in the Rue du Bois which 
 is believed to be in the occupation of Donna Luisa D'Agostino. 
 Anyone finding this, and who at once communicates with the 
 police, and so effects a rescue, will receive from George Otway 
 a reward of twenty-five thousand francs. — Signed George 
 Otway." 
 
 About that time Mrs Frank Andrews was setting out for 
 the house in the Rue du Bois to see George Otway — dead.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 
 SERGEANT CUTFORTH 
 
 SALLIE Price and Frank Thornton stood staring at each 
 other, face to face. Words failed them altogether. For 
 the moment speech seemed ludicrously incapable of giving 
 adequate expression to their feelings. The thing was so like 
 a miracle. There was the small boy, gazing at them askance, 
 open-eyed, open-mouthed. There was the bird, held in his 
 two hands, which, despite its broken wing, the trap from which 
 it had been just released, the captivity into which it had 
 entered, still seemed in tolerable health and spirits, observing 
 them with its bright, bead-like eyes, as if it also realised the 
 singularity of the situation. The whole episode seemed, as it 
 were, to have tumbled from the skies — at so apposite a 
 moment, as in the fairy tales — that Frank Thornton seemed 
 unable to realise that the thing was actual fact. His first 
 question suggested the doubt which was in his mind. 
 
 "Is it true?" 
 
 "Is what true?" 
 
 "The whole affair! Don't you think it's possible that it's 
 all a trick ? " 
 
 " How a trick? I don't understand." 
 
 " Mayn't some of the people who have been favouring us 
 with their attentions have been aware that we were coming 
 here this morning and have got the boy, the bird, and the 
 piece of paper ready for our arrival ? " 
 
 Sallie addressed the lad. 
 
 " Did anyone tell you we were coming?" 
 
 The boy shook his head. 
 
 " I don't know what you mean." 
 
 " No, of course you don't — nor anyone else either." Then, 
 to Frank : " Who on earth do you suppose would wish to 
 amuse themselves by the manufacture of such a hoax ? Here's 
 the paper; look at it yourself; isn't that George Otway's 
 writing?" 
 
 362
 
 SERGEANT CUTFORTH 363 
 
 " I have only seen his handwriting once—in the letter 
 which he wrote to my mother. So far as my recollections 
 serves me, it resembles it." 
 
 " Of course it resembles it — it is it ! I'm as sure of that as 
 if I had seen him writing. George Otway and your sister are 
 prisoners in that woman's house in the Rue du Bois, as the paper 
 says. How long they've been there goodness only knows. 
 It's for you and I to see that they don't stop there much 
 longer." She began to scribble in a small memorandum book 
 which was secured, by an elastic band, within her purse. 
 " Boy, can I trust you to buy a small cage and to put that 
 bird in it and to take it carefully to the Hotel du Geant, in 
 the Rue Geoffroy? Then, if you give it with this note to 
 the landlady, she'll hand you five francs." 
 
 The boy assured her eagerly that, to that extent, he could be 
 trusted. He departed with the note and the bird. 
 
 "If all goes well," declared Miss Price, "that bird's pro- 
 vided with a comfortable home for the remainder of its life ; 
 it'll be the best-off sparrow that ever lived. Now for us it 
 only remains to do the exact opposite of what I meant to do. 
 The last three days I've been turning and twisting, dodging 
 up and down France, doing all I knew to get the police off 
 my scent, for though, thank my stars, I've never had anything 
 to do with them myself, I've always had a kind of feeling 
 that they're the sort of creatures I could never grow to love. 
 Rather than go to them for help I'd sooner be diddled a bit ; 
 and I have been diddled more than once. But this is going 
 to be a case in which, if we don't look out, the diddling's 
 going to be on too large a scale ; so, instead of keeping on 
 running away from them, it strikes me that we'd better go to 
 them instead. What do you think ? " 
 
 "I'm entirely of your opinion. The only question in my 
 mind is as to which is the nearest bureau de police." 
 " Over the road." 
 
 " Over the road ? " Turning on his heels he stared in the 
 direction indicated. " I see nothing to suggest a bureau de 
 
 police." 
 
 "No? Well I do, right bang in front of where you re 
 staring. Why, if you were to throw your stick straight enough 
 it'd hit representatives of both English and French police; 
 I've had my eye on them ever since you came. It just shows 
 you that the police aren't always such fools as some people
 
 364 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 think they are. The betting is that they've been shadowing 
 you at that hotel of yours ; that they got first peep at that 
 note I sent you, and that in, consequence of what they saw 
 in it, they resolved to accompany you in your walks abroad ; 
 and that, as a result, they've snapped the two of us together 
 again."' 
 
 " I don't in the least understand what you're talking 
 about.' 
 
 Frank Thornton was staring about him in all directions, 
 as if endeavouring to light on something which could serve 
 as a clue to the lady's meaning. Sallie laughed, as if she 
 regarded his dulness as a compliment to her superior acumen. 
 
 "Bit slow, aren't you? and not quite so used to looking 
 after yourself as I am. I spotted them as soon as you 
 appeared ; they were in a cab which was not a dozen yards 
 behind yours. Come with me, I'll explain. 
 
 As he strode across the street he kept by her side. Bear- 
 ing to her left she approached two individuals who were 
 strolling leisurely along, as if in the enjoyment of a pleasant 
 saunter. One of them was a rather good-looking man, clean 
 shaved, except for a small moustache, who, by his general 
 appearance, suggested, in some remote fashion, a connection 
 with horses. His companion, with his grizzled hair and 
 moustache and upright military bearing, would have been 
 taken by most people for an old soldier. Both were well 
 dressed, each was smoking a cigarette. Miss Price uncere- 
 moniously addressed the younger of the two, stretching out 
 her hand and touching him on the arm. 
 
 "You are Sergeant Cutforth of Scotland Yard." 
 
 The individual addressed removed his hat. 
 
 "And you are Madeleine, the Greatest Bender the World 
 has ever seen. You and I have had the pleasure of meeting 
 before. Miss Price." 
 
 " Pleasure you call it ! The pleasure was all on one side. 
 You're after Jacob Gunston — that is, the person you suppose 
 to be Jacob Gunston." 
 
 " Precisely — the person we suppose to be Jacob Gunston. 
 I do not object to your definition in the least." 
 
 "That's very good of you, I'm sure. You always were a 
 nice man, Mr Cutforth." 
 
 " I wish you had always thought so, Miss Price." It seemed 
 to Thornton that the sergeant's words were followed by some-
 
 SERGEANT CUTFORTH 365 
 
 thing like a sigh. The sergeant continued : " Permit me 
 to introduce to you M. Marcel of the French surveillance." 
 
 "Surveillance? I suppose that's another word for spies, 
 I know! How do?" Miss Price acknowledged M. Marcel's 
 courteous bow with a perfunctory nod. She regarded the 
 pair, for a second or two, in silence with looks which could 
 hardly be considered flattering. "You think yourselves clever, 
 you two, but you're not so clever as perhaps you think — 
 not by a good long way. After Jacob Gunston, are you ? 
 And because, more by luck than anything else, you've stumbled 
 on me again, you think you're not far off him." 
 
 Sergeant Cutforth's manner was still politeness itself. 
 " T acknowledge that we have some dim idea that the 
 person in question may not be a thousand miles from where 
 we're standing." 
 
 "Then you're wrong, because he's a good deal more than 
 a thousand miles from here, seeing that he's dead and buried." 
 "Indeed. Is that so? Then how is it that you're not in 
 mourning?" 
 
 " Why should I go into mourning for Jacob Gunston? — a 
 man I never saw in my life ? " 
 
 " Quite so ; under those circumstances, why should you ?" 
 " Sharp, aren't you ? That always was a fault of yours— being 
 too sharp. But, look here, I'm going to help you — you wouldn't 
 ever be able to do anything without me— so I'm going to give 
 you a helping hand. Not for love of you, mind, nor liking 
 either." She added this, apparently, because, as she spoke of 
 love, a sudden gleam had come into the sergeant's eyes. " Be- 
 cause I can't bear the sight of you — and never could." 
 
 "Thank you. Miss Price. You have told me that before." 
 The sergeant's tone blended humility with sorrow. 
 " Yes, and I tell you again ; because, Tom Cutforth, that's 
 something I don't want there to be any mistake about." 
 " I'm glad you've remembered my Christian name, Sallie." 
 " But don't you remember mine ! or, if you do, don't you 
 call me by it ! I give you fair warning that I won't have it. 
 Look here ! look at that ! " 
 
 She thrust the message which the sparrow had brought mto 
 the sergeant's hand. He stared at her, then at it; then he 
 read the message to the end." 
 
 " What does it mean ? " he asked. " George Otway ? What 
 George Otway is that? Not the George Otway ; he's dead."
 
 366 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 " That's where you and your too clever friends have all been 
 making a mistake, as I've observed more than once already. 
 It's Jacob Gunston who is dead. The man you've been making 
 yourselves laughing-stocks about by chevying him all round 
 the world is George Otway, who is very much alive — that is, if 
 he's not been murdered by the time you get to that house in 
 the Rue du Bois." 
 
 " Let me warn you that if what you say is incorrect the 
 mistake will be detected so soon as I catch a glimpse of the 
 man of whom we are speaking. I know George Otway by 
 sight almost as well as I know you ; no impostor will succeed 
 in taking me in for a single instant." 
 
 " Then, Tom Cutforth, you're the very man who's wanted ; 
 because, if you're speaking by the book, you'll be able to dash 
 aside at once the web of confusion which your colleagues have 
 been weaving. Only, come at once ! " 
 
 The sergeant turned to M. Marcel. 
 
 " Which house in the Rue du Bois is occupied by Donna j 
 Luisa D'Agostino?" 
 
 The Frenchman shook his head. 
 
 " Donna Luisa D'Agostino ? Without referring I cannot tell 
 you, but I will soon find out, if you wish to know." 
 
 "I do wish to know, with the least possible delay." 
 
 "There will be no delay whatever. We know who lives in 
 every house, in every apartment, in Paris. We have but to 
 glance at our lists ; it is very simple." 
 
 But, in this case, it was not be so simple as M. Marcel would 
 have liked Sergeant Cutforth to believe.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX 
 
 THE CLANGING OF THE BELL 
 
 AND, in the meantime, in the house which they were 
 setting out to find, events were moving fast. In a 
 certain room Donna Luisa was closeted with her husband, Mr 
 Bianchi. Neither seemed wholly at ease. The Mother of 
 Caracas, clad in the dress of crimson satin, which she wore 
 with such persistency that one was forced to wonder if she had 
 vowed never to clothe herself in anything else, smoked, as usual, 
 a huge cigar, while she reclined in an arm-chair which was suffi- 
 ciently spacious to accommodate her generous figure. That 
 the air of indifference with which she endeavoured to carry 
 matters off was only superficial was shown, not only by the 
 occasional working of her features, but also by the fact that 
 her fingers, hands, and arms were in almost continual move- 
 ment, as if they were afflicted by some muscular disease which 
 rendered it impossible for her to keep them still. 
 
 Mr Bianchi's condition of nervous agitation was even more 
 obvious than her own. He seemed incapable of sitting down ; 
 or if, for a moment, he occupied a chair, it was to rise from it 
 again with a sudden start, as if inaction of any sort was wholly 
 incompatible with his present mood. 
 
 The woman seemed to derive some uncanny satisfaction 
 from mere observation of his fevered restlessness. She exhaled 
 great volumes of tobacco smoke with curious puffed-out lips, 
 denoting unusual gratification, as if that particular cigar was 
 impregnated with some occult flavour. 
 
 " You have got rid of them ? " she asked. 
 
 Before Bianchi answered he moved his right arm through 
 the air, as if he were putting something from him. His voice 
 was a little hoarse ; his words showed a disposition to tumble 
 over each other, as if he could not utter them rapidly enough. 
 
 " I have got rid of them — oh yes ! But it was not easy." 
 
 "What did you say to them?" 
 
 " Lies — nothing but lies. My invention failed me ; I could 
 find nothing that was true to tell them." 
 
 367
 
 368 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 There was an interval before she spoke again, during which 
 she drummed with her finger-tips on the arms of her chair, and 
 he prowled perpetually to and fro. 
 
 " I suppose — when they discover that you've told them 
 nothing but lies — there'll be trouble." 
 
 " Trouble ! my God ! " He struck the palm of his hand 
 with a passionate gesture against a table. " Understand 
 plainly — after it is done, after it is all over — if by to-night we are 
 not already safe beyond their reach, our lives will not be worth 
 so much." 
 
 He snapped his fingers in the air. 
 
 " So bad as that ? My life has often been threatened, yet I 
 live." 
 
 " I, also ; but it is not the same. What happened in Caracas 
 I know; but neither you nor I have ever been in such danger 
 as we shall be then. It is for a great stake we play." 
 
 " A great stake ; the greater the better. It makes the game 
 so much more worth the playing. Is that not so ? " 
 
 " I am not so sure that it is desirable to play for quite so 
 great a stake." 
 
 *' You would divide with those others ? " 
 
 " I do not know that I would have divided. But now that 
 it is too late I am not certain that it would not have been worth 
 our while to have given them something in order to have them 
 on our side." 
 
 " Bianchi, you're a fool." 
 
 " I believe you have told me that already ; that is not the 
 point. If we had given them something we should have made 
 them our accomplices ; we might even have put the whole 
 business upon them. They would have held their tongues for 
 their own sakes. Now, when they come back again, when 
 they discover that they have been tricked, that we have gone, 
 that this fellow and the girl have gone, they will raise a hue 
 and cry : they will set all Europe at our heels. You do not 
 understand what it means when, in a transaction of this kind, 
 the subject is an Englishman." 
 
 "You do not understand that, if you had taken those others 
 into our confidence, they would not have been content with what 
 we chose to give : we should have had to give them what they 
 chose to ask." 
 
 "There is truth in that — there is a great deal of truth." 
 
 "There is nothing but truth. Two hundred thousand
 
 THE CLANGING OF THE BELL 369 
 
 pounds between you and me is one thing, between a dozen 
 persons it is quite another." 
 
 "That, again, is true." 
 
 " I prefer to play the great game — for the great stake. As 
 for those others, let them do their worst." 
 
 "They will do it, of that you may be sure. If we could get 
 to South America, to that place we know of, before this time 
 to-morrow, I would care nothing; I should laugh in their faces. 
 But to get there takes so long — so many things may happen on 
 the way — it is that of which I am always thinking." 
 
 "You are, then, a coward." 
 
 "Am I a coward? You know if I am a coward ! Answer 
 me, am I a coward ? " 
 
 He confronted her with that in his face, his eyes, his bearing, 
 before which even her indomitable spirit seemed, for a second, 
 to quail. But it was only for a second. Presently, laughing 
 in his face, she blew a great cloud of tobacco smoke, which 
 ascended in spiral rings to the ceiling. 
 
 " No scenes, if you please, especially when you and I are 
 alone together. I know you as well — better — than you know 
 me. I know the stuff that you are made of. And yet I say 
 again that, if you fear the consequences of what you do, to that 
 extent, you are a coward. As for me, I fear nothing— neither 
 heaven nor hell, not even the guillotine or the gallows. I 
 have that here which will preserve me from them both." She 
 tapped her bodice with the tip of her finger. " Money I must 
 have, I will have — a great deal ol money — a litde is no use. 
 You robbed me once of millions, you shall not rob me again. 
 I will make to you a proposition. Leave the house at once. 
 I will go through this business single-handed. I will take the 
 two hundred thousand pounds all to myself. Afterwards you 
 can join those others in setting the police upon me as you 
 will. Will that please you?" 
 
 "Not at all!" 
 
 " What is it, then, that you want ? Come, Bianchi, get those 
 cobwebs out of your brain. If you were more like me— if you 
 looked neither to the right nor to the left, neither behmd nor 
 in front, but simply at the object you have in view— you would 
 be a happier, a stronger, a more successful man. Now let us 
 reach the point. What have you decided ? Is it to be the pit ? " 
 
 " There, again, I am uncertain. This Mrs Andrews, when 
 she comes, is she to see them both : the man and the girl?" 
 
 2 A
 
 370 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 " What does it matter? So far as she is concerned, nothing 
 would please her better. She hates George Otway with such a 
 hatred that to see beside his dead body the dead body of the 
 woman whom he loved — that, I think, would be her idea of 
 perfect bliss." 
 
 " She is a nice creature ! " 
 
 " Else we should not be able to earn so easily two hundred 
 thousand pounds." 
 
 " Easily ? you call it easily ! Wait till afterwards." 
 
 Donna Luisa was silent. A very unpleasant look came on 
 her naturally unpleasant face. Bianchi's back chanced to be 
 turned towards her at the moment, a fact of which she took 
 advantage to stretch out her arms in front of her and to go 
 through the pantomime of squeezing something between her 
 massive fingers. It seemed not impossible that, with every 
 appearance of enjoyment, in her mind's eye she was strangling 
 him. If such were the case, when she spoke again she did not 
 allow her amusing make-believe to affect either her manner or 
 her voice. 
 
 "This Otway, he is nearly dead already, is he not?" 
 
 "So nearly that, in a day or two, he'd be quite, with but 
 little assistance from anything but nature." 
 
 "And the girl?" 
 
 " She's alive enough, the vixen ! But for her he'd have been 
 dead ; it's she who's kept him alive." 
 
 "It is not of much consequence. They will go together, 
 that is all. For her the pit will do." 
 
 "The pit!" 
 
 As Bianchi echoed her words there was heard the clanging 
 of a bell. Had it been the harbinger of some hideous 
 catastrophe the sound could hardly have affected its hearers 
 more. They started, seemed to hold their breath, listened 
 intently, looked at each other with furtive, guilty glances. 
 The man was more affected than the woman. A curious 
 whiteness showed through his sallow skin, his lips twitched, his 
 eyes moved jerkily in their sockets as if they were beyond his 
 control. Vox some moments neither spoke : there was perfect 
 silence ; then the clanging came again 
 
 " Who is it?" asked the woman. 
 
 He had to moisten his lips before he was able to answer. 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 " I suppose a tradesman, or some person of that kind."
 
 THE CLANGING OF THE BELL 371 
 
 " May be." 
 
 " You had better go and discover who it is." 
 
 He had to moisten his Ups again. 
 
 "Why not you?" 
 
 " Me ? I do not answer bells. To that I have not yet 
 descended. Are you afraid ? " 
 
 This time he did not show resentment at the imputation of 
 cowardice which the question conveyed. Not impossibly he 
 was endeavouring to find an excuse which would render it 
 unnecessary for him to do as she suggested. The clanging 
 came a third time. 
 
 " Bianchi, you will go and see who is there, at once ! I do 
 not wish to have a crowd at my street door. You hear ? " 
 
 She spoke to him as she might have done to a dog, or a 
 lackey. There was that in her tone which rendered it im- 
 possible for him to indulge in further procrastination. He 
 grumblingly obeyed. 
 
 "Very well, I am going, there is no need to make a fuss." 
 
 He went out of the room. When he was gone, taking her 
 cigar out of her mouth, she attentively regarded the long ash 
 at the tip. 
 
 " He is Hke the rest," she said to herself, " no good. When 
 it comes to the point he trembles. There is fear at the 
 bottom of his heart. I will not share my two hundred 
 thousand pounds with him. Why should I ? There is no 
 reason. I would rather — I would rather " 
 
 She took from a table which was within reach of her out- 
 stretched arm what resembled, more than anything else, a 
 gigantic bodkin, or a stout knitting needle with a pointed 
 tip. It was set in a handle which seemed unduly heavy for 
 so slender a weapon, for, apparently, it was as a weapon it was 
 intended to be used ; though, as she trifled with it, one began 
 to perceive the intention of the weighted handle. 
 
 "So thin it hardly leaves a scar though driven in to the 
 hilt. It is as if some pin had pricked, and yet behind it there's 
 balance enough, if you select the proper spot, to drive it 
 to the hilt with but the slightest exertion of strength, with 
 but a little turn of the wrist." 
 
 Bianchi crossed the courtyard with lingering steps and slow. 
 As he went the bell clanged out once more. 
 
 "You're in a hurry, whoever you are," he muttered. 
 Opening the trap, he looked out, prepared to pour a volley
 
 372 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 of abuse on the unwelcome visitor. What he saw seemed 
 to freeze the words upon his lips. Without stood a lady 
 dressed in the height of fashion. 
 
 " You ! " he exclaimed. 
 
 "Yes, I! Is it so surprising, then, that I come a little 
 before the appointed time ? " 
 
 He unfastened the door with what, for the nonce, were 
 awkward hands, greeting her with stammering lips. 
 
 "Ten thousand pardons, madam, for keeping you so long 
 outside the gate, but we were not expecting visitors ; you, in 
 particular, we did not expect until to-night." 
 
 " I changed my mind, and crossed last night. I remem- 
 bered that to-night I have an engagement in London which 
 I would not care to miss. I leave Paris this afternoon at 
 four, and, reaching London before eleven, shall be able to 
 dress and be in time for my engagement." 
 
 "You leave Paris this afternoon at four? But " he 
 
 hesitated, as if at a loss for a phrase, " we are not yet ready." 
 
 " No ; so I supposed. But you will be before I go ; and 
 — I shall be able to see the fun." 
 
 She smiled ; there was something in the quality of her smile 
 which made him shiver. 
 
 "The fun?" he gasped. 
 
 "Yes; the fun. Why do you stare at me like that? I 
 thought when I rang and rang, and no one answered, that 
 you had been playing without me after all, that the house 
 was deserted — empty." 
 
 " There are in it only my wife and L" 
 
 "Only?" 
 
 His glance fell. 
 
 "Of course he is also here, and the girl." 
 
 "The girl?" 
 
 "You did not know that the girl was here?" 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 " I know nothing. I have everything to learn — to see. 
 That is why I am come." 
 
 "My wife will tell you. She will explain better than I 
 
 can. 
 
 He conducted her into the house. He observed the dainty 
 figure, as she tripped before him up the stairs, with curious 
 gaze. She was dressed as for a fife : silken frills and fur- 
 belows gleamed beneath her uplifted skirt ; her fripperies
 
 THE CLANGING OF THE BELL 373 
 
 filled the whole place with their rustling as she ascended. 
 He ushered her into his wife's presence. 
 
 " It is Mrs Andrews, who has arrived already." 
 
 Donna Luisa still toyed with that slender, bodkin-like weapon. 
 She did not rise as her visitor entered. With a dexterous 
 movement of her lips she merely transferred her cigar from 
 one side of her mouth to the other. 
 
 "Already? Although you did not let us understand that 
 you would come so soon, I wish you, Mrs Frank Andrews, 
 a very good day." 
 
 She spoke with that peculiar air of grimness which was 
 not the least striking of her characteristics. The new-comer 
 stared at her with frank astonishment. And, indeed, she did 
 present a singular spectacle, with her face of a man and her 
 form of a woman, her huge frame encased in that startling 
 expanse of shimmering crimson. 
 
 "Are you smoking a cigar?" 
 
 "I am always smoking a cigar. I have smoked cigars 
 since I was as high as this chair. In my country it is not 
 unusual for women." 
 
 " How extremely odd ! I devour cigarettes, but I have 
 never yet ventured on a cigar. I should never dare." 
 
 " Bianchi, give to Mrs Frank Andrews a cigarette." 
 
 Mr Bianchi did as he was told. The little lady, arranging 
 herself in an arm-chair at her ease, lighted the cigarette which 
 he brought her, fondling it with her pretty lips. 
 
 "This is delightful — quite an adventure. One feels that 
 one's doing what one didn't ought to do, and it's always 
 comfortable to feel that you are doing that." 
 
 " I daresay you are right. No doubt it is like that with 
 some, but with me it is different. I have always done what 
 I ought not to do ; so I am accustomed." 
 
 "I should think you were more— I should think you are 
 bored. It must be so tiresome to be the same thing always. 
 Like the man in the poem— isn't it a poem?— you ought 
 to be everything by turns, and nothing long ; nice to-day, 
 and nasty to-morrow ; awfully good, then awfully wicked ; 
 anything for a change. A new sensation's everything— the 
 old ones pall. As long as you can keep on getting new 
 sensations life needn't be such bad fun as some people seem 
 to think." 
 
 " I'm sure you don't think it's bad fun."
 
 374 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 "No-o." The little lady suffered the cigarette smoke to 
 issue from her lips with, as it were, a contemplative air. 
 " Sometimes it's pretty dull ; at others, it's absolutely stupid ; 
 when things don't go, and won't go, as you want them, it's 
 horrid. But — on the whole — it's bearable. A moment like 
 this, for instance, is well worth living for." 
 
 "You flatter us." 
 
 The little lady stared, for a moment, as if she did not quite 
 catch the other's meaning. Then she broke into her merry 
 little laugh. 
 
 " It wasn't my intention, and I'm afraid you don't quite 
 understand me. You see — I don't altogether love — George 
 Otway." 
 
 "So I imagined." 
 
 "In fact, I hate him." 
 
 "That, also, I was so presumptuous as to take for granted." 
 
 "And when I hate a person — really! — I want to tear them 
 to pieces with red-hot pincers, and to take my time in doing 
 it." 
 
 " I know. There have been occasions when I, also, have 
 felt like that." 
 
 " Is that so ? How verv interesting ! Then you'll under- 
 stand my feelings. Is he dead ? " 
 
 " Not yet. It was agreed, you will remember, that you 
 should not arrive until this evening. We could not very 
 well proceed with the business until certain matters were 
 arranged." 
 
 " I see. I'm glad you didn't. I came so early because I 
 hoped to be in time to see him killed." Bianchi, behind 
 the speaker's back, made an odd little gesture with the palms 
 of his hands, possibly intended to be expressive of disgust. 
 His wife did not move a muscle. Mrs Andrews went 
 seren'4y on. "Your husband speaks about a girl, what does 
 he mean?" 
 
 " It is Elsie Thornton — it is the woman Otway loves. They 
 are fellow-prisoners." 
 
 "The woman he loves? So there is a woman. I might 
 have guessed that, before this, he would have found one." 
 Mrs Andrews drew a long breath ; then her lips closed 
 tightly ; there seemed to be a glittering spark in the pupils 
 of her eyes. "And they are fellow-prisoners? How exces- 
 sively amusing. What do you propose to do with her?"
 
 THE CLANGING OF THE BELL 375 
 
 "We shall have to kill her also, it will be the only way 
 of shutting her mouth." 
 
 " Quite so ; of course you will have to kill her. How nice ! 
 You put these things with a frankness which 1 find delightful." 
 Mrs Andrews, smiling, closed her eyes, as if the better to 
 enjoy some delightful vision. "And what is your mode of 
 procedure ? " 
 
 " That was what we were discussing, Bianchi and I : your 
 coming so early will make it simpler." 
 
 " I am so ghd." 
 
 " There is, in the cellar, a kind of a pit. It is very deep. 
 It was perhaps once the shaft of an old well. We thought 
 that we would throw them into it. When it is covered there 
 is nothing in the floor to show that there is anything unusual 
 beneath. Their skeletons might not be found for half-a- 
 century. The only difficulty was that you wished to see 
 George Otway dead. We could not very well show you him 
 at the bottom of the pit. Now, however, it is different." 
 
 " Exactly. What a capital idea ! What a very useful thing 
 to have in a house. Only — would they know that you were 
 gong to throw them into this — funny place?" 
 
 " We might tell them." 
 
 " Of course ; and paint to them the dreadful fate for which they 
 were destined, depict the horrors which were in the pit. Then 
 you might push them into it, cover it over, and let them die 
 in the darkness at the bottom. How delightful! I shall dream 
 of it. I shall dream that I can hear them calling for help out 
 of the bowels of the earth ; that I can see their struggles, their 
 anguish, as, by degrees, they recognise that, for them, there is 
 no hope. Then I shall see them die, the flesh drop off their 
 bones, until nothing but their skeletons remain at the bottom 
 of the pit. It will be worth while going to sleep to enjoy 
 such dreams as those." 
 
 Again there was that little gesture from Bianchi, and this 
 time a comment from his wife. 
 
 "You have a pretty fancy, madam." 
 
 " Oh yes ; I have a pretty fancy : where George Otway is 
 concerned a very pretty fancy, I assure you. But let us pass 
 from fancies to facts. Show me this gentleman and this lady, 
 and let us open the ball. I do not wish to stay here longer 
 than I can help." 
 
 Rising, the little lady tossed the end of her cigarette into
 
 376 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 the fireplace. Donna Luisa regarded her intently before she 
 answered. 
 
 " Quite so, madam. But before, as you put it, we open the 
 ball, have you with you the sum which was agreed ? " 
 
 " I have with me two hundred thousand pounds in the 
 bank-notes of all nations, in accordance with your own 
 suggestion. It was not easy to get them in so short a time, 
 but there are ways and means. Here they are." She took x 
 pocket-book from the gold chain-bag which was slung to her 
 waist. Husband and wife exchanged glances, which their 
 visitor, intercepting, apparently interpreted in a fashion of her 
 own. "You may examine them, if you please, to see that 
 the amount is correct and that they are genuine; but 1 
 should advise you that my husband has the numbers. If I do 
 not leave the house before three o'clock payment will be J 
 stopped ; should anyone leave it before 1 do that person will ' 
 be the object of most unwelcome attentions." 
 
 There was more than a trace of resentment in Donna 
 Luisa's tone as she responded. 
 
 "What does madam mean by her most singular observa- 
 tions ? " 
 
 The little lady had, all at once, that in her demeanour which, 
 not improbably, took the elder woman aback. 
 
 " What I say. Do you suppose I would trust myself in 
 such a house as this with such a sum of money in my | 
 possession without taking due precautions? I am not so 
 simple. You might find it easier to kill me than to kill 
 George Otway, of whose presence here I have, as yet, no I 
 guarantee save your bare word. The whole thing, for all I 
 know, may be a trick and a trap. So, before I came, I made a 
 certain communication to a certain personage at the Quai des 
 Orfevres, with whose name and ofiice you are probably both of 
 you familiar, in consequence of which at this moment all Paris 
 may be said to have its eyes upon this house." 
 
 Bianchi was moved to sudden excitement. 
 
 " Do you dare to tell us you have communicated with the 
 police ? " 
 
 " I do : I have." 
 
 "What have you told them?" 
 
 "That is my affair and theirs. You need not glare at me 
 like that, my man. You will not make me afraid. It is you 
 who have cause for fear, not I. Carry out your undertaking,
 
 THE CLANGING OF THE BELL 377 
 
 I am willing to share your guilt, to be your accomplice — it is 
 for that purpose I am here — and all will be well. I will go as 
 I came, leaving the money behind me. You will be free to go 
 or stay as you choose ; in any case the incident will be closed. 
 I will take care that the police do nothing, for my own sake as 
 well as yours. But tamper with our agreement, show a dis- 
 position to depart from it by so much as a hair's breadth, and 
 nothing in this wide world will be able to save you from the 
 righteous anger of the law. Surely you must know that a 
 person who gives you two hundred thousand pounds as if it 
 were nothing is a person of importance ; one who in France 
 can pull the strings which agitate these gentlemen of the police 
 pretty well as she pleases. If you did not know so much you 
 must be foolish." 
 
 " Madam speaks strongly, she says plainly what she means. 
 But, my wife and I, we do not resent madam's freedom of 
 speech — not at all. 
 
 The little lady interrupted him with an impatient movement 
 of her hand. 
 
 " Let us to business ! Where is our friend and the girl ? " _ 
 "They are above. Madam might first like to see the pit, 
 which is below." 
 
 " Come, let us go now at once ! " 
 
 The three descended to the cellar, which was below the 
 basement ; for some reason of her own Donna Luisa chose to 
 form one of the party. The walls were of brick, the floor was 
 of cement. There was nothing about the appearance of this 
 latter, which was covered with an untidy litter, to attract 
 attention. Bianchi, taking off his coat and waistcoat, pro- 
 ceeded to remove a pile of the wooden billets which the 
 French call charbon de bois. Then, with the aid of a long iron 
 bar, he prised up first one block of cement, then a second, 
 and a third ; the result being an oblong cavity, which, for all 
 that could be seen, might have led into the very bowels of the 
 earth. Affixing a lamp to a piece of cord he lowered it into 
 the opening. 
 
 "You see, madam, it is not shallow. Here are more than 
 twenty feet of cord. I let it all out ; yet you can see nothing of 
 the bottom." He gave the lamp a swinging motion. " It is 
 not narrow, there is room to move about. When two people 
 are buried alive in so deep a grave it is no harm that they have 
 a little space to move about."
 
 378 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 Mrs Andrews laughed. 
 
 "Not at all. They will live the longer, and suffer more. 
 But where is this pretty pair ? " 
 
 " The pretty pair, who are to be so shortly at the bottom of 
 the house, are at present at the top. Will it please madam to 
 ascend ? " 
 
 " It will please me very much." The three went up, and 
 up, and up. The little lady found the ascent a trifle trying. 
 " It is a long way to the top." 
 
 " Oh yes, madam ; it is also a long way to the bottom. 
 At last we are arrived." He paused outside a door which was 
 at the head of a rudimentary flight of stairs which resembled 
 a ladder leading to a loft. Unlocking it with a great key 
 which he had carried in his hand he threw it open. " Here, 
 madam, is your pretty pair." 
 
 Mrs Andrews could probably not have described what she 
 expected to see, but it was certainly not what she actually saw : 
 a bare attic, with a slanting roof, descending, at one point, 
 almost to the floor. Air and light were only admitted by an 
 opening in the roof, perhaps twelve inches square. On the 
 bare boards lay the figure of a man. As the delicate lady of 
 fashion entered this singular apartment, holding an exquisite 
 lace handkerchief to her dainty nostrils, an object came 
 fluttering towards her, which was presumably a woman, though 
 the altogether indescribable state of her general appearance 
 made momentary hesitation on the point at least excusable. 
 She addressed herself to Mrs Andrews with a timid, awkward 
 air, as if she were frightened at the sound of her own voice. 
 
 " You have come to save him ? at last ! I hope it's not too 
 late : I'm afraid he's dead." 
 
 " Dead? I hope not. That would be to cheat me, indeed, 
 and, as you say, at last !" She picked her way to where the 
 man was lying, tapping him with the toe of her little shoe. 
 " George — George Otway ! He's not dead, I thought fortune 
 would hardly serve me so scurvily as that ! " 
 
 The man, with a deliberation which suggested infinite 
 weariness, turned his head and looked at her. 
 
 " You ! " he muttered. " I have suffered many things 
 because of you in dreams." 
 
 " I have suffered a few things because of you, George. I am 
 hopeful that, in the future, my dreams will wear a different 
 complexion. I'm glad you know me. I really doubt if I
 
 THE CLANGING OF THE BELL 379 
 
 should have recognised you : you look as if you had been dead 
 for years. But please don't die just yet, that wouldn't be at 
 all amusing." She turned to Bianchi. " How are you going 
 to get him down? He can't walk: if you drag him he'll l:)e 
 dead before you get him to the bottom." 
 
 " I will carry him — he is nothing but skin and bone — I am 
 strong enough." 
 
 "Then carry him, quickly ! " 
 
 Taking the recumbent figure in his arms Bianchi bore it 
 from the room. The woman exhibited symptoms of distress. 
 
 "What are you going to do with him? where are you taking 
 him?" 
 
 " I will tell you : we are taking him down to the pit, to 
 bury him alive, and we are going to bury you with him. You 
 understand ? Drive her after — George ! " 
 
 Mrs Andrews made an imperious gesture to Donna Luisa, 
 who, in turn, motioned to the girl. Without offering the 
 faintest remonstrance the girl quitted the room, suffering 
 Donna Luisa to, literally, drive her in front of her down the 
 stairs. As she went she whimpered, as a child might have 
 done. 
 
 When they reached the cellar they found that Bianchi had 
 laid George Otway down. 
 
 " Hold him up," commanded the little lady. 
 
 Bianchi, putting his arm about O. way's waist, supported him, 
 so that he could look down into the opening which yawned 
 at his feet. 
 
 "Hold her also!" 
 
 Donna Luisa, obeying her peremptory visitor, gripped Elsie 
 in such fashion that she also was compelled to stand on the 
 brink of the gaping chasm. 
 
 " George ! — my dear woman ! — do you know what that is ? 
 That is a pit, a pit which goes deep down into the earth. 
 There are all sorts of horrors at the bottom. We are going 
 to throw you into it, to keep them company. We are going to 
 shut you up in it, in the darkness, and we are going to leave 
 
 you in it for ever. You understand? For ever ! What's 
 
 that ? " 
 
 "That" was the same sound which had startled Donna 
 Luisa : the clanging of a bell. 
 
 " If it's your police ! " exclaimed Donna Luisa. 
 
 Donna Luisa made a sudden movement towards Mrs
 
 380 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 Andrews. It almost seemed as if, with one hand, she would 
 have snatched the gold chain-bag which dangled at her waist, 
 and, with the other, would have precipitated her into the 
 "pit." But the little lady was too quick. As she sprang 
 back it was seen that she held a revolver, produced she alone 
 knew from where. There was a flash, a report, a cry of pain 
 from Donna Luisa, and, once more, the clanging of a bell.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE PIT 
 
 TT was M. Durocq of the Service de la Surete who rang the 
 -*- bell at the door of that house with the crimson blind in 
 the Rue du Bois once, twice, thrice, and yet again, with 
 but short intervals, it is true, between each ringing. He was 
 a tall, not ill-looking man, who wore a pince-nez and a top 
 hat, and who had nothing about him which, to an P^nglish 
 mind, suggested the police. When he had rung a fourth time 
 Sergeant Cutforth said : 
 
 "It's no use. If they hear they won't answer. Perhaps, 
 after all, the house is empty." 
 
 "It is not empty. It is but a short time since the English 
 lady, Madam Andrews, was admitted at this gate. She is 
 still within." 
 
 Miss Price interposed some observations of her own. 
 
 "She means mischief, that woman. Heaven help George 
 Otway if she has him at her mercy. She'd think no more of 
 killing him than a cat would of killing a mouse." 
 
 Miss Price's outspokenness incurred the French official's 
 displeasure. 
 
 " Such remarks are out of order. This is not the place in 
 which they ought to be made. I must ask you, mademoiselle, 
 to keep silence." Beckoning to a subordinate, M. Durocq 
 pointed to the door. "You have keys — open." 
 
 The subordinate, inserting a key in the lock, opened, with 
 as matter-of-fact an air as if the door had been his own. In 
 all, ten persons entered : M. Durocq and six subordinates. 
 Sergeant Cutforth, Sallie Price, and Frank Thornton. Other 
 officers of police were left in the street without, with 
 instructions to allow the gate to remain open and to keep 
 both eyes and ears on the alert for what was passing within. 
 M. Durocq commenced proceedings by walking into the 
 concieri:;e's room — to find it empty. 
 
 "At least," he announced, "there is no one here." 
 
 381
 
 382 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 The man with the keys volunteered a statement. 
 
 "The concierge is a woman named Marie Gagnol. She 
 was here this morning at half-past nine. I saw her standing 
 at the gate, looking out into the street." 
 
 M. Durocq shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " Since half-past nine there has been time for a good many 
 things to happen. Marie Gagnol may yet appear to explain 
 how it is she is not at her post. What have we here ? Ah ! it 
 is Madame Andrews." 
 
 Indeed, as he spoke, that dainty little lady came tripping 
 down the stairs, pausing, half-a-dozen steps from the bottom, 
 to stare, with an air of innocent surprise, at the small army of the 
 invaders. She was a trifle flushed ; but, beyond that, she was 
 as spick and span as if she had just stepped out of a bandbox. 
 
 "Why," she exclaimed, with a charming appearance of 
 surprise, "whatever is the matter? Can it be — it is 
 M. Durocq." 
 
 " Precisely, madam." M. Durocq bowed — as only a 
 Frenchman can. " Madam has seen her friends ? " 
 
 "My friends?" One might have imagined that there was 
 just a trace of embarrassment in the little lady's manner. But, 
 if so, it passed as quickly as it came. She smiled sweetly. 
 " Oh yes, of course. So good of you to inquire and to be 
 so anxious ; but everything has passed off most delightfully." 
 She came down to the bottom step. Her tone dropped to a 
 confidential whisper : " M. Durocq, I am having dejeuner at the 
 Ritz. I hope — I shall be so glad if you will favour me with 
 your company ; will you ? " 
 
 She looked up at him with that in her eyes which was 
 something more than a delicate compliment. 
 
 " Madam flatters me ; I am too much honoured. There is 
 a little matter which I must settle first. How was it that no 
 one came to open for us when we rang ? " 
 
 This time she did not turn a hair. The exhibition of her sur- 
 prise at such a curious question being addressed to her was 
 perfect. 
 
 "Why no one came to open for you when you rang? I 
 have not the faintest notion. Did no one come? This is 
 not my house; I am not the concierge." 
 
 " But that is evident madam. There appears to be no 
 concierge. Madam's friends — Donna Luisa D'Agostino, and 
 M. Bianchi — are both upstairs?"
 
 THE PIT 383 
 
 Again that pretty smile seemed, as it were, to be eclipsed, 
 just for the moment. 
 
 "As for Donna Lusia, I am not quite certain, though I 
 was talking to her only a few seconds ago. M. Bianchi I have 
 just left upon the stairs." 
 
 " So M. Bianchi, at least, is above. We will ascend, and pay 
 him a little call." 
 
 "By all means, if you choose, though I can't imagine what 
 you'll find to say to him. Then I shall see you at the 
 Ritz ; when ? in half-an-hour ? " 
 
 He merely bowed over the small gloved hand which she ex- 
 tended as if to bid him adieu. 
 
 "I said, madam, we will ascend to call on M. Bianchi." 
 
 " Well, my good sir, go ! I have no desire to keep you ! 
 only tell me first about the Ritz." 
 
 "Madam still a little fails to understand. When I said we 
 will ascend, I meant that madam will do us the pleasure to 
 ascend with us." 
 
 "I! my charming M. Durocq? I have seen all of M. Bianchi 
 that I wish to ; my business with him is finished, such as it was." 
 
 " Our business is still to begin." 
 
 " Yours ; but what has your business to do with me ? 
 Monsieur forgets that my time in Paris is limited ; in the 
 meantime, I starve. Come — when you have called on 
 M. Bianchi, who is not himself so agreeable a person that I 
 would wish, myself, to see him so soon again — to the Ritz, 
 and tell me all about it." 
 
 " A thousand pardons if we should seem to delay madam ; 
 but I must request her to introduce me to her friends 
 Donna Luisa D'Agostino and M. Bianchi at once, if madam 
 pleases." 
 
 "And if I don't please ? " 
 
 " But madam will please." 
 
 When he said that, and she observed his tone and 
 manner, and saw those who were behind him, she must have 
 known that she was going to her doom as certainly as the 
 pinioned wretch knows it who is hurried through tortuous 
 passages, jostled into the open air, to find himself confronted 
 in the half light of the early dawn by the guillotine. But 
 not a sign escaped her that she had such knowledge. With 
 a musical little laugh and a gay little pout she turned — to 
 reascend to where she knew her doom awaited her.
 
 384 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 " My very charming M. Durocq, you're a humorist. 
 Evidently it does not matter that I starve ? However, I shall 
 eat the better when, at last, I get a chance." 
 
 " Madam will conduct us to the apartment where we 
 shall find her friends." 
 
 " I will conduct you to the apartment where I found them ; 
 I cannot say whether you will. We are arrived." She threw 
 open the door outside which she had paused. " M. Bianchi, 
 here is jM. Durocq of the Service de la Surete, who has come 
 to see you : I have not the faintest idea about what." 
 
 The gentleman in question went into the room, uninvited. 
 
 " Your warning to your friend, madam, was unnecessary, 
 since M. Bianchi is not here." 
 
 There was a significance in the speaker's tone which could 
 hardly have escaped the lady's notice. 
 
 "My warning, my dear ^I. Durocq, what do you mean? 
 And as for M. Bianchi not being in this room, perhaps he is in 
 the next. I suppose, in his own house, he is at liberty to go 
 where he pleases ; it was here I saw him." 
 
 But Mr Bianchi was not in the next room, nor in the next ; 
 nor, if they could trust the evidence of their own eyes, in any 
 of the rooms in which they looked — and they searched them 
 all. In none of them was anything to be seen of him, or his 
 wife either. M. Durocq commented on the fact, with ironical 
 courtesy. 
 
 "It is strange, madam, that this lady and gentleman 
 should have vanished so soon as you removed from them the 
 light of your countenance." 
 
 Mrs Andrews, ignoring the irony, appeared to be as puzzled 
 as they were. 
 
 " It is odd : not ten seconds before I saw you M. Bianchi 
 was with me on the staircase." 
 
 "And his wife?" 
 
 " His wife I had not seen for some minutes ; I don't know 
 where she was." 
 
 " You don't know where she was ! Is that so? Where was 
 she when you saw her last ? " 
 
 "She was — oh, she was in that room, to which I took you 
 first." 
 
 " You are sure that she was in that room ? " 
 
 " Of course : what do you mean ? " 
 
 "I thought that madam hesitated, as if she were in doubt.
 
 THE PIT ;385 
 
 We are still not yet at the top of the house, perhaps this lady 
 and gentleman are in the garrets." 
 
 " If so, they would surely hear you moving about and come 
 down to see who you were, and what you wanted." 
 
 "One would suppose it, but perhaps madam's friends aie 
 a little singular." 
 
 " I wish you would not persist in calling them my friends. 
 I know nothing of them ; I did not even hear of their existence 
 until a few hours ago." 
 
 " Madam came from England to see persons of whom she 
 knew nothing — does that not seem curious ? " 
 
 They had reached the foot of the stairway leading to the 
 room which had so recently served as a prison. The door 
 was still wide open, a fact of which she endeavoured to make 
 capital. She could not have desired them to ascend to the 
 top of that staircase : it was worth her while to snatch at 
 anything which would prevent their doing that. 
 
 " Obviously there is no one up there, the door is wide open ; 
 it is probably some sort of loft. You need not give yourself 
 the pain to look for M. Bianchi in a loft." 
 
 M. Durocq regarded her with a singular gleam in the eyes 
 which were behind the glasses. 
 
 " Madam thinks not. I am so unfortunate as to be of a 
 different opinion. I will not only give myself the pain to 
 ascend, but I must request madam to ascend with me." 
 
 For the first time the little lady showed signs of mutiny. 
 
 " I will ascend with you? Monsieur goes too far. I have 
 had enough of this wild-goose chase. Monsieur will excuse me. 
 I go to the Hotel Ritz, where monsieur will find me at his 
 service." She turned to find two men at the head of the 
 staircase behind her who barred the way. She addressed 
 herself to them. " Have the goodness to let me pass." 
 
 They continued motionless, an answer came from M. Durocq. 
 
 " I regret infinitely to have to detain you, madam, but — 
 you cannot pass until you have ascended." 
 
 " I cannot pass ! M. Durocq, your conduct becomes more 
 extraordinary every moment ! Why should I go with you into 
 an empty garret ? " 
 
 "Because you have no alternative." 
 
 " No alternative ! Really, this is outrageous." 
 
 " Does madam wish that I should explain ? " 
 
 "I wish it very much indeed." 
 
 2B
 
 •M) A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 M. Durocq took from his pocket-book a letter-case, from the 
 leltcr-casc a slip of paper. He read aloud what was written 
 on this slij) of paper. 
 
 " • George Otway and IClsie Thornton are imprisoned in an 
 attic at the top of the house in the Rue du Bois which is 
 believed to l)e in the occupation of Donna Luisa IVAgostino. 
 Anyone finding this and who at once conununicates with the 
 police, and so effects a rescue, will receive from George Otway 
 a reward of twenty-five thousand francs. — Signed George 
 Otway.' That is my explanation, madam." 
 
 The little lady had perceptibly changed countenance while 
 he had been reading ; there was a distant tremor in her speech. 
 
 " What is it you are reading from ? I don't luiderstand 
 in the least." 
 
 " I think, on the contrary, that madam understands very 
 well. It is to see George Otway that madam is here." 
 
 "To see George Otway! \Vhat nonsense are you talking 
 about?" 
 
 " I am sorry madam finds that the truth is nonsense. It 
 would sccni that tliis is the room, at the top of the house, in 
 which George Otway was imprisoned, until madam arrived. 
 As it is now empty, what has become of George Otway, since 
 madam's arrival, and of M. Bianchi, and of Donna Luisa 
 D'Agostino? " 
 
 "1 have not the faintest notion: you're talking double 
 Dutch so far as I'm concerned. What is that paper from 
 which you were reading, and where did you get it from ? " 
 
 "Those are questions to which madam will probably 
 receive an answer later on. At present our only concern is to 
 know what has become of the persons I have named. If 
 madam will permit me to advise her, as a friend, she will 
 give us information on that point without delaying us 
 further." 
 
 " But I've no information to give ! I've told you all I know ! 
 I was never spoken to like this before ! " Raising her veil she 
 applieil a tiny lace handkerchief to her eyes, but whether it 
 was for the purpose of drying her tears there was no evidence 
 to show. "Anyone might think that I'd been doing some- 
 thing wrong." 
 
 "We will hope that madam has been doing nothing wrong 
 — we will hope so. But since madam declines to give me the 
 information I require '"
 
 THE PIT 387 
 
 " Declines ! why do you say I decline when I have none 
 to give ? " 
 
 M. Uurocq went on, heedless of the lady's interruption. 
 
 " It becomes necessary that I should examine the house 
 thoroughly, and that, in that examination,! should be favoured 
 with madam's company. I shall have pleasure in following 
 madam up that staircase." 
 
 Since it was plain that M. Durocq was bent upon her going 
 up into the garret, the little lady yielded. The exploring 
 party consisted of five: M. Durocq and the little lady, Miss 
 Price and Frank Thornton, and Sergeant Cutforth. They had 
 only to put their faces inside the open door to perceive that 
 this was indeed a chamber of horror. The Frenchman gave 
 voice to the general feeling. 
 
 " I fear, madam, that someone has been doing wrong, very 
 wrong indeed." The little lady was content to keep silence, 
 and to dab at her eyes with her handkerchief. M. Durocq 
 went on. "There is evidence here, of a kind, and to spare, 
 but the chief evidence has been removed. For that we shall 
 have to seek elsewhere. Madam, if you please." 
 
 He ushered her down, the others followed. They returned 
 to the courtyard, where M. Marcel awaited their arrival. Of 
 him M. Durocq made an inqury. 
 
 " Has anything occurred ? " 
 
 " Nothing, absolutely nothing." 
 
 " No one has attempted to leave the house ? " 
 
 " Not a creature, not a sound has been heard, not a person 
 has been seen. It is like a house of the dead." 
 
 " It is strange. Madame Andrews says that she left her — 
 acquaintances only a few seconds before we came, yet we have 
 been all over the house, and there is not a trace of them to be 
 found." 
 
 " There is still the basement ! " 
 
 " Exacdy, there is still the basement. It is there we are 
 now about to proceed. But— the basement ! It must be for 
 some droll reason that this lady and gentleman should wish 
 to establish themselves in such a quarter." 
 
 Mrs Andrews, accentuating the air of injury which she had 
 recently assumed, pretended to take it for granted that at last 
 she was at liberty to go. 
 
 "I suppose that now I may go and have some breakfast 
 with M. Durocq's very kind permission. I presume that even 
 
 2 B 2
 
 388 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 he will not imagine that it is necessary that I should descend 
 with him into the depths, a part of the world into which 
 hitherto business has not called me, and where I certainly 
 have never been." 
 
 M. Uurocq remained civil, but inexorable. 
 
 " It distresses me to have to continue to present myself in 
 so disobliging a light, but I should have thought that, under 
 the circumstances, madam would have been as anxious to 
 discover what has become of her friends as I am." 
 
 " I tell you again, they are not my friends ! How often am 
 I to repeat it ? " 
 
 "There is at least a mystery, the mystery of what has 
 become of these two persons. Can they have vanished into 
 air? There is the problem. Madam cannot but be inter- 
 ested in its solution." 
 
 " I am not interested, not the faintest atom. Now, my 
 good, dear, charming M. Durocq, do be reasonable ! Let me 
 go and have my breakfast, — consider ! I have only had one 
 cup of coffee and one roll since yesterday ; then you can 
 come and tell me all about what you call your problem while 
 I am eating ; I will hear you with the greatest pleasure right to 
 the end. Only, at present, do not persist in dragging me 
 about this horrid old house, as if I were desirous of peering 
 into every cupboard with a view of becoming its next tenant, 
 which, I assure you, I am not." 
 
 " I implore madam's forgiveness in that I am compelled to 
 request her to honour me with her presence in the basement." 
 
 The lady's little hands fell to her sides, and became 
 clenched fists. Her eyes gleamed. She all at once grew 
 angry. 
 
 " So ! It is like that ! You mean to insult me ? " 
 
 "I do not insult ; I only insist." 
 
 " I won't go ! I sha'n't go into your horrid, dirty, dark, 
 underground places ! I am an English lady, and you have 
 no right to make me go where I don't choose." 
 
 " Madam has some particular reason why she does not 
 wish to descend into the basement." 
 
 They looked at each other ; the English lady seemed to see 
 something in the Frenchman's calm, equable, unblinking gaze 
 which had on her a singular effect. Her own glance fell, her 
 bearing seemed to change, she faltered in her speech. 
 
 " You — you have no right to say that."
 
 THE PIT 389 
 
 " Not when madam risks so much by a refusal." 
 
 " Risks ! What do you mean ? What do I risk ? " 
 
 M. Durocq was suavity itself, and as inflexible as suave. 
 
 "Madam will do me the favour to descend with us?" 
 
 And madam did him that further favour. What were her 
 feelings as she went she alone could tell. She still bore 
 herself with as much gaiety as was becoming in a person 
 whose sense of dignity had been wounded, and she never lost 
 for a moment that air of dainty breeding which marked her 
 as the finest of fine ladies. Yet, when she thought of what 
 there was below, to which each step brought them closer, as 
 she could not help but think, there must have been a strange 
 turmoil in her delicate bosom. She knew that each tread 
 which led to that basement was taking her farther from High 
 Dene than ever, and from all that High Dene meant, and 
 nearer to that termination on which she had not reckoned 
 when she set out on that day's adventure. 
 
 In the basement itself nothing was found — that is, nothing 
 out of the common, as she was aware that there would not 
 be. There were the kitchen, servants' offices, and two small 
 rooms which had recently been used as bedrooms. The beds 
 they contained were all tossed and tumbled, and the clothes in 
 disorder, as if the person who was responsible had not yet had 
 an opportunity to give them her attention. 
 
 M. Durocq accompanied his recognition of the fact that his 
 researches were still uncrowned by success with that little 
 movement of his shoulders which seemed to give to his words 
 so much more meaning than they in themselves possessed. 
 
 " The problem of the evanishment of this lady and gentle- 
 man, madam, continues to be a problem ; one which, for 
 my part, grows each moment in interest. It would almost 
 appear that we have explored the entire premises." « 
 
 "There are here, behind this door, some stairs which 
 probably lead into a cellar." 
 
 The announcement came from a subordinate. M. Durocq, 
 who seemed never to remove his eyes from Mrs Andrews for 
 many moments together, received it with a show of amusement, 
 although it is possible that he had observed that it had not 
 amused her. 
 
 "Ah! a cellar! I find this truly droll; that the master 
 and mistress of a house should be supposed to be willing 
 to receive their visitors in a cellar."
 
 390 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 "There is a light below." 
 
 "A light! in a cellar! at this time of the day! Then it 
 begins almost to look as if it were the reception-room after 
 all! Madam is ready? It will be to her a novel experi- 
 ence to descend into a cellar ; this is a case in which I do not 
 presume to imagine that she would wish to lead the way." 
 
 The little lady laughed, oddly, unexpectedly. There was 
 a quality in her laughter which seemed to make the impassive 
 Frenchman start. 
 
 "Oh, but I should!" she cried. "You seem to have a 
 gift, M. Durocq, for being wrong, and a genius for blunders. 
 If I must go down into that cellar the only way I will go 
 will be first!" 
 
 She was standing a few feet from the door which, when it 
 was closed, veiled the descent into the cellar. While she was 
 speaking she moved quickly forward, and, in a moment, was 
 past the man who had discovered the staircase. M. Durocq, 
 ever on the alert, quick to suspect, was yet taken unawares ; 
 before he had guessed her intention she was beyond his reach. 
 
 " Stop her ! " he exclaimed to the man who stood with the 
 door held open to show what was beyond. 
 
 The fellow did his best to obey the order, but it was too 
 late. He made a hasty grab at her, but she was already past ; 
 she eluded him with ease. 
 
 " You're not quick enough ! " she laughed. " I'm going to 
 lead the way into the cellar ! " 
 
 Her laughter came up the stairs as she ran down them. 
 
 "After her!" shouted M. Durocq. "It looks as if we're 
 on the scent at last ! " 
 
 He was the first to act on his own suggestion, springing 
 down the stairs two at a time, rushing after her with an 
 agility which did him credit. The others followed in a 
 higgledy-piggledy crowd. 
 
 But they were too late. M. Durocq was the only one in time 
 to see what happened, and his impression of what transpired 
 was but a hazy one. He saw the dainty figure of the little 
 lady standing, in the dim light, at the end of the cellar which 
 was farthest from the stairs. She was looking round, not at 
 him, but at someone who was bending over a figure which lay 
 at full length upon the ground. She was pointing something 
 at these two persons which she held in her outstretched hand. 
 There was a sudden report : he knew that she was firing at 
 
 J
 
 THE PIT 391 
 
 one or other of these two persons. He dashed towards her 
 as fast as he could go. She saw him coming. It seemed to 
 him that she vanished from his sight as by some stroke of 
 magic : one second she was there, the next she was gone. 
 
 The explanation of her disappearance, however, was im- 
 mediately made clear when, in his furious flight, he all but 
 precipitated himself head foremost through an opening in 
 the floor ; pulling himself up, with an effort, to find a grave- 
 shaped cavity yawning at his very feet.
 
 CHAPTER XLI 
 
 AFTERWARDS 
 
 THE little lady had thrown herself into the pit which 
 she had hoped would be a living tomb for others. 
 It was, indeed, a case of poetic justice, for they found with 
 her, at the bottom, Uonna Luisa D'Agostino. The elder 
 woman was dead. She had met the fate which, beyond 
 doubt, she had meted out to many others. Her record, 
 when it came to be examined, proved to be an extraordinary 
 one. They had been well rid of her in Caracas. As she 
 had cynically observed to Mrs Andrews, she had done evil 
 all her life ; and had persisted in doing evil to the very '■ 
 end. She had perished while engaged in carrying to a 
 hideous consummation not the least of her crimes. A 
 bullet, which they discovered embedded in her thigh, had 
 probably been the immediate cause of her destruction ; it 
 was the one which Mrs Andrews had fired at her in what 
 was really self-defence. If it had done nothing else, it had I 
 caused her to lose her balance and to drop like a stone to 
 the bottom of the pit. The pit was nearly a hundred feet 
 deep : they had to descend into it by means of scaling 
 ladders. Such a fall was, in itself, sufficient to prove fatal 
 to a person of her bulk. 
 
 ^^'hen, after the lengthy interval which was necessary to 
 enable them to obtain means of gaining access into that 
 place of horror, they came on the little lady. She was still 
 alive — but that was all: she died that night. She never 
 regained consciousness ; but muttered to herself at intervals ; 
 and the last two words which she uttered were distinctly 
 audible. They were : 
 
 " George Otway." 
 
 As a commentary on her career such an utterance was 
 not unfitting. Had she treated him as he deserved she 
 would hardly, almost in the springtime of her life and beauty, 
 have come to so inglorious an end. 
 
 392
 
 AFTERWARDS :m 
 
 Of Bianchi nothing has either been seen or heard. The 
 problem of his disappearance exercised M. Durocq's mind 
 for a considerable period; but it is understood that he has 
 now given it up. It is supposed that Donna Luisa's husband 
 succeeded, by some means or other, in reaching unnoticed 
 the street which was behind his wife's house, and that 
 thence he made the best of his way — it must have been a 
 curious and agile way! — to one of the haunts with which 
 he was acquainted, whither the ordinary policeman's warrant 
 does not run. This, however, is but the purest surmise. 
 Mrs Andrews stated that she had parted from him on the 
 stairs ten seconds before encountering M. Durocc}. She 
 alone knew if that was true. But, whether true or false, 
 no one has been discovered who could be induced to admit 
 that he has since seen Mr Bianchi either dead or alive, 
 and that although all the mechanism of the Paris police was 
 set in motion to ascertain his whereabouts. 
 
 Mr Frank Andrews also escaped scot-free; that is, so 
 far as legal consequences were concerned. He was arrested 
 that afternoon at High Dene; but George Otway refused 
 to have anything to do with his prosecution, and the police 
 decided that they had not evidence to go upon unaided. He 
 transferred himself to the United States. When last heard of 
 he was an assistant in a dry goods store in one of the western 
 cities. He would make not a bad assistant — according to 
 his present employer- — if it was not for his partiality for rye 
 whisky. That partiality causes him to be oftener out of a 
 situation than in. 
 
 George Otway is alive and well, as all the world knows — 
 though that is not the name by which the world knows him. 
 What the world does not know is this chapter in his biography, 
 which is now made for the first time public. It was a long 
 road, the one which led to health, and one which he had 
 slowly to travel. But all the resources of medical science, 
 which are at the service of the moneyed man, and which he 
 had had to do without so long, were now at his command ; 
 and, aided by his fine natural constitution, the doctor pulled 
 him through. He regards that portion of his life of which 
 we have been telling as an escapade ; a wild experience which, 
 while he is far from wishing to go through it again, he yet 
 would not desire to be without. And that for several reasons. 
 As, for instance, because it showed him a side of life which
 
 394 A METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 the ordinary man never sees, and which, therefore, he beUeves 
 is non-existent. Indeed, George Otway is apt to observe that 
 if he were to tell average Englishmen, soberly, calmly, the 
 things he did ; the things that were done to him ; the things 
 he passed through : his hearers would suppose he romanced, 
 and that merely because their horizon is limited, since 
 stranger things than those which happened to him are 
 happening every day. 
 
 Then, again, throughout the whole episode there was the 
 sense of battle. Almost from the moment in which he saw Jacob 
 Gunston climbing on to the parapet of Southwark Bridge, 
 he had to measure himself against many and various adversaries. 
 And George Otway is essentially a fighting man. That he was 
 beaten in the end, and, but for a seeming miracle, would 
 have been worsted utterly, and for ever, to a man of his 
 temperament is not a fact wholly to be deplored. The odds 
 against him were great : they broke, but they did not bend 
 him. He defied them, even while they overwhelmed him 
 by mere force of numbers. It is not disagreeable to be able 
 to reflect that he has given his proofs that that is the sort 
 of stuff of which he is moulded. 
 
 There is another reason why he does not regret that 
 escapade. It gave him a wife. Elsie Thornton was for a 
 longer period in the valley of the shadow than he was. There 
 were times when it was doubtful if she would ever emerge 
 from it at all, except as a ghost of her former self. But 
 she won through in the end — the Elsie Thornton of yore. 
 She is the mistress of High Dene ; a happy wife and mother. 
 
 Her brother Frank is a barrister : one, too, who is coming 
 to the front. He has a tendency towards Quixotism when 
 brouaht into contact with what he believes to be a blunder 
 of the law. He has held an unpaid brief for more than one 
 suspect, and cleared him of suspicion. 
 
 Sallie Price thrives. She is now the proprietor of a 
 flourishing music-hall in a great provincial town. She 
 manages it herself. It is only on the retired list that she 
 continues to be known as the Greatest Bender the World 
 has ever seen.
 
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 36 
 
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 Fiction 
 
 37 
 
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 Fiction 
 
 39 
 
 Crozvn %vo. 3^. 60^ 
 Messrs. Methuen are now publishing popular Novels in a n^u, nn^ 
 charming style of binding. Ultimately, fhi's Lnes w'^lV comafn Te 11^2 
 
 Andrew Balfour. 
 
 books 
 
 To ARMS ! 
 
 Vengeance is Mine. 
 
 ^ ^ M. C. Balfour. 
 
 The Fall of the sparkow. 
 
 Jane Barlow. 
 
 The Land of the shamrock. 
 A Creel of Irish Stories. 
 From the East Unto the West. 
 
 J. A. Barry. 
 
 In the Great Deep. 
 
 E. F. Benson. 
 
 The Capsina. 
 
 DoDo : A Detail of the Dav. 
 
 The Vintage. 
 
 J. Bloundelle-Burton. 
 
 IN THE Day of adversity. 
 
 De.nou.nced. 
 
 The Clash of Arms. 
 
 Across the Salt Seas. 
 
 Servants of Sin. 
 
 Mrs. Caffyn (Iota). 
 
 Anne Maulevhkek. 
 
 Ada Cambridge. 
 
 Path and Goal. 
 
 Mrs. W. K Clifford. 
 
 A Woman Alone. 
 A Flash of summer. 
 
 J. Maclaren Cobban. 
 
 THE Angel of the Covenant. 
 
 Julian Corbett. 
 
 A BUSINESS IN GRriAT WATERS. 
 
 L. Cope Comford. 
 
 Sons of adversity. 
 
 Stephen Crane. 
 
 Wounds in the Kai.\. 
 
 B. M. Croker. 
 
 A State Secret. 
 Peggy of the Bartons. 
 
 Hope Dawlish. 
 
 A Secretary of Legation. 
 
 A. J. Dawson. 
 
 Daniel White. 
 
 Evelyn Dickinson. 
 
 A Vicar's Wife. 
 The Sin of angels. 
 
 Harris Dickson. 
 
 The Black Wolf's Breed. 
 
 Menie Muriel Do'wie. 
 
 The Crook of the Bough. 
 
 Mrs. Dudeney. 
 
 The Third Floor. 
 
 Sara Jeannette Duncan 
 
 A Voyage of Consolatio.N'. 
 The Path of a Star. 
 
 G. Man'ville Fenn. 
 
 An Electric Spark. 
 The Star Gazers. 
 Eli's Children. 
 A Double Knot. 
 
 Jane H. Findlater. 
 
 A Daughter of Strife. 
 Rachel. 
 
 Mary Findlater. 
 
 Betty MiiSGRAvi:. ^^^<^^^'^■ 
 
 T-„„ Jane H. and Mary Findlater. 
 Tales that are i old. "*»iiaTOi. 
 
 J. S. Fletcher. 
 
 THE Paths of the Pklul.m 
 The Builders. 
 
 M. E. Francis. 
 Miss Erin. «**iwo. 
 
 Mary Gaunt. 
 
 Kirkham's Find. 
 
 Deadman's. 
 
 The Moving Finger. 
 
 Dorothea Gerard. 
 
 Things THAT have iiAPPi-Nhi.. 
 
 R. Murray Gilchrist. 
 Willowbrakl. 
 
 T,,^ ^ George Gissing. 
 
 The Crown of luil. 
 
 Charles Gleig. 
 Bunter's Cruise. 
 
 S. Gordon. 
 A Handful of E.\otils. 
 
 _ „ C. F. Gosa. 
 
 THE Redemption of I)a\iu Corson. 
 
 „ ^ E. M'Queen Gray. 
 
 My Stewardship. ' 
 
 Els a. 
 
 Robert Hichens. 
 byeways. 
 
 ^ ^ I. Hooper. 
 
 The Singer of Maklv. 
 
 Emily Lawless. 
 
 HURRISH. 
 
 Maelcho. 
 
 Norma Lorimer. 
 
 Mirry-Ann. 
 JosiAH's Wife. 
 
 Edna LyalL 
 
 Derrick Vauchan, Novelist. 
 
 , ^ Hannah Lynch. 
 
 An Odd Experiment. 
 
 Richard Marsh. 
 The Seen and the Unseen. 
 Marvels a.\d Mysteries. 
 
 W. E. Norris. 
 
 Matthew Austi.v. 
 
 His Grace. 
 
 The Despotic Lady. 
 
 Clarissa Furiosa. 
 
 giles incilby. 
 
 AN Octave. 
 
 Jacks Father. 
 
 a deplorable affair. 
 
 Mrs. Oliphant. 
 
 Sir Robert's Fortune. 
 The Two Marys. 
 The Ladys v\ alk. 
 The Prodigals. 
 
 Mary A. Owen. 
 
 The Daughter of Alouette. 
 
 Maiy L Tendered. 
 AN Englishman.
 
 40 
 
 Messrs. Methuen's Catalogue 
 
 Mrs. Penny. 
 A FOREST Officer. 
 
 R. Orton Prowse, 
 
 The Poison of asis. 
 
 Richard Pryce. 
 Time and the Wmman. 
 The Quiet Mrs. flemint.. 
 
 W. Pett Ridge. 
 
 A SON' or THB STATE. 
 
 Secretary to Ii.wnh, Mr. 
 
 Morley Roberts. 
 
 The Plunderers. 
 
 Marshall Saunders. 
 
 ROSE A Charlitte. 
 
 W. C. Scully. 
 The White Hecato.mu. 
 Between Sun and .sand. 
 A Vendetta of the desert. 
 
 R. N. Stephens, 
 
 AN ENF.MY TO THE KING. 
 
 A Gentleman player. 
 
 E. H. Strain. 
 
 Elmslib's Drac-.net. 
 
 Esme Stujirt, 
 
 A Woman of Tortv. 
 Christalla. 
 
 Duchess of Sutherland. 
 One Hour a.nd the Ne.\ r. 
 
 Benjamin Swift. 
 Siren City. 
 
 Victor Waite. 
 Cross trails. 
 
 Mrs. Walford. 
 Successors to the Trn e. 
 
 Percy White. 
 A Passionate Pilgki.m. 
 
 Mrs. C. N. Williamson. 
 
 The Adventure of Princess Sylvia, 
 
 X. L. 
 
 AUT DIADOLUS AUT NIHIU 
 
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 Crown 8vo. y. dd. 
 
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 The Icelander's Sword. By S. Barinp-Gouid. 
 Two LITTLE Children and ching. By Edith e. 
 
 Cuthcll. 
 TODDLEBF.N'S Hero. By M. M. Blake. 
 Only a Guard-Room Dog. By Hditli E. Cuthcll. 
 The Doctor of the JULIET. By Harry Colling. 
 
 wood. 
 
 Master Rockafellar's Voyage. By w. Clark 
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 SYD Belton ; Or, the Boy who would not go to Sei 
 
 By G. Manville Eeiin. 
 The Red Grange. By Mrs. Molesworth. 
 
 THE SECRET of MADA.ME DE MONLUC. By th« 
 
 Author of ' Miile. Mori." 
 DU.MPS. By Mrs. Parr. 
 A Girl of the People. By L. T. Meade. 
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 The Honourable Miss. By L. T. Meade. 
 
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 l.X. 
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 XIII. 
 
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 Tales. By E. W. 
 By Robert 
 
 Dead Men Tell no 
 Hornun^. 
 
 Jennie Baxter, Journalist. 
 
 Barr. 
 
 The I.NCA'S Treasure. By Ernest Glanville. 
 A SON OF the state. By W. Pelt Ridge. 
 Furze Bloom. By S. Barin^.;. Gould. 
 Bunter's Cruise. By c. Gleii;. 
 The Gay DeceIN'ERS. By Arthur Moore. 
 Prisoners of War. By a. Boyson Weekes. 
 Out 0/ print. 
 Veldt and Laager : Tales of the Transvaal. 
 
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 Connel. 
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 THE Pomp of the Lavilettes. By 
 
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 A M.V.N OF Mark. By Anthony Hope. 
 THE Carissima. By Luc.ts Malet. 
 THE Lady's Walk. By Mrs. Oiiphant. 
 
 XVII. Derrick Vaughan. By Edna Lyall.. 
 xviii. In the Midst of alarms. By Rober 
 
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 XIX. His grace. By W. E. Norris. 
 X.X. Dodo. By E. F. Benson. 
 XXI. CHEAP lACK ZlTA. By S. Baring-GouM. 
 XXII. When Valmond CAME TO PONTIAC. Uj 
 Gilbert Parker. 
 
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 XXV. Ey Stroke of Sword. By Andre*, 
 
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 XXVI. KlTIY ALONE. By S. Baring-Gould. 
 X.XVII. Giles INCILHY. By W. E. Norris. 1 
 
 X.X\'III. Urith. By S. Baring-Gould. 
 XXIX. The Town Traveller. By Georgt 
 Gissing. 
 X.XX. Mr. Smith. By Mrs. Walford. 
 -XXXI. A change of air. By Anthony Hop* 
 XXXII. THE Kloof BRIDE. By Ernest Glanvilla 
 
 ^etbucn'6 Sijpenng Xtbrarg 
 
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 By M^or.General 
 
 The Matabele Campaign. 
 
 Baden- Powell. 
 The Downfall of prempeh. 
 
 Baden-Powell. 
 
 My Danish sweetheart. By W. Clark Russell. 
 
 In the Roar of the Sea. By S. Baring- 
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 PEGGY OF THE BARTONS. By B. M. Croker. 
 
 The Green Graves of Balgowrie. By Jane 
 H. Findlafr. 
 
 The Stolen Bacillus. By H. G. Wells. 
 
 Matthew Austin. By w. E. Norris. 
 
 the conquest of LONDO.V. By Dorothea 
 Gerard. 
 
 A Voyage of Consolation. By Sara J. Duncaa 
 
 The Mutable Many. By Robert Barr. 
 
 Ben Hur. By General Lew Wallace. 
 
 Sir Robert's Fortune. By Mrs. Oiiphant. 
 
 THE Fair God. By General Lew Wallace. 
 
 Clarissa Furiosa. By W. E. Norris. 
 
 Cranford. By Mrs. Gaskell. 
 
 Noe.MI. By S. Baring-Gould. 
 
 The Throne of David. By J. H. Ingraham. 
 
 Across the Salt Seas. By J. Bloundeci 
 
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